Defying the General

by Maddie Taylor

  “She doesn’t plan to shoot me.” Although it would be the perfect way to end her misery. Lana didn’t reveal her dismal thoughts, explaining instead, “It’s their way of drawing blood. It’s not nearly as bad as it looks. Trust me, I’ve been through it plenty of times.”

  “Like I would shoot one of my patients,” Adria muttered under her breath. She shot him an irritated look as she grasped Lana’s extended arm and held the muzzle-like tip against the bend in her inner elbow. “It’s quite painless compared to your needles, which are simply barbaric.” She gave a delicate shudder. “I can’t imagine.”

  When the sample was collected the device beeped. Adria entered something on the touchpad, and, in a few seconds, announced her diagnosis.

  “As I suspected, you are dehydrated and malnourished. Both of which can cause dizziness.” She crossed to a cabinet, opened a set of sliding doors revealing shelves brimming with medicine bottles, and grabbed a brown one. “These are iron supplements. You’re to take one a day, but it doesn’t mean you don't have to eat.” Adria passed her the bottle and propped her hands on her hips as she gave the rest of her instructions. “Three meals a day, no more skipping, and before you leave, I’m also going to give you an electrolyte and fluid infusion. I recommend rest for the next few days, which means off your feet, no climbing ladders or hanging from scaffolds or inhaling paint fumes.” Adria aimed a narrow-eyed look her way. “My brother would be livid if he knew you were neglecting your health.”

  “I don’t know why.”

  A sad expression shadowed her pretty face. “He still worries about you, Lana.”

  “He shouldn’t,” she murmured, averting her eyes to hide the sting of tears. “He needs to forget about me and move on.” That’s what her sacrifice was about. If he didn’t, it was all for nothing.

  “Finding another female to overshadow the memories of his mate isn’t easy.”

  A thought suddenly occurred to her. “You won’t mention this to Trask, will you?”

  “Your information will be kept private.”

  “Good,” Lana exclaimed as she sat up. “Then we don’t have to worry about him being livid, do we?”

  “Only a female’s male relative with authority, whether her father or her mate, has access to the record, and is, naturally, included in all decisions.”

  “And does the female mate have access to his health information?”

  “Certainly, with his permission.”

  Lana rolled her eyes to the ceiling at their one-sided patriarchal beliefs. “Good thing this is an Earth colony, and not Primaria, so we don’t have to worry about that either way.”

  Adria inclined her head, showing tacit agreement. “You really do need to take better care of yourself, Lana.” Her eyes shifted to Beck. “As her boss, can you keep her from working for the next few days?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Kincaid!”

  Adria grinned. “Can you also ensure she eats three balanced meals a day, and gets plenty of fluids and rests when she’s not in your employ?”

  “As her boss, probably not, but as her friend I can, if I have to tie her down and bust her butt for being noncompliant.”

  Mouth rounded in surprise, she turned to Lana. “Why he’s as bossy and dictatorial as a Primarian Warrior. If your men are like this, why were some of your females so outraged over being treated the same way by ours?”

  “He’s a rare breed in our world. It's called being a Neanderthal, and it’s worse with him because he was born and bred in Texas which means he got a double dose of dominance. If he wasn’t so good-looking, he’d never get away with it.”

  Adria aimed her stunning aquamarine eyes at Beck with renewed interest.

  He propped his fisted hands on his hips and blew out a loud breath, the very image of tried patience. “I don’t know about looks, but I do know this bossy earthman is tired of being talked about like he isn’t here. Are you done with her, Doc?”

  “Oh, no. I’m not a doctor. Not yet. And there is the infusion to see to first.”

  “When you’re finished, I’ll take her home and set about making her follow those instructions.”

  The infusion took only minutes. Once Adria announced she was free to leave, he pulled a Trask-like move and scooped her up in his arms. She protested his every step although it did her no good because he still carried her out of the clinic, down the busy main street, and all the way to her apartment.

  LANA MAY HAVE BEEN too busy arguing with her overprotective boss to notice the man standing on the corner across the street, but he didn’t miss her presence. Preparing to check in with his sister and let her know their departure would be delayed a few hours, Trask paused to let a solar craft glide by before stepping into the muddy road.

  After it had passed, he caught sight of a fair-haired woman. With the influx of human mates on Primaria, it was a common sight, but on Terra Nova, which was populated almost entirely by men, a female was an oddity. Upon closer look, he saw skin as smooth as fresh cream, and a mouth with a delicate bow in the center of the upper lip. Trask blinked, disbelieving his eyes, but he couldn't deny who she was when her voice carried across the street to him. The words were indecipherable, but the slightly husky tone made his insides clench in pain.

  His focus switched to the man carrying Lana down the sidewalk in the opposite direction. Tall, broad-shouldered, with thick, brawny arms, if not for the man’s short gold-streaked hair and the light skin tone which declared him human, he would have charged after them and demanded to know which of his warriors dared touch his mate.

  He could only stare after them, however, accosting innocent citizens on the street wasn’t condoned even here in this frontier world. Instead, he stared after them, his insides churning with anguish which never quite went away but always simmered below the surface. A multitude of questions burned the tip of his tongue. Why was she here on the colony planet and not on Earth? Had she already moved on, found another mate, who had been assigned here to work?

  He swayed on his feet as the possibility of that hit home. It had been months since he’d seen her last, and it had come as a shock. Beautiful as ever, and braver than he could have imagined, they’d found her wriggling through the ventilation ducts of the Denastrian ship—Ram’s infant daughter safe in her arms—while she single-handedly orchestrated their own rescue. His warriors had only to clean up the unconscious frogmen from the gas pallet his mate had deployed.

  Afterward, with the intensity and danger of the successful mission still firing their blood, he and Lana had shared a passionate kiss. Hope of ending their estrangement had surged within him, but she would not be deterred from returning to the colony, and ultimately going back to Earth.

  What had changed? Was this human male the reason she’d stayed?

  Since then, without her, time had dragged by like an eternity. But seeing her now, it seemed like only yesterday when she had walked away from him. It had been months, but for him still much too soon to contemplate replacing her with another. He’d heard some humans discarded one partner and took another in half as much time. A callous unthinkable mating behavior to a Primarian, but to Lana, it might be commonplace.

  “And they call us barbarians,” he muttered.

  He had to know if it was true.

  His gaze shifted to the building they had exited, and he stalked determinedly across the street, barely cognizant of the passing vehicles, some of which had to veer sharply to avoid him. His long strides gobbled up the distance, and in seconds he slammed through the glass doors.

  “Adria!” he shouted.

  When she didn’t immediately reply, he followed it up with a bellow. “Sister!”

  She appeared from the rear of the clinic a moment later, a startled expression on her features as she searched him, in a quick up-and-down body scan, then glanced around the entry area where he stood.

  “Trask, are you hurt?”

  “No. I need answers.”

  Her hand flew to her che
st. “You frightened me. I thought someone was injured or dying.” Her concern promptly faded, replaced by an angry glare. “Don’t come into a medical facility shouting if it’s not urgent, brother. Good gracious, I shouldn’t have to tell you that.”

  “Was that Lana I saw leaving?”

  She blinked. “Yes.”

  “She was injured?” he demanded.

  “No, only suffering a minor ailment, but I really can’t say—”

  “A minor ailment required she be carried out of here?”

  “No, Mr. Kincaid was just being cautious—”

  “Beckett Kincaid?” He'd met the man—young, powerfully built, intelligent. The city planner/construction company owner was one of the few human males he’d met who came close to looking him in the eye. Jealousy surged inside him as well as a burning need to separate the man’s head from his shoulders.

  Adria, obviously suspecting where his thoughts had gone, explained quickly, “He is her employer. She became ill at work. He brought her here for treatment and was seeing her safely home. That is all.”

  “What illness?”

  “I’m not allowed to say.”

  “She’s my mate,” he insisted sharply. “I have every right to know.”

  An awkward silence encompassed the small entryway. It was a moment before she answered. “As Lana recently reminded me, you aren’t mates any longer, Trask. I’m sorry. I cannot say.”

  The pounding in his head kept time with the dull thud of his heart. The pressure steadily built until he thought he might explode. Then, with a furious, frustrated growl, he stormed out, and it was by sheer force of will he left all the walls intact when he went.

  STANDING IN THE SHADOWS of a half-constructed building on the opposite end of the street, another man watched Lana's progression down the muddy, rut-ridden road. Hands clenched into fists, he shook with silent outrage.

  What was she doing here?

  He thought he'd made sure she was gone for good, but here she was on this insufferably hot, primitive planet. It angered him to have to be here amid these humans, an inferior sub-species to be sure. But the path toward acceptance of the earth creatures had been cleared despite his best efforts—all furtive, without his direct involvement, of course.

  Though he’d used extreme caution, he spent the largest part of the past year severing connections with the Purist sect and covering his tracks. If anyone learned of his role in the plot to stop this interspecies breeding abomination, he would be exiled, or worse. Capital punishment still existed under Primarian law, although a sentence hadn’t been handed down in centuries. Reserved for the vilest of crimes—treason, assassination, or an attempt on the life of the Princep, and the same for his anticipated successor, the Primmum Ectus—it could well become his fate because he was guilty of all three.

  And with the return of the general’s female, he was closer to that fate. As he watched the human male carrying her, his fury mounted.

  Faex!

  She couldn’t have popped up at a worse time, not with the Princep assigning Trask not only to oversee security of the new Earth colony, but to lead the joint council. He would be here more often. The risk of them coming together and potentially finding out what had contributed to their separation was too great.

  If the general learned he was involved, he would break him like a twig. It would be a quick end, but he wasn’t ready to meet the Maker. Nor was he prepared to stand trial, which is what he could expect if anyone didn’t intervene. Her testimony could impugn his claims of innocence. He couldn’t allow it. She was the key to his downfall and would have to be taken care of permanently, and the time for that was now.

  Chapter Twelve

  “THIS IS WHAT SOLITARY confinement must be like,” Lana grumbled as she flopped down on her couch.

  Staying home alone was how she spent most of her downtime, but that was by choice. It usually came at the end of a ten or twelve-hour day of sanding, priming, and painting. Not to mention lugging paint cans, tarps, and ladders from place to place, or climbing up and down those ladders, as well as stretching, bending, and kneeling. And the worst part of all, crawling on the floor on all fours with a putty knife in one hand and a stinking rag soaked with good old-fashioned turpentine to clean up all the splotches of paint she spilled in the other. She wasn’t the neatest of painters, but she was working on it.

  Conversely, being told to go home and rest when she wasn’t dead tired from work, was punishment. The colony had no TV, no interactive gaming services—not that she used them—and she didn’t have access to the unlimited resources of the SatWeb from all points of the globe like she did back on Earth. But what she missed most of all on this mostly male-populated rock in the middle of nowhere were girlfriends. During times like these they’d come over and keep her company, eat junk food, drink margaritas by the pitcher not the glass. But she didn't even have a cat to talk to when the solitude drove her nuts.

  Reading one of the dozens of books she had loaded on her digital device didn’t interest her because they were mostly romances and every hero in each storyline reminded her Trask. Listening to music was out since the theme of almost every song was love; either wishing for, falling into, or making love, which only made her miss her gorgeous general more. Then there was the profusion of love-gone-wrong and breakup songs, or the ones about unremitting loneliness, longing, and heartache. In the end, every melody and lyric made her think of Trask, and she ended up bawling like a baby. So basically, her entire music collection was a no go, unless she listened to Christmas songs. Not the popular ones about being home for the holidays with the one you loved—tearjerkers, for sure—rather kid’s classic like “Frosty the Snowman” and “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer,” which invariably got stuck in her head and were enough to drive her batty.

  With a frustrated groan, she got up and began to pace. At least it was something to do.

  A knock on the door a while later kept her from wearing a grove in her floor. Glad for the reprieve from the monotonous silence, she dashed to open it, hungry for conversation, though it was most likely someone knocking on the wrong apartment in her 400-unit complex.

  Beck stood on the other side, holding a fistful of grocery bags in one hand and one of those wax paper bakery bags in the other from which emanated the mouthwatering aroma of yeast and cinnamon.

  “Don’t tell me I missed the grand opening!” she cried.

  His mouth curved into a smile as he raised a green-and-white striped bag adorned with a coffee and donuts logo to his face and inhaled. “Okay. I won't tell you. I'll just say cinnamon rolls...baked fresh today.”

  “With the cream-cheese icing?”

  His grin grew so broad, twin dimples indented his cheeks. The sight was always like a punch to the gut. Trask had a dimple, discovered only when he shaved his beard. She tamped down her longing planning to sublimate it with ooey-gooey bakery goodness, especially when he said, “Is there any other kind?”

  “Give it over!” she squealed and rudely snatched the bag from his fingers.

  Without another word, not inviting him in, offering to help him haul in the rest of what he’d brought, or giving him the feeblest thank you, she left him standing in the open doorway and moved to the kitchen as though she’d been shipwrecked on a deserted island without sustenance for months. She unfolded the top as she walked and stuck her nose in the bag. “Oh my God,” she moaned after she inhaled the wonderful bakery goodness. “I forgot how delicious these smell.”

  It seemed like forever that she and Beck, and the other residents of the fledgling capital had anticipated the arrival of the bakery. They had a clinic, a pub, a market, and other small shops, but a bakery opening was a huge step towards actual civilization—or so it seemed to them in their isolated little corner of the universe. They didn’t have fast food or dozens of restaurants to choose from, only the sandwich shop located inside the market, and Melvin’s which was the original mess hall comprised of not much more than a tent and picnic-style
tables when she first arrived.

  At either place, they were lucky to get a hard cookie or a slice of dry cake without nearly enough frosting, so a real bakery was much anticipated. It had been the main topic of conversation for months. But last week, when a sign in the window promised freshly baked cinnamon rolls—and not your ordinary, mundane, run-of-the-mill kind of cinnamon roll, but the kind that had withstood centuries of competitors and still stood top of the heap—Cinnabon. Their excitement, along with everyone else in town who could talk of nothing else, had spiked to a near-frenzied anticipation.

  There was a slam, which she figured was Beck pausing long enough to kick her door shut with his boot. His thudding footsteps followed her as he slogged eight bags bulging with other stuff she hadn’t taken the time to offer to help with. But Lana didn’t care if she was rude. He’d only had to wait a few months for this moment. For her, it had been since before the Odyssey disembarked on its original mission four long years ago!

  “And you didn’t get Cinnabon while you were home this last time because...?”

  “I could have it any old time I wanted, so I didn’t want it every single day. That’s why.”

  He looked at her like she was off her nut and smiled while shaking his head. “If you get plates and forks,” he suggested, “we can give days of yammering over how good they smell a rest, and actually experience how they taste.”

  Lana had a different plan.

  By the time he hefted the bags onto her countertop, she’d already pulled out one of the half dozen rolls and taken a huge bite. Who needs utensils when you have fingers? When the sweetness hit her tongue, her head fell back, her body quivered in delight, and she moaned with unrestrained bliss.

  “Beckett Kincaid,” she mumbled around another huge bite. “I love you for this. Will you marry me?”

  He chuckled, arctic-blue eyes flashing with delight. “Sorry, babe. You’re beautiful, but I like lots of tits and ass on a woman. Maybe if you eat two of those every day for a year and regain what you’ve lost, I’ll reconsider.”