Warlord's Baby: Warlord Brides (Warriors of Sangrin Book 5) Page 10

  “You can eat after the battle. Send drones. Prioritize those pilots with a heartbeat.” There would be plenty of time to collect the dead but less time to save the living. “The last raiding ship made it. Those fighters still functioning should keep the Suhlik ship busy.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Computer, connect to Medical.” The connection went through instantly. “Kalen, expect incoming casualties. The pilots.” That would inform the medic to expect burn and blast damage, possible oxygen deprivation and maybe even frostbite if life support failed on a disabled ship. The Mahdfel were resilient and their exo-armor was substantial, but even they needed to breath.

  “We’re ready. How many am I expecting?”

  “Rohn will have an accurate count for you.” Paax cut the connection. “Darian, situation report.”

  “The lead ship is stationary but still has full power.”

  “And the other two?”

  “One is slowing. They could be planning to assist the lead ship or turn. I can’t tell yet. The other is continuing on course to us.”

  One colpor class ship against the Judgment was hardly worth a worry. “Jaxar,” he said, “tell me our shields are ready.”

  “One hundred percent, warlord,” his lead engineer said. The sound of humming electronics filled the background. “We got incoming?”

  “Keep those shields up. I don’t care if you have to drain power and every pair of balls on C deck freezes; keep those shields up.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  The starfights turned their attention to the slowing warship, keeping it at a distance and keeping the lead warship harried. Drones deployed and headed towards the disabled ships.

  “Sir, the ship is preparing to fire,” Zadran said.

  “Let them know it’s a bad idea to mess with my ship. Fire at will.”

  “Yes, sir,” the male said, firing a wide scattered shot as a warning. Zadran had orders to discourage the Suhlik ship, not destroy. Not yet.

  “Rohn, how much time do your drones need?”

  “Three minutes. The tractor cable doesn’t want to attach. I’m doing it manually.”

  “Zadran, give him three minutes.” Each ship was a life. “Mylomon, tell me you’re moments away from disabling that ship.”

  Static came over the connection. Then, “Trying to decide what button to push. Left or right, warlord.”

  “Surprise me.” Everyone had to be a comedian. Clearly the skirmish was not challenging enough if his men felt they could joke. The next trap needed to have four warships, possibly an entire fleet.

  “Incoming fire,” Zadran shouted.

  A blast hit the shield. The Judgment rocked gently, like a boat on a calm ocean.

  “Shield report,” Paax barked.

  “Holding at 90%.”

  “They seem to have their trigger stuck in the locked position. Incoming,” Zadran said.

  Another volley hit and the Judgment rocked side to side. The lights flickered briefly as Jaxar diverted power.

  “75%, sir.”

  “You seem to think my shields are optional, Jaxar,” Paax snarled.

  “Working on it, sir.”

  On the screen, Kleve had the Suhlik captain on the floor with his hand behind his head. Even with his feet and hands tied, the captain opened his mouth and snapped viciously at the warrior. Kleve dodged to the left, narrowly avoiding the Suhlik taking a chunk out of his ear.

  “We have the captain’s surrender,” Jolyon announced.

  The lights on the Suhlik ship went dark. Mylomon had finally pressed a button or randomly torn out a chunk of the ship’s wiring. Paax didn’t care to know the particulars.

  “Life support and all power is disabled,” Mylomon said.

  “Good job. Come on home.” He switched his attention to Jolyon. “How many Suhlik do you have in your custody?”

  “Enough. A dozen.”

  “Load them up on a shuttle and launch it to the other Suhlik ship. Let them figure out what to do with a captain that lost his ship to a pack of dogs.” The Suhlik captain on the floor thrashed some more before Kleve hit him in the back of the head with the butt of his rifle.

  “Sorry, sir. He was agitated and bound to hurt himself.”

  “Just get them on a shuttle in one piece. How are my shields, Jaxar?”

  “Healthy and bouncing like a babe, just don’t pick a fight until I repair some conduits.”

  “Sir, the other ship is retreating,” Darian said.

  The battle was over. Now it was time for the cleanup.

  “Mylomon, send the raiding parties back once you’ve rounded up the Suhlik. Rohn, tell me you’ve salvaged my ships.”

  “Half are secured.”

  “Good. I want my starfighters to escort the raiding party back and protect the drones until their work is done.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  “Jaxar, when you get my shields repaired, I have a colpor for you to play with.”

  “And I didn’t get you anything, sir. I’m flattered.”

  “Would you be able to make it fly?”

  “I won’t know until I look at the consol. If those lizards were too busy to set the self-destruct, then yes. I’ll get it back to Sangrin for you.” The Suhlik were notorious for setting a self-destruct on their equipment, ships and bases.

  “Let’s hope we kept them occupied,” Paax said. He relaxed into the captain’s chair. His warriors could handle the details of the clean up. An hour ago he held his mate, content and at ease; now he waited impatiently for the raiding parties to return. Once those warriors were aboard and the injured sent to medical, he’d be free to seek out his mate.

  Antomas remained a problem, as did the male who betrayed their flight plan. Paax suspected Antu leaked information to his brother but Paax would root out the truth. There could be one or more sympathizers, too cowardly to challenge their warlord directly. Their cowardice endangered his mate. For that he would hunt them down and end their pathetic existence. He felt ashamed that he allowed them to linger on the Judgment. One does not tolerate a gangrenous limb. It is removed before the sickness spreads.

  His thoughts returned back to Antomas. The younger warlord believed himself clever but he was a grasping child, reaching for a prize beyond his capabilities. He was clumsy and brash, and that would get him killed. Paax would see to that but not today.

  Today he needed his mate, needed to hold her and listen to the smooth, even beats of her Terran heart.

  After an eternity, but really only fifteen minutes, the raiding ships departed one by one until only Mylomon’s vessel remained. The Suhlik shuttle launched and drifted away from the ship.

  “Casualties?” Paax asked.

  “Minimal, sir,” Jolyon said.

  “I want every scrape and nick examined. No exceptions. If anyone thinks they will tough it out, I will personally see that Kalen Haas wakes them every morning for a full month with an examination.” The Suhlik often poisoned their weapons and even their claws. A Mahdfel warrior could receive a shallow cut, think it nothing and be dead within a day. Having daily exams from the head medic was marginally less painful than death by poison.

  “Understood.”

  Finally Mylomon’s ship left the Suhlik craft. “Any trouble with the round up?” Paax asked.

  “Just the normal insults and shock at being bested by an abomination.” So a normal interaction then.

  “Sir, the Suhlik vessel is preparing to fire,” Zadran said.

  “Shields! I want my fighters covering our raiding party now.”

  “It’s turning away from us,” Darian said, disbelief coloring his voice.

  Paax watched as the Suhlik warship turned on its shuttle and fired. The shuttle burst into a ball of light then nothing. Typical. The Suhlik never surrendered and refused to accept those who did, even their own.

  “You have the bridge,” Paax said to Darian. He went to the flight deck to greet the returning raiders. Then, finally, he would find his
mate.

  Mercy

  Braith jumped to his feet and scurried up the ladder.

  Mercy held her breath. It could be Paax sounding the all-clear or it could be a Suhlik at their door.

  The hatch opened and a familiar, one-horned visage peered down. She left out her breath in a sigh of relief. “About time,” she said with a smile.

  “I was waiting for a dramatic entrance. Did that do?”

  That impossible male.

  Chapter Twelve

  Paax

  The day of the Naming Ceremony arrived swiftly. Mercy washed and dressed Axil and Drake in overly long white tunics.

  “It’s a Christening gown.”

  “Why is there lace?” It hardly seemed practical.

  “Because that’s traditional.”

  “Lace.”

  “The white gown.”

  “And your parents subjected you to this? I did not know Terrans had a naming ceremony.”

  “It’s called a Christening, actually, and it’s similar.”

  “Will they always have to wear this garment?”

  “What? No. It’s just for the ceremony.” Satisfied that the boys were fed, washed and dressed, she handed them off to Dorothy.

  “I’ll watch them while you get ready,” she said.

  Mercy laid out a pale lavender robe and started to undress. She was breathtakingly lovely as she disrobed. He watched her go through these motions a hundred times and never grew tired of the sight.

  Paax took her hands and drew her away. “I have to get dressed,” she said.

  “Let me wash you, little star.”

  “We don’t have time—”

  His kiss silenced her protest. She grew soft against him. “The ceremony waits for us. There is no rush.”

  “I’m feeling a little under dressed here.”

  He disrobed immediately, standing firm for her inspection. Her fingers skated across the scar on his shoulder. “I didn’t know you were injured.”

  “It is nothing.”

  Her eyes flashed. “We’ve had this conversation. That’s not nothing.”

  He took her hand and brought her fingertips to his lips. “I was injured. I healed. Do not worry.”

  Her pupils went wide and her nipples hardened. The musky scent of her arousal perfumed the air and he hardened in response. He pressed her to him, grinding his cock against her stomach. “See what you do to me, little star.”

  Her hand drifted down and wrapped around his cock. He groaned at her touch. She stroked the length of him.

  He pulled away and knelt at her feet. Confusion filled her eyes. “Today is about you, mate. Not me. Let me serve you. Let me pleasure you.”

  Gently, he pressed his lips to his mate’s still soft and round belly. Red marks appeared vivid against her pale skin. She was beautiful, creation and life in soft, resilient vessel. “A miracle happened here,” he murmured.

  Mercy

  Paax led her into the cleansing room and stood with her under the streaming water. Gently he worked shampoo into her hair, massaging her scalp with his strong fingers, careful to keep suds out of her eyes. He finger-combed her long hair, working the conditioner in. He worked soap into a thick lather on her body. Using his hand, he scooped water and rinsed away the lather one scoop at a time.

  Everywhere he touched ached for him, for more. His hands massaged down her arms, across her back and shoulders and tenderly worked the sensitive flesh of her breasts. Heavy and aching, she craved his mouth on her.

  “Paax—”

  “Hush. I’m not done worshiping you.”

  He knelt at her feet, hands working a lather across her belly, her hips and bottom. His hands glided down her thighs and then skimmed up the inside. Unconsciously she widened her stance for him.

  He leaned in to the apex of her thighs and breathed in, like she was the greatest thing he ever smelled. His dark lashes rested on the warm plum of his skin, fluttering. An aching hollow feeling flared deep within her. She needed him as much as he clearly desired her.

  “Paax, I want you but I’m not ready.” Not for him to plunge deep within her, as much as she craved him to fill her.

  He made a placating, soothing noise, the vibrations going to straight to her core. Her hips rocked forward, eager. One hand hooked behind her leg and lifted it over his shoulder, resting it there.

  His mouth sought out her pussy, tongue diving into her folds. One hand remained on her bottom, keeping her in place, not that she was about to go anywhere. He lapped at her, savoring all of her. His tongue, rough and wet, circled her clit. The sensation was enough to drive her over the edge but he pressed on. His lips clamped over her and sucked.

  Mercy looked down and saw his hard, thick cock in hand, stroking. The tattoos across his shoulders, chest and back cast a silvery light.

  He was speaking to her but she couldn’t focus. She caught fragments of words like “mine” and “best”. Her husband was the best but that probably wasn’t what he was saying.

  She placed one hand on his head for stability and the other grabbed him by the horn to steer. This pushed his wonderful mouth into overdrive. Pressure and speed increased like he was a man starved. They both were. It seemed so long since they had a moment to themselves, to enjoy themselves, without the discomfort of a pregnant belly. Though, honestly, Paax didn’t seem to mind at the time. Quite the opposite, in fact.

  His tongue speared her entrance, sending her over. Her knees trembled and her grip tightened on his horn. She nearly slipped down but he held her up, letting her hips buck as she rode out her climax.

  Paax pressed the side of his cheek against her belly, his horn dangerously close to her nipples. She watched as his hand worked his length, fast and tight with a twist at the head. He released, splashing his hot seed against her thigh and sagged against her.

  “I love you with every fiber of my being. The moment I saw you, I knew I belonged to you. You make my heart whole,” he said.

  Her fingers worked through his wet hair. He smiled up at her, vivid blue eyes shining. Whatever the future held, she knew that he was her home and her family.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Mercy

  The ceremonial robe was far more complex than she anticipated. Paax helped her navigate the long sleeves that draped over her hands and then fasten the thick belt. Satisfied that every fold lay correctly, he presented her with a beaded necklace. A crystal and amethyst star pendant hung in the center, surrounded by multi-color glass beads. For the last two weeks, warriors had been giving her the beads with the utmost seriousness. She accepted them graciously but put the beads in a bowl, not knowing what to do with them. Somehow Paax strung the beads into a necklace.

  Even with the chain long enough to wrap around her neck twice, the pendant still hung down her chest.

  “When did you have time to make this?” she asked, marveling at the fine chain.

  “How many times do I have to tell you that there is nothing I will not do for you, little star?”

  The sweetest things. Honestly.

  In the arena, the sight and sound of the entire Judgment clan overwhelmed her. A thousand feet stomped. A thousand warriors cheered.

  They cheered for her.

  The infant in her arms shifted and fussed. Axil didn’t like the noise. She bounced him and cooed.

  Paax beamed, carrying a fussing Drake.

  He led her to the center platform. There was no podium, no water basin or other prop. It was just their family on display. She felt the weight of all those warrior eyes on her.

  A male approached, older with silver shot through his dark hair and his horn an iron grey. He held a cylindrical device in his hands. He bowed and held out the device for Paax’s inspection. This must be the tattoo artist.

  He nodded. The male joined them on the platform.

  The crowd fell silent.

  Mercy scanned the audience. Within the last year, she had met or spoken to most of these warriors. She went out of her way to gree
t all the females. She knew only a handful well, only a dozen or so names, but they all knew her.

  Stage fright did not begin to cover the emotions within her.

  Paax leaned and pressed his lips to her ear. “The naming ceremony is not complicated. Normally it is for family only and is private.”

  “But since you’re the warlord—”

  “Yes. The clan demands a spectacle. It will be over fast.”

  She nodded. She could handle fast.

  “Female,” Paax said in a loud, booming voice. She recognized it as his warlord voice, the one with unquestionable authority. “You have given me a treasure beyond compare. What do I call this warrior?”

  Mercy peered down at Drake, face flush and dusky pink. His complexion grew more like Paax’s every day but reverted to pink when he cried. His bright blue eyes were screwed closed and his mouth opened, emitting a passionate wail.

  Of course Axil had to join his brother. They were a team that way.

  “Drake Nawk,” she said, placing a kiss on the crying babe’s head. He calmed at his mother’s touch.

  The male pressed the barrel of the device to the infant’s chest. Mercy held her breathe. Paax said the tattoo wouldn’t hurt but he wasn’t above a fib…

  A brief flare of light and it was done. The male removed the device and revealed a spiral tattoo, no bigger than a coin. Drake’s crying remained the same, unaffected by the tattoo. It glowed, silvery against dusky skin.

  “Drake!” Paax lifted him high, presenting him to the clan.

  The crowd erupted in cheers, drowning out Drake’s cries.

  When the crowd stilled, Paax turned back to Mercy. They exchanged their bundles with practiced efficiency.

  “Female, my star and mate, you have given me yet another treasure. I am unworthy of your consideration.”

  Mercy smirked. “Yes you are,” she whispered, only for his ears.

  “What do I call this warrior?”

  She kissed Axil’s head. “Axil Nawk.”

  The scene repeated, both infants crying with displeasure. Their cries only seemed to amuse the warriors in the crowd. She caught shouts of “strong lungs” and “fierce battle cry.” Mahdfel priorities, she guessed.