Lorran Read online

  Still handsome, though.

  She gave him her best smile.

  He reared back. “Who are you?”

  The smile fell. “Wyn? Bronwyn?” He stared blankly at her. “Your mate?” Nothing. “We were matched three weeks ago?”

  He blinked.

  “There seems to have been a misunderstanding. We need to talk,” he said.

  Well, shit. That never ended well.

  Chapter 5

  Wyn

  “This is a complete surprise to you,” Wyn said. “This was going to happen. Well, not this. This is one of those we’ll-laugh-about-it-later moments. I mean, I volunteered for testing because I was nervous. We were always going to be matched.” She waved a hand and then tried to smooth back her curls.

  Ugh. She fell asleep in her clothes, and now they were rumpled. Plus, no scarf for her hair and she felt greasy from the long-ass day and in need of a bath. How bad was her bedhead? Probably pretty horrific, judging from the way Lorran watched her hair spring back when she tried to tame it.

  “Communications have been down,” he eventually said.

  “For three weeks?”

  His eyes narrowed, and he glanced toward the partition. “Yes. I have already spoken with management about my displeasure.”

  Displeasure. Awesome. Great start.

  She rubbed the bridge of her nose. Her head still ached, but not as badly as before.

  “Your head,” he started to say.

  “Is fine. I’m dehydrated. Can teleportation dehydrate you? Gross. Imagine just evaporating away while you’re in a million particles. Does teleportation work that way?”

  “No. You are not deconstructed and reassembled,” he said and retrieved a container from the storage rack. He picked through a box, then a second.

  Wyn admired the crisp line his uniform made as he turned his back to her, which was also gross because she didn’t need to be creeping on the guy. He did not seem thrilled about her arrival, and no amount of thirsting after the way his pants stretched over his buns would change that. Besides, now was not the time. Get a grip, woman.

  Supplies in hand, Lorran returned. “A headache can be a symptom of several maladies. Teleportation sickness is one. Here. Drink. Eat.” He handed her a water cube and a silver foil packet.

  “I haven’t seen one of these since I was a little kid,” she said. During the invasion, while her family sheltered in a refugee camp, all meals came in self-heating foil packets and water was contained in jiggly gelatin-like cubes. No packaging to worry about disposing of and easy to bite into, and the gelatin could even be eaten if you were hungry enough. Thankfully, Wyn had never been that hungry. The water cubes caught on and remained a staple, stocked in every convenience store, corner shop, and gas station.

  She gripped the foil packet by the seal and crinkled the material. Instantly, the packet warmed. Steam erupted as she tore off the top, followed by a pungent chemical aroma. Wyn wrinkled her nose.

  Yeah. That was why the foil packets never caught on. Everything sort of tasted the same and had a funky smell.

  He waited as Wyn used the flimsy spoon to eat the…chili mac? Some ground meat with bits of pasta that looked like dime-sized grains of rice in an orange sauce that was definitely not cheese. She drained the water cube and stuffed the empty gelatin shell into the foil packet.

  “Improved?” He scooped up the rubbish and fed it into a slot in the wall.

  “Yes. I’m sorry for rambling. I’m nervous. Horribly nervous. I’ve been obsessing about this for weeks, wondering about you, and then I thought you planned a honey—” She nearly tripped over the word. “A get-to-know-you trip and here you didn’t even know I was coming.”

  She looked around the shuttle. If he didn’t expect her, why were they going on a not-honeymoon? “Where are we going?”

  “I am answering a distress call. You should not be here, but time is critical. I cannot return you.” His lip curled on mention of returning her, like he couldn’t wait to return her.

  Yup, so not a honeymoon and disappointing all around.

  “You don’t want me here?” She needed to hear him say it, rather than try to read his thoughts when her head still felt scrambled.

  “This is a dangerous mission. What I want is immaterial. You will remain on the ship.”

  “But if you didn’t have to answer a distress call? What are you expecting to find? Pirates?” She gasped with excitement at the prospect of an adventure. Adventure was so much better than a honeymoon. Well, good, but for different and less naked reasons. “Space pirates?”

  His eyes narrowed. He stood, towering above her. In that moment, Wyn felt small, as small as she had been when that Mahdfel warrior rescued her nineteen years ago. Only this time she didn’t feel safe.

  “Death,” he said. “I expect to find bodies.”

  The rush of excitement turned to ice in an instant.

  “Stay here. Do not get in my way. I do not have time for this,” he said, turning to leave. The partition rattled as it closed behind him.

  Lorran

  That could have gone better.

  Lorran slunk back to the helm, turning over the encounter in his mind. He tended to her physical needs but understood he failed to address her emotional needs. How many newly matched females had he escorted through the Judgment? Each had their own unique response to their new mates and new lives. He thought of his brother’s mate, Hazel, and how she had wanted a connection, to make friendships and find her place in a new situation.

  Had Wyn’s rambling chatter been her attempt at making a connection? And he chided her.

  Shameful.

  But necessary. His assessment of the distress call remained the same. Either the crew had perished due to the delayed response or it was a trap. He could not afford to be distracted by his new mate.

  “I trust you are skilled enough to manage a gate,” Mylomon said.

  “Yes, I have received all the basic training.” Gates. How insulting. The pilot simply entered a code, and the computer did the rest. “Shall I verify that I know which end of a blade to hold?”

  Mylomon was not amused. The male brushed past Lorran, knocking his shoulder with more force than necessary. “I will attempt to rest. You have the helm. Try not to fly into an asteroid.”

  Lorran took the helm. Briefly, he entertained the idea of turning the shuttle around and returning his mate to the Judgment. She would be disappointed, but she would be safe. Mylomon would be displeased. Furious, even. What consequences could he deal out that would hurt more than knowing that Lorran failed Bronwyn? Breaking his horns? A few bones? He’d heal.

  Stars, he had only spoken a handful of words to the female, but he was already willing to sacrifice himself for her safety.

  His brothers and father, however, would see his disobedience as another lapse in focus and responsibility.

  He sighed, unwilling to disobey Mylomon’s orders and disappoint his family.

  Chapter 6

  Lorran

  “What are you doing here?”

  The female—Bronwyn—stood at the partition, as if she gathered the courage to enter the helm. She clutched a notebook to her chest like a shield, then lifted her chin. Striding toward the empty seat next to him with the confidence of belonging, he reluctantly found himself admiring her act of bravery.

  Fucking hell, he did not want to admire her. He needed to stay focused on the mission. Her presence was a temptation, however admirable, that he could not afford.

  “Asking the tough questions, I see.” She folded her legs underneath herself in the seat.

  Stars. He had been an ass to her. He should apologize. His brothers set a terrible precedent for starting off badly with their mates, and Lorran followed suit.

  She continued speaking, “Some grumpy guy told me I was thinking too loud, and he needed to get some sleep, so he kicked me off the bunk bed. Wow, I literally never imagined saying those words.”

  And he especially did not want to like
her because she was brave and adorable.

  “That would be Mylomon, my partner for this mission and superior officer. You should not be here,” he repeated.

  “Yeah, yeah. Dangerous mission, fragile human. I get it.” Her hair had been pulled back into a queue, but the curls strained to escape. A few strands around her face hung free in long, twisting curls.

  “No, I mean here, in the navigator’s seat.” Damn it all, he wanted to see her hair unbound.

  With a dramatic huff, she stomped over to the seat furthest away. The navigator and pilot’s seats faced the console. Two additional seats were built into the wall, across the helm and facing each other.

  “Better?” she asked. He tilted his head in agreement. “How long until we get…wherever?”

  “Approximately thirteen hours in total. We arrive at the jump gate in ninety minutes.”

  “A gate is a big fancy teleporter?” The color drained from her face, leaving her rich complexion otherwise ashen.

  “A gate creates a temporary wormhole between another gate. Teleportation works on the same principle, only scaled down.” He held out two hands and moved them closer to demonstrate.

  “Is that safe? For me?”

  “Yes,” he said truthfully, withholding that traversing through the gate would be uncomfortable. Already affected by teleportation sickness, she could not enjoy the process. Bypassing the gate would add days to the journey—an unacceptable option when there could be survivors. “A basic field kit should contain medication to counteract the side effects. You will take the medication to be cautious.”

  She nodded. “Can I call my mother? Just to let her know I got here okay. I tried, but my comm won’t connect.” Bronwyn held up a comm unit, the flexible resin screen glinting in the light.

  “That is not possible. This is a covert mission. No communications.”

  “I thought it was a rescue mission,” she replied.

  “A covert rescue mission.”

  A grin tugged at the corners of her lips, which perplexed him. “Tell me why you smile,” he demanded. “I am not being charming or amusing, yet you smile.”

  “I seriously doubt you’d know charming if it came up and bit you in the ass.”

  “Incorrect. I am charming and a delight,” he said with surety.

  “Sure, Jan,” she said and rolled her eyes.

  “I know what that means.” He did not know the identity of this Jan, but the message conveyed with the gesture of passive-aggression—possibly sarcasm—was known to him. His brothers’ mates favored that gesture.

  “Look, I know you’re all salty that I’m crashing your top-secret, boys-only clubhouse, but I didn’t plan this. The computer said you were on the shuttle, and the medic guy dropped me off. I’m not going to apologize for you failing to get the memo. The volunteer center arranged everything. Sorry not sorry.”

  “I received no such memo. The message arrived only after I discovered you hiding like a stowaway.”

  “I wasn’t hiding,” she protested, her voice rising.

  “The privacy screen was drawn.”

  “With my bright pink luggage out in the open? The medic gave me something for my headache—which is fine, thanks for asking—and it made me drowsy.”

  “That is…perfectly reasonable,” he admitted, irritation draining away.

  “Will you two be quiet? There will be no sleep once we arrive! Do not disturb my rest now!” an angry voice shouted from the back.

  Lorran shut the partition and initiated a sound dampening program.

  “Apologies. I did not intend to raise my voice. I know this is not your fault,” he said, determined to employ some of the charm he so humbly bragged about to turn this situation around. He understood something of Terran females, as his brothers’ mates were Terran. He considered Hazel a good friend, and he quite liked Rosemary.

  Bronwyn drummed her pencil against the notebook on her lap. “Who takes three weeks to repair communications? I thought you guys were like badass space warriors, the defenders of the universe, but you can’t even get your messages. What sort of slide shoe operation is this?”

  Lorran shook his head in confusion. The translation chip worked without fail, but it often garbled idioms. “Slide shoe?”

  “Slipshod,” she repeated slowly, like he inadequately processed information, which was fair. “It means negligent, like a pair of crappy shoes that keep falling off.”

  “This is a very specific situation.”

  “That needed a word. Obviously.” Her cheeks puffed as she sighed dramatically on the last word.

  Adorable. He felt compelled to share this observation, but she tossed him a sharp glance, causing him to remain silent.

  “Sorry. I’m being an absolute grump, and that’s really not me. Today’s been a lot, you know. Sorry for real.”

  He nodded. “We owe each other apologies. My family has a disastrous record for first impressions with our mates.”

  “Keeping that traditional alive and well.” She grimaced. “Sorry, that was still grumpy.”

  “My brothers will expire from mirth when they learn of this.” He could imagine Seeran’s glee. The male hardly expressed an emotion other than disdain, but he could hear Seeran’s laughter now. Still, Lorran remembered the years after the Earth invasion when the fires in Seeran’s gut died and his brother had been cold, dormant in a half-existence. He’d take Seeran’s teasing and mockery, as was a brother’s due.

  “Can we start over?” Bronwyn asked. She leaned forward, the notebook in her lap forgotten. “We both agree that the situation wasn’t exactly our fault, but we were showing our butts.”

  “I did no such thing! And I would certainly remember your ass. It is noteworthy.”

  “Oh my God, really? Is noteworthy code for big? You know what, scratch that. It’s a phrase that means behaving badly.”

  “My cock is noteworthy, so make of that what you will.”

  Silence hung between them as he awaited her response. Perhaps he had gone too far, as he always did.

  A delightful dark flush spread across her face, followed by an uneasy giggle. “We just met and you’re going with a dick joke? Is that your idea of charming?”

  “You are laughing. I have successfully defused the tension.” He allowed himself a moment to bask in her laughter. A shallow charm was easy for him to maintain, and he quite enjoyed charming the female.

  His female.

  That had to be a mistake, because who would entrust him with the responsibility to protect a mate?

  “Let us start over, as you have requested. I am Lorran Rhew, an intelligence officer onboard the Judgment.” His tone conveyed the impressiveness of his position. It was acceptable that she did not coo or gasp in awe at her good fortune for being matched with such an impressive male.

  “You mentioned brothers?”

  “I am the youngest of three sons. Both my brothers have Terran mates.”

  Her entire body perked, as if with interest. “Really? Is that unusual?”

  “No. My eldest brother, Seeran, found his mate first. My other brother, Mene, was set up by our mother. She is a wily female.” Stories of his parents, brothers, and nephews came easily. He worried his stories would bore Bronwyn. She opened her notebook. At first, he thought she took notes—odd but flattering—then realized she drew.

  He craned his neck to catch a glimpse, but she twisted in her seat, blocking the page with her body. “No peeking,” she said.

  Desperately wanting to peek, he resisted and continued. She laughed in the right places and asked questions. The tension between them evaporated, and Lorran found he enjoyed the ease of speaking with Bronwyn.

  “You sound close to your family,” she said.

  “Perhaps more than is good for me. They are…meddling.”

  “I think you’ll be very familiar with the overbearing kind of love my momma brings.” That grin reappeared.

  “I know this situation is less than ideal. I expected to celebrate t
he holiday with my family. This mission was an unexpected assignment,” he said.

  “We both have had a hell of a day. So, about me. I’m an artist, but I worked a day job in a call center for an insurance company because I’m not interested in being a starving artist.”

  He wanted to know more about her art and what she drew in her notebook, but was distracted when she said, “And I can’t believe I wasted five years with Oscar. Sorry. I know it’s not cool to complain about your ex—”

  “You had another mate?”

  She blinked, as if trying to remember what she said. “Oh yeah. Well, fiancé. I’ve never been married. Unless you count right now. We’re technically married.”

  “By Terran standards.” A legal contract, which felt cold and void of meaning.

  “On paper, yeah.” She brushed back a stray curl, exposing her neck just where it joined her shoulder.

  His mark would be there, deep and for all to see. Only then they would be mates.

  “Um, you’re staring. I don’t have a case of bed head, do I?” She patted her hair. “This is the weirdest birthday ever. Yay, me.”

  Terrans gave tokens of affection on birthdays, along with confections. He did not have a gift to give and did not have any confections. The stockpile of ration bars did not count.

  He remembered. Reaching under the navigator’s seat, he retrieved the container of cookies. Moving close, he crouched at her feet. “Bronwyn, I would like to tell you that I had these prepared for you, but I shall endeavor to be as truthful as possible. I possess these cookies by chance, but I desire to share them with you on your birthday.”

  “Coincidence cookies and call me Wyn. Bronwyn sounds—”

  “Odious.”

  “I was going for old-fashioned, since it’s my grandmother’s name.” She reached for the container, then hesitated. “Not to sound ungrateful, but why do you have cookies?”

  “My brother’s mate is Terran and prepared them fresh. I know it sounds unseemly. A male should provide nourishment, but she is family.”

  Preparing and sharing food was an intimate activity, reserved for family or the closest of friends. Terrans had different views on sharing meals and food preparation. Try as he might, he had difficulty accepting that it was common for Terrans to accept nourishment from a stranger for currency.