Her Alien Forgemasters

by Susan Hayes

  Tra’var caught her at the door, removed the tray from her hands, and then stepped back to reveal that Damos hadn’t left. He stood by the railing of her little patio, his hands gripping the metal with his wings spread.

  “I’m sorry. I was babbling because I was nervous. That’s all. I know you’re not monsters. You’re Vardarians, and my guests.” She cautiously walked over and stood beside Damos. When he didn’t move, she reached out and placed her hand on his. “Can we try that again?”

  They stood in silence long enough Anya decided her overture had been rejected. It wasn’t until she moved away that he reacted. He turned his hand over and captured her fingers with his.

  That’s when she noticed his talons.

  “You’re wrong. Tra’var is Vardarian. Most beings believe I am a monster.”

  There was no missing the darkness in his voice or the hard jut of his jaw as he spoke.

  She kept her hand in his and turned to face him. He was so tall she had to tip her head back so she could meet his amber gaze. “Most beings are fraxxing idiots. I don’t know much about you yet, but I already know that whoever you are, you’re not a monster.”

  He hadn’t meant to say it like that. He hadn’t intended to say it at all. Not yet. But he had and now…

  Anya smiled up at him, her eyes a fascinating blend of green and golden brown. Her pheromones swirled around the enclosed space, enticing and enchanting him. She was lovely with a kind smile that deepened the lines at the corners of her mouth. But that kindness was tempered with strength.

  “It pleases me that you think so.” He touched her cheek with his free hand, careful to keep his talons away from her soft skin.

  She narrowed her eyes, the corners of her mouth folding downward. “It doesn’t please me to know you think of yourself that way.” She deliberately raised her hand to cover his, pressing it to her cheek. “I don’t know about you, but I came here to get away from other beings’ opinions.”

  He waited for her to ask about his talons or why he considered himself something other than Vardarian.

  She didn’t. She just stood there quietly and waited.

  Tra’var was loud enough for both of them. He threw back his head and laughed long and hard. “It seems our ancestors picked well, my brother.”

  To his shock, Anya turned her head and fixed Tra’var with a stare that a sand vipa would envy. “You knew he felt this way and haven’t helped him to work through it? I thought anrik were closer than brothers?”

  Tra’v stopped mid-chuckle and raised his arm to show her the scar on his wrist. “We are. Which is why I am delighted to have an ally to help me change his ways. Damos can be as difficult as a gharshtu with a headache.”

  “I see. So I’m getting a fixer-upper package.”

  He wasn’t sure what that meant, and neither was his translator. “What did you call us?” Damos asked.

  Tra’var moved closer, corralling her between them without quite making contact. “I think she said we are what the humans call a work in progress.”

  Damos broke the tension with a joke. “That’s accurate enough. Tra’var would starve if not for me and our technology. He has almost no ability to prepare food on his own. Even the food dispenser has been confounded by some of his requests.” He lowered his voice. “Do not agree to try his nagari. He’s convinced it’s edible. I am not.”

  “Don’t listen to him. He’s still alive. Isn’t he? Thus, it’s edible. In fact, it’s delicious,” Tra’var protested.

  It was an exaggeration. Tra’var had improved as a cook over the years, but the banter was safe and did what Damos hoped, making Anya relax. He wanted her to enjoy these moments. As unsettled as he was by the idea that they’d somehow gained a mate, he knew better than to fight this. The sharhal was all-consuming. Trying to resist would only damage their new relationship... and change nothing.

  He also knew that in time, she’d change her mind about him. She would realize he was a monster. When that happened, she’d withdraw from him and spend her time with his anrik. It was inevitable. He’d always known that would be the way it went, though maybe with a human female it would take longer. After all, she didn’t have the same biases as a Vardarian female.

  Forge and flames, he hoped so.

  Her touch calmed him enough that his talons retracted and his scales relaxed. That had never happened before, but this was his mahaya. Her pheromones perfumed the air with a heady scent. If she asked him to fly to the stars and bring her back one to wear in her hair, he’d do it. He was losing his qarfing mind.

  “Fortunately, I happen to have three of the best chefs on the planet working for me. Once I find out what nagari is, I’ll have Saral make it and then we can do a taste test,” Anya said with a laugh.

  “It’s noodles with a simple cheese sauce,” Tra’var explained.

  “Noodles with…” Anya burst out laughing. “I didn’t know Vardarians had a version of mac and cheese! Even I can make that. We are definitely having a taste test one of these days. Maybe for once I won’t come in last.”

  “You can’t cook?” Tra’var looked puzzled. “But you own a tavern.”

  “I know my strengths. I can run a bar and mix a mean cocktail, but cooking isn’t something I ever learned.”

  “Your mother never taught you?” Tra’var asked.

  Anya laughed even louder. “My mother? Fraxx no. She taught me how to count cards and shoot straight. She doesn’t cook. Ever.”

  “She sounds formidable,” Damos said. Most of the Vardarian females he’d met held a different kind of power. They were rarer than males and used that to their advantage any way they could.

  “That’s a polite word for it. When she gets back, she’s going to want to meet you both. If she doesn’t scare you off, maybe there’s hope for us.” Anya clamped her lips together, her eyes wide. She clearly hadn’t intended on saying that last bit out loud.

  “Nothing is going to scare us off, Anya. That is not how this works.” Tra’var set a gentle hand on their mahaya’s neck, brushing his thumb over the side of her throat. “You are ours, and we are yours. Forever. I know that is not the human way, but so far, every match between our races has plotted the same course. We will be together for the rest of our lives.”

  “You don’t know that. You can’t. There haven’t been that many matches yet. What if we’re not really compatible? I mean, I know about the Reekar. Some of your species have gone into the sharhal with one of them but the bond doesn’t last. Right?”

  Damos fought the urge to snarl. Had he been wrong? Was she already looking for a way to escape?

  Tra’var must have sensed his unease because he hurried to explain. “That bond doesn’t always last. It also doesn’t produce children. With every other species, the matings are permanent.”

  “And… children?” Anya’s voice was suddenly softer.

  “Yes,” Tra’var said quickly.

  Anya shook her head. “Just like that? Boom. Forever and a family. It can’t be that easy.”

  Damos sensed this conversation was in danger of falling out of orbit and making a messy crater on impact. He didn’t know what the issue was. Too many were in play at the moment to even guess. “Is this too much? Too soon?”

  Tra’var shot him a surprised look. “Too soon?”

  “Yes. It’s too… everything,” Anya agreed. “So, how about we sit down and talk for a while? Get to know each other. Unless…” She sighed. “How long do we have?”

  “Long enough,” Tra’var said. “We’re young enough that the sharhal will take time to reach full strength. A day or so, maybe.”

  “A day?” Anya repeated, her voice rising half an octave. She blew out a breath that held a note of sharp laughter. “Okay. I can work with that. This might be the shortest courtship in history, but it’s something.”

  “Courtship?” Damos asked. His translator had a definition of the word, but he suspected it meant something different in the human lexicon.

  Anya sm
iled. “The time when a couple, or trio, or whatever, learn about each other and decide if they want to be together permanently. Usually, it involves trying to impress their potential mate with whatever skills they have to offer. In this case, I think we can skip that part.”

  “No.” Tra’var’s voice was firm.

  She turned her head to look back at him. “No?”

  “No. We will not be skipping that part. I’m looking forward to showing you what Damos and I are good at.” He grinned, and Damos caught on to his meaning.

  “I think we should start with a demonstration of how well we work together,” he said. He drew her into his arms as Tra’var moved in closer behind her. This time they didn’t keep their distance. They pressed up against her, sandwiching her soft body between them. Tra’var dipped his head to nibble on her earlobe as Damos allowed himself to lean down and brush a barely there kiss to Anya’s lovely mouth.

  “Oh…” Anya breathed, and then her arms were around his neck as she rose on her toes to kiss him back with an eagerness that nearly shattered his control.

  No female had ever kissed him so willingly. It was… he stopped trying to search for the words and focused on Anya. The warmth of her lips. The scent of her arousal and need. She fit perfectly between them, and something was achingly intimate about sharing her this way with Tra’var.

  In time, Tra’var turned her toward him, claiming their mate’s mouth with a tender hunger that echoed his own. She was just as eager with his anrik as she had been with him, and it was surprisingly arousing to watch them together. His hands still lingered on her body, the scent of her wrapping around him like an invisible caress.

  They’d never done this. Not once in all their years together. But this was different. This was Anya. Their shining star. Their mahaya.

  3

  Two hours later, Anya watched the pair descend the stairs and disappear into the snow-filled night.

  She hadn’t wanted them to go, but she also needed some time alone. Her lips still tingled from their last kiss good night as first Tra’var and then Damos had taken her into their arms and kissed her until her knees threatened to buckle. She felt like the gravity had been reduced by half and almost floated back inside her apartment, feeling as giddy as a girl coming home from her first date.

  It was equally enjoyable and frustrating. She’d never felt this good, but it was affecting her ability to think clearly. Now they were gone, she really needed some time to process the evening’s events.

  It was time to break out the big guns. She raided her private stash at the back of her cooler and poured herself a large glass of jazza berry juice. It was her childhood favorite, and her mom kept her well-stocked with the real thing, made from berries from the Pheran home world.

  She sank down into her favorite chair, sighed, and then raised her glass in a solitary toast. “Farewell, single life. Apparently, I’m a sort-of-maybe married woman now.”

  After a few more sips she closed her eyes and tried to sort through the whirling thoughts filling her head. It was impossible. Every time she tried to focus, memories of the kisses they’d shared would crowd out everything else.

  Fraxx it. She was going to need help to work through this, and she only trusted one being to give her some much-needed information about Vardarian mating rites. She needed to talk to Saral. She sent a quick text message to her head chef, asking how things were going downstairs.

  The reply was almost instantaneous, and it wasn’t a text message. Saral sent a vid-connect request.

  Anya laughed and accepted the call.

  “Why are you alone?” Saral demanded, her frowning face filling the screen.

  “Because they went home.”

  Saral’s brow furrowed deeper. “Why? What happened? That is… but why?” It was rare for the Vardarian female to be at a loss for words.

  “Because we all agreed that’s what was best.”

  Saral snorted. “Best for who? No, don’t answer that. I’ll be right up. Antas can finish up without me. This is an emergency!”

  “It’s really not,” Anya tried to protest but stopped when she realized Saral had disconnected. She was talking to herself.

  Not even a minute later she heard the telltale thump of a Vardarian setting down on her patio followed by a second, heavier one. Saral hadn’t come alone.

  She reached the door and opened it without waiting for them to announce themselves. “Did you fly straight over the tavern?” she asked.

  Saral nodded. “Fastest way. Straight up. Straight down. Are you alright?”

  “I’m fine. I mean. Mostly. Considering I just discovered I’m mated to a pair of strangers and my entire life has been turned upside down by a random act of biology.”

  N’tev appeared behind his mate. “It is so much more than that.”

  “But I understand why you are feeling uncertain,” Saral interjected, cutting off what Anya suspected was the beginning of a lecture she didn’t want to hear right now.

  N’tev was the somber one of their trio, the stalwart rock that his mate and anrik relied on to keep the trio stable. While she appreciated his advice, it wasn’t helpful right now. First, she needed a little more time to panic.

  Saral came in and immediately caught Anya up in a hug. “What do you need from us?”

  Anya hugged her friend back. “This is a good start. I’m just… mates? Me? I never imagined. Not to mention the fact that with my track record, if there is a way to screw this up, I’ll find it. Your kind don’t do divorce, though. Right? So when this goes sideways, then what?”

  “It will not go sideways,” Saral said with utter conviction.

  “I wouldn’t make any bets on that. I mean, you’ve met my mother. Shipwreck relationships are a family specialty. Generations of bad judgment are working against me here.”

  N’tev stepped inside, and the door closed behind him. “That isn’t an issue here. This is the will of the ancestors. I struggle to understand how you humans choose your mates.” He shrugged. “From what I have learned, you don’t seem very good at it.”

  “Some are. Some aren’t. I am definitely in the latter category.”

  “Then perhaps you should see this as a boon.” Saral guided both Anya and her mate into the sitting area, and they all took a seat.

  “You mean not having a choice is a good thing?” Anya asked.

  “If you doubt your own judgment so much, then yes. I think it might be. My people have never chosen our mates. For me, the day I met N’tev and Antas was the happiest of my life. Not every mating is perfect, but it’s exceptionally rare for a trio to be unhappy unless one or more parties makes a deliberate choice to be contrary.”

  “Like Kade’s parents,” Anya said. She’d met the male’s fathers at his bonding ceremony to Shadow and Denz. Kade’s mother had not attended, and while the older Vardarian males had chosen to move to the colony and build a new shipyard in orbit around Liberty, so far, no one had heard or seen anything more from Kade’s mother. Being trapped in a relationship with incompatible partners forever was a fate she wanted to avoid.

  “Yes. As I understand it, Evita created a rift between herself and her mahoyen because she resents their affection for each other. That is still a bias some members of the higher classes hold on to.” Saral shot her mate a wicked glance. “It is their loss. There is nothing more arousing than the sight of my beloved pleasuring each other.”

  Anya had to take a drink to avoid making eye contact with either of them for a few seconds. Saral’s blunt honesty about her love life was refreshing, but occasionally it made for awkward moments like this. It was one of the many cultural differences she’d noticed between the three main races that made up the colony, though the cyborgs had no concept of modesty and were almost as sexually open as the Vardarians.

  Almost.

  Once she’d regained her composure, Anya spoke again, ignoring the merry twinkle in Saral’s eyes. “So these matings can fail.”

  “If one or more of the par
ties work to make it unpleasant, yes. But that’s an unusual choice for someone to make. It takes a great deal of energy to resist the links that bind us, and the bond doesn’t fade quickly. It’s a slow, painful experience for everyone involved.” N’tev reached out and took Saral’s hand. “We still fight, of course. But as my beloved will tell you, that leads to some of the most pleasurable hours of sex we have ever experienced.”

  “Now you’re both doing it.” A thought struck her. “Oh no. Who made the bet about making me blush and how much did you just win?” Anya was well aware of her employees’ love of making impromptu bets with each other and some of their regular customers.

  “I believe Striker now owes his mate several orgasms. He also has to take my son and his anrik for several training sessions with his new team of rangers.”

  N’tev looked startled. “He does?”

  “He does.” Saral beamed. “It’s time they spread their wings somewhere a little farther away from home. Much farther.”

  “They are old enough,” N’tev agreed, nodding.

  “You volunteered them for the ranger program?” Anya stared at Saral. “Aren’t they going to be unhappy about that?”

  “If they don’t like my idea, they are welcome to come up with another one. Neither of them has chosen a profession yet. They had aspirations of playing professional balti, but that sport requires wealth and influence far beyond our means. They had hoped to be picked up by one of the smaller teams but…”

  N’tev shook his head. “It was not to be. They chose to come to Haven with us.”

  Anya smiled. “I see. They’ve been enjoying an extended vacation and you think it’s time it ended.”

  “Yes,” Saral said and then twitched a finger at Anya. “But that is a different subject than the one we came here to discuss. If you have questions, ask them.”

  She had dozens of questions. No, more like hundreds of them, if not thousands. Most of them she’d have to ask Tra’var and Damos in person, but she needed to know some things now.