Vox: Warlord Brides (Warriors of Sangrin Book 4) Page 7

  “Yeah, well, that’s the movies. You hardly ever get murdered while making out in real life.” She could not believe those words left her mouth. She also couldn’t believe she had to convince her husband to ditch a party to go play kissy-face.

  Enough trying to convince him. Carrie grabbed Vox’s hand and pulled him away.

  Once out of the arena-turned-party, he took the lead.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, holding the hem of her dress aloft to prevent tripping.

  “We do not have ground vehicles,” he said. “But I have an idea.”

  ***

  The flight deck was empty. Vox lead her off to one side, towards the bulky shuttles.

  “Someone will see us,” she whispered.

  “No one will discover us,” he said, opening an older shuttle. “This model is never used.”

  The light flickered on, revealing a stark shuttle interior. It was primitive, compared to the modern shuttles she’d seen. The floor was bare metal and two benches lined either wall of the shuttle. No seat backs. No cushions for comfort, just the basic safety equipment. The pilot seat looked marginally comfortable.

  Carrie settled herself in the pilot’s seat. Nope. Not comfortable. It’s be fine for short journeys but would be murder on the back for anything longer than an hour.

  Without saying a word, Vox knelt before her. His hands parted her thighs, the gold fabric splitting at the high slit and revealing everything. His hands skimmed the soft flesh and he brought his face to the apex of her thighs. His mouth pressed against the lacey fabric of her panties, already damp, and his tongue licked, moaning. Her hips rocked up. He breathed her in deep before pushing the fabric to the side. His fingers worked the slick, pink flesh, spreading her dew. Fingers journey up and down, teasing her entrance. She ached for her.

  “Please, Vox.”

  “What do you need, my love,” he murmured, breath hot against her pussy.

  “You know what I need.”

  “Mmm. But I want to hear you say it.” He stroke her again, prodding her entrance but not penetrating.

  She moaned in frustration. “I need you. In me.”

  He complied, sinking two fingers into her easily. His mouth clamped down on her pussy, sucking her clit. She melted, sensation rocketing through her. She grabbed onto his horns and her thighs trembled. She was close.

  Vox rose to his feet, chin glistening with her juices, and switched places. In the blink of an eye, she sat astride his lap, his thick cock pressing between the fabric of her gown and his bare chest. His tattoos glowed with a silvery intensity. They glowed for her.

  He lifted her and placed right over the head of his cock. She sank down slow, savoring every inch as he stretch her tender flesh. “My mate,” he said, claiming her lips. “Mine.”

  She worked herself up and down his length slowly, drawing out his pleasure and swiveling her hips. He hit just the right spot in her and she couldn’t catch her breath.

  He grabbed her by the hips and worked her along his cock, lifting her and slamming her down. “Mine,” he said with each thrust. “Say it.”

  “Yours. Yes.”

  Sex had never been interesting before. Sex had never been something she particularly wanted before Vox. It had been something to endure. Now she couldn’t imagine living without his warm presence in the bed next to her every morning, or his joyful laughter filling their home, or his hot and fierce desire.

  His violet gaze locked with hers. She placed a hand on either side of his face, letting her forehead falling to his.

  There was only him for her.

  She came hard. Every inch of her was electric and she both wanted more and couldn’t bare another sensation. She slumped against him, his heart thudding in her ears, as her climax rolled through her, leaving her boneless.

  His teeth nipped at her ears and throat and then he pressed his lips against the base of her throat, moaning his release.

  “Mine,” he said once more, licking the now healed scars from his claiming bite.

  She was his. Thoroughly and completely his.

  Chapter Nine

  One month later

  Carrie

  She knelt on the cleansing room floor, clutching the rim of the waste unit. For the third morning in a row, violent nausea greeted her minutes after waking. Today hadn’t been so bad, she almost thought that whatever bug was bothering her had run its course but then Vox walked in with a mug of hot tea. The bright, lemony scent sent her over the edge and she raced to the cleansing room.

  “You are going to medical,” he said, standing over her.

  “No. I’m fine.” Her stomach would settle soon enough and she was reluctant to bother the grumpy medic. She didn’t care if he was Meridan’s husband. He was grump and scary. “This happens to me if I don’t eat. I just need food.” But the thought of food was enough to make her sick again.

  “Enough.” Vox lifted her from the floor like she weighed nothing.

  “I’m not dressed,” she protested. She’d slept in his tunic and it barely covered her booty.

  “No one will dare to look at you,” he said, striding into the corridor.

  But he was wrong. Everyone stared as Vox carried her into the medical bay, shouting “My mate requires assistance now!”

  Carrie buried her face against his chest, mortified.

  “Put her down, you fool,” Kalen snapped.

  “Do not look at her posterior!”

  “I’m a medical professional. I can look where I please.”

  This is why she needed to put on pants. The thirty seconds Vox saved by dashing out the door was lost to his masculine posturing. “Put me down,” she said, patting his chest.

  “I will not,” Vox said, holding her tighter.

  “When you hold me like this, the tunic rides up. When I stand, I can pull it down.”

  He set her down immediately. Kalen promptly handed her a sheet to wrap around herself.

  “Describe the issue with your female,” Kalen said to Vox, completely ignoring her.

  “She is ill when she awakes from rest.”

  “Hmm.” Kalen waved a scanner over her, frowning. “How long has this been going on?”

  “A few days,” Carrie said. “But it’s no big deal. It happened to me all the time on Earth. When I wait too long to eat, my stomach gets nauseous.”

  “I will decide what is a big deal,” Kalen said. His tone was so clipped, so cold, that Carrie was caught by surprised when he jabbed her with a needle.

  “Ow! What the hell!” She rubbed the tender spot.

  “If I had given you warning, you would have flinched.”

  Vox nodded in agreement.

  Aliens.

  The scanner beeped. “You’re pregnant.” Kalen looked up from the display. “That was fast. You wasted no time.”

  Carrie staggered back until she collided with an exam table. “What… no. I mean, it’s not possible. It’s too soon.”

  “It’s possible.” Kalen waved toward the visible claim mark on her shoulder. “About four weeks alone now, too.”

  “Tell him he’s wrong,” Carrie said, turning to Vox.

  Her husband stood there with a stupid grin on his face. “My son—”

  She wasn’t ready. Not for a life on a battle cruiser. Not to be married to an alien. Not to be a mother and certainly not the mother of a Mahdfel son. The way Vox described his childhood as a whirlwind of mischief and broken bones… She wasn’t ready.

  “Are you listening?” Kalen asked, thumping the tip of her nose.

  “Huh?” She blinked, jerking her head back.

  “You require rest and nutrients. These vitamin supplements will help with tiredness. This will help with nausea but that will pass on its own.” He pressed two bottles into her hands. “Weekly check-ups. No exceptions.”

  “But—” She should be asking questions. There was so much she didn’t know about growing a life. For once, her mind was empty.

  “Meridan will contact y
ou. She is a xeno-natal specialist.”

  “Oh. That’s good.” An alien baby specialist.

  Vox took her by the hand and lead her away. The way he was staring at her, like she was the greatest thing in the universe, made her shiver.

  “Return in one week,” Kalen said, back to ignoring her. “No vigorous activities. No stress. Rest.”

  “I’m not an invalid,” Carrie said.

  “Will my son have hair the color of flame?” Vox asked.

  “I don’t do cosmetics,” Kalen said, grumpiness flooding his voice. “Ask if your son will have the correct amount of digits and limbs.”

  The medic waved them away. Vox scooped Carrie back into his arms, despite her protests. Kalen’s grumbles followed them out of medical. “Hair color, honestly.”

  Vox

  This was the greatest day. He had a son. Or would have soon enough.

  There was so much to do. So much to prepare.

  First, he had to feed his mate. He knew she did not consume an adequate amount of calories yesterday and she emptied her stomach that morning. She needed fuel for his son.

  He deposited her at a table in the mess hall. “Vox, I’m still not wearing pants. I want to go home.”

  “You will eat first.”

  “But the sheet—” She tugged at the sheet wrapped around her waist.

  “No one will notice.” The hour was still early and the mess hall was nearly empty. The males present knew better than to gawk at another male’s female, especially if she was in a state of undress.

  Hmm. Perhaps she had a point. Vox adjusted the sheet to make sure the creamy expanse of her perfect thighs was covered.

  He returned with a plate of eggs and toast, which he knew his mate enjoyed.

  She paled at the sight of the food. “Maybe just the toast.”

  She reached for the item but Vox was faster and held it to her mouth, waiting patiently for her to take a bite. Eyes narrowed, she nibbled and chewed slowly. “You know, this will go faster if I can feed myself.”

  “I derive satisfaction from this method.”

  “Oh, well as long as you’re satisfied,” she said.

  He agreed.

  One slice consumed, Carrie announced that she thirsted but could not tolerate acidic orange juice or coffee. She wanted a minty tea. Vox fetched the hot beverage. When he returned, he found his mate halfway to the door.

  “What are you doing,” he demanded.

  “I’m going home. I ate.”

  “You did not consume enough calories.”

  “I’ll have a big lunch. Let go of my arm.”

  Vox complied, unhappy. He could not force her to consume more but would have to coax, like a parent to a child. Until then, she needed to rest. He scooped her into his arms once more.

  “Put me down!” She beat a hand against his chest.

  “No. You wish to go to our quarters, I will bring you there.”

  “I can walk.”

  “You need to rest.”

  “I’m pregnant not an invalid.”

  “You have not consumed enough calories to sustain life, let alone gestate and exercise. I will carry you.”

  She huffed. “Are you going to carry me everywhere? For nine months?”

  “Until you are able to consume and retain the proper amount of sustenance. Yes.”

  In their quarters, Vox waited on his mate hand and foot. When she thirsted, he held the glass to her lips. She wanted a shower. He scrubbed her down with the utmost caution. He brushed her fiery hair and put it in a braid. He fluffed pillows behind her back and elevated her feet. He fetched the cookies she preferred and feed them to her one by one. He rubbed her feet. He carried her to the cleansing room when requested and waited anxiously outside the door. As he demonstrated his devotion as a mate, Carrie protested.

  Finally, she marched to the sleeping platform.

  Vox sprang to his feet. “What do you require? Allow me to do this for you.”

  “I’m taking a nap, unless you’re going to sleep for me, too.”

  He paused. “I cannot.”

  She climbed into the bed and he followed.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “I cannot rest for you but I will rest with you.”

  “Oh my God,” she said, eyes rolling. “Will you leave me alone for one minute?”

  “But you are my mate and carry—”

  “Don’t you dare say it.”

  Vox was confused. Say that she carried his son? That was a fact. Was she unhappy about being pregnant? She knew he dreamed of having a family with many sons.

  “Are you unhappy?” he asked, finding the courage. He might not like the answer but he needed to know.

  Carrie sighed, punching a pillow under her head. “No. Nothing like that. It’s a lot to take in and you’re smothering me, Vox.”

  “I’m trying to provide and care for you.”

  “I know and it’s sweet. You’re sweet. I’m a bitch for being upset about this but I just need some time to think and I can’t do that with you breathing down my neck every minute of the day.”

  “What is there to think about?” He had spent years, a decade and more, studying Terran courtship and culture and he was baffled. “You will be a mother. You will no longer require outside occupations. Our son will keep you busy. And I will ensure your health and safety.”

  Her mouth open and closed, as if she spoke but no sound came out. “I… Outside occupations? You make my work sound like a hobby? Like I’m organizing a bake sale in my spare time.”

  “Why are you so upset? You wanted to work and I let you. Now that time has passed.”

  “Let me work. Let. Me.” She turned an alarming shade of red.

  “Yes.” His tattoos tingled with warning. Her emotions were high and his body responded to hers.

  “My work is important.”

  “This is important.” He placed a hand on her stomach.

  Carrie jumped out of the bed. “That’s all I am to you? A womb? A baby-making machine?”

  “You are my mate.” She was that and more.

  “Can you not even see the hole you’re digging?”

  Vox looked at the floor confused. “What hole?”

  Carrie gave a muffled scream and stormed out of the room, dragging the blanket with her.

  Vox followed, perplexed. “Where are you going?”

  “Why are you bothering to ask? Can’t you just use that chip you tagged me with?” She headed toward the empty sleeping chamber.

  “Females like it when you ask them for information, even when you already know the answer.”

  She spun toward him, blanket tangling at her feet. “Stop following me.”

  “I will not leave you unprotected.”

  Another frustrated groan. “I’m not leaving the apartment, okay? I’m going to sleep in the spare bed. Alone.”

  “Because you are upset?”

  “Yes, Vox! I’m pissed off at you and you’re working my nerves.”

  He mentally reviewed the day and could not find fault with his actions. Still, he nodded. The nod appeared to satisfy his mate and her anger ratcheted down a notch. “I will remain close,” he said.

  “Whatever. Let me get some sleep, alone, and I’ll be in a better mood in a few hours.” She vanished through the doorway.

  Vox stood vigil, back to the door, waiting. He would seek guidance from other mated males, preferably those with pregnant mates. He had much to learn.

  Chapter Ten

  Carrie

  By the morning, her anger cooled off. Logically, she knew Vox was just as shocked as she was about the pregnancy. But how surprised could she really be? She jumped into bed with him the first day—and several times after that—and it’s not like they used protection or birth control. Stifling over-protection was the Mahdfel default. She knew that. His instinct was to smother her until he calmed down and realized she wasn’t going to break.

  They both needed time to cool down.

/>   Vox had no idea that everything he spouted at her last night were the very same things that drove her away from her family and ex-fiancé. He didn’t know. She’d explain once she calmed down.

  Nausea greeted her when she left the bedroom but this time when Vox handed her a mug of mint and lemon tea, she kept everything down. Hooray for medication.

  He fed her slices of buttered toast and didn’t pressure her into eating more than she wanted. All during the meal, warriors slapped Vox and congratulated him. He struggled to keep a stoic expression on his face but his good nature bubbled through. He beamed with excitement.

  She couldn’t fight the urge to beam back. Vox’s joy was contagious.

  Didn’t mean she was ready to be a mother, though.

  And it certainly didn’t mean she was ready to throw in the towel on Project Sly Fox.

  She had a few months to go yet. Eight? How long did a Mahdfel pregnancy last? There was so much she didn’t know. She needed a book, What to Expect When You’re Expecting an Alien’s Baby. Someone had to have written it. Meridan would know, with her xeno-natal expertise. She’d ask at her next check-up.

  The landing gear on Sly Fox was finally repaired. Vox was scheduled to take it out for a patrol that day and test the modifications. Carrie hadn’t seen her baby fly since it left Earth. She couldn’t wait.

  “Are you certain you are well?” Vox asked for the hundredth time.

  “Yes,” she snapped. Vox had enlisted Rohn in the constant smothering and would only agree to let her onto the flight deck if she remained seated. So she sat on a folding chair, the only seated figure on the enormous flight deck, like an invalid.

  “I will monitor your mate,” Rohn said, speaking directly to Vox as if she wasn’t there.

  Oh, that was getting real old real fast.

  “I’m fine,” Carrie said, hand on Vox’s arm. “I’m resting. Sitting on my butt is exactly what I’d be doing in our quarters.”

  “You could be over stimulated.”