His Rebellious Mate (Primarian Mates Book 3)

by Maddie Taylor

  With misery racking her body, she lay helpless, unable to move and bring herself ease. Her pulse pounded faster, matching the throbbing ache of her head wound. Things shifted beneath her as if the ground tilted, and everything started to go dark. A different blackness than night settling around them or what she saw behind her closed eyes, it was all-consuming and frightening.

  Another pain ripped through her belly, accompanied by a gush of fluid between her legs. My water broke! The baby is coming! She cried out to Ram for help, but her frozen body wouldn’t respond, and she didn’t make a sound. Still, the words, too soon, echoed in her head.

  * * *

  While crouching beside Eryn’s prone form, Ram divided his attention between her and the five human males retreating into the woods.

  Once they’d gone, he focused solely on Eryn lying motionless in the dirt. “Little rebel, can you hear me? Say something, so I know you’re all right.”

  She didn’t speak, and other than the rapid rise and fall of her chest, she didn’t move.

  Taking care, he rolled her over, keeping her neck, head, and spine in alignment as he did so. Blood matted her hair and coated her beautiful face. Seeing her injured and lifeless like this shocked him, but the sight of her swollen, pregnant belly startled him even more. He reached out, settling his hand gently over where his child lay as his eyes shifted back to its mother, still unmoving.

  He knew from his training, blows to the head could be a tricky thing. He debated whether to move her and risk further harm or leave her here, defenseless while he went for help. His gaze shot to the trees where the Earth men had fled. They could come back for him with weapons or to finish what they’d planned for her. Assault. Rape. Or worse, seeking revenge for his killing of their friend.

  No. He’d have to take her with him.

  He eased his arm beneath her shoulders and rolled her against his chest without jarring or moving her head. Once secure, he moved his other hand beneath her hips. Feeling wetness, he searched for more blood but saw only the darker shade of fabric where wetness saturated her men’s pants. Fear tore at his insides—both Eryn and the child were in serious jeopardy.

  His decision unequivocal now, Ram lifted her with the utmost caution. Then quick and steady, he retraced his path back through the woods. When he reached the parking lot behind her apartment building, he glanced around, cursing himself for walking here instead of taking one of the base hovercrafts. At the time, he thought the walk would help cool his anger before confronting her.

  In the glow of the streetlight, he looked down at her, noting her pallor and the shallowness of her breathing. None of it looked good to him, and, with ever-mounting fear for them both, he hurried toward the main road. With a sliver of luck, when he approached, so did a vehicle.

  “Halt! Emergency.” His voice boomed in the silence of the evening.

  The oncoming military Jeep pulled alongside him. “What’s wrong, sir?”

  “She was attacked.”

  “Attacked?” he repeated in horror. “Here on the base?” Although the man had questions, he didn’t waste time asking them, instead leaning over to push the door open.

  “Yes, by six men in the woods by the eastern perimeter.” While Ram wanted to go after the others and hurt them as much as she was hurting, he climbed into the vehicle. His vengeance would have to wait.

  “Six,” the man exclaimed. “Motherfuckers!”

  “They now number five.” Although he sensed the soldier’s gaze upon him, he didn’t look up, nor did he care what he thought. Any Primarian male would have done what he had while defending his mate. And, in that moment, Eryn was his sole concern.

  Once he’d settled, with her secure in his arms, taking care to protect her head and neck, did he glance at the man behind the wheel. “I will seek out and deal with the others later. Right now, she needs emergency medical attention.”

  The man nodded while he accelerated. “I’ll have you to the hospital in minutes.”

  Ram shifted his attention back to Eryn, tracing over every familiar feature. She was as beautiful as he remembered, and he wanted nothing more than for her to wake and reveal the brilliant green eyes that had plagued his dreams. But she didn’t move, not so much as a blink or a grimace of pain.

  A thump against his side drew his gaze downward, away from her face. Unconscious in his arms, lay still. When it came again, from where her rounded belly rested against his flat one, he realized the thumps were their child stirring.

  He struggled to contain the cry pushing up from his chest—both joy and anguish.

  When he heard the shouts in the woods—several males and one distressed female—he’d pushed harder. As the path made a sharp curve, he’d seen her running a split second before one of the males tackled her from behind, his weight on her back and his momentum throwing her to the ground. She’d hit with such force, he worried not just for her, but the baby, too.

  Surely the kick, strong enough for him to feel, was a positive sign.

  The vehicle took a curve fast, causing her to shift in his arms.

  “Careful,” he advised the driver with a growl. The slashes on his uniform and the band on his sleeve indicated his rank and that he was an MP. “She struck her head, Corporal. And I’m not sure if her spine is stable, but I couldn’t leave her alone in the woods. She’s also pregnant and her water has broken.”

  “I understand, sir. She’s in bad shape. I’ll take it easy, but she doesn’t look like she has the luxury of time.”

  As the vehicle sped along, accelerating in the straightaways and slowing to keep from jostling her in the turns, Ram wished he had the power to control time. If so, he’d roll back the clock and begin anew with Eryn.

  With her wild rebellious nature, he didn’t know if his reaction would be much different, though he hoped he would take another path. Consumed with regret for believing her when she told him they hadn’t bonded all those months ago, he had himself to blame for this. If he’d listened to his instincts and claimed her the first day as he wanted, all of this could have been avoided. She’d be safe on Primaria where she should be while anticipating the birth of their child.

  He also felt guilty for the unrelenting fury that had followed for months. When he thought back on it now, he realized it wasn’t so much anger, but wounded pride. Being bested by a small female was difficult for a warrior to take, yet he’d do it repeatedly if it would ensure both Eryn and their child would be all right.

  The Jeep took another sharp curve, but when he looked up to give the MP another warning, he saw the red-and-white emergency symbol up ahead. Never had any sight brought him so much comfort. They would know what to do to save her and their unborn child. They had to, because the alternative was unthinkable.

  12

  Adrift, weightless in the tranquil warmth surrounding her, Eryn relaxed in the gentle waves soothing her tired, achy body. Gone were the sharp pains in her head and the waves of nausea at the slightest movement. She sighed in contentment. This is what heaven must be like. Free, without worries or cares, and absolutely no discomforts.

  “Eryn.”

  Her name sounded muffled, as if from far away, and she couldn’t tell who was calling for her.

  “Why won’t she wake up?” the husky voice whispered.

  Still she had no clue who it belonged to, or even if it was a man or a woman.

  It could be Lana or Maggie. Or maybe Ram? But why would he be here, trying to wake her up?

  Memories came rushing back of running from those awful men, so many of them, all wanting to do unspeakable things to her because of her baby. She remembered falling, intense pain, Slim’s hands all over her, and Ram arriving in time to save her. If so, why couldn’t she recall anything after that, or how she’d gotten here, or where here was?

  As she tried to sort it all out, the pain in her head returned with a sudden jarring jolt. It set up a throbbing tempo, while a bright flickering strobe-like light interspersed with little snippets of memori
es.

  Her brother appeared first, at his high school graduation, his cap angled atop his head, the tassel dangling off the tilted edge as he grinned from ear to ear while holding up his diploma. One of their happy times. In another, she sparred with Lana, both winded but laughing as she offered her friend a hand up from the mat. Maggie appeared next, in her captain’s seat on the Odyssey, issuing orders. This image morphed into a swirl of blues, pinks, and yellows which focused after a moment and became a beautiful landscape, which from the vivid colors could only be Primaria. Ram appeared next, so handsome he took her breath away. He looked unusually pleased, grinning down at her, flashing the sexy dimple in his cheek. He changed in the next image, wearing a look of exasperation, which was more what she was used to, after she’d done something he’d ordered her not to. Her mind conjured one more picture of him. His face a mask of fury, his eyes bright with such anger they glimmered like melted gold.

  Was it directed at her? Of course, after what she’d done, it had to be. Then, his look turned determined. The image zoomed out, and she saw herself in his arms, his strength surrounding her as he carried her. But to where? She struggled to recall, but the ache in her head clouded the thoughts. Telling herself not to care, she tried to relax as though Ram’s strong arms really did circle her. After so long, nothing else mattered.

  “Eryn!”

  The voice came again, fracturing her fantasy, and sending waves of searing pain not only to her head, but coursing throughout her body. She wanted to call out for whoever it was to leave her be and stop disturbing her pleasant visions.

  “For goodness sake, honey, please wake up!”

  The insistent voice rang clear in her head—female, her tears making her voice sound hoarse. But why was she crying? And what had happened to Ram? Surely, she hadn’t imagined him, or the other men, or that horrible couple. She fought to open her eyes, needing to find him, to see his face and make sure he was all right after the horrifying confrontation in the woods—if it indeed turned out to be real. Her eyelids wouldn’t respond, seeming heavy as if weighted down, and she couldn’t open them no matter how hard she tried to lift them.

  She tried to speak but couldn’t. And when she attempted to lift her hands to her lips and eyes, to figure out what was wrong, they didn’t work, either. Nothing did.

  For some reason, her body had frozen, thinking, feeling, and listening, the sole abilities in her power. Of those three, her mind whirled in confusion and her body cried out with pain, which left her hearing, yet another sense she didn’t think she could depend on.

  She listened for a hint of his presence, the heavy tread of his boots on the floor, a soft rustle of clothing, or the deep in-and-out rush of his breathing, something to indicate he was there. Except for the woman’s soft whispering and machines whirring in the background, an annoying alarm incessantly beeping, and a strange, steady whooshing sound, she couldn’t hear anything else.

  A moment later, a low groan and a creaking noise, like someone shifting in a leather chair, joined the mix.

  “Is she awake?” Deep and gruff, sounding like he’d just roused from sleep, this time she had no doubt, this was Ram.

  “I’m here,” she called to him, but the words stayed locked in her mind.

  “No. It was just me talking to her, hoping… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you,” the woman said.

  Maggie.

  She longed to see her old friend, but her eyelids wouldn’t cooperate. Nothing would, dammit. As she tried to fit the pieces together, swirling gray clouds began forming, making the images in her head hazy.

  “Have there been any changes?” Maggie’s cool fingers brushed her cheek.

  “None,” came the deep, rumbling reply.

  “And the baby?”

  “Stable. Though they can’t be certain. This is all so new to everyone. What time is it?”

  “Almost noon.”

  Noon! She’d been attacked at dusk. Where had the time gone?

  “I need to go,” he announced. More creaking leather and a soft grunt created an image of him unfolding his long frame from the chair and stretching—a sight she would have paid gladly to see for real. “I’m sitting in on a satellite conference with Juna, Ellar, and Jarlan in a few moments. Will you stay with her?”

  “Of course, anything you need, Ram.”

  His meeting with her doctor and two Primarian physics, machines constant humming, and Maggie’s tears all added up. She was in the hospital and, for some reason— doubtless what caused the agonizing pain in her head—she couldn’t wake up, or at least they didn’t think she could. One bright spot remained in the confusing mess—she hadn’t lost her baby when Slim slammed her to the ground so hard. Still, the conversation didn’t tell her much, like what the fuck was going on.

  Her frustration gave way to panic, and the more she tried forcing her brain to communicate with her body—to move, to speak, to open her eyes—the tighter her throat became, and the more she struggled for breath. An alarm, more shrill and extreme than the last one, screamed in her ear.

  “What now?” Ram exclaimed, without his usual calm.

  “I’m no expert, but her heart rate has spiked, and she seems to be struggling against the machine.”

  “Stay with her while I summon help.”

  No, Ram, please, don’t go, she cried mutely.

  She wanted to tell him how sorry she was for what she’d done, to beg his forgiveness, but the gray clouds had turned dark, becoming a whirling turbulent maelstrom bearing down and enveloping her. It blocked out the alarms, the annoying machines, also the voices, and, along with them, whatever clues they might have given her.

  The next moment, the same all-encompassing darkness consumed her, just like when Ram rescued her in the woods. And while it took her away into nothingness, she found a measure of relief. The pain, at last, was gone.

  * * *

  Waking again to a floating sensation, this time nothing except a low humming noise filled her ears. It reminded her of the many nights she lay awake on the Odyssey, listening to the ship’s engines. But that couldn’t be right. When they’d come home months ago, their mission had ended.

  She opened her eyes, surprised when she could, and blinked. The room looked familiar, the blank empty walls a dead giveaway—she was in Ram’s quarters on the Intrepid. She’d only been there once before, for three days, the ones following her capture. And while this surprised her, the presence of the woman pacing the length of the room in a state of agitation made her question both her vision and sanity, because, as bizarre as it seemed, the woman was her.

  She must be dreaming. Why else would she be able to see herself and hear her agitated muttering?

  Thinking the reverse might be true, she asked the pacing version of herself a question. “Can you hear me, Eryn?”

  Her other self didn’t pause or so much as blink.

  How strange. She’d never had a dream and been aware she was dreaming, although she’d heard of this. Lucid dreams. And if she remembered right, sometimes the dreamer could control what happened.

  She tried again. “Eryn, it’s, um, well, me. Or us.” Feeling ridiculous, she grumbled, “This is stupid.” When the other Eryn moved within reach, she stretched out a hand to touch her, but felt nothing, her hand passing right through.

  Startled, she jumped back. Could it be…?

  “No,” she whispered, in horror. She didn’t believe in the supernatural, especially ghosts. Yet, if the blow to her head had been so severe she’d died, it would explain a lot. But what about her baby? Out of her mind with unanswered questions, she pinched herself, hard. She felt it, so it must be real, except when she looked at her fingers and wiggled them, they seemed distorted, cartoonish.

  The tension seeped away. It must be a dream. Thank heaven!

  Still, why had her brain chose this place and this time? And, what was the point of being aware of her dream if she couldn’t do anything about it? It occurred to her, lucidity in a dream might no
t be a physical thing, but an awareness of the mind. With intense concentration, she tried to will pacing-Eryn to stop, go to the door, and get out of there. As a captive, at the time, escape had been her only goal.

  It didn’t work. Everything she attempted failed.

  Confounded, she slumped against the wall while blowing out a long, exasperated sigh. Then, resigned to the role of observer in this altered state of consciousness, she let the scene play out, hoping she would learn her purpose for being there.

  * * *

  Pacing accomplished nothing, but she couldn’t sit still. She supposed it burned up some of her nervous energy and her fury. She wanted to punch something or someone, and she knew who her first target would be, a seven-foot-tall, muscle-bound, black-haired, golden-eyed barbarian. After carrying her over his shoulder like a Neanderthal, and swatting her ass a few times for good measure, he’d left her here without explanation. And, of course, he’d locked her in. She’d tried the door the instant he’d left, and numerous other times in the past hour—one hundred a conservative estimate—and it wouldn’t budge.

  Now, as her path took her past the door once again, her focus centered on the censor high on the wall and its blinking red light. Somehow, they had to escape. Without another ship to use for a getaway, they’d have to take control of this one; it was the only way. But they were vastly outnumbered, not to mention locked in, and she had no idea where the rest of her crew was being held. Alone, her odds of success were next to impossible. She would have to be patient—not one of her most stellar traits—and smart, watching and waiting, and when she located the others, enlist their support with her plan. By then, she should have come up with one.

  Her foremost task, figuring out the door lock. To do so, she needed tools. If she found a weapon while she searched, all the better.

  She started in the main room, which took a matter of minutes, because it was empty. With her hands on her hips, she surveyed the Spartan stateroom. It had minimal furnishings, no cabinets or drawers, and not one trace of décor—no pictures on the walls or a single knickknack on the lone table. A couch, a table, and a computer console with vid-screen, both recessed mounted into the wall. That’s it. She considered the last two items, even if she had tools to remove them, she still lacked the strength, not to mention the height or the balls, to bash him over the head with either one.