Paax: Warlord Brides (Warriors of Sangrin Book 1) Read online

  Paax: Warlord Brides

  Warriors of Sangrin

  Starr Huntress

  Nancey Cummings

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Epilogue

  About Starr Huntress

  Additional Titles

  About the Nancey

  Boring Copyright Stuff

  Welcome to the Warlord Brides Universe

  The vicious Suhlik meant to enslave Earth and rob her of her resources. Only the Mahdfel warriors could stand against them.

  Once the slaves of the Suhlik, the Mahdfel won their freedom. But a lingering reminder of their oppression at the hands of the Suhlik is the inability to have female children.

  Now, in exchange for the protection of Earth, these hunky alien warriors demand only one price: Every childless, single and otherwise healthy woman on Earth is tested for genetic compatibility for marriage with a Mahdfel warrior. If the match is 98.5% or better, the bride is instantly teleported away to her new mate.

  No exceptions.

  Are you a STARR HUNTRESS?

  Do you love to read sci fi romance about strong, independent women and the sexy alien males who love them?

  Starr Huntress is a coalition of the brightest Starrs in romance banding together to explore uncharted territories.

  If you like your men horny - maybe literally - and you’re equal opportunity skin color - because who doesn’t love a guy with blue or green skin? - then join us as we dive into swashbuckling space adventure, timeless romance, and lush alien landscapes.

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  Chapter One

  Mercy

  Mercy registered for the Draft on her twentieth birthday. All unmarried, single, childless women of Earth were required to register in compliance with the Mahdfel Protection Treaty.

  She was twenty-two when her name was selected for genetic screening. Not a big concern, just give a little blood and wait. The majority of women were removed from the screening process: not healthy enough or not genetically compatible with the Mahdfel. The Mahdfel wanted to bond their warriors with healthy mates. Malnourished, sickly Earth girls wouldn’t do.

  Just her luck that she was healthy as a horse.

  Fortunately, Mercy qualified for an exception. Critically injured during the Suhlik invasion, Mercy’s mother required intensive medical care. As the only surviving family member, Mercy got a reprieve from the Draft.

  Birthday after birthday, guards arrived at the front door and escorted her to the testing facility. Birthday after birthday, Mercy got another year’s exemption.

  Mercy knew girls her age that got pregnant simply to avoid the Draft. Worse still, married the first human man they could, whether they loved each other or not. Forced to marry an alien stranger or choosing a loveless marriage to stay on Earth. Mercy guessed it was better to pick your poison but she was thankful for her mother’s condition, even if that condition included crippling medical bills, allowed Mercy to avoid poison picking.

  When the guards arrived on her door the morning of her twenty-fifth birthday, she wasn’t worried. Nothing about her mother’s health had changed.

  Then, disaster struck.

  The note trembled in her hand. “What do you mean there’s a match?”

  The nurse shifted her weight from foot to foot, a bored expression on her face. “We re-evaluated the exemptions to include more candidates in the screening process. You were sent an update.”

  “I don’t remember.” Mercy received so much mail regarding the Draft and genetic matches. Most of it was junk or propaganda. Some of it mentioned the Earth women’s rights if matched.

  “You have a match,” the nurse said. The genetic match was important. Ninety-eight point five percent match or better. No match, no baby.

  Mercy attempted to recall all her rights. There had to be a way out. Her mother needed her. She couldn’t leave Earth.

  It was bound to happen. Fourteen years passed since the Mahdfel agreed to protect Earth from the Suhlik invasion, an invasion humanity, as a whole, was unprepared to fight. All the Mahdfel asked in exchange for their protection was brides. The Mahdfel only had male children so they sought brides from other species across the galaxy. Lucky for Earth that humans were genetically compatible.

  Seemed a reasonable bargain, right? End a devastating invasion humanity had no hope of resisting in exchange for a few women whose families were richly compensated and the Mahdfel got a new generation of warriors. The politicians justified it as the same sacrifice a soldier made when they enlisted, so the media started referring to the bride program as “The Draft”. Then the propaganda started. Only a kid at the time, Mercy remembered the commercials, the posters, and the pop up ads on the internet. “Protect Earth, Become a War Bride.” “Do Your Part for Humanity’s Future and the Mahdfel.”

  Yup, protect the future by popping out Human-Mahdfel hybrid babies.

  The compensation for the bride’s families was generous once a baby was produced. That amount of credits could buy her mother the expensive procedure she needed, but that was months, possibly years down the road. Her mother needed her now.

  “But my mother is ill. She needs me,” Mercy said.

  “Compassionate exemptions have been revoked.”

  “But she was injured in the war.” Mercy remembered with perfect clarity the raid which devastated her mother’s lungs. They huddled in the shelter with a single functioning gas mask between them. Mercy, only eleven years old at the time, panicked when she realized the filter on her mask failed. Her mother traded masks without hesitation. Years later, every breath was a struggle. She needed a lung transplant but growing new organs was prohibitively expensive.

  “We all made sacrifices during the war,” the nurse said, disinterested.

  Mercy’s hands clenched. Some sacrificed more than others. Others continued to sacrifice. “There has to be a way out of this.”

  “Are you pregnant?”

  “No.”

  “Married?”

  “No.”

  “Engaged?”

  Mercy sighed. “No.”

  “That narrows down your options then.”

  Meaning she had no options. She was matched. End of discussion.

  “By all account, the war brides are happy. The Mahdfel treat their mates well. In the fourteen years, there’ve only been a handful of divorces. Five thousand matches and only two divorces. That says something,” the nurse said.

  “Five thousand matches?” The number seemed low.

  “From this facility.”

  Mercy wasn’t impressed. A war bride was basically a baby factory. Their only job is making kids and raising them. Sure that’s great for some but she liked her life the way it was. On Earth.

  Her job wasn’t fancy, she was a vet tech, but she got to spend all day with the best creatures on the planet. Completing her veterinary degree proved tough with scheduling classes and doing an internship, especially when she wasn’t sure if she’d be matched and whisked away. She liked having a career. Honestly, Mercy needed the structure of nine to five, Monday thru Friday. She went a little crazy on vacations.

  None of that meant Mercy was super thrilled about being matched in the Draft. Brides didn’t even get time to prepare and say goodbye. Brides were teleported to the
ir grooms instantly, wherever the groom was located, and no exceptions. Her little career? Over. Her house? Her family would have to pack everything up. Friends? Need to say goodbye. At least she didn’t have a dog. Mercy had wanted a dog for the longest time because dogs were concentrated joy, but she feared the Draft. If her name was pulled, how could she leave behind a being of concentrated joy?

  Wherever she’s going, she can get a dog, or its alien equivalent, when she got there. So, lemon, meet lemonade.

  The nurse presented a data tablet to Mercy. It displayed the marriage contract. “You are a ninety-nine percent match, which means there is a one percent chance that pregnancy with a Mahdfel child can end in death. Please sign here to indicate you understand the risks associated with breeding with the Mahdfel.”

  Yup, no sugar coating.

  Ninety-nine percent was great odds, as best as the genetic tests could do, but some women still died while carrying their hybrid baby to term. It was a known risk, hence the generous compensation.

  Mercy pressed her thumb to the tablet.

  “Indicate here that you consent to having a translator implanted.”

  Mercy pressed the tablet.

  “And here that you are willingly entering into the marriage contract and agree to be teleported immediately to your groom’s location. The marriage will be finalized when you and your groom copulate.” She made it sound so romantic. Mercy pressed her thumb to the tablet again.

  “Congratulations on your union,” the nurse said, voice devoid of any jubilation.

  “Where am I going?” Mercy asked. Some brides went to live on military bases, other in the orbiting space station. You can have a dog on a space station, right?

  The nurse read from the tablet computer. “Seems this is a special case,” she said.

  Fantastic. “My husband-to-be is not planet side?”

  “He recently retired and returned to his home world. Sangrin. That’s where you’re headed.”

  Retired. The concept was so strange. Most of the matched warriors were young and in the prime of life. Retired? Was she matched to a decrepit old man? Maybe he wouldn’t be that interested in sex. Or maybe he was an old perv who craved the taste of a young human woman. Mercy shivered.

  “Dr. Nakw is a remarkable man,” the nurse said. “He’s made many advances. You’re very lucky.” She didn’t feel too lucky.

  “Is that my husband’s name?”

  “Paax Nakw. The teleporter will be ready in two minutes.”

  Mercy recognized the name. Doctor Paax Nakw, Mahdfel’s mad scientist, creator of the genetic compatibility test. Before the test, bride candidates suffered through rounds of orientation and interviews. The Mahdfel literally “sniffed” the women to see if they were a match. The whole concept was just kind of gross.

  The genetic test was better, Mercy decided. She could do without being sniffed by an endless parade of soldiers.

  “Is he kind?” she asked, this being the most important question. She could tolerate any situation as long as her husband was kind. The compensation would help care for her mother, Mercy’s top priority and she could deal with an older husband. Older wasn’t bad. He had experience and maturity and probably really wanted a mate and family. He was a scientist, so he wasn’t an empty headed soldier. They’d have things to talk about. Maybe he’d let her finish vet school. Gah, Mercy couldn’t believe she was already lowering her standards to include her husband “letting” her do anything.

  “He’s a genius.”

  Well, then, Mercy thought, stomach sinking. She hoped he liked dogs.

  “Teleportation is activated. Take a deep breath when the scan starts. Eat the mints when you arrive. It helps.” The nurse shoved a silvery packet in her hand and set her bag at her feet. So much for a warm and cuddly bedside manner. “Have a safe journey, Ms. Drake.”

  Teleportation was the worst but at least she would be unconscious soon. A signal with her genetic code would be sent from relay station to relay station: near instantaneous travel across the system and not too creepy if you didn’t think hard about it. A static buzzing gradually increased in Mercy’s head, followed by nausea, then nothing.

  Paax

  Matched. This was some sort of joke.

  Paax had petitioned his clan’s Warlord before to be matched to a mate but was always denied. Paax was no longer a warrior. Only warriors got the privilege of mates. The decision always rubbed Paax the wrong way.

  He began his career as a warrior but was diverted into genetic research, where he excelled. Didn’t he develop the genetic testing which allowed matches with women of alien species? Didn’t he help accelerate the healing properties inherent in the Mahdfel genetic code? His current research could revolutionize so much about the Mahdfel.

  He was a warrior. His battlefield was the lab. He fought against the genetic engineering the Suhlik did to his people so many generations ago.

  Finally, Warlord Omas agreed.

  In a swift change of attitude, his Warlord declared Paax’s service to his clan and to the Mahdfel as a whole to be honorable and as great as any warrior.

  That was not a gift. Nothing with Omas was freely given. Paax knew what Omas wanted. Paax also understood he must deny his Warlord. Since the death of his mate, Omas’s temperament was volatile. Unstable. Unacceptable qualities in a clan leader. Paax’s research only exacerbated the situation. An eager warrior should challenge Omas but the Warlord had superior skill and strength to spare. No one could survive a challenge.

  This was the worst possible moment for Paax to be matched.

  A match. A mate. His mate.

  A pleasing possessiveness swept over him. She was human, from a little blue and green planet called Earth. Humans were odd looking with skin ranging from pale milky beige to dark brown. They had no horns. Plus, their stature was smaller than the Mahdfel. His mate would be fragile. She would require protection.

  Absently, Paax rubbed the tattoo on his chest. It tingled, which was entirely a product of his imagination. Mahdfel tattoos were responsive to desire and to a mate, but it was unheard of for a tattoo to glow in response to the knowledge of a mate, to an unknown Earth woman.

  Omas would use her presence to manipulate Paax. Judging from his tattoo's sensitivity, it would work.

  Chapter Two

  Mercy

  It was snowing.

  Mercy faced a great glass wall. The harsh lighting of the Transporter Station reflected her image against the snowy night.

  Mercy rubbed at the ache in her forehead and fought back nausea. Teleportation sucked. It was crazy expensive, not instantaneous and left the passenger with an upset stomach. No thank you.

  Mercy took a deep breath and popped the chewable mint into her mouth. Her stomach settled immediately. Right. Bearings. Transporter Station on the Mahdfel planet Sangrin.

  A technician, wearing a drab black uniform, barely glanced up from his tablet. His complexion was a pleasing plum. A pair of black horns curled back from his forehead. A Sangrin Mahdfel. If Mercy had any doubt about being on another planet, they vanished. “Please queue for an automated vehicle.”

  “Where do I meet—”

  “Please queue for an automated vehicle,” he repeated, bored. He waved her off to the side.

  Outside, Mercy waited for the driverless vehicle. Shivering, snow settled on her hair, unmelting. She was one of many Earth women in line with a lost expression on her face. The queue moved swiftly. A vehicle pulled smoothly to the front. A woman climbed in and the vehicle whisked her away to her match.

  Teeth chattering and fingers numb, her vehicle arrived. Sighing with pleasure, she sank into the heated seating. Warmth surrounded her and sensation returned to her nose and toes.

  “Greetings, Mercy Drake,” the onboard computer announced. “Please enjoy your complimentary ride to your match. Direct your questions to the vehicle’s computer. May you be prosperous and have many sons.”

  The vehicle glided smoothly through the landscape. The Tr
ansport Station was on the edge of a city. Lights and signs flashed in the written form of the Sangrin language, which Mercy understood without issue. Surprised, she realized the vehicle spoke to her in Sangrin. How odd. The translator implant worked.

  Dense forests in a rolling landscape replaced the city. Lights from the road illuminated the trees near the edge of the road. Tree bark gleamed dull silver in the light. The leaves were a deep purple, nearly eggplant. Snow dusted everything. The vehicle departed the wide road for a narrower country road. Eventually that became a winding dirt track.

  In an hour, the vehicle deposited Mercy in the dark and the snow. She stood at the end of a driveway. An old farmhouse with faded red paint glowed warmly in the night, nestled in thick mulberry shaded trees dusted with snow. There were no other lights in the distance. This had to be the place. Mercy picked up her bag and marched towards the house.

  Time to meet her husband.

  A figure emerged from the shadows, as dark as the shadows and big. Darker than, as if the light actively avoided him. His eyes were a bright blue, luminous in the dark. A warrior. From his stance, not a happy warrior.

  “Doctor Nawk?” Mercy asked.

  The figure chuckled. “No, little human.”

  Mercy waited, expecting the warrior to either introduce himself or explain where to find her match.

  “So you’re the match causing all this fuss,” he finally said.

  “I haven’t done anything,” she said indignantly. “I teleported immediately. I didn’t have time to call my mother.” She should have pleaded with the nurse for a phone call. Her mother knew about the testing appointment and would be notified by the agency of the match, but it wasn’t the same as saying goodbye. Not even close.

  The man stepped forward into the light. His complexion was a deep purple, almost black. His hair was shorn down to the scalp. His features were harsh, sharp as a razor. Mercy did not want to be on the receiving end of his wrath.