Alien Paladin's Redemption (Warriors of the Lathar Book 13) Read online

  Death and her subsequent resurrection as an AI had certainly not dulled her mind any, so he dropped the prevarication.

  “Can you access any records on the S’Vaan clan that would link them with any known purist cells or organizations?”

  The AI’s lips quirked. “You seek confirmation that your brother is definitely involved with a terrorist organization?” she tutted, shaking her head. “I had thought you more intelligent than that, Nyek S’Vaan. After all, I assume blind faith did not lead you to undertake the Vesh.”

  She nodded down at the scars on his wrists. He didn’t reply, so she continued. “For a warrior to have undergone ritual atonement and cleansing, ridding themselves of past sins and alliances, indicates either blind faith, in which case I would have expected you to enter a monastery, or a need to distance yourself from your family. Since you stand before me, you know what your brother is.”

  “Of course I do.” He wasn’t an idiot, far from it. “He was already one step off radicalization when I was thrown out. Without me there as one small voice of reason, our father would have easily been able to bend Tavik to his will.”

  He sighed, running a hand through his hair. For saying he and Tavik were litaan, their physical appearance was where their similarities ended. Tavik was hot-headed and impetuous, not often liable to look before he leaped. He was also cruel and single-minded when he wanted to be, and that last was what worried Nyek the most.

  “What I need to know is what kind of links he has forged, what has shaped his thought processes since I last knew him. My father has apparently anointed himself prophet of Ursal-Kai but I need to know which of that god’s teachings they are following, so I can formulate a strategy against them.”

  Miisan nodded in approval. “Know your enemy. Know yourself.”

  He inclined his head as though that answer should be obvious. And it should. He was not a green youngling facing his first battle but a warrior of many years’ standing. And he knew to win the coming fight against his brother, he needed to get inside his brother’s head, as distasteful as that might be. He needed to know his brother… his enemy… inside out, to know him as well as he knew himself. Only then could he accurately predict what Tavik would do next.

  Once he could do that… he could beat him.

  Before the AI could answer him, though, the door behind him opened with a soft whoosh of air. Nyek turned with a smile of surprise, expecting to see Indra. He hadn’t expected her back quite so soon. She was a stubborn female. It was part of her charm… and he’d expected it to take longer for her to get over her snit with him.

  But it wasn’t her.

  Instead, Stephens stumbled through the door, blood streaming down the side of his face. Anger twisted his features as he pointed his rifle at Nyek. For all that he wavered where he stood, his arm was rock solid and Nyek read his own death in the human’s single-colored eyes.

  “I don’t know what your fucking game is, asshole, but you bring them back. Right fucking now!”

  Nyek lifted his hands slowly in the air as he faced down the enraged human. He made sure not to make any sudden movements.

  “Bring who back?” he asked, but the sinking feeling in the center of his chest told him he already knew.

  “You damn well know who!” Stephens snarled. “Bring Gracie and Indra back from wherever your asshole buddies have taken them.”

  Nyek’s blood froze in his veins. Tavik. It had to be.

  “I don’t have any ‘buddies’ here,” he said in a calming and reasonable voice. All the while he was working out the distance between himself and Stephens. He could throw a blade and hope to knock the human’s weapon aside but the chances were he’d be shot crossing the distance between them. He didn’t want to use the blaster strapped to his hips. Indra would never forgive him if he killed her friend.

  “We all arrived here are the same time, remember? Now… tell me what happened?” he asked, refusing to panic until he had all the information. For all he knew, Stephens could have slipped in the shower and hit his head. Started having hallucinations. The blood on the side of his face indicated that was a possibility.

  “We were in that trashed lab in Sector Four, printing a body for Keris—”

  There was a harsh intake of breath from behind Nyek.

  “You went into Sector Four?” Miisan demanded, anger in her voice. “After I told you not to? I have no access to the internal sensors in that sector, nor to the landing pads on the deck below it.”

  “Draanth.” He turned back to Stephens. “What happened then?”

  Their conversation was interrupted by another arrival. Seren K’Vass staggered into view. His skin was as grey as the doorframe he leaned against, his hand leaving a bloody smear on the metal with the other pressed against his side. Blood ran in rivulets down his side and leg, pooling on the floor.

  “A bunch of enemy warriors boarded the station. They were wearing the symbol of Ursal-Kai and were led by your litaan…” he gasped and then his eyes rolled back in his head and he crumpled onto the floor, unconscious.

  Nyek was an asshole and this was all his fault.

  If he hadn’t pissed her off, they’d never have been in the lab and these assholes wouldn’t have been able to capture them. Or kill… No, she would not go there. With determination she pulled herself out of her memories and back into her anger with Nyek. She hadn’t seen Stephens or Seren die, so it hadn’t happened. It couldn’t have happened.

  In fact, this was probably all a bad dream. She’d wake up in a bit to find herself sprawled across the bed in their room, and then Nyek would walk in and she could be properly pissed at him for being an asshole in the lab. That’s when things had started to slide sideways and everything had become a bad dream.

  It had to be a bad dream because only she could come up with something as stupid as Nyek’s evil twin. And the shit he’d said in the shuttle before... yeah, that had to be all part of the same bad dream. Because Nyek was a total asshole at times, but she’d never viewed him as cruel enough to lead a girl on, never intending for there to be anything serious between them.

  No... her stick-in-the-ass, sexy alien was more likely to demand that she marry him to preserve her honor than say she was just a bit of fun.

  Bad dream. For sure.

  Regardless of her inner monologue, she made sure to keep her eyes open, noting every detail of the route they took as she and Gracie were marched along the corridors of the ship.

  “So, who is this prophet then?” she asked the guard next to her. So far none of them had touched either of them and had barely even looked their way. So either they were all the most chill Lathar she’d ever seen, didn’t like women, or they were shit scared of something.

  “The prophet is all-seeing and all-knowing,” came the reply. It was clipped and immediate, almost automatic.

  She exchanged a glance with Gracie.

  “Cool. Reckon he’s got next week’s lottery numbers?” she asked, dancing a little ahead and trying to get in his line of sight. “Cause a gal’s got needs, ya know? Manis, Pedis and I could bloody murder a facial. Know what I’m saying?”

  There was no reaction. He didn’t so much as flinch, his gaze fixed ahead. She dropped back to walk next to Gracie. Lifting a hand, she spiraled her finger near her temple. Whoever these guys were, they were completely cuckoo. The other woman snorted slightly in agreement.

  They were led through corridor after corridor, each identical but seeming more ominous than the last until, finally, they reached a large chamber. It wasn’t the command deck of the ship but more like the central hall where the warriors usually trained. It even had the fight circles etched into the floor permanently.

  Her eyes caught on one of them, a dark stain decorating the center, as they passed. She snapped her gaze up as a cold shiver rolled down her spine. She’d lived on the streets long enough to know what dried blood looked like and that much blood outside a body? There was no way whoever it had belonged to had survived that. N
o way, no how.

  Her jaw set. Reaching for Gracie’s hand, she squeezed it in reassurance. Both of them were battle-hardened in their own way, but it helped a little knowing she wasn’t in this on her own.

  They were escorted up the length of the hall, passing two raised platforms, one on either side. There was a large statue at the end of the hall—a Latharian warrior in battle armor. It wasn’t the same stuff she’d seen warriors on the Izal’vias wear. If anything, it seemed to be a much older style.

  In front of the statue was an altar, complete with a body draped over it in offering. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the grisly sight. It was one of the ship’s warriors. He lay on his back, arms outstretched, mouth open in a silent scream. The front of his chest had been cracked open—given the scream, possibly while he was still alive—and thick lines of blood decorated the side of his body. Scarlet pooled thickly on the floor around the altar.

  Indra sucked a breath in. One body already. That did not bode well.

  “Ahhh... the females,” a deep voice intoned.

  They turned toward the voice to see an older man walking toward them. Unlike the warriors in their leathers, he wore black robes embroidered with red symbols. His hair was slicked back, no braids in evidence. All in all, he gave off benevolent priest vibes.

  Until she noticed he held a heart in his hand.

  Gracie’s hand tightened abruptly on hers. Fuck. This was so not good. So not good at all. Her mind went into overdrive as she tried to figure a way for them to get out of this. There had to be a way out. She hadn’t survived the streets and then Mirax Ruas, almost dying by rock worm, only to get taken out by assholes like this.

  “Please, bring them forward. Let me look at them.”

  The guards behind them closed ranks and the two women had no alternative but to step forward. It was that or get knifed in the back.

  “I don’t think much of your hospitality,” she told him bluntly. “The accommodations lack even the most basic of amenities and, dude, you really need to do something about your customer service staff.”

  He didn’t blink, looking down at them as they approached. A long way down. His unmoving expression and the way he loomed, invading their personal space in a way none of the other Lathar they’d met had, brought it home just how much bigger than humans they were.

  His gaze made her shiver. It was cold and dispassionate, as though he were looking at livestock rather than sentient beings. She half expected him to reach out and grab her by the jaw to check her teeth. A small growl itched to rumble at the back of her throat. If he did, she’d bite his fucking fingers off, up to the shoulder.

  “Father, stop scaring the females,” another voice called out, its owner’s arrival announced by the sound of heavy boot steps. “We need them relaxed for the ceremony.”

  Indra closed her eyes. The voice was familiar, way too familiar, and she didn’t want to turn around. When she did, she knew what she’d see. Another man wearing Nyek’s face.

  But her body moved without her permission, turning, and when she opened her eyes, there he was. He strode toward them with a broad smile on his face that Nyek had never worn, his arms outstretched.

  “Let me be the first to welcome the mothers of the next generation.”

  She blinked, spluttering. “Who the fuck now?”

  Gracie put it a little more succinctly. “What?”

  Not-Nyek stopped a pace or two away, beaming down at them. His gaze lingered on Indra in a way that made her want to scrub every inch of her skin until it screamed.

  “Even though you are human and inferior to us in every way, the great Ursal-Kai... for the glory of Ursal-Kai...” he broke off to chant, clasping his fist over his heart in a salute as he looked up at the statue. All the warriors around them did the same, the hall swelling with the sound of the chant and the dull thud of fists being thumped into chests. He turned back to them, an unhealthy light in his eyes.

  “Ursal-Kai has blessed you with purpose, despite your shortcomings,” his lip curled back as he looked them up and down. “And has decreed that you will birth the next generation of warriors for our great cause.”

  Indra snorted. “Has he now? Yeah, right... Like we’re going to let any of you assholes near us.”

  He struck without warning. Agony flared over the side of her face as he backhanded her so hard she tasted blood. Before she could recover herself, he was on her, batting Gracie who had tried to protect her out of the way. Grabbing her jaw in cruel fingers, he yanked her upright, glaring down at her with the same kind of madness she’d seen in the old man’s eyes.

  “You think you’ll have any choice in this?” He smirked, the expression sending chills down her spine. His voice was a low whisper, his breath tickling across her ear as he leaned in. “You don’t. From this moment on, you only live to serve Ursal-Kai. And your only purpose from now on is to bear young.”

  She tried to struggle, tears of pain leaking from the corners of her eyes as he dug his fingers into her face hard enough to bruise.

  “I’ll tell you what’s going to happen next to alleviate your... fears, shall I?” he mused. “You will be tied down on the ceremonial beds behind us and the prophet will bless you both. Then you will be taken by as many warriors as the prophet deems necessary until you are with child. If that does not happen today, the ceremony will repeat tomorrow and the day after until you have conceived. You will then be secluded and monitored until you have birthed your young, and then the process will begin again. And again. Until your bodies are too old or worn out to bear young anymore.”

  “You’re sick,” she spat back at him, trying to tear herself away, even though his nails cut into her skin. She couldn’t bear him touching her anymore, not looking at her with Nyek’s eyes... using his voice. “Sick and twisted. You think you can get away with this? They know where we are. Help will come and then you’re fucked!”

  He laughed, the sound chilling. There was nothing human in it, no compassion, only ruthlessness. He shoved her away, hard enough that she stumbled into Gracie. “Oh, you mean my brother? I’m afraid, my lady, he has always been the runt of the litter. He will not come for you. He will run back to his imperial masters instead, tail between his legs.”

  “Asshole! You might look the same,” she threw back, “but you’re not half the man he is. He’ll always be better than you!”

  His lips quirked as the warriors around the two women moved in, grabbing their arms and hauling them apart.

  “Oh, believe me, my lady, I am better than my brother...” He grabbed his crotch. “In every way, a fact that you will have more than enough time to appreciate.”

  He nodded to the guards either side of them. “Get them on the beds, ready for the blessing ceremony. I get that one,” he pointed to Indra. “First. A matter of family... honor.”

  “Honor?” she screamed as she was dragged away. “You wouldn’t know honor if it fucked you in the ass with a fucking bargepole. SIDEWA—”

  Her breath was knocked out of her as the guards threw her against the side of the bed, the edge catching her in the ribs. She fought to breathe as they bundled her on the hard surface, still fighting as they manacled her down until she could barely move.

  She closed her eyes, shutting out the hateful scene around her as she clung onto the one hope she had left. That Nyek would come to find them. But... a tear trickled down her cheek... what if what she’d heard had been right? That he’d slept with her, opened her heart... but never intended to claim her all along?

  She sucked in a hard breath, disastrously close to a sob. She wanted that. After so many years of being fiercely independent, of keeping everyone, even lovers at arm’s distance, he’d been the one person she’d let in. The one person to get past all her guards and defenses to touch the heart she guarded so closely. She’d learned not to let anyone get close, that once you did, you were weak. Vulnerable. It was better not to love, and then no one could hurt you.

  The tears flowed freely
now, running down the sides of her face into her hair.

  She’d lost sight of that, had fallen in love with a prim, stick-up-his-ass, sexy alien warrior who made her heart sing and her body hum with desire. She’d let him pin her down, tie her up and lavish her with such ecstasy that there would never be anyone else for her.

  And through it all... he had never intended it to be forever.

  17

  “You do know this plan has a less than a forty percent survival rate. Don’t you?”

  Nyek ignored Miisan’s voice in his ear as he spotted the pirate ship, his brother’s ship, coming into view around the edge of the asteroid.

  They hadn’t been far away at all when Tavik had made the call, almost within sight of the base. Watching. Waiting. It had only been because most of the Cabal base had been powered down that Miisan and the automated defenses hadn’t picked up their shuttles when they’d boarded the base to capture Indra and Gracie.

  “As long as that forty percent is just for me,” he replied finally, his lips compressing as he made his final approach to the raider ship.

  The controls on this vessel were unfamiliar, and given the state of the base as a whole, he hadn’t been confident it would make the journey over here. But there was no way he was allowing his draanthic brother access to an imperial shuttle with telemetry on where the rest of the fleet was. There was also the little... surprise... packed into the back of this one.

  “Confirm survivability ratio for the human females,” he demanded, ignoring the hails as the pirate ship spotted him.

  His breathing caught for a second. Tavik had the women. He had Indra, and just knowing that sent a shudder of dread through Nyek’s body. It wouldn’t take his brother long to figure out who... what Indra was to him. He would make her suffer, just to make Nyek suffer knowing he was the cause of pain for the delicate little human female...

  Miisan’s voice sounded almost irritated. “Survivability of females still stands at eighty percent. Less the longer you take to get aboard. You know your—”