The Brothers Nightwolf Complete Trilogy: A Sci-Fi Shifter Paranormal Romance Box Set

by Theodora Taylor

  “Sometimes I wonder if they purposefully let it get this bad before they come,” I say to Zin as I hand her up another bucket of water.

  She takes it, and I have to give her credit as she limps away, singing an old planet love song. Doing all this work after a full day of farming and the numerous other things us New Terrhans have to do from sun up till sun down in order to scrape by on this barely fertile planet is harder for her than me.

  Though Zinnia survived the crash that had taken out our colony ship when we were both in utero, her leg was badly crushed. At one point, there was talk of amputation after her post-crash delivery, but the surviving medical technicians had been able to save it. However, Zinnia walks with a limp.

  She’s covering up the pain well, singing back-to-back old planet love songs, as we bale out our hiding holes. But I can see her limp becoming more and more pronounced.

  I look up at the two moons, now high in the sky and call out to Zinnia, “Know what, we’ve done enough for today. We’ll get up before rise tomorrow and start again. Then maybe the sun will do the rest before the Xals get here.”

  “Maybe…” Zinnia says. She reaches down a hand and braces her good leg against a nearby tree, as she helps me climb out. “I think this is good enough, though. It will be uncomfortable lying in water, but we got it low enough where we won’t drown if we have to hide out in these shallow graves for a while.”

  “Holes,” I correct sternly.

  Then, I affectionately hook my arm through hers as we walk away. Partly to help her, since I know she’d never ask to lean on me while we walked the half mile back to the village. And partly, because I’m grateful to have company for all this hole digging and now baling out business. Even if that company thinks I’m crazy for even attempting to do what no twenty-one-year-old in our village has ever done before. Escape the Breeding Ceremony.

  Zinnia wasn’t there when my sister fell. Familiar grief seizes my throat as it always does whenever I think of Elle. It had taken many long months before I stopped crying for the loss of my sister and her baby boy. And when I finished crying, I found myself changed. No longer a little sister, but a woman, determined not to let those damn Xals touch me. Ever.

  And yeah, Zinnia, thinks I’m crazy for trying to escape something we’ve both been groomed all of our lives to accept. But she didn’t see how that alien looked at me as his Diplomat promised he’d come back. For me. The memory of his red and black diamond gaze sends a shiver up my spine.

  Maybe I am crazy, though. The alien who vowed to return for me didn’t even show up last year. And believe me, I had looked. Squinting so hard at all the Reapers, I’d actually recognized one of them. The gigantic golden Xal who’d rushed to Tel D’Rek’s defense, was rounding up babies with the rest of the reaping force and had even poked his head through our front door. But nope … there were no arrogant big blue aliens dressed in gold as far as I could tell.

  So yes, there was a hopefully good chance that Tel D’Rek had forgotten about me. But…

  “I can’t risk having a boy baby taken away from me. I think I’d go crazy,” I quietly admit to Zinnia as we come out of the red tree woods, my voice losing the defiance it usually takes on when I talk about escaping the Breeding Ceremony.

  “I think you’d go crazy, too,” Zinnia answers, her voice just as soft. “But I heard they do things to the girls who try to run. Bad things. Things they don’t necessarily recover from. Jin-Hu told me sometimes they breed the girls who run, then kill them after. Maybe that’s just another one of the stories they tell us under twenty-one girls to make sure we don’t do anything stupid when the time comes, but …”

  “No,” I answer, my voice an angry, flat monotone. “These people would have let us starve if the founding leaders hadn’t agreed to let their males breed us. I wouldn’t put anything past them.”

  “Me either,” Zinnia says as we walked by the Xalthurian chicken house, which is currently so low on birds that each family could only expect one egg per non-senior-aged person once a week. Despite our expanding numbers, they gave us the same amount of chickens this year as the year my sister died. I made it a point to count, and I planned to count again this year, even though I know it won’t do us any good.

  It’s not exactly like the Xalthurians have a customer service department. Someone we can complain to about getting short-changed while they run through our little settlement like hunters on the prowl for twenty-one-year old women and their baby boy progeny.

  Zinnia slows a little as we approach her house. Probably because she knows her brother will be drunk on the alcohol he’s somehow manages to keep fermenting, no matter how low the corn rations got from this year to the last. One of the many benefits of inheriting their father’s seat on the settlement’s board of leaders, I guess.

  Zinnia stops just a few feet from the house she’s been forced to share with her brother and sister-in-law, ever since her parents died in the Great Storm. She glances at the large red clay house, then back at me. “Dan says the Breeding Ceremony is the only way I’ll ever be able to get a baby.”

  Wow ….

  I turn her around to face me, so that she can see just how serious my face is in the double moonlight. “Dan is a piece of pigeon shit who puts you down because he doesn’t have an ounce of any kind of talent or skill that he can take pride in. Don’t ever let him get inside your head.”

  I’m aware that my friend is extremely self-conscious about her injuries but in my opinion, they don’t detract from Zinnia’s natural beauty. Zinnia has the most beautiful skin, like shimmering onyx, and kind brown eyes that light up whenever she lets her huge smile come out to shine. She’s also an amazing singer and reads so many books, they’re already talking about giving her a settlement teacher position to keep up with the rising hybrid and human birth rates.

  Besides all of that, Zin has one of the best hearts of anyone I know. I mean, here she is risking everything to help me get out of a Breeding Ceremony that we’ve both been raised to think it’s our duty to withstand. For the good of the village and our people.

  But, funny how not one of the older human leaders who’d arranged that accord with our alien overlords would ever have to board the Xalthurian’s ship to get bred by a gang of loin clothed Xals or have their babies taken away afterwards.

  They take you into this circular room. And then they tell you to face the wall, my sister told me after learning she was pregnant. Then they grab your hips. And they just put it in until they come inside you. They’re really big and it hurts…so bad. A few of the girls passed out, but the Xals just kept on going. I didn’t pass out, but I wanted to. Sometimes I prayed to the moons to let me pass out. Those girls who woke up sore and don’t remember were the lucky ones. I don’t think I’ll ever get married. I don’t think I’ll ever have sex again. It was just a few hours, but it was the most terrible night of my life. I won’t ever forget it. I know I won’t. I shouldn’t be telling you this. But I don’t want you to be shocked like me. Maybe it will help if you know what’s going to happen beforehand. Moons…I hope this baby is a girl. I don’t know what I’ll do if it’s a boy.”

  If only her sister’s prayer had been granted, Elle would still be alive today. Though the odds had already been stacked against her. For while three out of four of the human babies born on New Terrhan had been girls. Three out of four of the half Xalthurian babies were boys which might have had something to do with the Xalthurians’ zero fertility rate with their own women.

  Who knew? It wasn’t like the beastly aliens actually talk to us. They just fuck all the twenty-one year olds then come back a year later to take all the boys.

  No, even with this water-logged hiding hole setback, I can’t just stand down and let this happen. Even if Tel D’Rek doesn’t come back, I won’t let Zinnia or myself get dragged onto that evil ship.

  “I know you want a baby. I want children, too,” I tell Zinnia, cupping her shoulder. “But the Breeding Ceremony isn’t the way to get them.
I want you to find a nice guy here on New Terrhan and start a family without this darkness on your soul. I want that for you. I want that for both of us.”

  Zinnia considers my words, and I know she’s running it through the filter of her pigeon shit brother, who resents Zinnia for getting what he considered to be too much of their parent’s attention when they were kids. That entitled asshole should be grateful that he could walk without pain or a limp and didn’t feel awkward about anyone seeing him naked, and oh, friendly reminder, hadn’t been expected to withstand a Breeding Ceremony when he was twenty-one.

  In the end, I’m not sure if Zinnia decides to agree with me, because she believes she really does deserve better than the Breeding Ceremony, or because she knows I won’t budge on my Run and Hide Plan. But she smiles and says, “Okay.”

  I’ll take that.

  We bid each other goodbye in the New Terrhan way. Since I’m shorter than she is, she kisses me on each cheek, then leans down so that I can give her a peck on the forehead. Then we hug and part ways.

  My mind is focused on how much I hate Zinnia’s asshole brother, not our escape plan, when it happens.

  A sudden electronic blast of sound heralds the Xalthurian’s arrival.

  I stop dead in my tracks, all the air leaving my lungs, just like when the huge Xalthurian finger shoved me. My heart trips a hundred beats per second as the shadow of a large ship blankets the settlement.

  They’re here.

  They’re here!

  And this time …

  This time I’m twenty-one.

  3

  D’Rek

  I have never considered myself a patient male. I was born the future Kel of my solar system. Everything I have ever wanted has been delivered to me. Straight away.

  But over the last two solars, patience is a virtue I have been forced to acquire, lest I fracture the accord we made with the hu’mans of New Terrhan after the systems wide Extinction Virus killed much of our female population and erased the ability of the few left behind to conceive.

  The Xalthurians are a noble and trustworthy race. Supremely logical and economical, we are known through out the galaxy for honoring our contracts and accords. And our arrangement with the hu’mans is the only thing keeping my race from complete death. Yet many times have I been sorely tempted to break the accord, so that I might finally mate the hu’man female whose round eyes had held such fire.

  I could have easily snapped her delicate neck and tossed her lifeless body aside if not for that fire. For the crime of striking me, a member of the royal family, and then compounding that affront by spitting directly into my face. My father had ordered the murder of others for far lesser offenses. As he had told me often, a Kel must occasionally apply violence and/or death to ensure certain infractions aren’t repeated.

  Yet the fire burning so fiercely within those angry brown eyes had stopped me from ending her life. And her defiance in the face of her imminent death had sent an unexpected heat shooting through my body. Temporarily muted, I had stared at the hu’man, seeing her, truly seeing her for the first time.

  She had dark supple skin, a rich confection that dared me to touch…explore…consume. The gates around her mouth, appeared soft and full, plumper than most of the other New Terrhan females in the gathered crowd. It had taken a considerable amount of self-control not to run my fingers over those lips to test their softness.

  Her round eyes were not slits like mine but large and expressive. And her hair was pulled back into an immense puff that reached for the sky. It had put me in mind of the crown I would someday place upon the head of whatever Xalthurian female I deemed worthy of becoming my mate and serving at my side as the Xalthurian Qel.

  And then there was her scent.

  All hu’man females gave off a scent that is pleasing to the males of my species. This had led the Xalthurians to the discovery that these women were compatible for breeding with them during the first contact.

  However, this woman’s scent opened my ridges with its unique aroma and set my hearts to racing inside my chest. Had I been wearing the ceremonial breeding cloth, everyone gathered around us would have born witness to the rise of my diijo. It instantly became harder than Xalthurian steel at the first whiff of this unusual hu’man.

  A dilemma to be certain. I was a warrior and Tel of the Xalthurians, our Kel’s only son. I could show no weakness in front of my men and the New Terrhans…or let her affront go unpunished. Yet, I also did not wish to snap her neck as I first intended when I picked her up from the ground.

  The solution to my quandary had come upon me almost as quickly as my diijo had given rise. And even before I checked the female’s birth code instead of snapping her willful little neck, I had determined one thing.

  I would have her. I would breed her and make her body submit to mine.

  How many nights had I lain awake since then, the ridges on both my head and my diijo vibrating with thoughts of her? I’d taken Xalthurian females to my bed. Had even developed a preference for purple courtesans, the closest our people came to her unusual hue. But she was the one I could not forget. I had mounted other woman, but thoughts of her obsessed my mind.

  These past two solars have truly been torture, but finally the time has come to claim what would be mine.

  I am confident that after my need has been sated and my hu’man is successfully bred, I can finally rid myself of this inconvenient obsession. But as for now…

  The ridges lining my nose bridge and lower forehead tingle in keen anticipation as I stand upon the breeding ship’s observation deck after landing, taking in the moonslit view of New Terrhan through the window.

  Barren red dirt fields—even more than the last time I landed upon this planet as a Tel required to learn all aspects of his system’s business—and beyond that, the simple red clay houses the hu’mans called homes. There are some woods in the far distance. However, they, too, are red, so they do little to break up the bleak monotony of the planet’s one-color landscape.

  “My Kel, your orders have been carried out by the soldiers, and the Breeding Ceremony males have gathered in the hallway to await your orders.”

  I turn from the window to find T’Kan, standing in front of me, head bowed with his hand placed over his ridged nose as he awaits my response.

  I furrow my ridges at my lifelong friend’s formality. It has only been a couple of weeks since I promoted him to serve as my general. Less than a few moons ago he would have simply nodded and addressed me as Tel D’Rek. I also do not like the look of T’Kan this eve. The orange tint of his usually vibrant skin seems dull. Dark circles ring his eyes and the proud tilt of his head has dropped ever so slightly.

  “I do not require such formality when it is only the two of us, T’Kaniteton,” I say, using his full name to make my words that much more severe. “You will raise your face and tell me what troubles you.”

  He lowers his hand, but answers, “I am well, my Kel.”

  I crook my head. “And now you will tell me why you are lying to your Kel.”

  An aggrieved smile curves T’Kan’s lips. “I thought you did not require formality when it is only the two of us.”

  “What I require is honesty. I will not be lied to. Tell me what bothers you.”

  T’Kan releases a hissing sigh, before responding. “I would be better suited as your guard for this ceremony than as a participant. These hu’mans are prone to violent attacks, especially the males. And you are our Kel.”

  “A Kel who does not need protection from such a puny race.”

  T’Kan opens his mouth, but before he can issue another protest, I point out, “You are our planet’s strongest warrior and my General. You could have easily requested before this moment to participate in the Breeding Ceremony next solar. You will tell me why you did not.”

  T’Kan shifts uncomfortably. “My uncle is demanding a male heir. N’Thn’s participation in the Breeding Ceremony produced a girl child two solars ago. There had been plans for
him to come again this solar …”

  T’Kan trails off, but he does not have to finish. Even though the Kaidorians ended the Three Generations War a few moons ago with a request for peace negotiations, the repercussions from that extended conflict still resonate. Especially for T’Kan, whose cousin, N’Thn, the male he’d been raised beside same as a brother, was killed in the Last Great Battle.

  “My uncle blames me for N’Thn’s death, and he is not wrong. I should have protected him,” T’Kan tells me, his ridges tight with self-condemnation. “I owe this to the uncle, who took me in when my parents’ spirits passed to the next realm. I must continue our bloodline ...”

  I furrow my ridges. T’Kan’s uncle, N’Ure served my father and now me as prime minister. He’s a trusted advisor but, in my opinion, has too often used his adoption of T’Kan as a chip to manipulate my friend into doing his bidding.

  “You will be in a more stable frame of mind next solar. If you wish to back out of today’s ceremony, I will speak with your uncle on your behalf. Command the extension if necessary.”

  T’Kan stiffens. “I will be fine, my Kel, and I have no wish to further delay the Breeding Ceremony.”

  His words had become formal again. Any other day I might have pursued it. Insisted T’Kan let me handle his overly demanding uncle.

  But today was not any other day.

  At the mention of the Breeding Ceremony, all of my thoughts snap back to her.

  Finally it is time.

  I arrive at the long hallway that leads directly to the ship’s hatch door with T’Kan at my flank. As promised, this solar’s crop of Breeding Ceremony participants are lined up on either side of me.

  On one side stands warriors who served bravely in the war and now wish to settle down with a Xalthurian female and a hybrid son to call their own. On the other side stands rich scions whose fathers have donated great sums to our royal treasury to gain their sons the opportunity to continue their family lines.