Ransomed: A Sci-Fi Alien Warrior Romance (Tribute Brides of the Drexian Warriors Book 4)

by Tana Stone

  Torven scooped her up and headed for the pool stairs. “And now he won’t be bothering us again for a long time.”

  Epilogue

  Dakar straightened the sash crossing his chest and studied himself in the mirror. Dark pants, a matching dark jacket buttoned up to the neck, and a sash sagging from the weight of colorful medals. Rarely did he have an occasion to wear his dress uniform, complete with his sash, and he wanted to make sure he looked good. After all, it wasn’t everyday his best friend got married and he served as best man for the wedding.

  His brown hair, usually swept up into a messy topknot, was brushed back so it fell smoothly around his neck. He fought the urge to drag his hand through it, as he reminded himself about the terrifying Gatazoid wedding planner. Serge would not be pleased if he appeared at the end of the aisle next to Torven with messy hair. It had been all he could do to keep the enthusiastic little alien from cutting his hair off for the occasion.

  “Don’t worry,” a deep voice said from behind him. “Being best man is easier than being the groom.”

  Dakar turned and saw Commander Dorn standing at the door. He grinned and waved the former Inferno Force commander inside.

  “Come to give me some advice about being best man?” Dakar asked. Since Drexian bonding ceremonies didn’t have best men or bridesmaids or any of the other human traditions that were now incorporated into the weddings with tribute brides, Dakar had a tenuous grasp on his role and was glad to see his former superior officer.

  Dorn also wore his dress uniform, although he was on leave from Inferno Force to serve on the Drexian High Command, and his usually shaggy, dark hair was slicked back. “Make sure the groom gets to the wedding on time would be my best tip.”

  Dakar jerked a thumb to one side. “He went to see the bride in her dressing room next door.”

  Dorn raised an eyebrow and glanced at the wall between the two rooms. “So, does that mean the wedding may be delayed?”

  “You would have thought two weeks of them barely leaving their suite would be enough,” Dakar said with a grin as he took a few long steps to a sleek white couch in the middle of the room, looked down at his starched uniform, and decided to lean on the arm.

  Dorn returned the smile and shrugged. “I am also guilty of being unable to control myself with my bride. Another best man tip is do not get caught behind a tree with your tribute bride between the wedding ceremony and reception.”

  “A tree?” Dakar asked.

  “My brother had a wedding in a holographic winter forest.” He shivered as if remembering. “Not the warmest place to be half naked. Serge still won’t look at me in the eye.”

  “The wedding planner caught you?” Dakar laughed. “That shouldn’t be a problem for me. I don’t have a tribute bride, and I doubt I will anytime soon.”

  Dorn walked over and adjusted Dakar’s sash. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. The High Command is very impressed by your part in bringing the traitors to justice. They are also reeling from the embarrassment that one of their oldest and most powerful members was working with the enemy.”

  “So, you were able to prove it?”

  Dorn nodded, his face becoming solemn. “It was High Commander Tek who was able to bury information and get our doctor sent off the station while his son did the dirty work of meeting with the Kronock and passing them information.”

  Dakar’s blood boiled as he thought of a Drexian warrior betraying his people to their sworn enemy. “Why would they do such a thing?”

  Dorn crossed to the standing ebony bar across from the full-length mirror and picked up the bottle of Noovian whiskey, swirling its green contents before pouring some in a pair of glasses. “Unknown to the rest of us, High Commander Tek has hated my house for eons. Apparently, he and my father were rivals as boys, and Tek carried the hatred past my father’s death. He also despises the mixing of human and Drexian blood, although he kept that secret. When my brother fell in love with the tribute bride meant for his son, he considered it a personal affront.”

  Dakar took the glass of whiskey from Dorn. “So why not strike at you or your brother? Why betray his people and set up Torven, especially if he hates humans mating with Drexians anyway?”

  Dorn sipped the green liquid. “Even though he believes humans are inferior, they are also the only chance for his line to continue. He blamed the entire High Command for not insisting that my brother’s wife accept Karsh, but my brother is too far out of his reach on a military-intelligence mission, otherwise I have no doubt he would have attempted to frame him. Luckily for Kax, his mission is too covert for even the High Command to be told details.”

  “So Torven was a random choice?” Dakar slugged back his drink and felt the burn all the way down his throat.

  “Not random,” Dorn said. “He was granted a tribute bride before Karsh. Tek couldn’t let that stand. They also needed a scapegoat for their treacherous activities and illegal communications. Once Karsh heard Torven was en route to the Boat, he and his father planted evidence that would lead to your friend’s arrest.”

  Dakar shook his head. “It’s hard to imagine a Drexian doing any of this.”

  “Power corrupted Tek. He’d been sitting untouched on the High Command for so long he lost sight of what the Drexian Empire was about. It seems he passed his entitlement down to his son.” Dorn let out a breath. “At least we now know how the Kronock were able to breach our defenses. The enemy should be easier to defeat, now that they don’t have inside information.”

  Dakar crossed to the bar and refilled his glass. “You were lucky your family was unscathed.”

  Dorn’s face contorted for a moment, and then he gulped down the remains of his drink. “We’ll have to see about that.”

  Before Dakar could ask the commander to explain, the door flung open, and Serge barreled into the room, stopping in mid-stride when he realized only Dakar and Dorn were inside. He wore an ice-blue suit with tails, and shiny, navy-blue boots with a significant, chunky heel.

  “Where is the groom?” he asked, tapping a silver pen against his clear clipboard.

  Dakar cleared his throat. “Torven went to check on the bride.”

  “Check on the…?” Serge sucked in air then leveled a finger at Dakar. “You, my friend, had one job.”

  “I can—” Dakar began.

  “Too late. Talk to the hand.” Serge threw up a palm. “All I know is, I’d better see both of you at the altar in five minutes.” With that, he stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

  “Talk to the hand?” Dakar said.

  “It’s human slang,” Dorn explained. “Serge loves using Earth expressions. Most of the time he gets them right.”

  “I guess it’s a good thing I haven’t been matched with a tribute bride,” Dakar said, “because I don’t think that guy likes me.”

  “Serge?” Dorn laughed and slapped him on the back. “He doesn’t like anyone on a wedding day. He’s too worried about something going wrong. When he’s not in a full-fledge panic, he’s not a bad little fellow. You won’t mind working with him.”

  “Me? When would I be working with a wedding planner?”

  Dorn waggled his eyebrows as he walked to the door. “Like I said, the High Command was impressed by your work, and wants to reward you. Your name has been bumped to the top of the list for a tribute bride.”

  Dakar’s mouth went dry as he watched Dorn leave the room. He was getting a tribute bride? As a third son, he’d been so far down on the list he hadn’t held out any hope of being matched.

  It was one of the reasons he’d acquired such a reputation as a ladies’ man on the pleasure planets and various outposts he’d visited. If you never got a bride, you never needed to worry about being known for seducing alien women. Not that his reputation hadn’t gotten him in trouble for other reasons, since not all the women he’d charmed happened to be unattached. He’d never pursued mated females, of course, but they’d never bothered to mention their jealous boyfriends when he
was busy sweet-talking them out of their clothes.

  Sweat beaded on Dakar’s forehead. Being matched to a tribute bride meant one female for the rest of his life. He knew if he took a mate it would be for life, but he’d never imagined it would actually happen. One female? One human female? He’d never even seen one unclothed, although he knew they were softer than Drexians, had two breasts, and no pleasure nodes.

  He poured himself another Noovian whiskey and pounded it. Why was he letting this affect him? He threw back his shoulders. He was an Inferno Force warrior who’d survived bloody and vicious battles. Anyway, Torven had been matched and he seemed beyond happy.

  Torven. Dakar nearly dropped the glass as he realized he was supposed to be getting his best friend to the ceremony site. Dashing out of the holding room, he practically ran to the room next door.

  “Torv!” He banged his fist on the door. “It’s time.”

  After a few seconds, Torven opened the door. His uniform jacket was unbuttoned, revealing the craktow tooth around his neck, and his hair looked like he’d been caught in a Tiburnian windstorm.

  “I thought I said I needed a few minutes,” Torven said, glancing behind him to where Trista stood, smoothing down her wedding dress and assessing her equally tousled hair in the mirror.

  Dakar took him by the arm. “It’s been more than a few minutes, my friend. The ceremony is about to begin, and if I don’t have you at the end of the aisle on time, your wedding planner’s head might fly off his body.”

  “Is it time?” Trista asked, coming up behind Torven, and slapping him on the arm. “I told you we needed to speed things up.”

  Torven stared down at her, his expression softening as he cupped her face in his hand. “I thought that was because you were about to—”

  “Torven!” She slapped him again, her cheeks filling with color and her eyes darting to Dakar.

  Normally, Dakar might enjoy this exchange, but at the moment he needed to get his friend to the wedding on time.

  “Trista!”

  “There you are!”

  The female voices made them all turn to see a trio of women in long, powder-blue dresses hurrying down the hall toward them, holding bunches of white flowers. Dakar felt a measure of relief that he was getting reinforcements in the form of Trista’s bridesmaids.

  The tallest woman pushed past him, her brown hair swinging as she walked, and she waved her flowers at Trista and Torven. There was the smallest swell of a belly underneath the ribbon belt of her dress. “Serge is starting the line-up.”

  “Sorry, Mandy,” Trista said with an apologetic smile. “We got distracted.”

  “Girl, we know what you were getting.” The woman with light-brown skin and sparkling, hazel eyes gave her an arch smile.

  “Bridget!” A third woman with a mass of curly red hair nudged the other bridesmaid. “You don’t have to say it out loud.”

  “Come on, Katie.” Bridget waved a hand at Trista’s hair. “As if we all don’t know.”

  “As if we all haven’t done the same thing,” Mandy said, winking at Trista.

  “Speak for yourself,” Katie said, pivoting to face the other bridesmaids. “Did you both walk down the aisle with ‘just been fucked’ hair?”

  Mandy tapped a finger to her chin. “We do need to do something about the hair. Reina will flip when she sees this.”

  “When she sees what?” The Vexling’s high voice echoed in the curved, white corridor as she approached at a rapid clip, her blue hair bobbing atop her head.

  Dakar pulled Torven forward. “That is our cue to leave.” He gave the women his most charming smile and a small bow. “Ladies, we will see you at the end of the aisle.”

  Torven gave Trista a last, longing look, as Dakar tugged him by the sleeve down the hall and they passed Reina, who was wringing her spindly hands.

  Dakar knew from the wedding rehearsal the day before that the wedding was being held in the Ocean suite, one of the special environments created for the tribute bride wedding ceremonies. He pulled open the door to reveal the long stretch of sandy beach that led to a sparkling-blue ocean. An arch made entirely of white flowers stood at the end of an aisle marked by glass cylinders that held a large pillar candle burning in each one. There were rows of white, wooden chairs for the guests, and clusters of more white flowers tied to the chairs on the aisle. If the timing went according to Serge’s plan—and the holographic program didn’t glitch—the sun would set behind the bride and groom right as they said their vows.

  A pair of men stood behind a cluster of large metal drums at the back, tapping them and filling the air with strange music, although it seemed to fit the setting. Dakar breathed in the scent of salt and the perfume of the flowers as his bare feet sank into the warm sand. He’d thought it odd when Serge had instructed the bridal party to go barefoot, but now he understood why.

  The wedding planner stood just inside the door, and his eyes bugged out when he saw them. “What are you doing here?”

  Dakar looked back at the ceremony setup. “Isn’t this the right place?”

  Serge let out a tortured sigh. “You two are supposed to be in the holding room to the side.” He waved to a door at the front of the holodeck and off to the right side. “The florist is waiting for you.”

  Dakar hoped that didn’t mean he and Torven were carrying bunches of flowers. He didn’t know much about human wedding traditions, but he’d seen the flowers the bridesmaids had been holding. Maybe the groom and best man also held them.

  They ducked into the room, closing the door behind them and muffling the sound of the steel drums.

  “It’s about time.”

  It took Dakar’s eyes a moment to adjust to the dim lighting after being in the bright sun of the beach environment, but when he finally focused on the voice, he was staring at a human female. “Who are you?”

  She held up two single flowers. “I’m with the florist, and I’m here to pin on your boutonnieres.”

  Dakar didn’t know what she meant by ‘florist’ or ‘boutonniere,’ but he just nodded. For once, he couldn’t think of a charming response.

  Torven gave him a curious glance, and then gave the woman a small bow. “I am the Torven, the groom.”

  “I can see that.” The woman’s dark eyes flashed as she eyed his disheveled hair and uniform. “I’m Ella.”

  Dakar swallowed hard, even though his throat felt like it was coated with the sand that covered the ceremony floor. He’d seen females from all over the galaxy, but he’d never seen one as striking as the one who was buttoning up Torven’s jacket and pinning on his flower.

  She had brown hair that spilled across her shoulders in soft waves, and wore black pants that clung tightly to her long legs and a snug, white shirt that showed the outline of her high, round breasts. Dakar had to fight the urge to reach for her when she turned to him.

  “You don’t need as much work as your friend,” Ella said with a smile. “That’s good.”

  “Dakar,” he said, his voice cracking. “But my friends call me Dak.”

  “Like a dock for a boat?” Ella looked up at him from under long, dark lashes as she fastened the flower to his uniform.

  He wasn’t sure, but he nodded anyway.

  Her smile widened. “Hi, Dak.”

  “You’re human,” Dakar said, finding his voice.

  Ella brushed something off his shoulder and her fingers skimmed his neck. Heat radiated up from where she’d touched him, his face warming.

  Ella met his eyes and her smile faltered. “That’s right.”

  He didn’t know any human females on the station who weren’t tribute brides, and his stomach dropped. “Who is your mate?”

  Her eyes flashed. “I’m not a tribute bride.”

  A door on the opposite side of the room opened, and a dark-skinned man poked his shiny, bald head into the room. “All done, Ella? They’re about the start.”

  “They’re all set, Preston,” the woman said and walked to the door. />
  Muffled through the other door, Dakar could hear the processional music they’d rehearsed to, and knew he and Torven needed to start walking to the floral arch. His heart pounded in his chest as he watched her leave, desperately wanting to stop her somehow.

  “Wait,” he called out. “If you aren’t a tribute bride…?”

  Ella let out a long breath and turned back to face him. “You’ve heard of the women who reject their matches, or don’t want to become tribute brides?”

  Dakar searched his memory, and remembered hearing about these humans who lived on another part of the station. “Yes?”

  Ella tossed her hair off her shoulder. “I’m one of those.”

  Dakar watched her leave the room without another word, and his stomach clenched into a knot. He was finally being matched with a mate for life and it wouldn’t be the woman who’d just captured his heart.

  Thanks for reading Trista and Torven’s story! To get a sneak peek of the next book in the series, turn the page!

  Forbidden—Tribute Brides of the Drexian Warriors #5

  Chapter 1

  Dakar ran a hand up her long leg, the skin smooth and warm beneath his touch. When he reached the curve of her bare ass, he buried his face in her neck and inhaled the sweet scent of her hair. Sliding his fingers down to her wetness, he reveled in her throaty moan.

  She shifted on top of him, arching her back and grinding her hips so that his fingers parted her hot folds.

  “So wet and ready for me,” he whispered, feeling her nipples graze his chest.

  Without saying a word, she moved so that his fingers brushed her swollen nub, and she let out a breathy gasp.

  Dakar’s cock throbbed, but he concentrated on the way her body responded to him—the rapid breathing, the swiveling hips, and the small keening noises. He knew how to give a female pleasure, and more than anything, he wanted to feel this beautiful dark-haired woman come just from his touch.