by Susan Hayes
She made her way to the site down a flight of stairs and through a maintenance corridor that ran beneath the main passage. The area was crowded with conduits and pipes that looked like they were at least twenty years older than she was. Some of them were leaking fluid that dripped onto the floor to form incandescent puddles that she took great care to avoid.
She reached the spot that should have been her exit, but instead of a nice easy staircase like the one she’d descended, there was nothing but a series of steel bars secured to the wall. “A fraxxing ladder? In this dress? Are you kidding me, universe? This is how I’m going to die, isn’t it?”
She continued muttering as she tucked up her skirt as best she could manage, baring her legs almost to the hip in the process. She made the climb slowly, hands locking around each rung with a death grip that she had to force herself to release each time it came to reach up again. Veth, she hated heights.
Thankfully, there was a nice, stable platform at the top where she could stand as she unlocked the door and opened it a crack to see what was on the other side. She could hear the murmur of a crowd, but a quick check showed her that they were all facing away from her. Perfect.
She slipped in behind them, closing the door with care so there was no noise to attract attention her way. She straightened her dress as best she could, checked her hair, and did her best to act as if she had every right to be there. The crowd of onlookers appeared to thin down to her right, so she started making her way in that direction, trying to get close enough to be able to see what was going on.
“I don’t want to know how you got here, do I?” a deep voice rumbled as a massive hand came down on her shoulder.
“Hey, Zale.” She tried to sound nonchalant as she smiled up at the big half-Torski.
“Hello, pipsqueak. You’re not supposed to be here.”
“And you are?”
“We were with Archer when the first message arrived. He invited us to observe with the rest of the aides and entourage types.”
She huffed. “You were having a meeting about what to do with our new friends, weren’t you? Why wasn’t I invited? I’m being shut out, and it’s really starting to super my nova.”
“It was just a casual conversation over drinks at the reception. You weren’t invited because Archer’s still annoyed with you for hacking into his communications.” Zale gave her a look that reminded her of her mother – if her mother had fangs and all-black eyes, that is. “If you stopped irking him, you might be surprised how supportive Archer is to the cyborg cause.”
“I don’t like secrets, and he’s keeping too many,” she declared.
“Which is exactly why you’re here, isn’t it?” Zale’s cousin Denz turned around to wink at her.
“You know me so well.” She gave Zale her sweetest smile. “Can I use you two as cover? You’re big enough no one will see me if I stay behind you.”
“That way at least we’ll know where she is,” Denz pointed out quietly.
“Fine. But behave yourself. This is important.”
“First contact, I know. I’ll behave.” She wedged herself into a small gap between the two of them, then sighed.
“Problem?” Denz asked.
“I can’t see a thing from here. I don’t suppose you’d consider moving closer?”
“Don’t push your luck, pipsqueak.” Despite his grumbling, Zale started moving closer, and the crowd melted away without a word of protest.
There were serious advantages to being over seven feet tall and looking like Denz and Zale. It didn’t matter that both were men of science, not action. People took one look at them and moved out of their way. If she had tried on her own, no one would have given her an inch. No one was afraid of a tiny human woman with pink hair.
She’d gotten to know the cousins on the mission to Reamus research station. As the only civilians, they’d spent a lot of time together, and their bonds had deepened once they’d discovered the situation at Reamus.
The crowd suddenly hushed and she stopped talking to focus on the scene unfolding in front of her. The door to the newly arrived ship had opened, and a hot-as-hell male walked through it. At first glance, he appeared almost human, with short, black hair and a neatly trimmed beard. His skin was a shimmering silver, though, and he was taller than most of the humans and Pheran present. Another male followed after the first, and she had to bite her lip not to sigh in appreciation. The second male was a little taller and broader than the first, and his skin had a golden sheen to it. His hair was long enough to be tied back, but his beard was as closely cropped as his silver companion’s.
“They don’t look much like aliens.”
Zale grunted. “Maybe not to you.”
That was the moment both males unfurled their wings. Holy fraxx. They had wings! “I take it back. Wings are definitely alien.”
“Wing’s, scales, and I do believe I just spotted fangs,” Denz said.
“Scales?” she narrowed her eyes, but human eyesight wasn’t as good as Torski. She’d have to wait until they got closer to get a better look. Fortunately, she’d have a good vantage point to watch the impromptu welcome ceremony. With Zale and Denz shielding her from view, she could appreciate the appearance of the two males as they began speaking with Colonel Archer and the other delegates.
Alien or not, they were breathtaking. They both wore sleeveless vests that highlighted their well-muscled arms. The garments were clasped at the top but parted in a gentle V to show off two sets of sculpted abs. The vests had slits in the back to accommodate their wings, which were vaguely bat-like in design: a thin membrane supported by a network of lightweight bones. It was hard to tell, but she guessed that if they were fully extended, they’d have a wingspan of well over twelve feet.
The silver one looked around as if he were searching for someone, and for a moment she felt as if he were staring right at her. It was a strange sensation, like something inside her was reaching for him, but then his gaze moved on, and the feeling vanished. Weird.
A short time later the ceremony came to an abrupt end as Archer signaled for an escort. IAF soldiers in dress uniforms appeared, and the various representatives were ushered past the crowd and toward the nearest exit. It was yet another subtle reminder that the military was calling the shots these days. Until the investigations into the corporations were over and everyone with blood on their hands had been taken into custody, the Drift was under an informal kind of martial law.
As the two alien visitors passed by, the one called Braxon broke rank and came straight toward her. His pale green eyes narrowed. She idly noticed that his irises had black rims, and his pupils were slightly oval instead of round, but after that, she was too concerned by his approach to take note of what he looked like. The entire group came to a stop as he reached the edge of the crowd and uttered something in a language she’d never heard before.
“Mahaya?” His voice was tinged with confusion as he stared at her.
Zale and Denz stood their ground, but Braxon ignored them. He reached between them and caught hold of Phaedra’s arm, pulling her forward.
“Hey! Hands off!” she yelped.
“Don’t touch her,” Zale rumbled.
“Is there a problem?” Archer asked. She couldn’t see him, but she’d know that ring of command anywhere.
“No.”
“Hell, yes!” she retorted, trying to tug herself free of his grasp.
“Phaedra Kari. Of course. Who else would be in the middle of this mess?”
“You’re blaming me?” Instead of trying to free herself, she pushed between her two stalwart guards to face Archer. “I was just standing here, and suddenly tall, gold and winged here marched over and grabbed me.”
Instead of responding to her, Archer turned to Braxon. “Is there a problem? Why did you wish to speak to this woman?”
Another voice joined in, speaking what sounded like the same unknown language as Braxon. She glanced over to find Tyran had joined them. There was a brief
exchange, and then Braxon’s gripped eased, though he didn’t let go completely. The two aliens looked at each other, and then at her. She could have sworn they both inhaled, too.
“Would someone please tell me what’s going on?” She demanded, tugging her arm free.
“I will explain soon. Please be patient. First I must ask question.” Tyran turned to Archer. “Colonel Scott Archer, would it be acceptable for us to select the guide to assist us during our time here?”
Archer looked pained, but he nodded. “It would be acceptable, of course, but might I suggest someone with more diplomatic skills and training?”
“That is not necessary.” He gestured to Phaedra. “We chose this one.”
Chapter Three
Braxon couldn’t tear his gaze from the diminutive, pink-haired female. She was their mate?
“This one has a name, and she’d like to be asked if this is acceptable to her, thank you very much.”
“You do not wish to be our guide? Tyran is a prince. His sister rules an empire.”
He found himself transfixed by a pair of emerald green eyes as she turned her attention to him. “So? Royalty or not, it’s still nice to be asked.”
Archer uttered a strangled croak before composing himself. “Prince Tyran Varosa and Braxon Torr, may I introduce Phaedra Kari.”
Tyr dropped into a formal bow, but not before Braxon caught the bemused smile on the prince’s face. He knew that look, and it didn’t bode well. The prince of Vardaria was smitten.
“It is good to meet you, Phaedra.” Braxon performed a cursory bow but kept his eyes on Phaedra the whole time. Was she truly their mate, or was this some sort of biological malfunction?
“Hi, and uh, welcome to the Drift.” Her hand rose, then lowered again as if she were unsure what to do next.
“I apologize for making assumptions. Would you agree to be our guide?” Tyr asked.
“Apology accepted.” She cocked a bright pink brow. “So, what, exactly, would I be required to do?”
Tyran was beaming now. “You would work with us. Show us this place, teach us your language, help us to negotiate with the beings that live in this part of the galaxy.”
Her eyes widened. “You’d want me to be part of any negotiations?”
“We’d need your help. There are…” Tyran paused as he struggled for the word he wanted. “There are subtle twists in your language.”
“Twists is a good word for it,” Phaedra agreed.
“Will you help us, Phaedra Kari? Will you be our guide?”
Her stance softened. “Yes. I will.”
“I am pleasured by your decision.” Tyran beamed and offered her his hand.
She laughed, and the sound was sweeter than any music Braxon had ever heard.
“You mean pleased. Pleasured is…” Her cheeks turned red as she took Tyr’s hand. “I’ll explain that another time.”
The moment she touched Tyr, a fresh wave of her pheromones flooded the air. She was reacting to them as if she were their mate, yet it appeared she was unaware of it. Strange.
He expected her to walk away then. Instead, Phaedra turned to look at him. “You haven’t said much, Braxon. Are you okay with this? If not, I’m sure Colonel Archer would be very happy to find someone else for this gig. I should probably warn you both that I’m not really the obedient, order-taking type.”
Surprised at both her concern for him and her confession, Braxon found himself nodding. “I agree with Tyran’s choice of guides.”
Of course, it was really the only thing he could have said. Tyr had already made his choice. At least this way, they would be able to speak to Phaedra alone. Then maybe they could find out why they were reacting to her as if she were their mahaya. It had to be some sort of mistake. They were Vardarian warriors. This delicate human female was not built to withstand the passion of one of their kind, never mind two.
The small group started moving again, and Tyran was pleased when Phaedra came with him willingly, her hand still captured in his. As far as he was concerned, it would take the explosive force of a supernova to make him relinquish that small connection with her. He still couldn’t believe it. They had found their mahaya.
They had come across light-years in search of a new home for their race. A place they could be free of the traditions and rules that bound their homeworld. Neither of them had spoken of it, but Tyran knew he and Braxon both hoped that a new colony would give them a chance to find their mate - and they had. Not a Vardarian, but something far more precious and rare. A female of another genetically compatible species.
The ratio of males to females on Vardaria was skewed heavily to the males. That imbalance had triggered the first diaspora, when thousands of unmated Vardarian males left their homeworld to claim mates from the newly discovered Ferrym race. Another exodus had occurred when they had come into contact with the Vinu. Now, it appeared there may be another fully compatible race in the galaxy – humans like Phaedra.
He glanced down at their joined hands and tried not to think of where else he’d like to be touching her right now. She was wearing a dark blue garment that hid her legs but left her upper body delightfully exposed. The pale gold skin of her shoulders was utterly smooth, and he wanted to caress her and learn if it was as soft as it looked. She was small but curvy, with eyes that gleamed like green gems. Her hair was several shades of pink, and he wanted to run his hands through it and play with the vibrant curls, too. Could it be her natural color? No other being present had hair that shade.
“What is it that brought you to this part of the galaxy, Prince Tyran?” Colonel Archer was clearly trying to continue his diplomatic efforts, but all Tyr wanted was to steal Phaedra away and learn everything he could about her. Soon, he promised himself as he forced his attention back to the colonel.
“The Vardarian Empire has allies and trade agreements with several other races.” He gestured around them. “Something like you have here, I think. We were on a scouting mission, looking for new planets to colonize, and of course, to attempt to connect with any new races we find.” He’d rehearsed that statement for days and was rewarded by an appreciative nod from Colonel Archer.
“You have learned a great deal of our language for someone who only recently learned of its existence.”
“The computer learned it first, then learned – no, teach?”
He looked at Phaedra, who nodded. “Taught. The computer taught you our language. Well, one of them.”
“It is the most used language, yes?” he asked.
“It’s the one all species use to speak to each other.”
“The most useful one. We thought so.” Braxon finally joined the conversation. He hadn’t said a word since agreeing to Phaedra as their guide.
“Right through this door.” Colonel Archer directed. The corridor they were in was clearly not a public area. The walls were marked and dented, the floors showed signs of wear, and there were empty crates of various sizes stacked against the walls.
Once through the door, though, things were very different. Plush red carpeting muffled his footfalls, and the air was cool and freshly filtered, carrying no discernable scent. The walls were painted a neutral cream, and images of landscapes from what appeared to be dozens of worlds were displayed at regular intervals.
As if sensing his interest, Phaedra squeezed Tyran’s hand. “We’ve arrived at Astek’s headquarters. They’re the corporation that owns this space station. Everyone else here pays them for the right to be here. Even the air we breathe comes at a cost.”
Colonel Archer frowned at Phaedra, but she merely lifted her shoulders in a brief shrug.
“What? It’s the truth. If they wanted someone diplomatic, they would have taken your advice and picked someone else to be their liaison.”
Tyr didn’t care if she was the most undiplomatic female in the galaxy. She was their female. She simply didn’t know it, yet.
“We need to be alone with the human female,” Braxon pitched his voice low and
spoke in Vardarian.
“Soon. We’ll be able to tell her the good news once we are back on the Santar.”
“There is nothing to tell her. Not until we have more data. There are still tests that need to be done,” Braxon pointed out.
“Do you doubt what your senses tell you? She is our mahaya.”
Braxon pursed his lips. “Perhaps.”
“Your language is lovely. I don’t suppose your translation program could teach me to speak Vardarian? It might help us communicate better.”
“It would take some time, but I believe it is possible.” As their mate, she would need to speak Vardarian eventually. The sooner she started, the better.
“If our technologies are compatible, I don’t think it would take me that long at all.”
“How?” he asked, uncertain what compatibility would be necessary.
“I’ll explain later.” She glanced around at the group of dignitaries surrounding them. “Not here.”
“We need to speak alone about many things. Soon.” Unable to resist any longer, he drew her hand to his mouth and brushed a kiss across her fingers. Her flavor exploded on his tongue, sweet and decadent, like his favorite desserts all combined.
Her teeth dented her lower lip and he heard her utter a whisper soft sigh before withdrawing her hand. “Soon,” she whispered, and it sounded less like agreement and more like a promise.
They filed into a meeting room as elegant and lush as the corridor outside. A long table of polished wood, matching chairs, and a side table with elegantly designed carafes containing different beverages. He and Braxon were ushered toward two chairs at the end of the table, but he chose to ignore the suggestion and claimed a spot in the middle that ensured Phaedra was seated between himself and Braxon.
She flashed him a grateful smile as she claimed her place at the table, and he knew he’d do everything in his power to give her reasons to smile like that every day of her life.
Phaedra’s mother had taught her to seize every opportunity and hold on tight, and that was what she was going to do. Granted, Myra Kari probably hadn’t meant literally hanging onto a prince’s hand, but it was working for her. She had finally found a way inside the corporation’s inner circle. From here, she might be able to find a way to fight for a future for the cyborgs she’d helped to rescue. Not to mention, she was now assigned to two sexy, intriguing alien males who could turn her on with just a look or a touch.