by Ann Mayburn
Gwarnon nodded. “Cormac and Nosa…or as you call him, Rastar.”
“Rastar? Wait…what?” Roxy’s face suddenly lost all its color, her lips cheesy pale. “I don’t understand.”
Lacey moved quickly to her side, afraid her friend and only ally in this insanity was about to pass out. “Wait, Cormac and Nosa—aren’t those the guys you were dating back on Earth?”
Both women spun as a man’s deep voice said, “Roxy,” from the doorway.
Roxy let out a weird moan, and Lacey had to prop her friend up for a moment as they both stared at the two men coming their way. One of them had black skin that gleamed with hints of purple and blue in a way no human’s skin ever could. He had a slight feline cast to his features and ears pointed like an elf’s but pierced with silver rings. His tanned partner’s long hair gleamed with streaks of every shade of brown and gold imaginable. They both wore what looked to be some kind of skintight black military uniform, complete with bars on their shoulders.
“What the fuck is going on?” Roxy snarled as she left Lacey’s hold and took two furious steps forward.
“We wish you the blessings of the Lord of Life,” the NevShoos said from above. “We will leave you in privacy for your courtship. You have five galactic days to make the transition, or we will be forced to seek alternative methods for their training.”
“Understood.” Gwarnon bowed to Lacey and took a step closer. “If you will come with me, alyah? There is someone I want you to meet.”
“Hell no.” Lacey glanced over at her friend as panic made her twitchy. “No way, I’m staying with Roxy.”
At this point, her friend threw her hands into the air and yelled, “This whole time—this whole damn time—you’ve lied to me! You’re fucking aliens! I can’t believe you’re fucking aliens and you didn’t tell me! God, I almost had a threesome with ET!”
“On second thought,” Lacey said as she moved next to Gwarnon. “Let’s give them some privacy.”
Confused didn’t even begin to describe Lacey’s state of mind as she followed the somehow familiar, ridiculously handsome alien out of the oddly cluttered room that had been her home these past few hours…days…whatever. She was so out of it, she didn’t even know what month it was, or what year. For all she knew, when the alien slavers kidnapped her from Earth and brought her to be some crazy ass gladiator in another galaxy, decades had passed while Lacey was held in some kind of weird suspended and unconscious state.
Her daughter might be an old woman by now.
“What year is it?” she rasped, her throat tight with fear.
Gwarnon led her into a nearby room, this one a pale cream and decorated in a normal style compared to the eccentric Earth clutter she’d just come from.
“The Kadothian date is the year 150,837, the Galactic year is 929,349 of the Iwolliz Cycle,” he replied as he moved closer to her, revealing streaks of silver lightening surrounding the pupil of his deep navy gaze.
“No, I meant on Earth. What year is it on Earth? How long have we been here? Months, days, years?”
“Days,” he took another step toward her, the silky white fall of his hair catching the light.
Her shoulders lost some of their stiffness as she blew out a soft breath. “Okay, days. That’s not too bad.”
“I cannot believe you’re real,” he breathed out as his gaze searched her face. The silver streaks, like lightning in his dark blue eyes, flashed with emotion. “I was told you were dead.”
“No, I’m alive. At least, I think I am. Maybe this is heaven…or purgatory.”
“What is purgatory?” the man asked. His chest flexed in a distracting manner through the open front of his shirt.
“Never mind.” She forced her gaze off the strong tendons of his sexy throat—yes, even his throat was sexy—and said, “Who told you I was dead?”
“My mother,” he growled. “Out of all the many wounds she has inflicted on my soul, this one is the deepest.”
“You aren’t making any sense.” Her heart sped up and, to calm herself, she used her military training to keep from losing her shit. “Why would your mom lie about me being dead? I don’t even know her.”
“That is a discussion for another time.” He took a step closer, near enough that she could smell his delicious cologne. It reminded her of an exotic incense. “My bride, may I kiss you?”
Despite the odd desire Lacey was feeling to do just that, she stepped away with a vehement, “No!”
“If not a kiss, then may I please touch you?”
“What? No you can’t touch me. What is wrong with you?”
Hurt radiated from his gaze, and she actually felt bad as he said, “Please, my bride, I swear I will not hurt you. I need to touch you, to make sure you are real and this is not some desperate dream.”
Anxious to get off the subject of touching and kissing, she asked, “Why are you calling me your bride?”
The moment she said it, the faulty crystal implant tried to supply her with the information. Pain roared through her head, but along with it, bits of information bombarded her mind—as if she read and heard it at the same time in seven languages. Kadothian males mated for life with one particular female. Ten thousand years of history tried to sear itself into her unequipped brain, a screaming wall of voices and images that sliced through her like mental razor blades, sharp and unforgiving. Lights began to flash behind her closed eyelids as the pain increased, the faulty implant sending shocks through her that left her limbs jerking.
Dimly, she was aware of two men shouting, but her mind was completely held captive by increasingly scrambled information trying to make its way into her head.
Abruptly, the bombardment of information stopped, and she slowly returned to consciousness, her limbs stiff and achy. Groaning, she opened her eyes and blinked back tears as she stared up at an incredibly handsome and unfamiliar face. Smooth, pale skin set off his deep brown hair streaked with bits of the darkest amber and a few pale streaks the color of sand. His arched brows framed his wide set hazel eyes, and he had thick, dark lashes that any woman would envy. Wearing a shirt similar to Gwarnon’s, but deep brown instead of white, he radiated concern as he stared down at her.
His gaze locked with hers and she sucked in a deep breath of cool, masculine herb scented air. As with Gwarnon, she felt a clench deep in her belly, an exhilaration of her soul. Once again, she tried to dismiss her odd feelings as the result of too much stress, but it was impossible. Any woman with a few working hormones in her body would be sent into heat by these intensely sexual men. They exuded a masculine allure that sent a quiver between her legs as her clit grew sensitive. The man above her had kissable lips, deep pink against his pale skin and surprisingly full. For a moment, she wondered what they would feel like against her own, but she quickly shoved that thought away.
These guys were not only aliens, they were unbearably hot aliens who likely had no interest in a woman like her.
They were merely here to infiltrate…or something. Shit, was she developing Stockholm Syndrome at an accelerated rate? Was there such a thing as instant Stockholm Syndrome? Why else would she be experiencing these odd feelings of familiarity and intense attraction to strangers?
“Who are you?” she croaked out, her mouth as dry as dust.
“I removed the faulty crystal implant the slavers gave you. How are you feeling?” His deep, smooth voice seemed to roll over her skin.
Tentatively poking at her head, she braced herself then mentally asked a question. To her relief, she was alone in her mind again. With a low groan, she pushed herself up from the couch and man-with-soothing-herb-cologne went to help her, but she waved him away.
“I’m fine, much better, thank you.” Tilting her head to the side, she stared up at him. “Who are you?”
He stepped back then sank to one knee. “Forgive me, my bride. I am Senior Healer Novaliumnarushchel Malnaro of House Westfall—or Chel, for short.”
She didn’t even attempt his name as sh
e frowned at him. “Look, Chel, I don’t know what’s going on exactly, but if what this piece of shit crystal in my head said is right about your version of marriages, I know I’m not your bride. I think you guys made a mistake.”
Gwarnon stepped up next to Chel, his hand gripping the other man’s shoulder. “No mistakes were made. You are our bride. We can feel it—sense it—in here.” He thumped his powerful chest. “I knew the moment I saw you that you were meant to be our alyah.”
“As did I,” Chel said with a warm smile. “I true dreamed of you. Do you dream of us?”
She slumped back into the couch, her mind whirling as she remembered her fragmented dreams about faceless men with incredible bodies and long, flowing hair. “I’m not sure.”
Chel’s voice was thick with warmth and lust as he murmured, “I remember dancing with you. Having you smile up at me as we held you in our arms. I remember your smell, your taste. I remember the way you came apart in our arms as we gave you pleasure, how you scored your nails up my back. You left a mark.”
“My mark?”
He stood and Gwarnon helped him remove his shirt, revealing a lean and toned body that was absolutely perfect. She had a brief glimpse of his brown nipples and smooth chest before he turned, revealing a back that had long scars going down it from his shoulder to his waist. Scars that did, indeed, look like scratch marks.
The kind made when a woman is pinned beneath a man’s delicious weight, taking everything he has to give and demanding more in the most primal way possible.
For a moment, she had a strange feeling of déjà vu that made her head spin. Memories or fantasies teased the edges of her mind involving her engaged in a threesome with two very well-hung men. One of them had smelled like fresh, clean herbs.
Surely, it couldn’t be…
“I don’t understand.” She ran her fingers through her hair, scrunching it tight until it pulled lightly at her scalp, denying what she was thinking. “You’re saying I left those scratch marks on your back?”
“Yes,” Chel responded with a proud smile. His green and glittering golden-flecked brown eyes stared deep into her. “You have no idea how happy I was when I saw them. To have the actions of a true dream manifest in the physical world is the sign of a strong bond blessed by the Lord of Life.”
Gwarnon started to speak, but she held up her hand. “Just…just give me a minute, this is a lot to process.”
“I am afraid we do not have a lot of time, my bride,” Gwarnon said in his cool, even voice. “We must initiate your transformation, so you may receive your crystal implant and survive the Baladium.”
“No,” she said right away. Memories of the scalding pain from the previous implant remained fresh. “No crystal implants.”
“I understand your apprehension,” Chel said in a soothing tone as he knelt before her, still big enough that their heads were level as she sat. “But I promise you that the implant we will be using was designed for an Earth bride. It will not harm you like the slaver’s implant.”
“No,” she repeated, more firmly this time. “No implants.”
“But you have to have it.” Gwarnon’s fair brows lowered as he glared at her. “Without the implant, you have no hope of surviving the Baladium.”
She stood and yelled, “No implants!” a little taken aback by how tall the men were as they towered over her.
The thought of having another one of those devices in her head, invading her innermost thoughts, torturing her with pain, was too much.
“I don’t want anyone invading my mind. Can’t you understand that?”
“I will not let you die out of ignorance!” Gwarnon shouted back.
“I’ll cut your throat before I let you put anything in my head!”
“Malla malla malla, easy, my bride, my blood brother,” Chel crooned in his velvety soft voice. “Lacey—do I have permission to call you familiar?”
She was too busy glaring at Gwarnon, who looked about ready to choke her, to look at Chel, but she responded, “Sure, yeah, whatever.”
“Lacey, we truly do not mean you any harm. I know this is hard for you to understand, but we have nothing but your best interest in mind. You are our Matriach, the future mother of our children—we would never bring you harm, but you must have a crystal implant if you are going to survive the Baladium. Without it, you are as good as dead. I do not say this to frighten you, but to give you the truth of the matter.”
Gwarnon, his face strangely blank of emotion, said in a controlled, low voice, “There are over a billion species and races in the Bel’Tan Galaxy. And you will, without a doubt, be facing the deadliest of them all. You must have the knowledge you will need to fight them. We are begging you, please accept the implant.”
The reality of the situation came crashing down and her, and her throat grew tight as she had to face a bitter choice. Either she accepted the implant and the knowledge it would give her, or both she and Roxy were as good as dead. She searched Chel’s face, his desperation easy to read in his stance and gaze, then Gwarnon’s cold visage. He was almost as still as a statue, not an eyelash flicker or tense muscle betraying his feelings. It was almost creepy how cold he could become, but as she searched his flat gaze, she could see his fear, hidden deep-deep down inside his soul.
“Okay,” she whispered, hating that her voice broke with the tears she was barely managing to keep at bay. “Do what you need to do.”
“Alyah,” Chel said, drawing her attention from Gwarnon’s captivating gaze, “will you permit me to kiss you?”
His question totally threw her for a loop, and she stared dumbly at him for a moment. “Did you just say you want to kiss me?”
Chel’s gentle smile held a hint of laughter as he said, “Yes. Your transformation starts when we share a kiss. I bite my tongue, and a small amount of my blood is shared in our kiss. This starts a reaction within your body that transforms you from a human into a Matriarch and binds you to us forever. You will come to Kadothia, our home planet, with us and be our beloved wife, where we will rule our Territory together in honor and peace.”
Taking a couple steps back, she gaped at them. Her heart pounded as bits and pieces of history the faulty implant had tried to teach her rose up from her memory. The Kadothian males took their brides from other planets because their DNA was screwed up somehow from an ancient war. As she strained to remember, she recalled that once the brides left their home worlds, there were never allowed to return. Something about Matriarchs only being safe on Kadothia, and needing to be protected because of the bonds they held with their Warriors. None of it made any sense to her, but if Chel and Gwarnon thought she was their bride, they’d take her to Kadothia and never allow her to return to Earth for her daughter.
“What is wrong?” Chel asked. The smile fell from his face, the joy leaving him like a light diming from within. “You are terrified.”
“I won’t bond with you!” she growled, the hair on her arms standing up as adrenaline flooded her system. “Never! After this fucking bullshit is over, I’m going home to Earth and forgetting I ever even heard of the Bel’Tan Galaxy.”
Gwarnon’s jaw flexed as he said, “I am afraid that is impossible. You know too much to be allowed to return to your people. Even if you refuse our bond, you will be forced to stay in the Bel’Tan Galaxy. You are not entirely human anymore. The slavers changed your form to make you capable of surviving in the Bel’Tan Galaxy. The humans would know at once that you are different from them. The first time you go to a doctor, it could start a panic and give your civilization information that it is not ready for. You cannot go back to Earth.”
Fury filled her, and she almost gave into the temptation to put her fist in his face. “I am going back. No one—not you, not anyone—can stop me!”
Gwarnon took a step closer, and she silently snarled at him as he leaned down a bit to look her in the eye. “Do you know how to get through the wormhole? How to fly a ship? How to navigate through time and space?”
“No,” she whispered, her adrenaline rush fading, leaving her feeling sick to her stomach.
Chel moved closer, his presence a soothing balm to her soul. “Let us worry about the future later. Right now, we must focus on our only goal—you surviving the Baladium. We will help you in every way we can, but you have to trust us.”
She moved over to the sofa and sat down heavily, her mind whirling with everything she’d learned. “I don’t know what to say. I feel like I don’t know what is real anymore. Who or what I can trust? How do I know you’re not some…intergalactic hotties the aliens are using to try and manipulate me? Trying to distract me with your amazing bodies and faces.”
“Intergalactic what?” Gwarnon’s icy mask shattered into one of pure confusion as Chel said, “You think our bodies are amazing?”
She waved her hands in the air, cutting off Chel before he could speak again. “It doesn’t matter. You’re right. I need to survive the upcoming battle, but I’m not going to let you alter my DNA and bond with me or whatever. There has to be another way.”
“As you wish,” Gwarnon took a step back, but Chel put his hand on the other man’s shoulder.
They silently stared at each other and, even though neither of their expressions changed, she swore she could feel hints of emotions. Almost like words, but not, more like images and feelings. Both men were deeply hurt by her refusal, and another slice of guilt cut into her already nauseous stomach. She wished Roxy was there to talk with, but she was pretty sure her friend was still busy with the two hot alien guys that she was in love with.
“Those guys with Roxy? Are they her bondmates?”
“Yes,” Chel said, dropping his hand from Gwarnon’s arm and facing her with the full power of his gorgeous eyes surrounded by his long lashes. “They felt her in our galaxy the same time that Gwarnon received word from an informant about your location.”
“Huh,” she said. She leaned her elbows on her knees, holding her head in her hands for a moment as her tired thoughts circled in her head.