Seeran: Warlord Brides (Warriors of Sangrin Book 6)

by Nancey Cummings

  Needing no other encouragement, he knocked open her thighs and wedged himself in. He held onto her hips as he pushed in slowly, allowing her to adjust to his size. With no preparation, Hazel expected burning and stretching and savored every moment.

  Fully seated, he drew back and slammed forward. Each thrust gained speed, pistoning with force. Hazel cried out her encouragement. Finally, the ache she felt from the beginning was soothed. Her own hips moved, matching his rhythm and growing erratic. She pushed against him. Water sloshed over the side.

  A hand stretch over her, grasping her wrist firmly but not so tight as to bruise. Even now, covering her, losing himself in her, he thought of her comfort.

  “My mate. You’re mine now. Only mine,” he growled, his mouth pressed against her ear. “I will not share you with a ghost. Or with worry. You are mine.”

  “My husband,” Hazel managed to say between moans.

  “You’re only. Say it,” he urged.

  Her body responded to his demand, she couldn’t not say the words even if she wanted. “Only yours.”

  His mouth pressed down at the curve where neck met shoulder, and she felt the sharp sting of teeth. She came all at once, her core clenching tight, and with a groan, his fangs sank into her flesh.

  Warmth spread from the bite and he released deep into her. Seeran stopped moving and held her in place while he pumped into her. Hazel followed her instinct and held still. Seeran was, in that moment, pure instinct. He had his fangs on her neck. For the moment he was content to lick the bite marks and soothe the bleeding wound, all the while with his cock inside her. The bite didn’t hurt. His saliva must have had numbing properties. The universe narrowed to just them. No worries. No past. Just them. She could live in this moment, completely content and surrounded by her man.

  With a sigh, he pulled away. His cock slipped free and Hazel felt the loss.

  He sat and pulled her into his lap. Hazel curled right up, letting the water lift her over his thighs.

  Her fingers danced over the glowing tattoos on his chest. Sliver in color, they were cool to the touch. “How many sons did you want again, Mr. Rhew?”

  “Many.” His arms tightened around her.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Hazel

  The upside to being newly claimed, Hazel discovered, was that the warriors of the clan gave her a wide berth. The whole “can’t be alone with another male’s woman” thing meant rooms cleared out as soon as she entered. No one spoke to her to question why she wandered the halls. No one stopped to helpfully ask if she were lost—she was, a bit—and no one said a thing as she walked past the detainment cells into Seeran’s office.

  The brig was exactly the type of sparse, utilitarian facility a lifetime of sci-fi movies had trained her to expect. The walls were a dark, matte metal. Harsh lighting illuminated every corner, highlighting every rough detail in the floor, walls, furniture and people. The soft lighting and comfort of Seeran’s quarters made more sense. All day in a hard environment made her man crave comfort. Hazel could appreciate that. After a long shift, nothing felt better than kicking off her shoes and soaking her feet in a tub of cool water.

  A faintly glowing blue barrier separated out the detainment cells. Cen gave her a cold, hard glare as she walked past.

  Visiting Seeran for a lunch wasn’t entirely innocent on her part. Mia had cried until she was snotty, begging for Hazel to find a way for her to see Cen. Hazel knew there was no way to sneak Mia into the brig. She promised to scout the location, to at least verify if her friend’s husband was alive. Hazel knew how that brand of anxiety ate away at a person.

  Hazel gave Cen a little wave. His face was a mottled mess, greens and blue blooming across his face. She’d never thought him handsome to begin with but at least she had some good news for Mia: alive, just not pretty.

  Seeran’s office was surprisingly mundane: desk, chair, computer, wall of guns, nightsticks, handcuffs, grenades, canisters of tear gas and the other flotsam and jetsam of the work-a-day life.

  Seeran sat hunched over the desk, focused on a thin tablet. The harsh lighting really made the jagged edge of his broken horn more pronounced. Whatever he read made him frown.

  “Is this where you hide all day from me?” She leaned against the doorway, picnic basket cradled to her chest.

  Seeran looked up from the tablet computer. “I didn’t hear you. Sit.” He waved to the thin metal chair that looked as comfortable as a, well, thin metal chair.

  “Read anything good lately?”

  The frown returned. “Incident reports. Merrek cannot spell; it is aggravating. Why are you here?”

  Hazel set the picnic basket on his desk. “Lunch. You eat, right?”

  He nodded.

  “So let’s eat together.”

  “You should have remained in our quarters. I would have returned to you there if you wished to share a meal.”

  “I wanted a change of scenery,” she said, unpacking the basket. “It’s not fancy. I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I made what I like.”

  Seeran pushed away from the desk and patted his lap, indicating where she should sit. Hazel rolled her eyes but complied. Sitting with her back to his firm chest wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

  She unpacked two wax paper wrapped sandwiches. “Turkey, brie and sliced apple. A little sweet, a little crunchy and a little creamy. This one,” pointing to the other sandwich, “is turkey, bacon and avocado. Salty and a little creamy.”

  Seeran reached for the turkey, brie and sliced apple, as Hazel suspected he would. Her man had a sweet tooth. He peeled back the wax paper. “You made this or did you acquire it in the mess hall?”

  “I made it with my own two hands.”

  “You should not.”

  “It’s a sandwich, Seeran. It’s, like, the easiest meal to make.” She twisted in his lap to watch him. He sniffed the sandwich before lifting up a corner of the bread to examine the contents.

  “It’s a sandwich, not poison. Eat or you’ll make your wife unhappy.” Hazel took a big bite of hers to demonstrate. She chewed with exaggeration. Not poison.

  Seeran took a small bite and chewed mechanically, then bite again with enthusiasm. Yup, sweet tooth. “This is so deviant,” he said, stuffing his mouth. “I shouldn’t enjoy this so much.”

  “It’s still just a sandwich, Seeran.” His words were familiar. She thought about truly deviant activities, where she’d like him to touch her, lick her, and had difficulty imagining something truly horrible. Anything he wanted to do, she was down for. Not that she had been terribly adventurous before but she’d read a lot of romance books and had a pretty long list of stuff she’d like to try, at least once.

  Seeran paused his assault on the sandwich and set it down. He stroked her cheek with the back of his knuckles. “Nothing can ever be wrong about where we take our pleasure,” he said with such conviction that she blushed.

  “Stop reading my mind.”

  “So you were thinking about sex?” His eyes gleamed and that self-satisfied grin appeared. “I knew I was too irresistible for you not to seduce.”

  “Still just a sandwich, Seeran. It’s meat and cheese between bread, not a come on.”

  He waggled a brow.

  “It might have been before, but it’s definitely not now. Stop looking at me like that.” She wanted to sound serious, tough, but a giggle escaped. It felt good to laugh and relax, not always be on edge, waiting for her man to fly off the handle. Seeran wasn’t Scott. She knew that but old behaviors were hard to change.

  “In my culture,” Seeran said, seriousness returned to his voice but his amiable nature remained, “it is a very intimate activity to share a meal. We reserve that for close friends and family. And the male provides the meal. We feed our mate. It is our honor and our duty.”

  “It’s the same for us,” Hazel said before taking another bite. The ingredients out of the reconstructor were almost as good as the real thing but the avocado had a thin, fake taste. It did
n’t detract from the overall taste, though. “Mostly. You make food for the people who you love.”

  “How can it be the same when you would bring meals to strangers.” He frowned. “For money,” he added, as if that made it more deviant.

  “You think I’m some kind of pervert because I’m a waitress.”

  “You bring food to other males. The only male you should bring food to is me.”

  “Your brother brought me chicken noodle soup.”

  “That is different. He is family.” He frowned. “And I did not appreciate his forwardness,” he muttered.

  “Wait, wait. I served burgers and fries. I didn’t sleep with my customers.”

  He huffed. “It is the principle.”

  “No, there’s no principle. Stop acting like I was a tramp because I carried out plates of food. It was a job. Nothing more. I brought you lunch because I love you, damn it.”

  Another huff. “I meant no insult.”

  She gave a huff of her own. She just blurted out that she loved her husband and he acted as if it barely registered. So much for big, gushy romantic moments. Maybe he wasn’t the romantic sort. Last night had been prime fodder for sweet words, their first time together, and while his actions were sweet and tender, not so much with the words. “None taken, this time.”

  He watched her finish her sandwich. His arms rested comfortably at her waist. “You must not bring sandwiches to another male. Swear to me.”

  She patted his chest. “Jealous?”

  “It is deviant for a female to provide a meal but I will allow it because it pleases you and there can be no transgression in how we take our pleasure.”

  “You like the deviance, don’t you? Naughty boy.”

  “You must not do this for another male. I will not allow it. Swear to me!”

  “All right, all right. I swear. All my sandwiches are for you, big boy. Happy?”

  He chuffed in what she recognized as his happy-but-I-won’t admit-it noise. He stuffed the rest of his sandwich in his mouth. She handed him the unfinished half of hers, He hummed with pleasure as he finished it.

  “You got a little something,” Hazel said, brushing her thumb across his lips. He had the smallest smear of brie on his chin. She leaned in and licked it up. Seeran nuzzled her neck and peppered her exposed skin with soft, fleeting kisses.

  “In the mood for dessert?” She gave a wiggle down his lap.

  “What? Here?” He looked around the deserted room.

  “Everyone left when I came in.” The way the other warriors practically fled when she entered a room shouldn’t get under her skin. It wasn’t personal, it was cultural. Don’t make another man a sandwich. Don’t be alone with another man’s woman.

  “They fear my wrath,” Seeran said, as if it were the most ordinary statement. His wrath was terrible and puppies were adorable. Everyone agreed. “I am a jealous male.”

  “I am allowed to talk to other people,” Hazel said, half question, half statement. She already had one possessive, jealous husband and wasn’t in the market for a second.

  “Since I have claimed you, yes.” His fingers brushed the bite at the curve of her neck and shoulders. Completely savage. A shiver of thrill went through her. Oddly the bite didn’t hurt. It looked like it should hurt. “But if they are intelligent, they will stay away.”

  “Seems to me that we should be getting on with it.” Her arms went around his neck.

  “I promised you a bed. Our bed.”

  “Maybe I’m not too interested in a bed right now.”

  He nodded, as if that was expected. “I am a particularly fine specimen. I would not want to wait, either.”

  She leaned in for a kiss, soft and questioning. “Fortunately,” she said, her lips against his, “I find that huge ego of yours wildly attractive.”

  “Other parts of me are huge,” he added, helpfully. Then, “I do not want to wait for you, either, sweet one. But—”

  “But work.” She’d heard it before. A quickie at lunch was out of the question, it seemed.

  “I am interested in what you brought for dessert.” His hands slipped under her shirt and stroked the curve of her belly. Maybe the quickie was back on the table after all. He licked the shell of her ear, sucking the lobe between his teeth. “Because I love my wife and I want her taste on my tongue for the rest of my shift.”

  Oh. She couldn’t say no to that.

  Hazel adjusted, straddling his thighs and positioned herself to appreciate his hardening cock. Huge, indeed.

  The lights flashed red. “Seeran, report to the bridge.”

  Seeran

  SEERAN PULLED AWAY with a groan. “Return to our quarters.”

  “What’s happening.”

  “Nothing to concern yourself with.”

  “The lights are flashing red. That seems like I should be concerned.”

  He reluctantly removed his mate from his lap. “Most likely we will arrive at our destination. Perhaps it is a Suhlik warship.”

  “Is there going to be a battle?” Her eyes went wide.

  Seeran pressed a kiss to her forehead. “The warlord has planned a raid on a Suhlik facility. Any battle will take place far from the ship.”

  She gave him a skeptical look.

  “If there is any chance of ship to ship combat, I will personally seal you into the safe room,” he swore.

  She glanced at the weapons on display. “Can I have a gun?”

  “Can you use one or would it only soothe your worries.”

  “I have used a pistol. Those aren’t, like, ray guns or something? I don’t think I could even pick up half of them.” She pointed to a large rifle, one meant for long range, precise targeting.

  “No. You would require a small weapon good for close range, hand to hand combat.” He selected a small device, about the size of a Terran pistol. He had experience with the weapon she cited. The kickback was nominal for a Mahdfel but significant enough for a Terran female. “This is non-fatal but will disrupt any Suhlik you encounter.”

  She tested the grip. “What does it do?”

  “It is sonic. It makes the target... unbalanced.”

  “Oh. One of those inner-ear-barf guns. Got it. How do I—”

  Seeran quickly demonstrated how to hold it properly, the targeting and how to fire. He aimed for a glass of water on his desk. The gun emitted a high pitched frequency and the water agitated in the glass.

  Hazel’s eyes went wide. “Wicked. Give me.”

  “You must swear to use it responsibly.”

  “Yes, I swear.” She reached for the weapon but Seeran held it just out of the reach of her short arms. It was a cruel trick but he was not above it.

  “I am serious,” he said.

  “You’re always serious.” She reached again. When he did not relent, she paused. “Yes. I solemnly swear to only use my little sonic gun for good.”

  “Only against the Suhlik, only if they find you. You will not seek them out. Swear it.”

  “Yes! I’ll stay in my rooms like a good little girl.”

  He recognized her sarcastic tone but nodded, satisfied. “There is a fee.” He thumped a finger against his lower lip.

  “Are you serious?”

  “I have it on good authority, I’m always serious.”

  Her skin turned that alluring shade of pink and she licked her lips. The fee was not too onerous. His lips claimed hers, hungry and promising more but taking all he could as if it were their last kiss. He had every reason to expect to return but the Mahdfel life was brutal and unpredictable.

  Static broke over his wrist comm. “If you feel like joining us any day now, Seeran,” the warlord said, his voice unreadable.

  He pulled away, reluctant. He did not want to leave his mate with anything unfinished between them. He had been a fool to wait this long to claim her. Thoughts of her would plague him during the mission. It proved difficult enough to keep a cool head but worry for her well-being would spin him out of control. How did the other m
ated males manage? He would have to ask Mylomon for his secrets. That male never lost his control.

  “Promise to come back to me,” she said.

  “Always,” he replied, sealing his oath with a kiss.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Seeran

  Seeran secured the prisoner, cuffing his hands behind his back. Satisfied that he was hobbled, Seeran pushed him down to his knees. “The warlord would like to know if there’s anything in particular we should expect.”

  Cen spat on the floor.

  “It is heartening to find you so cooperative.” A foot to the middle of the shoulders blades and Seeran had the male face down on the floor. “I feel it is an insult to remind you that there are two Suhlik warships waiting for us, ready to board this vessel. They will tear through walls, fight our warriors, yes, but indiscriminately kill any female or child they find, all in search of you.”

  “I am unaware of any Suhlik plan,” Cen said, his voice partially muffled.

  “Such ignorance must be a gift because all I can think about is how your actions have put the warlord’s female and his sons, and my mate, in danger. A better male would say he is only concerned that your betrayal has endangered the clan, risked everyone, but I am not that better male.” The foot pressed harder. “You have put my mate in danger.”

  “That defective female?” A laugh curdled on Cen’s lips. “Your brother was with her and he could not be bothered to even sniff the poor, used up female.”

  Seeran grabbed Cen by the wrists and hoisted him from the floor. With a growl, he tossed the male back into the holding cell, hitting the far wall head first. His horns gave a crack but Cen slid to the floor, horns intact.

  He wanted to rip the male’s throat out. Cen had been thoughtless and reckless and he did not care, even now on the cusp of battle when his own mate, Mia, could be lost.

  All he could think of was Hazel and the worrisome expression as she gripped the tiny gun. The weapon would be ineffective against a Suhlik soldier but it was the only comfort he could give her. His mate was afraid and it was the traitor’s fault.