Jaxar

by Nancey Cummings

  He would do this for anyone. He would.

  He lied.

  He was already attached, which was the height of foolishness. He knew almost nothing about the Terran female, but he knew she was for him. While he found her form attractive, the fierceness in her eyes drew him in and inspired his heart to beat faster.

  Perhaps his conversation with Rohn had disturbed him more than he expected. Rohn had located his mate, Nakia, learned of their pregnancy and confessed that he planned to retire. Jaxar congratulated his friend on spending the rest of his days with his growing family, but he also felt envious of Rohn’s good fortune.

  Not of Nakia, though Jaxar liked the clever female. Their conversations while he repaired her prosthetic device had entertained him beyond measure. A small, bitter voice inside him whispered that Nakia could have been his mate. He had been matched to her just as Rohn had, but she chose Rohn. That was not the source of his envy, however. Nakia was a friend, but he did not feel their personalities were compatible.

  He was envious of the idea of her or of Rohn having a mate and, soon, a son. The steady progression of life once again removed his closest friends, leaving him alone once more.

  Chapter 7

  Vanessa

  The next morning, she woke feeling more like herself and less like a drugged up lonely woman throwing herself at a hot alien. With a throb behind her eyes, she tried to remember if she said or did anything particularly cringy. No, she just stared at him like he was dipped in chocolate and then cried all over him because her ex-husband hurt her feelings.

  Wonderful. Good thing she didn’t want him to stick around because that performance was enough to drive away anyone.

  Van used the bed’s creaky headboard to hoist herself up, her body screaming in protest. She felt like she’d been hit by a truck or had a bomb dropped on her. She didn’t have to remember much of the events of the last few days to know that was exactly what had happened.

  A glass of water and a bottle of pills waited on the side table, which she ignored. The pain meds made her a babbling, flirty idiot. No, thank you.

  Clanging noises sounded from the kitchen. Maybe some aspirin for her head.

  “Es, keep it down.” Van’s robe lay discarded on the floor. She gave it a mournful look, knowing she’d never be able to bend down and grab it. Shuffling over to her wardrobe, she grabbed an oversized sweater. It was great in theory, until she tried to lift her arms to pull it on and her sides screamed in protest.

  “Do you require assistance?”

  Van gasped and clutched the sweater to her chest. Jaxar stood in the doorway, the morning sun gleaming on his golden tattoos. She must have hit her head pretty damn hard if she forgot about him even though she literally just thought about her flirting antics with him. “No,” she said.

  Jaxar gave a slight smile. “It would be foolish to injure yourself because of pride. Now, do you require assistance?”

  Van remembered the doctor ordering Jaxar to monitor her until she could be evaluated again, and her condition cleared, and she had firsthand experience with Mahdfel stubbornness. Jaxar would not leave her side.

  “Actually, I think I’d like a shower. Is the power still off? Doesn’t matter. The water won’t be hot, but I feel gross,” she said. Her skin was clean, which probably happened while she was in Medical, but whatever the doctors used left a tacky film and an antiseptic odor. She wanted to smell like her soap and moisturizer and scrub the lingering funk of algae from her teeth.

  Jaxar brought a lantern into the cleansing room and set up the shower. With a clinical detachment, he helped her undress and guided her into the shower stall with a hand on her elbow. “I will be outside. When you are finished, I can help you dress.”

  Under the water, Van moved slowly as she lathered up. Lukewarm and growing colder, she rinsed off. Her sides ached and her shoulders just felt wrong with knotted muscles that refused to stretch and relax. Thankfully, her short hair needed little scrubbing and she skipped the conditioner entirely. Done.

  Van wrapped a towel around herself and slowly moved down the hall to her bedroom. Between concentrating on not stumbling and trying to hold the towel closed while also not touching her ribs, it took a minute to notice the condition of the house. With the curtains pulled back, sunlight poured into the hall, but the corners remained shadowy. The pungent scent of pine and vinegar filled the air. “You cleaned?”

  Jaxar appeared, holding a steaming mug of tea. His gaze flicked down but jerked back up to focus on her face. His cheeks flushed a deeper plum, as if suddenly shy, and that charmed Van. “Yes,” he said. “The other female was quite ill.”

  “What? Esme? Esme was here and she’s sick? Where is she? Esme!” She rushed toward Esme’s room but found it cold and empty. Quite ill. Those were his words and they sounded serious.

  “The female was removed to Medical.”

  “But she’s sick.” Van shivered, remembering she wore only a towel. “Take me to her.”

  “No.” He tried to give her the mug, but she stepped back.

  “Yes.”

  “No.” He tried again with the mug. With her free hand, Van swatted at the mug, knocking it to the ground.

  “What’s wrong with her? Tell me now or I’ll march over there and find out.” She lifted her chin. It was a bluff and a bad one at that. No way would Van leave the house in only a towel. “Please.”

  He ran a hand up the back of his head, knocking some strands down—which was not hot—and sighed. “Dress and try to eat, then I will escort you to your Esme.”

  “Thank you.”

  She managed her bottom garments on her own and shoved her feet into a pair of flats because bending over to lace up her boots was so not happening, but she needed help with her upper torso. With the same clinical detachment, Jaxar assisted, never touching her for longer than necessary and never a finger wandering where it shouldn’t.

  “At least tell me what’s wrong with Esme,” Van said, mainly to distract herself from the rough feel of his calluses against her skin. Her cheeks flushed because she was a bad friend and should have demanded this information first.

  “There was a bacterial contamination in the water supply. It is not contagious,” he added, as if to reassure her.

  “This fucking place.” Bacteria in the water. It had to be the closed water supply in the emergency shelter or Jaxar would not have allowed her to take a shower. “That water supply is supposed to have a filtration system with a fifty-year lifespan,” she said, entirely convinced that the company just slapped on a label promising fifty years of potable water, if the water supply even had filtration. Van wouldn’t be surprised at this point.

  A warm blast of air washed over Van as she entered the medical center, chasing away the chill that clung to her like a cloak. Despite being a temporary structure, the building had a solid feel. The walls were as thin as canvas but rigid and resistant to most projectiles.

  A sour odor hung in the air. With a central corridor running through, she could see patient rooms with multiple beds lining the busy thoroughfare. A few patients attached to saline drips wandered down the hall and Mahdfel medics walked briskly from one room to another.

  “What are you doing here? Go back to your quarters,” the alien doctor said, striding down the corridor in her direction. A hard expression settled on his face.

  “I want to see my friend. Esme. She was brought in last night.” She looked at Jaxar for confirmation. He nodded.

  “Does it look like I’m able to entertain visitors? No. You have your orders to go to your quarters and rest.”

  Van resisted the urge to claim she was fine. She hurt, but her head was clear. Instead, she spotted another human woman moving between patients. “What about her? Why does she get to visit?”

  The alien doctor glanced at the woman, his expression softening. “Nurse Vargas is my mate. She’s working.” He looked past her to Jaxar. “Why did you allow her to come here? She should rest.”

  “Th
ere is no heat in her abode. This seemed the better environment.”

  “There is a canteen with all the food and heat the female needs,” Kalen said as the patient in the nearest bed grabbed a bedpan and retched into it.

  Van stepped back involuntarily, pushing herself against the solid mass of Jaxar. “Stop talking about me like I’m not here. I’m going to see Esme.”

  Kalen sighed and drew her to the side, out of the way of a passing medic pushing a cart. “Stubbornness must be a Terran trait. You may stay once I examine you.”

  He shined a light in her eyes and asked about any aches and pains. Gently, he prodded her ribs, which made her hiss. Jaxar made an alarmed noise, but the doctor ignored him. “Your recovery is adequate. You may sit with your companion, but you will rest, yes?” He nodded, staring into her eyes until she nodded in return.

  Turning to Jaxar, “Help her find this Esme, then do whatever it is you engineers do. Go build something. Stop cluttering up my infirmary.” Kalen dismissed them with a wave.

  She found Esme in the third from last room, very much alive and attached to a saline drip. Her eyes were glassy and her skin sallow.

  “What’s he doing here?” Esme asked, raising herself up into a sitting position.

  “Leaving. I heard a rumor that he has something to go build.” She turned to Jaxar and raised her hands, not sure if she was going for a handshake or a hug.

  As it turned out, neither, as she tugged the bottom of her sweater like that’s what she had intended all along. She didn’t know him, not really. Yes, he saved her life and stayed with her overnight because of her concussion, but none of his actions went above and beyond what could be expected from the Mahdfel. That was their deal, provide protection and aid in exchange for mates. If he were nicer than his duties required, that would only be because he saw her as a potential mate. His tune would change if he knew she refused to have kids.

  He ran a hand up the back of his head. A determined expression settled on his features, as if he’d come to a decision. “I will see you again.”

  Not a question. Not seeking permission.

  Before she could protest, he placed a finger under her chin and lifted it. Firm lips pressed against her own, not demanding but burning with barely held fire. Van sensed that if she gave a little, if her lips parted, allowed him entry, he would take everything.

  So she gave, melting into his warmth. Strong arms wrapped around her, possessive and protective, and the kiss deepened. He kissed her like she was the reason for existence. Electricity sparked where they touched, breath heating her skin, and she wanted more.

  A throat cleared.

  She pulled back, cheeks flushing. Her hands flapped uselessly at her side, because she didn’t know what to do with her hands, and since when had hands been weird?

  “Oh, um, you shouldn’t, we, I mean,” she said, stumbling over her words. The kiss caused a short circuit. That was the only reason for her to be flustered and waiting for her brain to come back online.

  Jaxar departed with a sly grin.

  “Ugh. Stop it with your face,” Esme said, brows and mouth pulled down in a scowl.

  “What’s wrong with my face?” She touched her lips, then pressed a hand to her flushed cheeks.

  “You got a happy-dumb look on your dumb face.”

  “Illuminating.” Van pressed her lips together in an effort to stop smiling, but her dumb face was too determined to be ecstatic from a simple kiss. She pulled a chair closer to Esme’s bed. “It wasn’t even that good of a kiss.”

  “Sure, ya big liar. I totally didn’t see fireworks and birds singing and little cartoon hearts floating over your head.”

  “Completely mediocre. Not even Top Ten material,” Van said. Lies. So many lies.

  “He must be really into you because I barfed all over him. I mean all over.” Esme shifted in the bed and Van helped adjust the pillows behind Esme’s back. “I don’t like him sniffing around.”

  “No one was sniffing.” Mahdfel could detect genetic compatibility by pheromone or scent—she wasn’t sure how they did it, but they claimed it was possible—and would give a discrete sniff when encountering unmated women. It sounded like bull to Van and anyway, she stank of algae and sweat when they met. If Jaxar gave her the old sniff test, he got what he deserved.

  “They only want one thing.” Esme pulled up the bedsheet, surprisingly prim and prissy with the gesture. “Well, you and I are more than baby-making machines, so big and purple can go suck on a lemon.”

  Van wanted to ask her friend if she was going to clutch her pearls while she ranted about woman-sniffing aliens, but a few days ago she would have agreed. The Mahdfel were only interested in procreation. They forged alliances with several planets, mercenary in their exchange of protection for potential mates, and her planet’s government had only been too happy to trade her off as a commodity.

  And, yet, sitting in a field hospital, surrounded by Mahdfel medics and Mahdfel tech, her belly full of Mahdfel-provided food, she couldn’t dislike the aliens. There were plenty of aspects of the Mahdfel-Earth alliance to dislike and mistrust, but she didn’t hate them as a whole. She had harsh feelings toward one Mahdfel in particular, but even then, she felt some affection toward her ex-husband, despite the way he tossed her aside when her health deteriorated. She certainly liked Jaxar.

  “Is that water?” Grabbing the carafe on the bedside table, Van poured herself a glass and ignored the tremor in her hand.

  Her like or dislike of the horned alien with the dark plum complexion didn’t matter. Jaxar would be leaving in a few days and their paths would never cross again.

  He might like her now, but he probably believed her to be a widow. He’d toss her aside when he learned the truth about her—when he learned she was broken. She’d survived that kind of rejection once.

  Van didn’t know if she had the strength in her to survive it a second time.

  Jaxar

  As much as he loathed leaving Vanessa alone in the field hospital, he needed the space to clear his head. Courtship happened fast with his people, if it happened at all. Picking and choosing mates was not a luxury anyone in his clan had. A genetic test and an algorithm matched him to an available female. Two strangers were essentially forced together with nothing more in common than they would make strong sons together.

  Jaxar knew many of his brothers in the clan resented the matchmaking system and could only imagine the cold, impersonal nature of the process from a female’s point of view. He also knew that many more waited in anticipation for their mate, despite the low odds of ever having a match.

  He had never been able to work up enthusiasm for a person that might never arrive.

  Until yesterday. A handful of hours spent in Vanessa’s presence and he didn’t want to go another day without her.

  Jaxar lay on his back, staring up into the guts of a console. Changing out burnt connectors was a menial task but rote tasks helped him think. He needed more time. The clan would be leaving the Vel Mori moon once the last patient left the field hospital.

  His father randomly encountered his mother on a street and spent one afternoon convincing her to be his mate. At least, that was how his mother’s family told the story. In the days before the genetic match, warriors would meet eligible females in a controlled environment, often large gatherings. The females would be lined in and the warriors would inspect them one by one.

  Somehow, Jaxar’s father had enough charm to convince his future mother to volunteer for the next event. The day of, his father did not pursue the other females, not even pretending to give them consideration. He marched up to his mother and extended a hand.

  She accepted.

  Jaxar wanted to be bold enough to offer his hand to Vanessa.

  Engineering fell silent. The normal chattering died, leaving only the hum and rhythmic pulse of the engines to fill the void.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve grown shy,” Jaxar called out to his crew. They were not shy males. He encoura
ged them to bounce ideas off each other and think aloud when they encountered a problem. One brain—particularly his—was very good. Five brains were better.

  “I’m hardly shy,” a familiar voice said, nudging Jaxar’s feet.

  He scooted out and tried to rise, knocking his horns on the console. “Warlord.”

  Paax pressed his lips together to prevent a smile. “How quickly can you install a shield generator for the colony?”

  Jaxar ran a hand up the back of his head, knocking loose the top knot. “It’ll be tricky. The atmosphere does not play nice. We can build custom, but unless you want to add a regular service call to our flight plan, we should modify an existing unit,” he said, remembering Vanessa’s rant about maintenance and one-of-a-kind equipment. “Three days?”

  “Don’t just laze about on the floor, then. Get to work,” Paax ordered.

  “You heard the warlord. Give me your best ideas for modifying a shield generator that won’t catch the atmosphere on fire the first time it powers up,” Jaxar barked, sending his team scrambling.

  Three days.

  It was not ideal, but his father had one afternoon to whisper whatever magic words that convinced his mother to take a chance on a warrior. He’d make the most of the time the universe gave him.

  Vanessa

  “I only released you with the understanding that you would rest.”

  Half-asleep, Van jerked awake to find the alien doctor regarding her with his arms crossed and a frown on his face. “I was napping. That’s rest.”

  “In a proper bed, not in a chair. When did you eat last? Or have a full cycle of sleep?”

  Van scrubbed her face, trying to shake the drowsiness that clung to her. She could bluff her way into appeasing the doctor, but she suspected he already knew the answers. “Honestly, I don’t know.”