Vox: Warlord Brides (Warriors of Sangrin Book 4) Read online

  His words hit as hard as a fist.

  Carrie rubbed at her eyes, surprised to find her fingertips wet. Tears. For this dumb fucker.

  Being matched to a Mahdfel warrior didn’t seem so bad. And it wasn’t like the aliens were a complete mystery. Carrie had been a child when Earth had been invaded by the Suhliks and she remembered clearly when the Mahdfel arrived to protect the planet. The tide of the war changed. Earth forces stopped losing ground and starting winning.

  She had vivid memories of touring a base with her father, inspecting the latest space fighters his factory produced. It was one of the rare, good moments she’d had with her father. He lifted her up to his shoulders. In the sun, the fighters gleamed as far as she could see. He told her how proud he was of his company for delivering the order in record time, how proud he was of his workers and how proud he was that his work was going to save the planet.

  Perhaps she never really left that moment. She spent her entire life trying to get back there, to make her father proud.

  “Josiah’s right. It’s time for me to grow up.”

  Tucker sighed with relief. “I knew you’d come around. Josiah wanted to strong arm you but I know how you think. We just needed to lay it out nice and logical for you to see reason—”

  “I’m breaking off our engagement,” she said, cutting him off.

  “What?”

  “I need to grow up. I can’t be here,” she waved vaguely to the house and the manicured lawns, “anymore. I can’t let my family make decisions about where I work and who I marry. It’s over. I’m sorry.” She wasn’t sorry. She was relieved.

  “Don’t be selfish, Carrie. Too many people are depending on you.”

  “Selfish? You don’t love me. You don’t even like me. You’re just marrying me because it’s good for business.” As the words left her mouth, she knew they were true. Everything that was unsatisfying about their relationship was due to their lack of mutual affection. “And I don’t love you. Not anymore.”

  Fury flickered across his face. “Fine. Be a stubborn brat. Maybe walking home will change your mind.”

  He stormed off to his car, slamming doors, and tires squealed as it took off down the driveway.

  A long walk might change her mind but she doubted it.

  ***

  The car pulled up alongside her, keeping pace with her too-proud-to-call-a-taxi walk of righteous fury.

  “I’m not the one you’re angry at,” Justin said, opening the door.

  “They ambushed me and you just sat there like a lump on a log, stuffing your face with lasagna.”

  “Lumps don’t stuff,” he said with a chuckle.

  “Yeah? And brothers defend their sisters.” Good brothers did.

  “I… I didn’t know Dad was going to do that.”

  She snorted. “Sure. You’re his favorite and he talks to you but you had no idea.”

  “Look, he mentioned something about moving you up in the company. I thought he was going to give you your own team.”

  Carrie paused. Her own team? “You think I can manage my own team?”

  The car stopped. “Absolutely, Carrie. You’d need a personal assistant to manage your schedule, but I think you’d make great thing happen.”

  She shook her head. She needed a dozen alarms in the morning to wake up and a dozen more to keep her focused enough to get to work on time. No way she could juggle a project and all the engineers that came with it. She could barely manage herself. “You’re just trying to flatter me so I won’t be angry at you, which I am.”

  “Is it working?”

  She laughed. She didn’t want to but Justin always knew how to calm her down.

  “I’m not going to marry Tucker,” she said.

  “He’s not good enough for you.”

  “And I’m not going to do PR.”

  “You’d be wasted there.”

  “And I’m starving.”

  “Me too. I think the entire lasagna was that no-carb stuff. It tasted like nothing.”

  Carrie climbed into the car and fastened the safety belt.

  “Where to?” Justin asked.

  “Take me to the squirrel.”

  They did not speak during the short ride to Bucky’s Burger Rodeo. Bucky was a giant cartoon squirrel in a cowboy hat, for some reason. The burger joint survived the invasion when few buildings did and the interior was dated from the last century. Linoleum topped tables groaned with age. Everything about Bucky’s was tacky, right down to the smiling cartoon squirrel and Carrie loved it. As a child, she begged her parents to take her. They seldom did. Then the invasion had happened. Bucky’s sat boarded up for years before finally reopening, as tacky and squirrel-tastic as ever.

  And the onion rings weren’t half bad.

  Carrie sighed with pleasure as she bit into her burger, savoring the crisp lettuce against warm, melting cheese.

  “Mom would kill us if she caught us here,” she said.

  “I don’t think she cares so much what I eat.”

  Of course not. Justin was tall and slim.

  “But you’re enabling me, she’d say.”

  Justin ran a hand through his hair. “Geeze, Carrie. I’m so sorry. I had no idea what they were planning. How upset are you with me?”

  Carrie nibbled on an onion ring, contemplating her emotions. The white-hot fury that convinced her walking eleven miles to her apartment was a good idea had dissipated. “I’m feeling a little tender but I’m not mad at you.”

  His shoulders slumped with relief. “I’ll talk to Dad. We’ll get you back in R&D where you belong.”

  “No. I’m not going back.” She didn’t know it until the words left her mouth, but they were true words. She wasn’t going back. Not for family. Not for money. Not even if the great and mighty Josiah West got down on his knees and begged.

  “Of course you are. Where else are you going to go?”

  “I’ll be matched on my birthday. So space, I guess.” Again, she didn’t know the words were true until she said them. She’d avoided the Draft with her long engagement to Tucker but that was over. She wouldn’t pretend to love him for one more day, not even to avoid the Draft. And how bad could it be? By all reports the Mahdfel worshiped their brides. She wouldn’t mind a little worshipping. And she’d be on a spaceship or a station, surrounded by alien tech. She’d be able to continue her project. Hell, her proto-type was currently sitting on a Mahdfel battle cruiser now. If she could work remotely on Earth while the prototype and the test pilot were who-knows-where in the galaxy, she could work anywhere.

  “You can’t be serious. They’d take you away. We’ll find an exemption.”

  Carrie shook her head. “No. I want to go. I’ll be closer to my prototype and I won’t have to wait a day for reports. I might be able to watch in real-time.”

  “Do you think they’d let you do that? Because I think they’ll chain you to a bed and get you knocked up as fast as possible.”

  “No, there’s a provision against that in the treaty.”

  “We’ll find a doctor and say you’re not fertile.”

  “No. I’m not going to lie.”

  “Carrie, you wouldn’t be lying. The doctor would.” For a hefty bribe, Justin could find a doctor to say anything.

  “We have a few days yet. We can get you married. It’ll only be on paper but that will make you exempt.”

  Carrie shook her head. She knew, theoretically, that plenty of women had marriage-of-conveniences to stay on Earth. She also knew, theoretically, that plenty of men sold their services to women.

  “No.”

  “But—”

  “No, Justin. Stop trying to talk me out of my decision.”

  When Tucker started talking about weddings at dinner, Carrie had watched as her entire life had played out before her just as her family had planned: married to a man she didn’t particularly like and who she now knew didn’t love her, kids, a mind-numbing job, and just endless years of low-level dissatisfaction.
r />   No, she’d take her chances with the Mahdfel. Her work was vital in the fight against the Suhlik. They’d never tell her to give it up and do something safe and boring, not when the Suhlik continued to threaten the universe.

  The fact that the Draft was technically an arranged marriage to a stranger barely registered to Carrie’s thoughts. She was too caught up with the benefits of actually seeing her project in the flesh, rather than through screens.

  “I hate it when you get all stubborn like this,” he said.

  “It’ll work out,” she said around a mouthful of burger. “You’ll see.”

  Chapter Two

  Vox

  Vox was a study in patience. A warrior was patient. A warrior wasted no movement. A warrior waited for the perfect moment to strike. Vox waited.

  The warrior had many years to practice waiting. He waited for his mate, patiently. Every orbit, he grew older but he waited. He went where his warlord ordered. He fought the Suhlik, the vicious lizards that once enslaved his people. When the Suhlik came to the spiral arm of the galaxy and found Earth, the Mahdfel followed. Vox’s fondness of the blue and green plant was instant. Earth satisfied his two most primal instincts: to fight and to breed.

  The fighting was plentiful. The Terrans had put up a valiant effort to repeal the Suhlik invasion but they were simply out classed. Still, despite overwhelming odds, despite repeated defeats, they continued to fight.

  How could he not want a female from such a fierce warrior species?

  True, Terrans were smaller than Mahdfel, and more fragile. They were easily injured and slow to heal. On the surface, they made poor warriors. The Terran spirit, however, was strong. Resilient. Indomitable.

  His mate would be Terran. Vox had decided that more than a decade ago. He spent the following years studying Terran customs, food, films, history and learning all the things a good mate should know to make his mate comfortable.

  Every orbit, he grew older and continued to wait to be matched to his mate.

  A warrior waited. A warrior was patient.

  Vox sat still, allowing the nails on his left hand to dry while Estella gleefully painted his right hand.

  “Don’t smudge them,” she scolded, with a tone far too serious for a seven-year-old child.

  He splayed his hand on the table, willing himself to be still. Each finger was a different color because Estella could not decide. He helpfully suggested she use all the colors. His left pinkie was now red. The right would be violet.

  He had no regrets.

  “What are you two doing?” Meridan’s voice cut across the room.

  “We are improving our hand-eye control and honing fine motor skills,” Vox said with a smile.

  “Are you sure you don’t enjoy being a pretty, pretty warrior?” Meridan landed a quick kiss to the top of her daughter’s head, who ignored her, thoroughly engrossed in making a pretty, pretty warrior. “Go wash up for dinner. Your father is waiting.”

  Estella capped the nail polish. “Is Uncle Vox having dinner with us? Please?” She turned her big-eyed gaze from her mother to Vox and back again.

  Meridan raised an eyebrow, asking him.

  “It would be my pleasure but I am on patrol soon. Next time.”

  “Fine.” Estella frowned but her tone carried no significant injury.

  “You. Wash. Now,” Meridan commanded.

  “She is a good warrior-in-training,” Vox said, watching the child’s retreating figure.

  “She’s not a warrior. She’s a little girl,” Meridan said with a frown. Estella had unique… abilities. Abilities that required training to master control to prevent injury to herself or others. Vox knew Meridan was unhappy with the arrangement but it was necessary for Estella’s safety and everyone onboard the Judgment.

  Meridan sighed, shaking her head. She pointed to Vox's hand, “Seriously though, you didn't have to let her paint all the colors of the rainbow.”

  “The paint will be removed the next time I go through decontamination.” The process that killed all harmful bacteria and viruses would also strip the fine layer of polish from his nails. “Perhaps I will start a new trend.”

  “I doubt it.” Meridan gathered up the tiny bottles and shoved them in a canvas bag. “The only trend you’ll start is letting little girls take advantage of you.”

  Vox had no regrets.

  ***

  Alone in the cockpit of the ship, the emptiness of space stretched out before him. It soothed him. Scouting required all his concentration and relied on skills most warriors never used and satisfied his instinct for battle. Battle and breeding, those were the driving forces in the Mahdfel mind.

  Fighting and fucking.

  Many warriors would consider the standard patrol beneath them. There was no guarantee of conflict, of the battle all Mahdfel warriors craved, only isolation and searching for potential trouble.

  The Judgment was firmly within Mahdfel territory but the Suhlik were aggressive and known to raid within Mahdfel controlled sectors. The border territory saw constant conflict and skirmishes.

  Vox knew that some within the clan grew impatient with the warlord. They craved a good fight and longed to shed Suhlik blood. Vox also knew that the Judgment moved toward the border but not fast enough to satisfy the battle lust of some.

  He was patient as ever.

  Battle would come. Until then, he enjoyed the brief respite from the overly serious, dour dispositions of his brothers. They had no sense of humor at all. And, why should they? The Mahdfel life was brutal and short. Even with superior reflexes and healing, the fatality rate was staggeringly high. Vox, himself, had never known his father.

  Reaching old age was a luxury and retirement was simply unheard of. The best way to leave a legacy was to have sons, many sons, and Vox was ready to do his part. As soon as he found his mate.

  Patience.

  His patrol circuit completed, Vox headed back to the Judgment. He flew a prototype stealth starship. Small and fast, it was designed to be perfectly invisible to all sensors. Selected as the test pilot, Vox took it through its paces, skirting the edges of the Judgment’s sensor range and poking just bit at any Suhlik he found.

  Today he found nothing beyond a derelict freighter and asteroids.

  Heading back to the battle cruiser, he ran another diagnostic. The Terran engineer on the project constantly asked for more data. He found it best just to run diagnostics as much as possible to keep the engineer quiet.

  Approaching the Judgment, Vox lined up to dock with the flight deck. He initiated the landing procedure, the bleeding of speed and deploying of landing gear.

  A worrisome light blinked.

  That was new.

  “Rohn, we got problems,” Vox said, transmitting to the head engineer on the flight deck. “The landing system failed to deploy.”

  “Piece of Terran junk,” Rohn replied, voice thin over the comm link. “Give us some time to clear the deck. I don’t want you wrecking any of my good ships.”

  “Sure. How about I go to the market and pick up some milk.”

  A pause, followed by cursing. “I’ll never get your sense of humor. Just go do a loop-de-loop or something. Be creative.”

  He could be creative but elected to fly another circuit around the Judgment. He was coming in on the plane’s belly and needed to lose as much speed as possible. Even bleeding as much speed as he dared, the plane would still land hard and scrape across the flight deck.

  “Hey, fly boy,” Rohn barked. “We got a nice, wide path clear and the shock absorbing foam set up.”

  “Just aim for the foam pillow? How big a target are we talking?”

  “It’s huge. Not even you can miss it.”

  “I clip a wing once and you never let it go. Move on, Rohn. Dwelling on the past is bad for your health. It’ll give you an ulcer.”

  “What the blazes is an ulcer?”

  Vox didn’t actually know but it was an expression he heard in a Terran film and thought it sounded witt
y. Meridan certainly laughed when he said it.

  “Arriving in thirty seconds,” Vox said.

  He lined up the ship with the wide force field separating the flight deck from the vacuum of space. The golden haze of the force field flickered, indicating that it was possible to pass through the barrier.

  Vox gave the engine enough fuel to accelerate. He needed a minimum velocity to penetrate the barrier. Too slow and the plane would bounce off the force field like so much rubble and debris. Too fast and he wouldn’t be able to maintain control and land safely.

  Well, as safe a landing as possible.

  The ship met minimal resistance as it passed through the force field haze. Gravity immediately grabbed a hold of the ship and tried to pull it down. Vox feed the thrusters to continue to hover above the flight deck. The engine whined. Designed for space, atmospheric flight was possible but the ship didn’t like it. Not one bit. He’d share that with the engineers, assuming he’d be in any shape to share insights.

  A wide corridor had been cleared on the deck. At the end was a pad of beige foam. It covered the floor and curved up the wall. Vox knew the foam would expand immediately on impact and surround the ship.

  He aimed the nose of the ship toward the foam. The engine gave out and the belly skidded across the deck. The controls jerked in his hands. He fought to keep the ship as steady as possible, which was damn near impossible as the entire vessel vibrated so badly his horns bounced against the roof.

  The beige foam got closer and just when he thought he missed the mark, a sticky beige substance covered all the screens.

  Safe and sound.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, he unbuckled the safety harness. With the engine dead, there was no climate control and the temperature of the cockpit rapidly increased. He’d run out of air soon but had faith that Rohn and his team would dig him out.

  Gradually, unseen hands scraped away the foam and Vox was able to open the hatch.

  He climbed out, wading through the strangely buoyant foam.

  Rohn ran a hand along the curve of his horns, frowning. “How am I going to get that thing clean? And you killed the engine. Murdered it. I’ll knock out your teeth if I have to rebuild that tetchy Terran engine.”