Paax: Warlord Brides (Warriors of Sangrin Book 1)

by Nancey Cummings

  He was hard again. She was ready.

  His mouth sought hers. He pulled her towards him and entered in one swift motion. Mercy gasped in pleasure. Her legs wrapped around his waist. One hand cradling the curve of her rump, the other leaning against the counter. The touch of skin on skin. All the time in the world. Mercy closed her eyes and leaned into Paax, head resting on his shoulder.

  He set a gentle rhythm, pushing into her. Her core clenched tightly around his thick cock. He was making her come again, so quickly.

  “Mine,” he growled. A driving need replaced the gentle strokes.

  “Harder, my love. You won’t break me.”

  His thrusts grew rough and he slammed his cock into her. Mercy loved the way he attacked her pussy: desperate, forceful, and essential to his survival. His jaw returned to the sensitive spot on her shoulder, still red and marked from the bite the night before. His teeth rested against her skin but did not penetrate. He lifted her entirely from the bench and slammed into her. His release came with a growl. He closed his eyes, an expression of pure bliss on his face as he emptied into her.

  Chapter Six

  Paax

  The lights flickered.

  “He’s here,” Paax said. He did not want to pull away from his little star. Warm and so responsive to his touch, she was the greatest joy he had ever known.

  No one would take her away.

  “Could be a power outage,” Mercy said with hope. “Happens all the time back home.”

  “We do not have power outages,” Paax said gruffly. It could only be Omas. He grabbed her hand and pulled her to the door. He blocked the threshold with his bulk. Mercy attempted to peer around him, eyes squinting in the bright sunshine.

  Wind kicked up snow and a deafening roar of engines filled the air. A fighter ship hovered over the house. A red light glowing on the underside of the craft was all the warning given. Faster than he ever moved before, Paax shielded his little star from the blast with his body.

  The house exploded into flames. A rush of scalding hot hair slammed into his back. Mercy gave a fearful cry.

  Paax picked her up, cradling her to his chest and ran. His legs pumped into the snow, kicking up clouds of white powder. He did not get far before a large, muscular form tackled him to the ground.

  Still clutching Mercy, he rolled. They tumbled into the snow, cold powder melting against his skin. His only concern was that Mercy wasn’t dressed for the cold and the snow. He had a wife for less than a day and already he failed to protect her from the most basic of elements.

  A pair of strong arm wrenched her away. “Paax!” she screamed.

  A different pair of fists slammed into his jaw. Paax stumbled. Omas loomed over his twin.

  “Twelve hours already?” Paax asked, gingerly touching his lip. His finger came away with scarlet blood.

  “I will have the serum or your bride,” Omas said.

  Paax moved to his feet. “My answer hasn’t changed.”

  A pained look flickered across his twin’s face before steely resolve replaced it. Did Paax’s face hold the same betrayed emotion paired with a stubborn lift to his chin? “You made me do this,” Omas said. Another punch landed on his right side, knocking the breath out of him. He staggered back.

  “I won’t fight you, brother,” Paax said.

  “Then return to your proper place on the Judgment.” The light from the house fire flickered on Omas, casting a sinister illumination on the Warlord.

  “No.”

  Omas sighed heavily. “Then you give me no choice.” With a silent command, the jet fired a missile into the red barn. The structure and the lab exploded into a fireball. “You made me do this.”

  Ash drifted slowly downwards, settling on Paax’s skin with a scalding kiss. The intense heat between the two raging fires rippled in the air. Mylomon held Mercy in a iron grip. He pressed a dagger against her throat, the wicked blade glowing red and orange in the firelight.

  “Last chance,” Omas said.

  There was only one more thing Omas could take from him. Paax watched Mercy twist in Mylomon’s grip in a fruitless effort to escape. He could not lose her. Paax prepared himself to rush Omas’s lackey.

  Omas’s gaze shifted to Mylomon. With a short nod, Paax was too late and too slow. He ran towards Mylomon but the man slashed the blade across Mercy’s side. He dropped her to the ground.

  Paax gathered her fragile body in his arms. She shivered from the cold. A deep red soaked through the lab coat. A wave of panic and helplessness threatened to overtake him. Humans did not have the accelerated healing of the Mahdfel. He allowed the emotions to run rampant for five seconds. He closed his eyes and counted backwards.

  Five.

  His little star was vulnerable to so many things in the universe.

  Four.

  He was only one man.

  Three.

  He was only one man against a Warlord enhanced chemically to be bigger, stronger and faster than any other Mahdfel warrior.

  Two.

  He would not lose her. There was no power in the universe that could take his mate from him.

  One.

  Paax opened his eyes.

  “If you want to save her,” Omas said, “you’ll seek Judgment.”

  Mercy

  Paax ran across the snowy fields carrying Mercy in his arms. Adjacent to his property was an abandoned farmhouse, he explained. That would do for now. They needed shelter and heat. He needed to treat Mercy’s wound.

  Cresting the hill, Paax spied the empty house, white paint peeling on the clapboards. He crossed the deep snow in the fields. Finally, he reached the building.

  The door did not budge. Locked tight. Without shifting Mercy from his shoulders, Paax gave a growl and kicked at the handle. The door crashed opened.

  Paax set Mercy down and commanded her to stay while he scouted the house. Mercy leaned against the wall and slid to the ground. Her heart raced and pain radiated from her side. She listened to the Paax’s footsteps creaking on the old boards.

  Minutes passed.

  Her eyes grew heavy. She was so tired. Maybe a little rest.

  “Up you go,” Paax said, lifting her with ease. He carried her through the dingy house which last saw a new coat of paint three decades ago, judging by the faded orange carpet and flowery wallpaper. Everything was in shades of burnt orange and olive. Musty air festered in a hot room without the windows open. There was furniture: a sagging couch, a wooden kitchen table and uncomfortable looking wooden seats. If she lived here, she’d abandon the place, too.

  Paax carried her upstairs into a dusty bedroom. Gingerly he placed her on a sagging bed. Mercy winced as she lay back. Paax frowned as he removed her shirt, revealing the knife wound.

  “This is the first place they’ll look for us,” she said. Hiding one farm over. Not clever. “You’re supposed to be the smart one.”

  “I am familiar with my brother’s strategy. He will not come for us yet.”

  “But he will.” Mercy sucked in her breath as Paax probed the edge of the wound. It bled freely.

  “Soon enough. He wants me to panic. Hold this here.” He placed a folded cloth against the wound, staunching the blood flow. “I will fetch water and clean this.”

  Mercy held the cloth in place, desperate to occupy her mind with anything other than the burning sensation spreading across her abdomen. “How will he make you panic? I thought you were Mister Calm Cool and Collected.”

  Paax returned to the room with a bowl of fresh water and old bed linens. He brushed aside her hand and inspected the wound. Carefully he poured water, washing away the blood. The linens he tore into strips and cleaned the area.

  “Does it hurt?” he asked after she sucked in her breath for the third time.

  “Is it supposed to feel like I’m on fire?”

  “If Mylomon used marwol on the blade, yes.” He folded the linen into a compress and applied pressure.

  “Is that a poison?”

  He
nodded.

  Panic seized Mercy. Poisoned. Omas wanted panic and she had it in spades. Omas would come for them before the poison finished her, right? He wanted his twin to panic, to give into his demands, not for Mercy to die. “What do we do?”

  “We do nothing,” Paax said. “Rest is your only concern.”

  Sleep was the farthest thing from her mind. “What if he doesn’t come back for us?”

  “Rest. Agitation will only help the poison do its work.”

  Tears collected in her eyes, dampening her lashes. Mercy turned her head away. She didn't want to cry, not in front of Paax, not when he was so calm.

  “Little star,” he whispered. “I am sorry my Warlord hurt you to hurt me. It tears me apart to see you in pain.”

  “I’m fine,” she said, lying.

  “Liar.” He climbed into the bed next to her, gathered her close. She rested with her head on his chest, an arm protectively around her shoulders. “But you are brave. You have come across the galaxy to be with me and I have done nothing but place you in danger.”

  “I don’t think I can sleep. Not with my heart pounding.”

  “Then I will stay here with you until you do sleep.”

  “I’m sorry about your house.”

  He grunted. “It is only a building.”

  “Was it in your family a long time?”

  “No. The house where Omas and I grew up is on another continent.”

  “Why did you buy a farmhouse so far from home?”

  “It is close to a transporter station.”

  Mercy smiled. Her eyes grew heavy but she was uncertain if it was due to exhaustion or a reaction to the poison. “You liked the commute. That so human.”

  “Some things are universal. Tell me about your family, Mercy Drake.”

  “It’s just my mother and me. My father died during the invasion. I was...eleven? Ten? I can’t believe I don’t remember. It’s the strangest thing. I remember every detail so clearly the day the Suhlik came. I was at school, in the library, and we were watching the press conference on the television.”

  The Suhlik, golden skinned and ethereally beautiful, were an instant media sensation. Footage of the aliens aired on every station. Everyone talked about the aliens with such wistful enthusiasm. Then the press conference. The entire world watched as the Suhlik ambassador grew a fist full of claws and eviscerated the President of the United States on live television. Leaders from around the world met similar, gory fates. The Suhliks showed their true, savage colors.

  “I’m sure you know what the Suhlik did to my planet.” He worked his free hand in a long stroke down her back. Tension in her shoulders melted away.

  Paax nodded. “They have done it to many other worlds. My own included.”

  “My father died in a raid. My mother was injured but she survived. She needs a lot of medical care now and a procedure but we can’t afford it.”

  “Your mother is unwell?”

  Mercy nodded. “There was a gas. It burned her lungs. She needs a new pair but we can't afford the cost of cloning organs, so we get by on medication.” And lots of doctor appointments.

  “I fail to understand. It is simple enough to replace basic organs.”

  “If you have money. That’s why—” She paused. It seemed crass to discuss the monetary compensation now. “I gave her my bride money.”

  “And yet you came to me when your mother needed you?”

  “The treaty is absolute.” Mercy wasn’t happy about it at the time but, well, she couldn’t say the current situation was better. Things were pretty grim.

  “You are generous and kind, Mercy Drake.” He squeezed her shoulder. “When this unpleasantness is finished, we will bring your mother here. Mahdfel medicine can repair her damaged tissue.”

  Mercy yawned. Her eyes grew too heavy to keep open.

  ***

  “Mercy.” A cool hand on her forehead. She surfaced into consciousness. “You have a fever. You need the antidote. I will be back soon.”

  “No, don’t leave me,” she mumbled.

  A kiss pressed on her forehead. “I will be back soon,” he repeated.

  ***

  “Finally alone, little human,” a voice said in the dark.

  Mercy stirred in the blankets, struggling to sit up. A firm hand pushed her back down. “I planned to stab you a second time to make Paax seek medicine. He is a stubborn one.”

  “Mylomon,” Mercy said. The desire to rage at him, to sneer for using a poison blade crossed her mind but it felt like too much effort. Staying awake was hard enough. “Paax is—”

  “Quiet now. Let me bring you to the Warlord.”

  Strong arms lifted her from the ground. Mercy slipped into unconsciousness.

  Chapter Seven

  Paax

  Desperate times. Desperate measures.

  Paax always liked that Earth saying. Humans understood compromise and necessary evil.

  Working in the lab, he recreated the serum Omas demanded but his thoughts never strayed far from Mercy or her shy and trusting smile. She sacrificed so much to journey to him and only asked that he be kind.

  Omas had never been a particularly kind man. He had no expectations of his warriors being kind. Paax could not fathom where to start but he would reshape the universe to include a kind hearted version of Paax Nawk, because his little star desired it.

  A luminescent blue fluid glowed in tubes. He placed a rack of the tubes carefully into a centrifuge. Watching the tubes spin faster and faster, until they formed a solid blue wall, Paax absently rubbed the tattoo on his chest. It burned feverishly.

  Yes, Omas sent her to manipulate Paax. Yes, he could see Omas’s plan from orbit it was so obvious. Continue to manufacture the serum for Omas and keep his bride. Refuse and Omas will claim Mercy. Paax was a man of reason, above petty manipulations and threats. And yet Omas’s crude plan worked.

  To be without Mercy was unthinkable. Unacceptable. He vowed to do what was necessary to keep her.

  To willingly sacrifice himself for another was so unexpected. So foreign. If his Warlord had told him two days ago he’d willingly agree to return to the Judgment, trading his freedom for the life of a human woman, he’d laugh in his Warlord’s face. Omas never let sentimentality guide his actions.

  He was same as his twin in that regard.

  Yet this woman… Less than a day in his life and already so much had changed within him.

  What Omas demanded was unacceptable. Even if Paax capitulated, Omas grew more unstable every day. His moods swung wildly. He was unfit to lead the Judgment and her crew. He needed to be challenged. Yet the serum made it impossible for a challenger to hope to win. Omas was strong and wickedly fast. A dozen swords could run him through, his regeneration rate was quick enough that such a wound would not slow him.

  If only…

  If only what? If only Omas was still the boy Paax remembered? The other half of his being? Those days were long gone. Wishing for their return was pointless.

  Paax would only reach one conclusion. He made Omas. He would unmake him.

  Mercy

  For the second time in as many days, Mercy woke in a strange bed.

  Bright lights overhead temporarily blinded her. Beeping machines surrounded her. A dark demon leaned over the bed. The curve of his horns came to a wicked point.

  Mylomon.

  Weak as she was, Mercy attempted to scramble away. Pain radiated from her side. She drew her breath in sharp. Her hands clutched fruitlessly at the sheets and only managed to shift her weight. She lacked the strength to sit up, let alone run away.

  “Calm yourself,” the demon said.

  “You fucking stabbed me! Where’s Paax!”

  “I’m not your enemy.” Could have fooled her.

  “You. Stabbed. Me.”

  Mylomon leaned in close, his nose nearly touching hers. His eyes, dark and empty as the void, held hers. “Quiet, human, or I’ll do worse. Are we agreed?”

  Mercy gulped an
d nodded.

  Satisfied, Mylomon pulled away. “I brought you here for a very specific reason.”

  “You kidnapped me!”

  He growled a warning. “To Sangrin, human. I suggested to the Warlord that Paax should be matched. I planted the seed.”

  “To manipulate him.” The conversation with Paax came back to her in great detail. Omas gave Paax two options: return to the ship and keep his bride or defy his warlord and face a challenge he cannot hope to win. It was no choice at all.

  “To open his eyes!” Mylomon paced the room. “Paax Nawk is brilliant but myopic. He cannot see beyond his laboratory. I’ve struggled for ages to make him confront the flaws in our Warlord but he refused. Flaws he exacerbated.”

  “The serum.”

  “Yes,” he hissed. “That blasted serum. As if being stronger and faster could protect his mate when she already slipped through his fingers.”

  Mercy did not understand. “Who?”

  “Omas’s mate. Naomi. She died unexpectedly.”

  “From childbirth?” A ninety-eight point five percent match still held the chance that pregnancy would prove fatal for mother and child.

  Mylomon gave her a look that implied she was simple. “No. Mortar fire hit our encampment. The Suhlik caught us by surprise.” From the grumble in his voice, Mercy suspected being caught by surprise hardly ever happened. “Since then Omas has been… troubled. He is no longer the right Warlord for our clan but no one man can challenge him.”

  “Because of what Paax did.”

  “Yes. When Paax finally saw the problem, he ran away. I suggested to Omas that a bride could bind him to the Judgment better than any threat.”

  “You call me a coward,” a familiar voice said. Mercy twisted her head. Joy rose in her chest. Paax stood in the doorway, hands clenched and looking thoroughly displeased.