His eyebrows went up. “You claimed a female?”
“An Earth female. She’s mine. Where is she?”
Seton continued, seeing I was anxious. “All I know is your parents transported to Xalia nine days ago. No other transports came here from Outpost Two until you showed up a few minutes ago, half dead. You somehow transported here, to Outpost Nine.
I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. Gods take it. I was on the Northern continent, in High Councilor Tark’s territory.
Of course Seton was here. I’d sent him to Tark two months ago to work out Drover protection schedules over trade routes in the West, a duty Tark and I shared.
“How the fark you did it with your injuries, I have no idea.” Seton looked down my body and watched as the doctor tried to work on me. We’d stopped moving but I couldn’t see around all the bodies that circled me. I had no idea where I was, exactly. I had to assume they’d carried me to the medical station.
“Get me the leader of your guards,” I said, my voice loud and commanding. “Now!”
The head guard, a commander, pushed his way between attendants, bowed to me. His uniform and insignia indicated his high rank. “I’m Commander Loris. It is good to see you alive, Councilor.” While his words were well wishes, his tone was anything but happy as he saw the extent of my wounds. “Your injuries indicated you’d been tortured.”
“Mmm,” I murmured, thinking of what the Drovers had done to me. That was nothing compared to what I felt now. Out of control. Frustrated. The pain was lessening with whatever the doctors were doing, but it wouldn’t soothe the need to search every corner of the planet for Natalie. “They did not attack as usual.”
“They kept you alive, you mean?” Commander Loris asked.
“Exactly. It is not their usual behavior. Why did they not just kill me with the others?”
Seton cleared his throat. “There have been a number of cases in the North, Councilor, where they have taken high-ranking officials and tribal leaders and demanded a ransom.”
“And did they demand a ransom for me?”
“No. It’s safe to assume they didn’t realize who you were when they took you.”
I dropped my head back onto the stretcher and closed my eyes. “They would never release a councilor.”
“Exactly.” Seton’s hand landed on my shoulder with a gentle squeeze. “You’d be too dangerous an enemy.”
If they’d touched Natalie, if they’d hurt her, they had no idea how terrible an enemy I’d become.
“Where is my mate, Seton?”
“As soon as you were cleared from the transport pad, I sent a group of guards to Outpost Two.” He looked away for a moment, then back. “It’s only been an hour, but they are reporting back complete carnage, as you know. Typical Drover actions. They have yet to find any survivors.”
“My mate was there.”
His cool demeanor slipped, his eyes widened. I watched as his jaw clenched. “What does she look like?”
“She is beautiful.” With my eyes still closed it was easy to picture her, as I’d been doing during my captivity. “Golden hair and pale eyes, like yours, but blue.” The bluest eyes, the softest smile, lush curves, pert nipples adorned with little rings, a pink pussy.
“I’ll find her.” Seton patted my shoulder as the doctor stepped forward and I opened my eyes to look at him, to judge the veracity of his vow. He meant what he said, and I nodded. He was a good man. A good friend.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, but we need to get you into the ReGeneration Pod. You’re bleeding internally, sir.”
Fark.
“You’re no good to your mate, or your people, if you’re dead,” the doctor insisted.
Gods damn all doctors for stating the obvious and being asses about it.
“I’m sorry, Councilor.” The commander cleared his throat, his hand to his ear as if he were actively listening to an incoming message. He started to speak, stuttered, as if the next words were getting stuck. “I…They said they’ve found a woman dead in the transport center.” He cleared his throat again but did not tell me anything more.
“How do I know it’s her?”
Commander Loris walked to the side of the room, mumbling too low for me to hear. I waved the doctor off when he moved forward, the intensity of my glare enough to inform him that I wasn’t going into the healing pod, not yet.
The commander stepped toward us again, his expression more grim than just a moment ago. “Councilor.” He swallowed slowly, the slow movement of his throat and refusal to meet my gaze caused my pulse to pound in alarm. “They also found a cream-colored dress coated with blood.”
My heart skipped a beat, then roared in my chest. Natalie. Natalie had been wearing that dress when we walked out of Mirana, looking beautiful and flushed, her skin glowing with health, her eyes dancing with happiness. No. Gods no.
“How did she die?” My voice cracked and fire burned in my eyes. I would kill them all. Every fucking Drover on the entire southern continent. The commander’s gaze was filled with pity, which only served to make me angrier. “How. Did. She. Die?”
He glanced at Seton, who nodded almost imperceptibly.
“Stabbed in the back, sir.”
My vision became fuzzy and the doctor yelled with alarm. “Get him into the Pod! Now! Or we’re going to lose him.”
Seton assisted the medical staff as they lifted me from the stretcher into the ReGen Pod. The commander followed alongside us, pausing, listening to a voice coming through his communication device. “They’ve completed their search of Outpost Two.”
“And?” Seton turned to him. Everyone stopped moving as the commander took a deep breath. My gaze drifted over the medical staff, Seton and the doctor as the commander tried to find the words we all already knew.
“Nothing but bodies, sir. I’m sorry. The sand and the flesh beetles have made it nearly impossible to identify the victims without DNA analysis. But the search crews say it won’t matter, Councilor. I’m sorry. If your mate was at Outpost Two, she’s dead.”
Dead. My Natalie. My beautiful mate. Her body eaten away by the scavengers of the desert, the large, orange beetles that could pick a nox’s bones clean in a matter of days.
“No!” I bellowed, trying to sit up, then hissing in pain. Alarms sounded and the doctor cursed.
“Calm down, sir. You’re bleeding heavily. Your heart can’t take much more.”
One of the others, a medical assistant in green, stepped forward. “He’s bottoming out, Doctor. His heart is going to stop.”
“Fark, Roark! Hold still!” Seton shouted at me and I relented because my body betrayed me, too weak to support my rage. Seton took full advantage, turning to the doctor. “Activate the pod now.” He turned back to me, his pale eyes blazing with emotions I did not have the presence of mind, nor the concern, to name. “We’ll make them pay, Roark. I promise you. But you can’t hunt your mate’s killers if you’re dead.”
“Do it.” I stopped fighting, let the rage turn cold and hard inside me as I held the doctor’s gaze. “Twelve hours.”
“But, sir. My apologies. I highly recommend you remain in the pod for a full cycle. Your wounds are extensive.” The doctor wrung his hands and I shook my head.
“No. Twelve hours. No more.” Twelve hours and I would return to Outpost Two with a thousand men, and rain fire down on the Drovers until the ache in my heart eased, or until I was dead.
Multiple sets of hands had transferred me to the soft, cocoon-like structure to be healed. I watched as the walls came up all around me, sealing me inside a ReGen Pod. The doctor’s concerned face was clearly visible through the odd blue glass above my face. He adjusted the controls on the side of the pod as the doctor began the healing cycle.
“Natalie.” I spoke her name softly, reverently, like my own personal prayer. I was sure they all could see the anguish in my eyes.
Seton leaned forward so I could see his face through the glass. “I will transport to Outpost Tw
o myself and search for her while you recover. You have my word that all efforts will be made to find out exactly what happened.”
“Leave him be. He needs to heal, and he’s already fighting the pod.” The doctor nudged Seton out of my view and I stared, unseeing, straight ahead. Pale yellow lights surrounded me and I knew I would be rendered unconscious for the healing in a matter of seconds.
I looked to Commander Loris, thoughts and orders spinning in my mind. Where to search. Who to take. Weapons procurements. Hunting grids. I opened my mouth to issue the orders, but the only word that came from my lips before the pod took over my body’s energies was her name.
***
Natalie
The constant, electrical hum of the baby monitor on the kitchen counter was both comfort and distraction as I polished off the grilled cheese and tomato soup the cook had prepared for lunch. I sat in the kitchen at a small, round table where the servants came and went, stopping for a quick bite and a bit of gossip. It was the same table where I’d eaten most meals as a child, more orphan than Montgomery, sent to the country when I came home from school so as not to interfere with their parties and schedules in the city.
Although, they did usually send for me at Christmas, dress me up like a princess and parade me through a string of children’s parties with fat, rosy-cheeked Santas with the other rich, pampered children.
I’d looked at each of those children in turn and wondered if their lives were like mine. If their parents actually cared, or if they, like me, were simply ornaments to be displayed at certain times of year.
“Stop it.” I spoke the order to myself and glanced at the monitor. My little one still slept, his normal two-hour nap the only time I had to do anything for myself. I refused to allow the staff to care for him, to hold him, feed him or bathe him. He was mine and he was loved.
And he was going to feel that love every moment of every day of his life. I was going to be the one constant in his life. He would never wonder about his parent’s love as I had. He might only have one, but I had enough love for him.
With a sigh, I stood and carried my plate and empty bowl to the giant white porcelain sink. Susan, the cook, nodded her thanks from where she stirred tonight’s supper, a delicious-smelling, homemade, chicken noodle soup.
I thanked her for lunch and grabbed the monitor, heading for my bedroom. I had a stack of Noah’s clothes in a basket on my bed, waiting to be folded. Miranda, the maid, said she would do them for me, but I had declined.
I liked to bury my nose in his little clothes, hold them to my face and inhale the sweet baby scent of my son. He smelled like home to me. Like love.
Walking out of the kitchen, I passed the adjoining room without even glancing inside. I had no need to see the formal dining room where I’d taken so many meals alone. The table beyond was long, polished mahogany, and large enough to seat twenty. An elaborate chandelier hung low over the center. The chairs were high-backed and stiff, just like my parents.
I wondered how they ever got down and dirty enough to have a child in the first place. I couldn’t fathom it. Perhaps I was the product of in-vitro fertilization. I could imagine my mother in a sterile doctor’s office more than in the throes of passion, opening her body to her lover, taking what he offered, demanding more.
And just like that, my thoughts went up in flames. Roark. Always, when my mind drifted to my mate, my body would grow hot and needy, the ache between my legs very real. But nothing compared to the immediate ache that overtook my heart.
He was dead. He had to be. I’d waited for him for a long time, hoping. Hope had kept me going through the pregnancy. Hope that he’d come for me, as he’d promised. Hope that he’d survived the brutal Drover attack, even after Warden Egara told me otherwise.
But days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months, then a year. Our son grew in my womb and came into the world, screaming and fighting. And still, my mate was gone.
Warden Egara’s inquiries turned up nothing new. Outpost Two was lost. No survivors.
Roark was gone. Warden Egara said she could go to the Interstellar Coalition, to someone called The Prime, on the planet Prillon, the guy in charge of the whole Coalition, and ask for an exception for me and Noah. Ask for another mate on Trion.
I didn’t want another mate. My heart was broken enough. Roark had been mine, my perfect match. My one true love. I’d felt the bond between us instantly and I’d given him everything, heart and soul and body. I had nothing left to give another mate. Noah was the only thing that mattered to me now. I had nothing left for a new man. Nothing.
But, luckily, I didn’t need a mate to survive. I didn’t need, nor want for, anything. When my parents heard about the baby, they’d deeded this property to me within forty-eight hours. I had unlimited access to multiple bank accounts filled with more money than I could spend in three lifetimes. For me, they said. So I would be secure, they insisted.
But we all knew the truth.
The house wasn’t in the heart of Boston, where my parents’ main residence was. The country home was more than a hundred miles outside the city, with fresh air and horses and none of my parents’ friends, colleagues, country club acquaintances, or business associates within miles. An illegitimate grandchild—and they’d not accepted my mating as a true legal joining—was one thing.
An alien’s offspring was another.
Better to keep me and little Noah—a grandchild they’d yet to meet—hidden from the rest of the world. If I had all the money I needed, a place to live, I wouldn’t rock the boat. I wouldn’t complain. I’d remain invisible as I always had.
I hurried up the stairs, my bare feet and loose hair a freedom I’d given myself since my time with Roark. My mother would not approve, insisting shoes be worn at all times, unless one was in bed. But I no longer cared what my mother thought, what she did or where she went. I only cared about my son.
The upstairs hallway, once filled with vases and priceless works of art, had been stripped bare on my orders. I’d spent a lifetime trying not to touch anything, break anything, tiptoeing around my own home like an invader.
Noah would not live that life. He was not yet four months old, but he would be crawling soon, and I would make this house his playground. Everything would be baby-proof and made safe for him to explore.
He would feel safe and comfortable. He would have the childhood I did not.
My bedroom was beautiful, the pale-cream-and-gold carpeting, the chocolate-brown silk on my bed. A large canopy was draped in brown and white, creating a protective cocoon for me to sleep in.
I walked to the edge and sat next to the laundry basket I’d left a few hours ago. The scent of fabric softener and baby drifted to me, and I smiled. A few steps away, the door to Noah’s adjoining nursery stood slightly ajar. Just a crack, but enough that I could hear his little body rustling and moving as he woke from his nap.
Unable to resist, I went to him. His nursery was not the usual, animals going two-by-two or big, cuddly bears. Noah was special, and I wanted him to know where he came from.
Three walls were covered with stars and constellations. On the fourth, just above his head, I’d paid an artist to paint Roark’s symbols, the crossed swords that represented Noah’s father, and the symbol of his family, in two matching shields.
The servants hadn’t asked, and I didn’t offer to explain. I’d taken photos of the medallions that still dangled from the chain between my breasts with a cell phone and given them to the painter when she arrived.
The woman simply nodded and transformed the wall above Noah’s crib into both art and tribute in a dark, rich, gold-colored paint. Above his sweet head hung a mobile of the sun and moon that played “Twinkle Twinkle” when I pushed the button. Stored in my bedroom, in the nightstand drawer, was everything I had been able to find on the planet Trion. It wasn’t much, but Warden Egara had helped, and I had photos of his home world, of the people who looked like he did, with their olive-toned skin, black hair and intens
e stares. I knew Noah would grow up to be big like his father. He’d weighed nearly ten pounds when he was born, and was so long he’d been lean despite the weight. He’d needed extra feeding to keep up with his growth and I’d quickly embraced the bottle as a way to feed his insatiable appetite.
Noah looked like his father, and yet he didn’t. My son had thick black hair and olive skin. But his eyes were mine. Dark blue when he was born, instead of growing darker, as I’d expected, his eyes had grown paler by the day, matching my pale blue. The contrast in his coloring was striking already, and I knew, someday, I would be chasing girls away from him and his exotic looks.
But for now, he was mine. “Hey, big guy.”
His eyes opened and he saw me. Just like that, he smiled, his chubby little cheeks bunching and his eyes sparkling with unfiltered joy.
Love rushed through me, so strong and fierce I could barely contain it. I reached for him, lifting him from his crib. I placed him on the changing table, dealt with a wet diaper quickly. He kicked and fidgeted, eager to get on with it as I laughed and blew raspberries on his soft little belly.
These were the moments when I rejoiced in my time on Trion.
Late at night, alone in bed, I missed him still. My mate. Roark. Being with Noah brought a little of Roark into the room.
Determined not to ruin the day, I leaned over and pressed my lips to Noah’s soft belly again, blowing air in a loud, silly stream on his petal-soft skin. He kicked and squealed, his chubby little fingers brushing the bare skin of my stomach where he’d found an opening under my soft cotton T-shirt. My jeans were comfortable and well worn, and only one size larger than what I’d worn before. Not too bad.
I leaned over and made wild, growly noises as Noah squealed and kicked.
But then the fun stopped. Noah’s hand wrapped around the gold chain that hung from my nipples and he tugged. Hard.
“Ouch!” With a chuckle, I lifted my shirt and found his chubby little fist clutched around the medallion in the center, the one his father had given me. “Let go, silly. That’s not for you, baby. That belongs to Mommy.”
Her Mate's Secret Baby (Interstellar Brides Book 9) Page 8