Rescuing Halin: Hissa Warrior, Book 1

by RK Munin

  “No, we are going to Hissa,” he states, stepping toward the hatch. She brings her gaze back to him. He stops, his hands curling into fists at his side. “You agreed to take me to Hissa.”

  “That was before. Now I'm dropping you at Wint,” she announces, proud of the strength of her voice. “I consider our contract finished, and I will not require any further payment from you. I'll drop you at Wint, and you can find your way back to Hissa.”

  Rage contorts his face as she slams her hand down on the control panel. The hatch slides shut and locks in place. She hears his body thud against the hatch, and then she hears him pounding at it with his fists.

  “Yeah,” she says with deep sorrow, finally letting the tears start to fall. “That's how I thought you might react.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Halin pounds the door until both his hand are bloody messes and his throat is raw from roaring. His entire body is shaking when he takes a step back.

  Control, he thinks to himself. I need to get myself back under control. This isn't like him. This isn't the Hissa warrior and Commander that spent so many years in service to his people. If anyone who served under him could see him now, they'd be shocked at his actions.

  He struck Mian.

  Looking down at his large hands he winces. How could he have done such a thing? He hurt her. A deep and profound shame rolls through him.

  He wishes he could understand why he did it, but he doesn't even remember striking her. It’s almost as if he woke up suddenly and realized she was hurt and he must have hit her to cause those injuries.

  The sight of blood dripping from her chin will haunt him.

  She doesn't even want to talk to me, he realizes as he looks over to the coms next to the door. They’re dark, shut off. Mian’s a professional. She'll have made sure he can't contact anyone, on the ship or off. He doesn't even try opening the hatch. He knows it's locked. She wouldn't over look that. She's a smart and skilled female who's done nothing but help him, and he just terrorized her.

  Slumping down in a padded chair he lets his head fall back and gives a little groan of agony. His head still hurts a little from what the Bicoma did to them, and his stomach feels like it's tied in knots. His fists are throbbing, and his shoulder aches from where he hit the door when he rushed at her. His nose isn’t broken, but it’s so swollen he can’t breathe through it, and one eye doesn’t want to focus.

  But all the damage Mian did to him pales in comparison to the fact that he hit her. That makes him want to violently void the contents of his stomach. How could he have done that?

  The look on her face just before the door closed was the most damning part. It hadn't been fear.

  The look on her face was one of pure betrayal.

  How could he explain to her what he's feeling? The moment he woke and realized the marks on her were real, that it hadn't all been a dream, all he wanted to do was pick her up and cradle her in his arms. He wanted to mate with her, make her gasp with pleasure, and plant his seed in her. He wanted to watch his young grow in her belly.

  He wanted to hold their child in his arms.

  He wanted it so bad he could almost feel a small fragile body in his hands. Somehow he knows their young would have her beautiful eyes. And their child would be brilliant and fierce like her.

  As images of his future young filled his head, the instinct to protect overwhelmed him. He would protect both mother and unborn child with his life.

  Then she told him with calm dispassion that she had deliberately chosen to sterilize herself. Her words ripped him in two. He'd acted without thought, and now he's paying for his barbaric behavior.

  If he could get her to talk to him, he might be able to smooth things over, win her to his side. Now that his brain is working again, he remembers it was a chemical sterilization, perhaps it can be reversed. She might still be able to bear his young. They just need to talk. He can reason with her.

  She isn’t alone anymore.

  Her human parents might be dead, but now she’ll have all of Hissa ready to be her family. All of Hissa will love her. She doesn’t have anything to fear for herself or her young. He just needs to explain that all to her.

  Unfortunately, he hadn't quite gotten himself under control when she told him she was going to drop him at Wint Station. That was too close. Leaving him at Wint means they’ll be parted too soon. He needs more time. He needs a chance to woo her back.

  But no gentle words of persuasion came out of his mouth. The same emotional maelstrom that hit him in the cockpit came over him again. He'd rushed her, his only thought to get his hands on her and force her to obey him. If he could just make her listen to him, he's sure he can make her understand. Make her realize that he is hers, and she is his.

  Then he roared and pounded on the door. How likely is it that she’ll listen to him now? He's never made so many mistakes in such a short period of time.

  He needs to be calm and controlled again. He needs to be the male who commands fleets. He needs to remember how to use his natural negotiation and manipulation skills, the very reason he was sent on this mission to meet the Bicoma first place.

  If he can just talk to her, he knows she can be convinced to go with him. But he needs time and access.

  Opening his eyes, he lifts his head and looks over to the locked hatch. But first, before he can make anything happen, he needs to get out of this room.

  With renewed determination, he gets up and starts searching the room, going through every nook and cranny looking for something useful. He wants to curse when he doesn't find anything he can utilize to get the hatch open. Taking a break from his search he enters the cleansing unit. His hands are covered in his own dried blood. Holding them under the spray, he watches the blood slowly wash off. That’s when he realizes how to get out of the room.

  Quickly drying his hands off he looks around the floor of the cleansing unit until he finds the panel he needs. He pushes his fingers through the plate. Griping it as best he can, he braces his legs and pulls. The steel gives a small screech as it gives. He can feel the grates cutting into his hands, but he ignores the pain. Finally, he's pulled it open enough to reach the components inside. He starts feeling around until he finds the capacitor. With a sigh of relief, he gently tugs it out. Then he breaks off a piece of the metal grate.

  He hurries to the hatch control panel and uses the jagged bit of metal grate to crack the edges of the control panel open. He has to be careful. If he cracks the whole plate it will set off an alarm. His hands are steady as he works, but it takes more concentration than it should. Halfway through he wants to pound the plate with his fists instead of this tedious delicate work. Every step of the way he’s fighting his own violent instincts.

  Once all the edges are cracked, he wedges the piece of metal grate under the panel cover and lifts. Holding his breath he goes slowly, listening for the telltale click that would indicate he set off the alarm.

  He's able to open it far enough to reach inside and pull a few wires out. They’re incredibly small to his big hand and he has a tense moment when he thinks he might have pulled one out too far. Once they're out far enough he pulls the wires apart, exposing ends to hook to the capacitor. The moment the wires are attached to the capacitor it releases its small charge and the hatch panel lights up and the door slides open.

  Moving quickly, he leaves the room, letting the hatch close behind him. He stands in the corridor for a moment, thinking about what to do next. He needs Mian to listen to him, but he's got a bad feeling there is no way she will sit quietly and let him explain if he just walks into the cockpit. He needs to be able to capture and secure her so she has no choice but to let him make his case.

  He thinks about the contents of her ship and remembers the box of prison restraints he ran across when they'd been trying to find space for all the items he purchased at Wint. Unlike the flexicuffs, these restraints are gentle, meant to be worn for long periods of time without doing damage.

  He finds the bo
x quickly and upends the thing, dumping its contents on the floor, sifting through until he finds restraints that look like they'll fit Mian's small wrists and ankles. He experiences a moment of doubt as he holds the restraints in his big hands. These have been used to hold raiders and murderers. They are meant to keep individuals who've done horrible things from getting loose before they face justice. Mian doesn't deserve to wear such devices.

  Maybe he should just use fabric to restrain her. Then remembers how easily she untied herself. There is no way the method they used when playing would keep her restrained if she didn't want it to stay that way. No, it’ll need to be the prisoner restraints or he might as well just hand her the blaster again.

  With restraints in hand, he jogs soundlessly to the cockpit. Soon he's standing to the side of the open hatch, listening to her inside. It takes a few moments before he realizes she's crying. His grip tightens on the sharp metal of the restraints as he listens to her sobs. He did that. He caused that.

  And he's about to cause even more distress.

  I'll make her understand, he tells himself. Everything will be fine. I just need her to listen to me. Everything will be better once she agrees with me. When we’re done fighting and she understands I’m right, I’ll make her joyful. It will difficult for a while, but in the end she’ll be happy.

  He peeks his head around the hatch frame to see her curled up in the pilot chair, legs drawn up, arms tightly wrapped around her shins, and her forehead resting on her knees. He wonders how long she's been like that. Maybe if he let her shoot him it would make her feel better. He's ready to take a couple of blaster hits if she that means she’d stop crying.

  But he knows it's not that simple and steels himself for what he needs to do next. He glances around her, seeing the small blaster resting on the control console in front of her. Her armor and other weapons are still neatly piled in the far corner where the Bicoma left them when they transported the two of them back to Fortune. The blaster is the only close weapon, but the way she's curled up in the chair means she won’t be able to reach it if he's fast.

  After taking a couple of deep breaths, he launches himself through the hatch.

  Before she can even look up he’s on her. Grabbing both her wrists he clamps on the restraints. Belatedly she tries to fight, but by then he has control. He pulls her out of the seat and shoves her to the floor, using his weight to hold her still as he secures her ankles.

  He growls when he turns back, and she punches him with one fist wrapped around another. She doesn't have room to maneuver, so the blow doesn't do anything but tap his cheek. He flips her onto her belly and sits on her, dragging her hands out from under her body and over her head. He releases the restraints then twists her arms around so he can secures her hands behind her back.

  “Raiderbait!” she screams under him. “Get off me, you piece of Pienter shit!”

  “I'm sorry, Mian,” he whispers regretfully. “This isn't for play. This is for keeps.”

  As he stands, he hauls her up and throws her over his shoulder. He ignores her as she rages at him, struggling against the bonds. “Please don't fight,” he says, holding her legs steady as he walks. “You're only going to hurt yourself.” She doesn't listen to him, and he can't say he’s surprised. It's not long until her breathing is ragged, and she’s soaked in sweat from her struggles.

  When they reach the cabin, he opens the door, then spends a few moments programming the hatch to stay open. There's no one else on the ship, and he doesn't want to run the risk of getting trapped in the cabin. The trick he used to open it from the inside ruined the panel. It will need to be entirely replaced before the hatch will work from the inside again.

  Once he's satisfied they won't get caught on the wrong side of the hatch, he strides to the bed. He tries to lay her down gently, but she's thrashing so hard he has to concentrate on keeping her head from hitting the headboard. Her cursing and screaming hasn’t abated since leaving the cockpit.

  “Stop,” he growls. Fearing she’ll actually damage herself, he lays on top of her, using his bodyweight to force her to be still. When she goes rigid, he rises just enough to see her face. Her expression is one of total hate.

  “Let me loose,” she demands. He notices the bruises forming on her face and her swollen lip from the earlier fight. He needs to tend to her injuries. But first he needs to make sure she's secured.

  “You know I can't do that. I don't think I can even trust you enough to let you have your hands secured in front of you.” He sits back, using his hips to keep her pinned under him. He can't keep her hands bound behind her back, it will become uncomfortable quickly and potently even dangerous if she ends up in a position that reduces the circulation in her arms. He eyes her headboard for a moment and then looks back to her.

  “I need you to be still,” he says. She glowers at him.

  “I need you to stop being a piece of Pienter shit,” she replies. His female isn’t one to be subdued easily. He might have bruised her, but it will take more than his thoughtless attack to break her spirit.

  He carefully gets off of her, “I'll be right back.” He hurries to where he dumped out the box of prisoner restrains and digs around until he finds a set of cuffs with a long chain between them. He's just getting back to the cabin when he hears a muffled thump and a small cry of pain.

  Heart in his throat he rushes in to find Mian on the floor next to the bed trying to get her knees under her. She so intensely focused on her goal she doesn't notice he's back. He follows her line of sight and sees a small compartment in the wall he didn't notice before.

  Striding over he ignores her baleful look and taps the door to the compartment. The door slides open to reveal a small blaster and a knife. He looks back at her, and her expression doesn't waiver. At this moment he has no doubt she'd use the blaster on him and not just to wound.

  With a sigh he leaves the compartment and picks her up, easily carrying her back to the bed despite her struggles. Once on the bed she stops moving, but he sits on her anyway. She's probably hoping if she's quiet he'll leave again. He secures one end of the restrains to the sturdy headboard and then reaches for her hands. He unlatches her wrists, and she moves with the speed of a well-practiced fighter. Evading his grip, she manages to get a jab in. He hisses in pain when her fist connected with his swelling eye.

  Grabbing her loose hand, he secures her wrists back together in front of her. Then he attaches the other end of the headboard restraint to the small length of chain between her wrists. He gives it a couple of good yanks, satisfied it will hold her but allows her enough room to be comfortable. Confident she can’t escape, he moves off of her, careful to steer clear of her kicking feet.

  But once she’s free of his weight, she stops fighting and rolls onto her side, curling her legs up against her body. She suddenly looks small and fragile, and he feels ashamed again. When she speaks in a calm monotone voice, it makes his heart hurt. His female, so full of life, should never sound so dull or flat.

  “I've done nothing but help you.” her voice is hoarse from screaming, making him wince.

  “I'll care for you,” he promises and hurries to find the med kit and bring it back to the bed. She remains unmoving as he cleans the blood off her face and holds a cooling pack to her bruised cheek. Trying to comfort them both, he touches her hair, stroking her head.

  He stops when he sees her eyes. They’re dull and full of pain.

  “I need you to listen to me,” he pleads.

  “Go ahead and talk then,” she says in a flat voice, the betrayal seeping out of her face to be replaced with a look of despair. That look tells him it's useless to talk to her at the moment. She won't actually hear anything he has to say.

  He tosses the cooling pack aside and crawls onto the bed, thankful she doesn't fight him when he pulls her to him, cradling her body against his. He buries his face in her neck.

  “I'm just going to hold you,” he whispers, feeling his own despair rising up. “We can talk
later. But I just need to feel you against me for now.”

  “It's not like I can stop you,” she points out harshly. She shivers, and he notices her skin is cold against his. Reaching down he draws the soft cover over both of them.

  She doesn't smell as she should, he realizes. Instead of her normal sweet smell, she stinks of anguish, pain, and fear. He knows he's the cause, and agony fills his chest. He curses himself for an undisciplined fool.

  I'll convince her to stay with me tomorrow, he thinks and closes his eyes. He’s exhausted the riot of emotions he's felt in a short period of time and the intense amount of effort it's taking to control his anger. This can't be how it ends for us. She has my mating marks around her neck. She felt great affection for me. I can make her want me again. We just need a little time.

  He lets himself fall into sleep once he feels her body relax against his and her breathing even out. He falls asleep almost believing the lies he's telling himself.

  CHAPTER 13

  Mian doesn’t fight when Halin carries her through the connecting hatch from Fortune to the small shuttle that arrived a few minutes ago to take them down to Hissa. He has her hands manacled behind her back and her ankles restrained with only a foot of chain between them, reducing her to a hobbling gait. Halin carrying her seems a better alternative than stumbling every other step. He sets her down just inside the shuttle, and they face the Hissa pilot waiting for them.

  The pilot stands at attention, grinning at Halin but then frowns when he notices her standing bound next to him. The man’s eyes almost seem to pop out of his head when he notices the mating marks around her neck. Straightening up he taps his finger over his heart, staring hard at her throat.

  “Eyes on me, Pilot Garin,” Halin growls, and the man’s attention snaps back to his superior. “I appreciate the formal greeting gesture, but she doesn’t know it and can’t return it even if she understood.” Halin taps two fingers between his eyes, and the Pilot returns the gesture, but his eyes keep wavering over to her.