Lorran only grinned. “Another set of hands can lighten the load. Allow me to help.”
“So I’ll have the time to call our mother?”
He sighed dramatically. “Yes! She calls me nonstop. Let me help you so that female will leave me in peace.”
“That female gave you life.”
“That female calls in the middle of my sleep cycle.”
His brother’s obvious suffering warmed his heart. “Very well. I need to ask questions to a certain warrior.”
Lorran rose to his feet. “And you need to look intimidating? Excellent.”
“I need you to say nothing and stand behind me.”
“Intimidatingly.”
“Just so.”
The ship’s computer located the suspect. The communication station was near the bridge and far from the brig. One did not hold prisoners near the command center of the battle cruiser, after all.
Walking briskly, Lorran followed. “What is the male’s offense?”
“I cannot discuss an ongoing investigation.”
“But you can have me hovering over your shoulder. Oh.” The pieces fell into place for Lorran. If he was witness to an interrogation, he was part of the ongoing investigation. He would not be able to speak on the matter to anyone other than Seeran and the warlord. “Thank you. Now I can avoid our mother’s call in good consciousness.”
“Consider it an early Golau gift.”
Seeran found the traitor at the communications hub. To his credit, the traitor did not panic and flee, admitting his guilt immediately. He pretended not to notice Seeran and went about his work, as if he did not have secrets to hide.
“Warrior Cen,” he said, motioning for the male to step outside. There were many ears in the communications hub. He did not want to give anything away until he determined the true depth of the treason.
“Warrior Seeran,” Cen said, giving a brief nod to him and Lorran. “Is there a problem? I told the warlord the communications would be fully functional after the repairs.”
Yes, the mysterious communications outage, just before the Judgment sailed through a gate and into a trap.
“You were an associate of Antu?”
The male shook his head. “We both served in communications. I knew him.”
“Did you share sympathies with him?”
Another head shake. “In truth, I could barely stand the male. He thought he deserved special considerations because of his brother.”
Seeran did not turn to his brother but he caught movement in the corner of his eye. “Good. I only ask because communications continued with Antomas after Antu’s foolish challenge to our warlord. He had several supporters, yes?”
“Did they not also fail the same challenge?”
Seeran spread his empty hands in a placating gesture. “I was not here to witness these events. I noticed that Antu socialized with several warriors in the clan.”
“He was friendly.”
“But you barely tolerated him,” he said with a nod. “And several of those supporters failed in a challenge but several more remained silent. They did not challenge the warlord.”
“He is a fair enough warlord. I have no quarrel with his leadership.”
“Just so. I am concerned that the transmissions to Antomas continued.”
“Perhaps it was scheduled or programmed,” Cen said. His hands hung perfectly still at his side.
“And those transmissions ceased the day after your mate arrived.”
Cen’s hand twitched, the only sign of discomfort. “I was fortunate to have a match. I understand you also have a new mate.”
“Yes. With my female, I find that I think more about protecting her and the desire for foolish risks and fantasies of revenge or power slip away. I’m sure you feel the same.”
“My Mia is a joy.”
Seeran gave the male a thin smile. Traditionally a male would wish another many sons but he couldn’t bring himself to utter the words. “I found our conversation illuminating. Thank you and please return to your station.”
Hazel
HAZEL WAS HALFWAY THROUGH another murder mystery episode when Seeran arrived. She paused the program while they shared dinner. He opened another bottle of wine, this one a dry red.
“What’s this taste?” she asked, swirling the wine in her glass.
“Describe it, please.”
“It starts off fine, I guess, but there’s an aftertaste. It’s bitter.” She frowned, setting the glass down.
“Tannins. It is what makes this wine dry.”
“I don’t care for it.”
“My father has breed these grapes for twenty years to get just the right flavor profile.”
What could she say to that? She insulted his parent’s vineyard, couldn’t appreciate the delicate flavor profile of fine wines and she was put out that he failed to notice her new hair.
After dinner, they returned to the common area to finish watching her murder mystery show. He sank on the sofa next to her, wordless draping an arm over her shoulder. He watched for several minutes before finally saying, “They do nothing to arm themselves. They invite attack. It is no mystery why one of their numbers is deceased.”
“You’re supposed to figure out why and how they were killed, not criticize their...”
“But I just told you why. They had no weapons. They were ill prepared. Their demise was a forgone conclusion.”
“If no one died, then it’s not a very good murder mystery, is it?” Hazel sighed, stopping the program and bringing up the main menu. “You pick something.”
He brought up a historical drama. Hazel couldn’t tell if the costumes were deliberately bad or it was a reflection on the quality of the production. The Sangrin actors wore latex Suhlik masks and the effect was... disturbing. The flat, dead eyes of the Suhlik were even more so on the screen.
“Tooth and Claw,” Hazel read as the intro credits rolled by. “Really?”
“It is the valiant story of the warriors who won our freedom from the Suhlik.”
“And everyone talks in that weird accent because?”
“It is history. Everyone had that accent back then.” He was quiet for a moment, then, “I enjoyed this program as a youth. Perhaps it has aged poorly.”
“Does it have swords fights and butt kicking? Then I’m all in.”
She settled in next to him, pulling a throw blanket over her legs. She tried to follow the story but it proved impossible to read any expression from the actors in Suhlik masks. They might as well have been marionettes. The “Mahdfel” were Sangrin actors dressed in leather harnesses and kilts and not much else. Apparently the slavery and subjugation of Seeran’s ancestors didn’t come with pants.
She cringed at her pithy thought. The costumes might be cheesy but clearly the story meant something to Seeran. His people had been enslaved. His people had won their freedom. How many times had she watched Braveheart? Or Star Wars, for that matter. His eyes watched the screen with rapt fascination.
“You changed your mane. It smells nice,” he said.
“Thanks. Mia did it for me today.”
“Does Terran hair change color often?”
“Just mine. This is close to my natural shade. Why? Did you have your heart set on a blonde?”
He shifted subtly, to better face her. “That question is a trap.”
Always with the risk analysis. She wanted to laugh and smile, lean into the warmth of him and enjoy a quiet evening, but she couldn’t forget the way Cen gripped Mia’s elbow. “I don’t like her mate, Seeran. There’s something wrong with him.”
He nodded, as if this was expected. “He is dangerous. You would do best to avoid him.”
“No, I mean, he hurt her.”
Seeran sat up a little straighter. “Explain.”
“His kind of lost his shit when he found her here. In our apartment, I mean. He started barking about safety and attacks and then he... grabbed her. Here.” Hazel pinched her right elbow to demonstrate.
“I would not have him endanger you, sweetness. Stay away from Cen and his female.”
Somehow he completely missed the point. “Mia is my friend. I’m not going to shun her because her alien is an ass.”
“And you tell me this?”
“Because you said it was forbidden for a male to harm a female! I saw him, Seeran, right in our home. He hurt her!” And promptly followed that bit of physical abuse with rather rude things to say about Hazel herself, but that was beside the point.
“I am aware of Cen.”
“Are you going to do something about it.”
“I said I was aware. You must swear to me you will not interfere.” His eyes flashed, the coolness now replaced with something akin to anger.
“I won’t do that. Mia needs a friend.” Hazel had been the woman in a bad relationship and she wasn’t going to let Mia slip away because her jerk husband tried his damnedest to drive her friends away. “What has to happen for you to care? A bruise? A broken bone? Or will you tolerate it as long as you don’t see, as long as it’s discrete.”
“Enough!” His chest heaved once. Twice. Hazel watched him, ready to bolt if he moved toward her in anger.
He sighed, shoulders slumping and the tightly-coiled tension drained from her gut. “I will resolve this, sweet one, but you must swear to me to keep your distance. A cur will strike at anyone when they are put down. I would not have you injured.”
“She’s my only friend, Seeran. Please.”
“Your heart is kind and I love you for it, but do not let your kind heart put you at risk.”
“Should I arm myself to prevent any mischief?”
He relaxed back into the cushions of the sofa and drew her to him. “Yes,” he said firmly. “I have studied much of what you Terrans consider entertainment and your propensity for violence worries me.”
This, from the man with a ceremonial sword above the bed.
Chapter Fourteen
Seeran
Seeran waited for Lorran to wake. His brother had always been too sound a sleeper. As a child, he and their eldest brother, Mene, would sneak in mildly poisonous snakes and insects into Lorran’s bed. If Lorran did not want to wake with a viper’s bite on his foot, then he should sleep less deeply, or lock his bedroom door.
He sat at the bottom of the bed, watching Lorran’s naked foot flex and twitch. Any other day and he might have demonstrated enough patience to wait for Lorran to waken naturally. Today he had not the time nor the inclination.
Seeran smacked the bottom of Lorran’s pale lavender foot.
The younger male thrashed, fighting back the thin blanket and leaping out of the bed. Seeran cracked a cold smile at his brother’s struggle. It never failed to amuse him.
“I have a task for you,” Seeran said.
“I am ever at your service, brother.” Lorran picked a pair of trousers off the floor and stepped into them, much to Seeran’s relief.
“My mate needs a guardian today. Be at her side always.”
“Are we expecting an attack?”
“Do not let her come to harm,” Seeran said.
“Such an enigma you are. It must be serious if you will let me be alone with your mate, unless you claimed—”
“Do not touch my mate!” Seeran’s temper frayed. He moved and in the space of a heartbeat, he held a blade to his brother’s throat. Lorran was far too jovial about another male’s mate. He did not understand the overwhelming need to possess and the crushing jealousy.
Lorran held up his empty palms in a gesture of surrender. “Peace, brother.”
“If you lay a hand on my female, I will remove every one of your fingers and send them to our mother.”
Lorran’ gave a nod, the skin of his throat scraping against the blade.
“Swear to it!”
“You have my word.”
Satisfied, Seeran relaxed his grip and drew back.
Lorran rubbed his throat. It took only moments for impertinence to replace fleeting seriousness. “She smells too much like you now. I have no interest.”
That would have to satisfy his primal possessiveness. “I have told her that a certain male is dangerous but I fear her heart has more compassion than her head has good sense.”
“I will keep her safe.”
“Safe and untouched,” Seeran said.
“Or fingers. Yes, how could I forget.”
Hazel
LORRAN DIDN’T EXPLAIN his presence that morning. He didn’t have to. Seeran had him on babysitting duty. Seeran feared Hazel would run off and do something foolish or risky for her only friend and... And he was probably correct. Mia was her only friend. Hazel would do something foolish and risky if Mia asked, or if she thought Mia was in trouble. Having a babysitter wasn’t a bad idea.
Lorran held up a pair of thin soled shoes that looked more like slippers than shoes. “We train.”
“What if I’m not interested?”
“We will go through the warrior forms. It is good for an underworked body and a busy mind.”
Hazel blushed at the words underworked body. Everyone knew. Absolutely everyone knew that her husband couldn’t be bothered to claim her, that she was a rejected woman.
“Too long in one room leads to mischief, eh,” he said in a sympathetic voice.
“A change of scenery would be good, I guess.” She took the shoes with reluctance. Her time on the ship felt like a vacation. Midday naps and hours spent knitting and catching up on programs was a novelty that hadn’t lost its appeal just yet. “Don’t you have regular duties? Why’d you get stuck babysitting me?”
“It is not wise to defy the direct order of a superior officer, which Seeran is.”
“I bet that goes over great.” The slippers were a type of flexible material that stretched to fit her foot tightly yet comfortably. It moved with ease but stiffened to a hard surface when the foot struck the floor.
“He takes his duties very seriously.”
“Too serious to torment a little brother?”
A wicked smile flashed. “I am not so little, but yes, he is far too serious for that. You have the shoes on. Excellent.”
Lorran took her to a training arena. Stadium riser seats circled the simple sand floor. “This is it?”
“Expecting fantastic equipment and drones?”
“Yes.”
“There are many training arenas. This one is for hand-to-hand combat.” He planted his feet on the sand floor and stretched.
“We’re not going to fight are we?” He’d kick her butt without question. She had zero self-defense experience.
“I am forbidden from touching you on the threat of losing fingers, so we practice the forms.”
“Charming.”
“It was an effective motivator. This is a child’s stance.” He demonstrated, planting feet shoulder width apart with a slight bend to the knee.
Hazel copied.
“Excellent. Now we kneel.” He knelt on all fours then lowered his hips to his heels, his hands remained flat on the floor.
“Doesn't seem very warrior like.”
“A warrior can kneel to the superior skill of another. Also, this relaxes the muscles in the back and hips, so you are less likely to injure yourself.”
Hazel copied Lorran’s motions as much as possible. He took her through a simplistic version of the warrior forms for untrained children. It reminded her of the one yoga class she took before Scott declared yoga a waste of money.
Lorran took her through the forms, each flowing gently into the next. Recognition made her stumble in a few places. She saw Seeran do this back on Earth, when they were in the jail cell. She thought it looked like violent tai-chi. This was the kind, gentler version: aggressive yoga.
“You have a good center of balance,” he said.
“I should have. I balanced drinks and plates on trays all day long and never dropped a thing,” she said, proud of her record. A clumsy waitress could lose a shift’s worth of tips if she spilled
a fancy drink from the bar.
“When do I move on from the kid stuff?”
“When you no longer make that ‘oof’ noise.”
Practice continued until the muscles in her calves and thighs ached. Satisfied at her progress, Lorran declared them finished for the day.
“You wouldn’t stop, though, would you?” she asked, mopping up the sweat at the back of her neck.
“No. I would test my endurance and run until my legs collapsed. I would spar with a drone and train on a weapon. My prowess in close quarters needs improvement. Do you hunger? I hunger.”
He took her to the mess hall. Other warriors gave them a wide berth, clearing the table as they approached.
“Do I smell?” Hazel asked, making a weak joke. She probably did. She hadn’t gotten that much exercise since leaving Earth and she was sure to be sore in the morning.
Lorran inhaled deeply. “Not disagreeably. You smell of Seeran, of course, and that is merely unpleasant but not foul.”
At least she didn’t stink. The food arrived and her stomach growled. Lorran raised his eyebrows in surprise at the sound.
“Don’t judge me. I’m hungry, too.”
Lunch was a thick, meaty stew served over a slab of bread. She didn’t recognize the vegetables or the meat, the taste and texture was all wrong, but it was close enough to “stew” to satisfy her. It had a pleasant tang and the bread soaked in the juices.
“He is different with you,” Lorran said between spoonfuls. “It is good to see him live again.”
She must have looked confused because he continued, “He was not the same after... what happened on Earth.”
Right, she thought, his lost wife. “Seeran told me,” she said.
“He lost the fire in his blood. I believe because he did not mourn as a male should for a lost mate.” Lorran rolled a shoulder. “But that is his concern.”
“Clearly not if you’re discussing it with me.”
“Truth, but it is also your concern.”
“I’m not competing with a dead woman.” She wouldn’t. There was no winning that competition.
Seeran: Warlord Brides (Warriors of Sangrin Book 6) Page 12