Battalion's Bride (Alien SciFi Romance) (Celestial Mates Series Book 8)

by C. J. Scarlett

  “Who are the original inhabitants?” I asked, curious. Clara seemed to be the more communicative and kinder of the two.

  “The Kamani,” she replied, wrapping my hair in a towel. “They are a race of bear-shifters. They aren’t as advanced as the Ak-hal.”

  “What do they call the planet?”

  “It doesn’t matter. You will never be allowed to converse with the Kamani,” Sarita said in her blunt manner. “They are lesser beings.”

  “But… isn’t it their planet?”

  “No, it’s soon to be the Ak-hal’s,” Clara said brightly. Her rosy lips smiled delicately. She reminded me of one of the porcelain dolls that I had owned as a child—I had called her my “angel-baby.” She had the same bow-shaped lips, deep blue eyes, and strategic blonde ringlets escaping from her bun.

  “Up,” Sarita ordered as soon as they were through with their ministrations. I sighed, standing. The water was still hot—it seemed like a waste. Goosebumps broke out across my skin as soon as I stood. Sarita wrapped a thick, soft, white towel about me before helping me to step over the steep side of the mithrim tub. I shivered as I was guided over to the soft chair in front of the vanity. Using what looked like a laser, Sarita removed the hair from my legs. It burned a little as it traveled the length of my legs. She lifted my arm, doing the same with my armpits.

  “This removes the hair permanently,” Sarita said. “You will never have to worry about it again.” I thought bleakly about it running over my scalp. Would the Ak-hal not want me then? How ugly could I make myself? Would they then take pity on me? Let me live and work in their kitchens? Clean the floors? Meanwhile, Clara tugged a brush through my hair. She pulled out what looked like a hair straightener. However, when she ran it over my hair, it dried it with a hissing sound.

  “What is that?” I asked.

  “It’s a higher-tech version of a hair dryer,” Clara explained. “It’s much quieter, don’t you think?” I nodded. She took out a curling wand and began to go to work. If I hadn’t had been so terrified, it might have felt nice being pampered.

  “Clara?”

  “Yes?”

  “When did they take you?” She was silent for a moment.

  “They took me in eighteen-fifty.”

  “Your mate—is he nice?”

  “He is good to me,” she replied. “Since they lost their women, we are considered treasures to the Ak-hal. They treat us like queens. You will see.”

  “Are you happy?” This time, she was quiet for a longer period of time.

  “It’s a woman’s lot to adjust,” she replied archly.

  “You missed the women’s suffrage movement,” I said softly. “We have power now. Not total equality, but we do have a say in things… on Earth, at least.” Clara seemed about to ask me something. Her brow was furrowed.

  “Hush,” Sarita said sharply. “You aren’t on Earth any longer. That power is gone now. That time is long gone now. You don’t even know if it’s still true. The Ak-hal is your present and your future.” Something inside of me began to heat up. I kept myself quiet. I studied my eyes in the large mirror before me. I saw them—still alive, still thinking, still feeling. They could demand that I bend all that they wanted. But I wouldn’t break. I had read so many novels throughout my existence on Earth. They had all taught me—courage. Courage in the face of adversity. I had expected to live out a quiet existence—with my books and my cups of tea. But it seemed as though I had, like many of my favorite characters—I, too, had been thrown into the fray. I noticed Clara studying my face in the mirror as she worked on my hair. She smiled slightly, and I saw both fear and sadness in her look. I smiled back confidently. I would survive this. I would look for the first opportunity to get free, and I would take it, grabbing on with both hands and holding on tight.

  Chapter 3

  When they were finished, I hardly recognized myself. Usually, I had tended to favor the goth-chic look—dark, heavy black eyeliner, dark crimson or cherry-red lipstick, pale skin. But now, my hair fell down my back in soft, thick, brunette waves. My eyes were done in gold shadow, with an ultra-thin, barely there lines of black eyeliner. Delicately shaded bronzer brought my cheekbones into prominence. My lips were a dusky rose color. I twirled my hips a little, listening to the soft swish of the satin skirt. They had put me into soft black lace-edged underwear, similar to Spanx, but in a finer, softer fabric. Almost a body suit, its thick, padded cups lifted and separated my breasts. Thick, soft tights covered my legs. They were warm, made of a material close to cashmere.

  The dress itself was made of thick satin. It was gold in color, with royal blue flowers of a kind that I had never seen before: seven lush interlocking petals with a purplish center and tiny flecks of scarlet. It had sleeves that fit tightly and a snug bodice. It had a low décolletage, the neckline plunging daringly and edged in a thin, dark-blue lace. The skirt was snug down over my hips, flaring out halfway down my thigh. It absolutely hid the delicate boots that I wore. The boots were knee-high, and laced up. They were made of a soft tawny suede. Clara stood behind me, affixing a choker about my neck. I placed my hand on the charm that hung from the black velvet ribbon. It was shaped like a tiny gold heart, a smaller heart-shaped piece of Mother of Pearl set within the very center. A tiny pearl, like a teardrop, hung off the bottom point of the heart. Sarita re-entered, carrying a golden crown-like headdress. She placed it on top of my head. It fit snugly, with significant weight; it had the same flowers that adorned my dress close to my face, with golden rays coming out of the top and sides, like the sun.

  “I don’t look like myself at all,” I remarked. Sarita smiled. At some point, she had snuck off and changed. She wore a bright red dress, similar in make to mine and Clara’s. She looked regal in it, her posture straight and confident. She, too, wore one of the strange headdresses, this one on a grander scale. I wondered if her neck didn’t hurt supporting such weight.

  “You are no longer yourself,” she said, and the thought struck me as sad, but I hid it. I realized that, in order to survive in the world of the Ak-hal, I would have to build a strong façade. I had two weeks. As soon as I stepped foot outside of this ship, the clock would begin ticking. Although I wasn’t sure that escape would be possible, I knew that I would have to keep both eyes open for any chance that I would get. The idea of spending an eternity with one of those beautiful, awful creatures that had hunted me down absolutely sickened me.

  At that moment, there seemed to be a soft, yet slightly jarring movement within the ship. A chiming sound rang through the room. Sarita grinned widely as my stomach lurched.

  “We have landed,” she said lightly. She had rarely shown emotion in the two short hours that I had known her, but at this moment, she was obviously excited to get me onto the chopping block and wash her hands clean of me. My hands shook slightly. Clara took my hand within one of her own. I looked at her, and she smiled at me kindly. I wondered, and not for the first time, if I could trust her.

  “I was nervous, too,” she said. “It will all turn out right. I’m sure of it.” I nodded and took a deep breath. Sarita handed me a long, thick cloak made of blue satin and lined with a thick, warm white pelt. I snuggled into it, wondering what type of animal the fur had come from—it seemed like polar bear? Those couldn’t exist on another planet, could they? I shook the thought away. Fear made me cold, and the cloak was warm and luxurious. I followed Clara and Sarita down the dim hallways of the ship. There was a tiny, arched doorway at the very end, opened to reveal a bright, white landscape. As we grew nearer, I realized that what I saw was snow.

  The glare of the sun was bright on the snow. And I squinted as we exited the ship, making our way down a mithrim gangplank. An icy wind came across the plain, and it stung the exposed flesh of my face. I pulled the cloak tighter about me. Far away, I saw a great, white lumbering shape. I pointed.

  “What is that?” I asked.

  “One of the Kamani,” Clara explained. “A bear-shif
ter. Your cloak is made from the skin of one.” I felt sickened by the thought—the creature, despite its large size, moved with a breathtaking elegance.

  “Are there no other animals? I mean, didn’t you say they were people?”

  “They are lesser, I said,” Sarita said firmly. She pulled her own cloak tight about her. I turned to my left to see a massive castle, gleaming against the snow, made of pure white mithrim. Its towers were high and spindly, like a castle in a fairytale, but this building was awful in its brilliance. A castle of ice and ghosts, I thought. Sarita smiled proudly, as though she owned the castle. The sun glinted off her headdress.

  “It’s called Argaram Castle,” she said proudly, looking at me.

  “It’s… beautiful,” I replied for lack of anything better to say.

  Upon entering, I saw them everywhere. The Ak-hal, I thought to myself. We were in a wide courtyard, walled in by mithrim. The stones of the courtyard were of a sky blue, porous stone. Bushes grew along the walls. The strange flowers that adorned my dress grew on them. I wondered at how this was possible—it was bitter cold.

  The Ak-hal stood in groups. I noticed some of their bright, fearsome eyes glancing over at our small group. They were dressed in tawny-colored fitted pants, with white tunics and cloaks with the pelts of the Kamani. How many Kamani had died at their hands? I listened to them speaking to one another. I realized with a jolt that I understood their strange, musical tongue.

  “I understand them…” I mumbled in shock.

  “While you were in stasis, you were taught the language of the Ak-hal,” Sarita said. “You have also been taught their ways and customs. It’s dormant now, but as you require it, it will come to you.”

  “Can I speak the Kamani tongue?”

  “Why would you need to know that?” Sarita scoffed with a laugh as we entered the main fortress, and walked down a blank mithrim hallway. From time to time, a window was set in the wall, like a bright jewel. The heels of my boots made barely a sound as we walked across the floor, made of the same porous stone as the courtyard. Inside, it was warm, although I couldn’t see a heat source nor vent. Many human women passed us, walking in groups of two or three. They kept their heads down, their gaze fixed upon the ground. Suddenly, my own head snapped downward, my eyes fixed on the ground before me.

  “You see?” Sarita asked me, looking at me sideways as her head was tilted downward, “It comes to you as it’s required.” It felt as though my own body betrayed me.

  “Where are we going?” I asked, wanting to change the subject.

  “You are to be presented to the unmated of the Ak-hal,” she explained. Clara was strangely silent. We reached the end of the hallway, opening into a cavernous room, lit by a large fireplace at one end, and many large taper candles set in sconces along the walls.

  I was unsure as to whether the Ak-hal wanted to be medieval or high tech. They seemed to be somewhere in the middle, utilizing medieval customs and etiquette, while employing extremely developed technological items. At the side of the room directly across from the fireplace, there was a large dais, on which sat two chairs. One was large and ornate, sculpted from mithrim, while the other was small, simple, and made of a bronze material. The room glowed with a warm, orange-red light. I looked upward to find that an abundance of red lanterns hung from the ceiling, accompanied by streamers and bunches of the haunting blue flowers, so that the plainness of the mithrim was obscured entirely.

  All about us, women dressed in colorful dresses were grouped. Some looked pale, worried, while others seemed untouched. It appeared that I wasn’t the only newcomer. There were no Ak-hal to be seen. I turned to Sarita to ask her about this.

  “How many of us have they taken?”

  “You sound so accusatory,” she remarked, not deigning to look at me as she said this.

  “They took us. Against our will,” I snapped. She looked at me and the emptiness of her gaze was terrifying.

  “Someday, you will learn to thank them.”

  “I doubt that,” I whispered. She looked away from me, her chin raising proudly.

  “This is where I leave you,” she said with a cold smile and walked toward the dais. I looked around me. Clara had disappeared, and I hadn’t noticed. My heart fluttered nervously, and I looked back toward where Sarita had disappeared into the crowd. She was gracefully ascending the mithrim steps of the dais. She walked confidently, sitting down in the simpler bronze chair. She looked down over the crowd, as though she were queen. She is, I realized as I beheld her unreadable gaze. She looked at me from across the room. How I was so important as to have been waited upon by the queen, I didn’t know. I stood alone, mystified and frightened.

  An Ak-hal dressed in crimson entered through a door beside the dais, his tawny breeches almost a golden color. His boots were tall, shiny black leather. He had a long, crimson train, edged in what looked like Kamani pelt. He had long, pale hair and vibrantly blue eyes. His features were perfect—nose straight, cheekbones prominent. His chin was sharp, and his eyebrows were high and arched. He wore a crown, golden, and spindly like Argaram Castle. He took Sarita’s hand without looking at her. The two of them made a fearsome pair with their twin blank gazes and erect postures. I presumed, correctly, that this was their king.

  “Welcome, newcomers,” the king said. “By now, you are familiar with our custom. You have been chosen for your beauty among women of your race. You have all the attributes that the Ak-hal prize the most: looks, intelligence, and a calm demeanor. You have two weeks to find your mate among the Ak-hal. If, by the end of two weeks, you haven’t been mated, you will be executed.” There was a cold stone in the pit of my stomach. His voice was affectless, flat. “The unmated Ak-hal shall enter now.” As if a signal had been given, the Ak-hal entered through another door beside the dais, on Sarita’s left. They entered in military fashion, in lines of three, with frightening precision.

  To me, they all looked the same, with small, ornamental differences. They marched in on silent feet. They wore their hair long. Some, like the king, had pale, almost silvery-blond hair. Others had raven black hair. They had that strange, inhuman beauty to them—their features were perfect, as though carven from stone. Suddenly, my body moved—betraying me again. I moved in unison with the others. We all moved into formation—three lines, mirroring that of the Ak-hal.

  We stood, facing them, almost a mirror image. My face was arranged without emotion. I didn’t look to my sides, but I knew that all the other women beside me looked the same. I was in the front line, facing the Ak-hal. I wondered, for the first time, why the only race that they abducted were those of the human race. Out of the whole universe, how were we so unlucky as to draw their attention?

  Suddenly, music started, my arm lifted, hand raised gracefully to accept the hand of the Ak-hal facing me. I looked from side to side. I could see no musicians. Other women moved around me to meet the lines of the Ak-hal. Everyone was in motion, as though choreographed. My posture was straight. I looked blankly into the bright eyes of the Ak-hal holding my hand in his. He didn’t smile. I had once seen a video of a machine kept in a museum—they had been all the rage in the 1700s. They moved mechanically, with a strange amount of grace. They were known as automatons, and they could draw pictures with strange flourishes. He moved just like that machine. His hand went to my waist, a slight pressure. I felt nervous, unsure. My body knew what to do, but I had no idea what I should be feeling. How would I know that I had been chosen as a mate?

  At an embellishment of the music, the Ak-hal placed his other hand on my waist, lifting me in time to the music. My skirts swirled gracefully. I would never have been able to do this on my own. The innate training that had occurred while I was in stasis was contrary to my true nature. My body had gone renegade from my mind, in a flurry of confusion. I could smell the skin of the Ak-hal; it was masculine, clean. His hair was worn short. I couldn’t see what it looked like, exactly. My heart hammered nervously in my chest. I
wanted to look up and study his face, but my gaze remained trained downward, my eyes staring at his chest.

  With another trill in the music, I felt myself twirled about, and deposited in the arms of another Ak-hal, this one blond. His scent was so similar to that of the other. He had a crimson sash that crossed his chest. It was all that I could see. The dance seemed to go on for ages, and at irregular-seeming intervals, I found myself with a different Ak-hal partner. Other than the music, silence reigned throughout the hall, aside from the sound of the steps, something akin to a waltz, if I had learned anything from Disney movies.

  I was unsure as to whether this was part of the Ak-hal mating process. If I had to guess, it was. I had read enough Austen to know that dancing was considered to be a significant step. As I thought about it, even in my own time, dancing was still a part of the process, even if it had degraded to nothing more than one person grinding up against another.

  The music ended as abruptly as it had begun. I found myself staring at the chest of a raven-haired Ak-hal, a deep emerald-green sash worn over his tunic. He clasped my hand within his own, his other coming away from my waist.

  “Is it over?” I whispered, finding myself speaking the musical tongue of the Ak-hal.

  “Yes,” he responded. “Did you enjoy it?”

  “Oh, yes,” I responded, although, in my mind, I screamed in the negative. This whole situation was bizarre and laced with poison. My life hung dangerously in the balance, and I knew not how to sway it in my own favor.

  “Are you thirsty?” he asked me, tucking my hand gently into his bent arm. I found that I was able to look him in the face. Was he allowing it? Was there some mental manipulation occurring here?

  “Quite,” I responded delicately. He smiled, although it didn’t reach his eyes. They glittered coldly. He led me to the side of the room, along which there was a banquet table, laden with food and drink. I looked upon the excess. Enormous roasted birds, bigger than a turkey, approximately the size of an ostrich. Elegantly decorated cakes, lush with icing. There were what appeared to be cut fruits, but their colors were far more vibrant than those of Earth. I could identify none. No one ate. If anything was taken, it was a beverage. Towers of champagne flutes, filled with liquids in many shades of gold, rose, and platinum. It almost appeared undrinkable. I wondered if they were poison.