Alien Rogue's Price: Alpha Alien Romance (Alpha Aliens of Fremm Book 4)

by Nancey Cummings

  His eyes narrowed as he studied me. He dropped Malik’s hair and moved towards me. At the chain link barrier, he crouched down, bringing himself eye level to me. “You’re right, sweetness. You made some mistakes but I forgave you because you didn’t understand the nature of our relationship. I should give Malik the same opportunity.”

  Relief flooded through me. I nodded enthusiastically. “Gentle promised that-”

  “My brother does not speak for me!” Swift shot up, tail thrashing. Sore spot? “Malik can prove his worth by winning his next match.”

  My smile was not faked. Malik always won his matches. His recent injuries would give his opponent an advantage, but I could patch him up. Front loading painkillers and anti-inflammatories now would keep him limber in the ring. Not great medicine, but he would survive.

  “I’ve already scheduled his next match for tomorrow. Twenty-four hours, last man standing.”

  “That makes no sense.”

  “Sure it does, sweetness.” Swift climbed out of the cage. “He keeps fighting for an entire day, opponent after opponent. The winner of the bout must be incapacitated or dead. Might be one on one or two on one. I haven’t decided yet. How many rounds do you think he can go?”

  He paused, waiting for a response. “Answer me!”

  “I don’t know.”

  “My money’s on eight. He can do eight, easily. Nine could go either way. But ten... ten should be his last.”

  I shivered. Ten rounds of non stop fighting would bring Malik to exhaustion and, ultimately, slaughter in the ring. “Please, no.”

  “So compassionate,” Swift said. He lifted my chin and held my gaze. “Why is it you have no compassion for me?”

  “Please, love. He’s my brother. I need him.”

  Swift lowered his lips to mine. His kiss was heavy and demanding. Unresponsive to his touch, he pulled away with a snarl. “The match starts at dawn. But you do have the power to stop it.”

  “How? Anything.”

  “Marry me. The moment we are married, the match stops.”

  My heart sank. Swift could not get me to agree to marry him by terrorizing me, so he blackmailed me. My gaze drifted from Swift to Malik, still chained in the cage.

  “You don’t have to do anything, Meyet,” Malik said. “I’ll be fine.”

  He was lying.

  “I’ll do it,” I said.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Meyet

  This was my wedding day. Nothing was the way I expected. Not that I expected to marry anyone, but certainly not Swift Yvar. I only wished I could save my brother immediately and save us both the charade. I wished I could make the process go faster. I’d have taken the marriage oath immediately but Swift insisted on a production, a show of our “love.”

  I wished I were not wearing a slave collar.

  From the barred window, I had a bird's eye view of the garden. The compound had been transformed from dark and brooding to colorful and filled with joy. Well… the appearance of joy, anyway. And flowers. Lots and lots of flowers. The strong perfume from the hyacheenth blossoms overwhelmed all other scents, making me light headed. The lawn was a deep green. Arranged in a semi-circle, white folding chairs faced the wedding altar.

  My wedding altar.

  Carved from dark wood, the altar stood as a delicate testament to craftsmanship. Creamy orange blossoms covered every inch of the canopy and spilled down to form a curtain. Upholstered in a rich grey silk, the altar was really a low couch designed to display the newlyweds to the audience. While the guests feasted, the new husband and wife would feed each other and steal kisses. Some traditional Tal still utilized the altar to consummate the marriage, sealing the union in front their guests so there would be no doubt.

  I was afraid Swift would suddenly become very traditional.

  But it made sense. Swift didn't see me as a person as much as he wanted me a status symbol, as a sign of defiance to his deceased father. He would marry me, fuck me in front of an audience, and grow bored with my tears. Maybe in a week, maybe in a year. There was no telling, but he would grow bored and pass me off to his twin.

  I rushed to the cleansing room, spilling my breakfast into the toilet.

  Once my stomach was empty, I rinsed out my mouth and cleaned my face. Remember Malik. Remember why you are doing this. There was a way to survive this stars forsaken situation. I’ll find it.

  A knock sounded at the door. The women were here. Time to get ready.

  The women bathed me, covering me with sweet scented oils and lotions. They brushed a soft oil into my hair until it gleamed. With care, they braided my golden locks and piled the braid on top of my head. A garland of creamy orange blossoms, the kind used to decorate the altar, balanced on top.

  “Is he-” I started to ask.

  “Still alive,” one of the women said, adding the last touches to my hair. “He is on his seventh match.”

  Seven. So soon? Swift’s warning about match number ten echoed in my mind. There wasn’t much time left.

  Swift had planned this wedding for some time. How long, exactly, I wasn’t sure but an elaborate, custom tailored wedding dressed waited for me when we returned from the arena. Made of a stiff, cream colored brocade, the full skirt practically stood up on its own. The women helped me climb into and fastened it tightly at my waist. A wide, deep red band at the hem matched the tight fitting blouse, which was just long enough to cover the red welts. A deep red scarf draped over my chest. Every inch of fabric was covered with lightweight crystals and gold embroidery. I shimmered under the artificial lights of the room. In the sun, I would be blinding.

  The women painted my face, slathering me in a white cream and then covering me in powder. They painted my eyelids in a heavy kohl liner and my lips a bright scarlet. Satisfied with my appearance, they took out a box of paint and brushes. A truly ancient Tal woman arrived and took up the paint box. Her skin was papery thin and a once rich brown color was faded. Her tail was worn and missing tufts of fur.

  She painted a complex geometric design on my hands and arms. According to tradition, each design was unique to the bride and spoke of her life experience and merits. Basically, a resume. Only the oldest and wisest women painted a bride's pattern. I watched the elderly women dip the brush into the red and gold paint and then apply the paint to my pale skin. The designs on my fingers were a simple geometric pattern. A child's pattern. At my wrist, the pattern exploded into a tangle of floral vines and blossoms. I recognized the repeating image of white willow leaves, the Tal symbol for physician. My eyes watered.

  The elderly woman tutted and another woman carefully dabbed at my eyes. The message was clear. No crying at my wedding.

  Finally the old woman moved to my feet. The same willow leaf motif repeated on the top of my feet. Solid red paint covered the bottom of my feet, before the women pressed them into a shallow dish. A rich, red glitter coated my foot. A pearl bracelet fastened around my ankle before my feet were carefully inserted into creamy brocade slippers.

  For the finishing touches, the women placed a heavy gold and ruby necklace at my neck. Golden bangles were placed on my arms. I clattered as I moved and the entire outfit was so heavy I needed assistance to stand.

  The women lead me from the room and down a dark passage. In no time at all, we stood in a doorway. The green lawn stretched out before me.

  Tal and Terran guests packed the lawn. I didn't recognize half the crowd. Swift invited every business associate he could dredge up. All were unpleasant looking men, standing as if they carried concealed weapons, and each was accompanied by a pretty woman with a vacant smile. I didn't care. The one face I wanted to see wasn't there.

  The hollowness in my chest threatened to break me. Up until that moment, I hoped Ruush would have a change of heart. That was a foolish idea. Naive.

  The women lifted my feet and removed the slippers. My red and glitter encrusted feet rested on the cool grass. A flower garland of scarlet, orange, and creamy white blossoms reste
d in my hands. Red, orange and cream, all the colors of a joy that remained out of my reach.

  A sharp elbow to the back propelled me forward. I made my slow progress towards the flower altar, struggling to move gracefully under the weight of the gown. I could sense the collective attention of the crowd on me.

  I arranged myself at the bride's side of the altar, spreading out the dress to catch and reflect the sunlight. Now I only needed to wait for the groom's procession. Traditionally, a bride waited with her family. I was alone. Malik was still being held somewhere in the compound.

  Perspiration beaded on my brow and at the nape of my neck. Music played. After a moment, I realized it was not a recording but live. It grew louder. The procession was coming.

  I faced the garden gate and clutched the floral garland in my hand. Realizing I was crushing the flowers, I held the garland more tenderly.

  Drums approached.

  The gates opened.

  A troupe of dancers spilled through. They wore nothing beyond painted red skin and white masks. They moved gracefully, weaving their way towards the altar. Stout men comprised the next wave, beating drums and waving heavy banners of deep red. They, too, wore white masks and painted red skin. The band followed. Next were a dozen small children, all carrying baskets of flower petals. They tossed the petals liberally on the ground, creating a flower strewn path. Gentle entered, carrying a ceremonial sword on his hip and a glowering expression on his face.

  Finally, Swift appeared. He wore a tight fighting suit of matching creamy brocade. The collar of the long jacket was a deep V, decorated with a tasteful amount of crystals. Under the jacket was a light weight shirt. His lean, athletic form was attractively clad. Another woman would be thrilled to be his bride. Too bad everything about him disgusted me.

  Swift's amber eyes fixed on me. His ears perched eagerly at the top of his head and his tail swished excitedly from side to side.

  My stomach threatened to revolt again. The taste of bitter bile flooded my mouth. I swallowed and forced myself to smile. The collar around my neck weighed heavy, choking me. Swift's ears twitched. Oh yes, he like the smile and didn't care one bit if it was faked. It looked real and appearances were all he cared about.

  The dance troupe arranged themselves at either side of the altar. Planted into the ground, the banner fabric fluttered in the breeze. One man bumped my shoulder in an effort to adjust the heavy banner, then his hand brushed at the nape of my neck.

  Startled at the touch, I turned.

  He winked at me. The red paint, worn away on the palms of his hands, revealed a slate blue complexion.

  Ruush

  Is it wrong that I hurt when my kompli failed to recognize me in disguise the moment I entered the garden? My ego was still robust, and smarting from being ignored. It was no less than what I deserved. How could I expect my kompli to feel the pull of our bond when I spent so long denying it? When I refused to protect and provide for my mate? I had to do better, starting then.

  “You took your sweet time,” she said through a false smile, mouth barely moving. She faced away from me, watching the Yvar twins approach down the petal strew aisle.

  “I had to get my head out of my ass first. I’m so sorry, Meyet. Can you ever forgive me?”

  “Get me out of this and we’re even.”

  Even? No more keeping score. I needed to explain to my kompli that mates help each other without questions of gain or profit. They do for each other, selflessly.

  I dropped the banner and removed my mask. “I hate to break up a beautiful ceremony but this bride already has a mate. Me.”

  Swift stopped in his tracks, hands clenching and unclenching. He tensed, ready for a charge. I knew I wasn’t a match for him in hand to hand combat, weapon or no. The pure, unhinged crazy gave him a considerable advantage. Nope, I didn’t stand a chance.

  Fortunately, I cheat.

  Swift rushed towards me, a primal scream on his lips. His claws extended fully, ready to rend and tear. He leapt the final distance. I dropped down, letting his claws sink into my shoulder. I’d regret it in the morning. Twisting, I pressed a hypospray into his abdomen and delivered two doses.

  Surprise registered on his face. He clutched his stomach, stumbled back two paces, and fell to the ground. Breathing was about to become Swift’s top priority for the next hour.

  A blast shook the ground. Glass shattered. Flames leapt from the main house.

  Perfect timing.

  Chaos broke out. In the corner of my eye, Vex and Rise worked through the crowd, generating pandemonium. But I focused my attention on Gentle.

  Meyet

  “What did you do to my brother?!” Gentle roared.

  Ruush held up his hands, blaster in one, the hypospray in the other. “Nothing fun. Now, I suggest you let me leave with my mate and I won’t have to kill you.”

  Gentle’s chest heaved violently. His dominant arm held a sword in an easy, loose grip but the stance was misleading. I’d seen this tactic before: bellow, bluster, intimidate the opponent into attack and cut them down. “You fight without honor, Fremm. Come and face me like a man.”

  “See, this,” Ruush said, waving at the ongoing brawl, “is why everyone says your parties suck.”

  Gentle rushed forward, sword aloft. Ruush’s blaster shot him in the center of his chest. The Tal collapsed to the ground.

  “It’s called guile, you empty-headed psychopath.”

  A second blast rocked the compound. This one was closer. Smoke hung low in the air.

  Ruush gathered me in his arms. A loud buzzing surrounded us. A force shield. The shield absorbed the blaster shots but it wouldn’t last for long.

  “I’m so angry with you, but I’m glad you’re here,” I said, face buried in his chest.

  “Now’s not the time for fancy speeches or the apology I owe you, but I love you, Meyet.” He pushed back the scarf and kissed the top of my head.

  “You’ve got a hell of a way of showing it.”

  He flashed that mischievous grin. Ruush pressed a hypospray into my hand. The label read Lanolset. Twelve doses. “Use it if they get too close,” he instructed.

  “It’ll kill a Tal,” I said.

  “Now is really not the time to argue ethics, Meyet.”

  “Right. Right.” A man pulled at my arm. I pressed the hypospray into his hands. The man immediately shook with a seizure. “This supply is too old. It shouldn’t be working,” I said.

  “Way to look that gift horse in the mouth,” Ruush said. He pushed back an attacker, hitting him with the blaster and then the hypospray. “Turns out it’s not the active ingredient that’s harmful.”

  “Huh.”

  Ruush grabbed my hand and pulled me forward, parting the crowd. “We have to run now, kitten.”

  “Wait! I can’t run in this thing.”

  “You’re concerned about the damn dress?”

  “You ass! This thing weighs a ton. Cut the waist.”

  “What? No.”

  “Don’t argue with me. We have to run, remember?”

  “Everyone will see-”

  “Stars above.” I ripped at the skirt, tugging it down and exposing my ass in the frilly lace panties. Free from the heavy garment, I tied the scarf around my waist. “Happy now, Captain Modesty?”

  “I got no complaints.”

  He grabbed my hand and we ran out of the walled garden and into the forest surrounding the compound. Our pursuers fired into the trees, missing us. We ran in a zigzag pattern, using the trees as cover. I stumbled over tree roots. He caught me and urged me back to my feet. “We have to make it to the ship.”

  “What about the others? My brother?”

  “Ship first.”

  My side in stitches and my feet torn to shreds, we broke into a clearing. The Promontory hovered over the ground, engines roaring. Resolve waited on the ramp, rifle in hand. “Hurry up, you curs!” She took aim at our pursuers, firing into the distance.

  Up the ramp, I collapsed on the
cargo bay floor. Vex and Rise trotted up the ramp, as if returning from a stroll in the park. They weren’t even sweating. “I suggest we skedaddle, Captain,” Rise said. “They’re bringing out an EMP cannon.” An EMP cannon would disable the ship.

  “Jonee, you heard the man. Skedaddle,” Ruush said before sliding to the floor. His chest heaved.

  “Not as young as you once were, Captain?” Resolve asked.

  “I-” Gasp. “Didn’t. See you volunteering.” Gasp. “To break up the wedding.”

  “The banter is great,” I said. “I really missed it, but aren’t you forgetting about my brother?”

  Resolve handed me a bottle of water. Grateful, I chugged it down. “Malik? Already done.”

  “What?” I stood up, my thigh muscles burning in protest. “He’s here?”

  “Med bay.”

  I ran to the medical bay.

  Chapter Twenty

  Meyet

  Rough shape barely described Malik’s condition. He was lucky the fight ended when it did. He had two broken ribs, a broken nose, a busted lip, both eyes were swollen shut, missing teeth, a fractured clavicle, torn ligaments in his knees and a frightening amount internal bleeding. Even his tail was broken, the tip sitting at an awkward angle. The scanbed could only tell me that his brain was swollen. The machine did not have the capacity to offer a meaningful diagnosis of traumatic brain injury. He didn’t need to be awake while I worked so I put him into a coma. In a week, when the brain swelling was gone, he’d wake up. In the meantime, I needed to get the internal bleeding under control or Malik wouldn’t survive forty-eight hours.

  Of course, I didn’t have the right drugs. I slammed the hypospray down on the counter. Why bother having a med bay if you kept it empty of anything useful?

  Ruush entered the med bay. My back to him, I set the controls on the scan med. The dome closed and darkened.