Braxtyn (Mated to the Alien, #8)

by Kate Rudolph

  She shot each guard without hesitation and they dropped. “There’s going to be more of them,” she warned Braxtyn as he came up beside her. A few of the slaves were squinting at them as if they couldn’t believe what was happening. “Want to get out of here?”

  He grinned and something in her chest clenched. There was devilry in that smile, and enough brash youth that she could almost believe he hadn’t been bruised and broken by the world. She wanted to taste that smile, wanted to take some of that innocence for herself and see if it could heal any of the damaged bits inside of her.

  But she forced herself to look away.

  “I’ll go anywhere with you,” Braxtyn said, placing a hand on her back. It was warm and comforting and everything this slave pen wasn’t. Vita wanted more, but she couldn’t have it, not even in a dream.

  “We’re leaving,” she announced to the pen. “Come with us if you want.”

  It wasn’t a rousing call to action, but it was all some of her fellow captives needed. Not everyone sprang to their feet. She couldn’t blame them, but she wasn’t going to waste time convincing them either. This escape would succeed or fail, and if it failed, there was a good chance everyone who ran ended up dead. But the chance at freedom was worth it.

  They made it. And a dream that had once been a nightmare turned into a vision of hope as they took down the guards and captors and found a ship big enough to hold everyone who’d come from the pen with them.

  A grin lit up Braxtyn’s face and Vita almost leaned in to kiss him. But there was a sourness in her mouth.

  “You shouldn’t be here.” The dream was getting fuzzy around the edges as her memory tried to assert itself.

  Braxtyn frowned. “What? Why not?”

  “It doesn’t happen this way. And I don’t need your help. I’ll escape on my own.” She’d been stuck in the pen for two years until a turn of fortunes had forced her masters to sell her on. That had led to six months of hell and a desperate act she was sure would see her killed. But death had been a welcome alternative to one hour more in the company of those monsters.

  “We made it,” Braxtyn insisted. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  “I can do this on my own.”

  Vita turned away and the dream shattered into darkness around her. She’d freed herself. Killed her master and his sycophants and had paved her own path. She didn’t need some youth who’d never experienced a single hardship to save her. And she wasn’t going to turn to him now.

  Dreams were lies and she’d rather have the truthful nightmare any day.

  DENYA.

  He’d known her in the dream, even if he didn’t know her name. Mousy brown hair, tired eyes, and an inner fire that burned bright enough to singe everyone around her. He’d heard of mated pairs sharing dreams before, but he’d never heard of it happening before they met in the waking world.

  Where was she?

  Who was she?

  And why did she seem so familiar?

  She was human, and she’d seemed young in the dream. Certainly younger than him. Was she still stuck in those pens, waiting for a rescue? Or had that been a glimpse into the past?

  Naomi might have had answers, but she was back on Earth with the rest of his family, and they all had to be worried about where he was by now.

  It doesn’t happen this way. And I don’t need your help.

  How could she know that? Why would he appear in her dream if she didn’t need his help? His soul cried out to join with hers, they needed to be bound. So even if she didn’t need him, he needed her. He wanted her. She’d save him.

  Detyens died on their thirtieth birthdays if they didn’t find their mates. It was a stupid genetic quirk, and for Brax and his brothers it was a mystery. With their mixed ancestry, they didn’t know if they’d be forced to face the Denya Price, but given the fact that they could recognize their denyai, Brax thought the clock must be ticking.

  Of course, none of that would matter if he didn’t get out of whatever mess he was currently tangled up in.

  He stretched out as best he could in the cramped space. It didn’t look like what he imagined a cell would look like. There were no bars on the door, no leering guard waiting to do something to him if he acted up. There was a cot that slid out of the wall, a piece of design he’d seen in the smaller rooms on Honora Station, and it had held him well enough.

  His cell was just painful. He’d looked around for any sort of monitoring equipment, but it was either incredibly well concealed or non-existent. He was hoping for the latter.

  He’d stayed up half the night trying to figure out a way to use the food wrappers to facilitate his escape. He had no idea if what he’d come up with would work, but he had to try. If the dream he’d had the night before was a glimpse into a life of slavery, he didn’t want it. Not that anyone would. But the dream had been more real than any he’d ever had before and he could still practically smell the misery in the air.

  Though that might have been the ship. Even only seeing his room, it was in a sad state of affairs. A few panels on the wall hung crookedly, as if they’d been put back in place in a rush or by someone who didn’t know what they were doing. It was done well enough that he couldn’t pry back the panel and expose any of the ship’s wiring, though, so the fix functioned, even if it didn’t look good.

  Brax’s artist’s heart and mech’s brain both wanted to get tools into his hands to fix this place up. Or, they would have, if the owner of the ship hadn’t kidnapped him from his home and accused him of owing money to some stranger.

  He needed to get out. Not only did he need to reassure his family that he was still alive and soon to be safe, he had a denya to find somewhere out there. She existed. The certainty of that hung heavy on his soul. Just because he’d never heard of someone recognizing a denya in a dream first didn’t mean it hadn’t happened. Until a few months ago, Brax had never met Detyens besides his brothers. He didn’t really remember his father and all they’d known about their people came from what they could scour from the media sites and the stories that Shayn passed down.

  If, when, he got home he’d go to those Detyens and ask. And he’d ask Naomi to use her powers to search out his denya, despite the agreement the family had not to exploit her powers. She’d want to help, he was sure of it. But first he had to get home. And he was no closer to doing that than he’d been before he went to sleep.

  The ship jolted and Brax had to brace himself against the wall to keep from falling over. A little warning might have been nice, but apparently his captor didn’t care about keeping her prisoners in perfect condition.

  He fiddled with his wrists and waited, testing the door just to be thorough, but unsurprised to find that it remained locked. He wasn’t sure what he would have done if the door had been unlocked, but Naomi had told him to follow his instincts, so he hoped he would have come up with something brilliant.

  His body vibrated with the ship as they got closer to their destination. If he had a wrench and twenty minutes with the engine and control panel, he could have this vehicle flying like it was new, but he wasn’t about to help the woman that had kidnapped him, even if he was bored just sitting around in a barren room.

  The ship finally came to a jarring halt and Brax’s heartbeat kicked up. He forced himself to take deep breaths, trying to rein in the surge of energy flooding him. He flexed his fingers and felt the claws under his knuckles threaten to shoot out, but he kept them in check. That was his secret weapon, and once he revealed that he was never unarmed, his captor was sure to be even more cautious.

  Of course, the problem with the claws was that an enemy had to get nice and close for him to do any damage. And Brax had never done that before. But to save his life he’d use the only weapon at his disposal if he had to. He only hoped it didn’t come to that.

  Something banged against the door and the faint voice of his captor came through a minute later. “I’ve got a blaster at the ready if you try to charge me,” she warned him. “So when I open
the door, walk slowly forward with your arms stretched out towards me.”

  He might have been reluctant to use his claws, but he doubted this woman would hesitate when it came to using anything in her arsenal. Brax glanced down at his wrists one final time and hoped his little tweak worked.

  The door slid open and his masked captor was there, blaster trained on him just as she’d promised. And just like the last time he’d seen her, she was covered from head to toe in black, her face masked with some kind of helmet making it impossible to tell what she looked like or even what species she was. He might have been wrong about her gender, if her species even had genders similar to Detyens, Oscavians, and humans, but he would call her what he wanted until given some other word.

  “Hands out,” she said.

  Brax slowly lifted his hands and took deep breaths. He knew what it felt like for that cuff to take control and he didn’t want to feel it again. His brain had been in a fog unlike anything he’d ever experienced and he hadn’t even been aware of following orders or going anywhere until the cuff was removed.

  With one hand she grabbed the cuff and flicked it on his wrist. It wrapped around and snapped together, biting into his skin through the fabric of his shirt and the bits of foil he’d managed to work into the sleeve.

  His vision went hazy for a moment, but it came back quickly.

  “Follow me,” his captor commanded. “Be quiet and no violence.”

  He took the first step without thinking, but then he fought it. His feet wanted to do as she said, but his mind knew he was being commanded. And he could fight it. As long as he was aware of it he could work against it. To prove it to himself, Brax took two steps to the left, careful to stay out of his captor’s line of sight. It hurt, he clenched his teeth and bit his tongue, but he was able to circumvent her order.

  But if she figured that out, she might shoot him with the blaster and cart him off. He couldn’t do anything if he was unconscious.

  And he had to figure out where he was before he made his move. The gravity around him felt artificial, so he guessed they were on a space station, though he doubted he was lucky enough for them to have landed on Honora. And as they walked out of the ship and onto the station, it became clear he was a long way from home.

  It didn’t look finished. He’d seen half built blocks on the ever-expanding Honora Station and they’d looked like this in the final stages of production, once the life support systems were installed but before all the lighting and decorations could be added. It was the husk of a station, not a place meant for ships to stop at.

  He’d heard rumors about half-constructed space stations being used as bases for pirates and slavers, places outside the purview of the Oscavian Empire or any of the other major players in interstellar life. Could this be something like that? The question lodged in the back of his throat when he remembered he was supposed to be under control of the cuff and unable to do anything except follow exact orders.

  This location wasn’t ideal for an escape. At Honora he could have called on old friends for help and been on a shuttle back to Earth in no time. At a different functioning station or planet he could have gone to station security or found a ship that would allow him on board if he promised to work for his fare.

  But this station didn’t seem likely to have a security force, and he doubted he’d be able to talk his way onto a ship unless he had a slave collar around his throat.

  No, thank you.

  He studied his captor, studiously ignoring the way the synth-leather hugged her curves. He had a denya out there somewhere and he shouldn’t be paying attention to anyone else, not to mention the fact that she’d kidnapped him. But he still had eyes and she was built like a sculpture.

  If he couldn’t get onto a shuttle heading home, maybe he could turn the tables and take his captor’s ship. He wasn’t much of a pilot, but as long as he could get away from the station he could figure something out. He did know how to fix a malfunctioning auto-nav program so how much more difficult could it be to program one?

  He fiddled with the edges of the cuff and bit his lip as an electric pulse shocked him. Of course it wouldn’t easily let itself be removed, but Brax had to get it off. Once that was done, he could slap it on his captor and see how she liked being controlled like some puppet.

  “Stop,” she said.

  Brax froze, and for a moment thought she’d caught him playing with the cuff, but she turned toward a recessed door and opened it.

  “Follow me inside.” She didn’t wait to see if he obeyed, and Brax’s feet moved before he could try and resist the command. He was caught off guard, trying to plot his turn of the tables and get the cuff off, enough that it was too late to do anything by the time the door shut behind him.

  The room she took him to looked out of place compared to the unfinished hallway with its bare walls and half installed lighting outside. Where they stood looked like one of the expensive shipping companies that had offices on Honora Station with bright lighting, plush seating, and the quiet assurance that they worked with the utmost discretion.

  A human man sat behind what looked like a real wood desk and pushed himself to his feet when Brax and his captor entered. He was shorter than Brax, but not by much, and on the older side. He shot a quick look at Brax before smiling at his captor.

  “Vita, my dear, what a pleasure! What have you brought me?” He clutched her shoulder before quickly dropping his hand.

  His captor, Vita, nodded towards Brax. “Braxtyn NaZade, Oscavian, bounty 55842S2G61.”

  The man’s brow furrowed as he gave Braxtyn a harder look. “Oscavian? Aren’t they usually purple?”

  Vita shrugged. “The ident matches.”

  “Hmm.” He stepped up to Brax and did a circle, studying him like he was a piece of meat. Brax’s claws itched to flash out. It was easier to resist the cuff when he wasn’t actively being ordered and it wouldn’t take much to see this man bleeding on the ground at his feet. The man turned back to Vita. “What was the ident again?”

  “Bounty 55842S2G61.”

  He walked away from Brax and back to his desk, where he called up a holo screen and entered something into his computer. “G61, you said?”

  “Yes,” Vita confirmed, the word a tense syllable.

  “Would you care to explain to me why you’ve brought me a man I didn’t ask for?” He’d been all charm from the moment Brax and Vita walked in, but now ice frosted his words.

  Brax should have been glad the man knew there was a mistake, but would the man let him go even if it was?

  “What are you talking about, Roski? I confirmed the ident multiple times. Check again.”

  “You’re not the one who tells me what to do, girl.” But he turned back to his screen and checked. “Coyl Ygreen, Oscavian, bounty 55842S2G61. Last known location Honora Station. Does this look like the man you captured?” An unquestionably Oscavian male floated above the holo player. He had the trademark purple skin and blue eyes of his people with dark purple hair and a perpetual scowl.

  “That’s not what my bounty order said,” Vita insisted.

  “Do you think I’m too stupid to check? You can’t just bring anyone in and hope to come away with your credit slip!” Roski slammed his hand against the desk. “Your sloppiness has already gotten my people killed, do you think I’d put up with another mistake? Get out of here and don’t come back!”

  Vita took a step toward the desk. “Roski—”

  “No excuses! I thought I could train the pit out of you, but clearly you’re the same reckless savage you were back then. And take this boy with you. Who knows what trouble he’ll bring? I’m not dealing with it.” He glared at both of them and Brax took half a step back.

  Vita ripped off her helmet and Brax got a glimpse of bright red hair before recognition tore through him.

  Denya.

  Chapter Five

  SLOPPY. RECKLESS SAVAGE. Bile rose in Vita’s throat and her lip trembled. She shouldn’t have taken off the helm
et, but she needed a clear look at Roski’s face, and she wanted him to see her. She’d been working for him for nearly a decade and she’d never expected him to turn on her like this. If he hadn’t gotten rid of her after Wefrare, why was he doing it now?

  “I’ll cut him loose.” She nodded towards Braxtyn. “Drop him with enough fare to get back to Earth. But let me go after the right mark. I don’t know what happened with the file, but mine said that Braxtyn NaZade was who I’m after. I don’t know anything about this Coyl person, but I can find him, you know I can.” Of course, it would be difficult without the funds to repair her ship, but she wasn’t about to ask for an advance when she was busy trying to save her job.

  Roski just glared. “I don’t care what you do with the whelp. Sell him, drop him somewhere, slap a collar on him and use him as you wish. But take him and yourself out of here. I don’t want to see you again.”

  If she’d thought she was going to be sick before, now it was even worse. Sell him? Slap a collar on him? Like she was just as bad as the people who had once owned her? She’d only agreed to train under Roski and his people after he assured her that he didn’t deal in the slave trade. He promised that he worked out deals with the people who owed him, and while that sometimes involved a period of indenture, it wasn’t slavery, it was the repayment of a debt.

  And yet he acknowledged that Brax was an innocent in all of this and still suggested that she sell him? She could barely force herself to use the control cuff on her marks. She’d slit her own throat before she sold a person.

  She turned from Roski to Brax, and something was off there, but a glance at the cuff on his wrist confirmed it was still in place. A part of her wanted to rip it off and let him rage, but there was no telling the damage he would do, and if he was left at Station 163 without her he was sure to end up in a slave pen somewhere. So he’d have to wear that cuff a few minutes longer, then she’d deal with him, once they were both safe.