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

  His jaw clenched at the taunt, and out of nowhere, the urge to put her over his knee and spank her like a wayward youngling hit him. Only the fact that laying hands on what was the war commander’s honored guest was a bad idea stopped him and he stepped back, looking to Danaar for confirmation.

  “You are correct,” the war commander confirmed, a small smile playing on his lips behind the short beard. “Both Lady Madison and Lady Indra are human, a variant of Lathar long since thought lost. Their planet was discovered recently and is under the emperor’s protection. We also have other human females on board, and I would advise you to treat them all with respect.”

  Indra... her name was Indra. That nugget of information was the first to process and then he blinked. Human, a variant of Lathar. Looking at the females again, he bowed. “At your service, your ladyships.”

  “Oh, he’s formal. Can we keep him?” Indra chuckled. “I know some of you Lathar have sticks up your asses but this one is something else.”

  “The S’Vaan are a traditionalist clan,” Danaar commented but Nyek’s temper was too high to allow the comment to pass.

  “Nyek,” he ground out, unable to stop the burr of irritation in his voice. Reaching up, he flicked his hair back over his shoulders. “My name is Nyek, not ‘him.’”

  “Whatever you say, handsome.”

  Danaar cleared his throat, shooting the female a warning glare that would have sent many a younger warrior scuttling for safety. Nyek held his place, sure the female would capitulate and apologize as she should. Instead, though, she wrinkled her nose and stuck her tongue out.

  At the war commander. On his own command deck.

  Nyek couldn’t think of a thing to say. He was frozen in place, but not with fear or horrified fascination at what would happen to the female after a blatant display of disregard. Instead, he fought his own body, that brief flash of her delicate pink tongue sending fire and heat through his veins like a solar storm.

  Gritting his teeth, he forced himself not to react, thinking of anything mundane he could to get his erection, pressing uncomfortably against the tight leather of his pants to go down. All it would take was for someone to look down and realize she’d affected him. More than he wanted.

  Anger swamped him that she could call such a reaction forth when he didn’t even like her. Waspish little female.

  His gaze caught that of the war commander and for a moment his heart stalled at the black look in the male’s eyes. Had he realized how Nyek had reacted? And had he taken offense that he unwillingly found the female alluring? It was to be expected, though. None of them had seen a female of their species for decades, and he had made no move or comment toward her...

  Then Danaar’s gaze flicked to his wrists and he realized. His scars.

  “Ladies,” Danaar growled, “if you will excuse us, the sub-commander and I have things to discuss.”

  Commander... he wasn’t a commander. Not daring to correct Danaar, Nyek simply watched as Lady Madison nodded and lifted on her tiptoes to brush a kiss against his cheek. “Okay, love, have fun. Indra and I promised to spend some time with the girls anyway. See you later.”

  Nyek bowed again as the two females swept out, straightening up to find all the humor had fled from Danaar’s face.

  “Follow me,” he ordered, stalking off toward the conference room at the back of the command deck.

  “Out!” he barked at the two guards on duty, and they fell over themselves to get out the door, practically shoulder-barging each other in their haste.

  Nyek said nothing. He simply walked through the door and stood, hands clasped behind his back. This was the kind of reaction he’d expected from the moment he stepped aboard. He was just surprised it had taken this long.

  “Computer open long-range channel to the Keran’vuis, and General M’rln.”

  Nyek’s eyes widened fractionally at the order. It was well-known that the K’Vass were favored by the empire, but he hadn’t thought Danaar would be well-connected enough to have a direct channel to the Emperor’s champion himself. General Xaandril M’rln was a legend, a hero of the Battle of the Nine Wastes. Most war commanders would be bowing and scraping if such an honored warrior deigned to answer their call but not Danaar.

  As soon as the general appeared on screen, his short hair mussed and his expression decidedly unimpressed, Danaar barked.

  “What the draanth do you think you’re doing sending me a Vesh?”

  “Hello to you as well, War Commander. How are you today?” the general snapped back sarcastically.

  Danaar grumbled, shooting a dire look at Nyek as he was forced to remember his manners. “Apologies, deshenal, I forget myself. I hope you and your mate are having a fortuitous day.”

  “We are indeed. Thank you for asking.” The general inclined his head. “And likewise to you and your mate. Now... what is so important that you deem it necessary to contact me over long-range?”

  Danaar growled and waved toward Nyek at the other side of the chamber. “I understand that my previous conduct warranted some repercussions, but to assign a Vesh as my second in command? Surely the emperor trusts me more than that?”

  He obviously wasn’t intended to be part of this conversation, so Nyek didn’t comment. He merely stood there as his stomach lurched. He hadn’t been sent here to be dishonored as he’d thought… He’d been promoted? To second in command for a war commander?

  The elation and pride died a quick death, though. If he hadn’t been Vesh maybe Danaar would have been welcoming him. But, as he was, Danaar looked as though he’d like nothing more than to kick Nyek off the ship without a shuttle.

  Picking a spot on the wall, Nyek focused on it. He was used to this, at least he should be by now. It was an oft-repeated scene, the fury of his new assignment commander when they realized what he was. For even the most enlightened of Lathar, even the blessing of the goddess wasn’t enough to endear him to them. The stain of the Vesh, the ritual of atonement, was never-ending, even though he’d passed it and been granted life.

  General M’rln’s expression didn’t alter. “Nyek S’Vaan is a good warrior, from an honored traditionalist background, and the emperor considered him a good fit for your second.”

  “Trall!” Danaar spat. “This is a punishment, pure and simple. I could have promoted any number of solid and honorable K’Vass warriors.”

  Nyek’s fists clenched at the unwitting slur against his honor. He had honor. That’s why he’d undertaken the ritual of judgment. His past sins were too many for anyone but the goddess herself to forgive and so she had. No one else could make a judgment on him... and yet they did. All the time. No doubt within the hour, he would be reassigned away from the Izal’vias.

  “And that right there is the problem.” The general’s voice was like a whip, stern but fair. “There have been grumblings that too much favor is shown to the K’Vass, and the emperor wishes to address these concerns. Appointing a non-K’Vass warrior as your second will go a long way at court.”

  At that Nyek couldn’t help his eyebrow winging up. If that was the reason behind his assignment, the emperor had played a blinder. Not only was he not K’Vass and about as far from being in the favor of the royal clan as it was possible to get, he hailed from a clan so traditionalist they were a hairsbreadth from turning purist and declaring Ursal-Kai the one true god.

  “It is the will of the emperor then?” Danaar didn’t sound happy about it, eyeing Nyek with, if not outright distaste, at least dislike.

  “It is, and mine as well. And, if you’ll recall, I have a personal stake in this. You have my daughter on board with you. Do you think I would have approved an assignment that would put her in jeopardy?”

  Surprise rolled through Nyek, even though he was careful not to let it show on his face. The general had a daughter? He was not aware of any females who had survived the plague, so this daughter must be another human, perhaps a foundling the general had discovered when the humans were found.

  �
��Understood.” Danaar’s nod was short and sweet. “And if he should...”

  “If he proves disloyal to the empire in any way, shape or form, feel free to deal with and dispose of him as you see fit. Xaandril out.”

  Nyek’s spine straightened as the general cut the comm and he was left looking at the face of his obviously unhappy commander.

  “Let’s get one thing straight right away,” Danaar growled. “I do not like you. I do not want you here and if you put so much as a hair out of place, I’ll send you on a long walk out of a short airlock. Do I make myself clear?”

  “As crystal, sir.” Nyek inclined his head. “Am I dismissed to begin my duties?”

  The big war commander waved toward the door.

  Nyek did an about face and left the room. Starting a new assignment where his commanding officer already hated him was nothing new. Starting a new assignment where his commanding officer already hated him and had the ear of the most powerful males in the empire...

  He was so draanthing screwed.

  3

  “Well, wasn’t he just a long, tall drink of water? Pity he’s cold and unemotional…” Indra murmured to Madison as they left the command deck to head down to the human sector.

  Because of the large contingent of humans aboard, a section of the senior officers’ deck had been cordoned off for them. They had their own rooms, lushly appointed, around a central relaxation room with its own galley and dining room. There was a rotation of Latharian guards and staff to keep them safe and looked after, all men appointed by Danaar. Madison was the only human who didn’t have rooms there. Mated to the ship’s captain, she lived with her husband in his quarters.

  “Who? The new XO?” Madison asked, like Indra ignoring the fact that two guards from the command deck had peeled off and followed them at a discreet distance. In the brief time they’d been aboard, not even long enough for Madison and Danaar to get a proper honeymoon, they’d gotten used to being guarded. Mostly. Indra rolled her shoulder, trying to ignore the prickle of awareness at being followed.

  It went against all her hard-won street instincts. She understood the reasoning behind it. From what she could work out, the Latharian empire was a house of cards built on quicksand. The emperor held his position through blood and by being the nastiest bastard out there. Apparently, he had the highest kill count of assassins sent after him of any emperor. Ever. And that just filtered down through the whole empire. Anyone could challenge anyone else for their rank and position; only a complex web of personal alliances and blood oaths kept order. And a whole bunch of them didn’t like humans... hence the guards.

  That didn’t make being treated like a prisoner—a pampered prisoner but a prisoner none the less—any easier to handle.

  “XO?” And there Mads went with the weird terms. “Speak English, woman. Pretend you’re speaking to a street kid who didn’t pass basic education. In fact, don’t pretend, okay?”

  Madison blinked in surprise. “You didn’t pass basic ed?”

  Shit. She hadn’t meant to say that much. Indra’s cheeks flared with heat.

  “No time. Too busy stealing to eat,” she muttered, not meeting Madison’s eyes. Suddenly the level sigil on the wall up ahead became the most interesting thing in the world. Latharian script was so odd. Completely alien, at the same time she got the feeling if she squinted and looked at it just right, she’d be able to read it. Unfortunately, she hadn’t yet found just the right level of squint or head tilt to make it happen.

  “Shit. I’m so sorry. I should have realized.” The self-recrimination in Madison’s voice made Indra turn to look at her. Rather than the practiced, slick apology of the politician she’d been, the expression in her friend’s eyes was open and honest. Like she’d just had the scales ripped from her eyes and worked out that not everyone had had the same chances as she had.

  Brats from places like Talax-Four barely got the chance to finish basic education before they were hustled into factories and work units. Anything to keep the mill going and providing for the rest of humanity. Including the upper classes in their gilded apartments and higher-level mansions up near the clouds, well away from the smog and stink of the production levels below. She’d even heard tell of whole planets only uppers were allowed to live on, in luxurious palaces a ganger like her could only ever dream of.

  “S’no big deal,” she shrugged, keeping the emotion off her face with effort. That was the trouble with Madison Cole. She was so damn believable. Indra could really tell she cared. And that made her want to care as well, even if she wasn’t very good at it. A little rusty.

  “Got a far better education on the streets.”

  She danced away from Madison with a grin on her lips, holding up a small data crystal. Madison gasped and then patted the pockets at her hips.

  “How the hell? I never even felt that!”

  Indra chuckled, her purloined prize held high above her head as she turned in a little victory dance. When Madison reached up and plucked it from her fingers, she let go. She’d never intended to keep it anyway. She just wanted to have a laugh with the closest thing she’d had to a friend in a long time.

  “You are incorrigible. You know that?” Madison chuckled, sliding the crystal back away in her pocket.

  “Absolutely. And you love me for it.” Indra turned to walk backward, watching Madison. The fact that it also kept the guards behind them in view was completely coincidental. Not. “So... XO?”

  “It means executive officer on a ship, the second in command. For the Lathar it’s second,” the blonde explained. “This Nyek S’Vaan is Danaar’s new second, but Danaar’s not happy about it.”

  “Your hubby is never happy about anything.” Indra had yet to see the huge, grumpy alien warrior crack a smile unless Madison was around. The fact that he adored his wife was obvious to everyone and was kind of endearing, but she still wouldn’t want to meet him in a dark alley anytime.

  “He’s a sweetheart,” Mads argued with a chuckle. “But yeah, he can be a little difficult to get to know. That new exec, though, he doesn’t like.”

  “He did look like he had a stick up his ass,” Indra commented, falling into step as they approached the relaxation hall at the hub of the human area. Voices from within told them the others were already there. “Sexy as fuck, though, did you see the muscles on the guy? Fuck, I’da climbed him like a tree if he wasn’t such a prude.”

  Madison slid her a sideways look. A small frown creased the center of her brows. “Prude? What makes you say that?”

  Indra lifted one shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. “He’s the pious type. You can see it soon as you look at him. The type that’s looking for religion or something to give him what he’s missing. Seen them often enough on the streets, trying to convert us all.”

  She danced ahead a few steps again, turning to face Madison with the doors to the hall sliding open behind her. “Convert! Worship the all-seeing, all-knowing spaghetti god!” she warbled, waving her hands in the air. “And your soul will be saved! Convert or you’re dooooooooomed!”

  “Oh, put a sock in it, Indra!” a laughing voice sounded behind them, and she turned with a grin to find the rest of their little group already assembled at the table in the center of the room.

  “Yeah, yeah... you can talk, Stephens,” she threw back. “You’re a prime candidate for worship of the spaghetti god. I’ve heard the way you talk about pasta.”

  “Carbs... oh my god, carbs. What I’d do for a carb and fat fest like a good lasagna,” Stephens moaned dramatically, hand over his heart. He straightened up and eyed them all. “It’s okay for you women, the Lathar have that chocolate cake that hits all your pleasure buttons, but what about us guys? I don’t do chocolate.”

  “You know what, I don’t really think the Lathar gave a shit about the preferences of human men when they developed their field rations.” Indra dropped into a spare seat opposite the big marine.

  “Preach it, sister,” the woman next to her, Gracie, commen
ted, already halfway through a slice of the afore-mentioned chocolate cake. Indra leaned over to swipe a fingerful of the icing. Latharian field cake was just about the most decadent thing in existence. Layers on layers of rich, moist chocolate cake covered in a sauce to die for... and the best part? It kicked the human metabolism into high gear. You could eat as much as you wanted, and it wouldn’t hit your hips.

  “Hey! Get your own!” Gracie hissed, stabbing at Indra’s hand with her fork. She meant it too, real venom in the movement, but she was no match for Indra’s speed. Another benefit of being light-fingered—you were also fast.

  “Oh god, that’s good,” Indra mumbled as the gooey goodness hit her taste buds. “So, guys, what’s new?”

  The small group around the table had to be the oddest in existence. Madison was upper class, and the former vice president of Earth and her colonies. After a long discussion, they’d decided to stop calling it the human empire. It seemed a little... pointless with the Lathar around.

  The lady with the cake was Gracie Shardlow, who’d been undercover tracking a bunch of colony scavengers when an alien bogeyman had made touchdown. From the stories the damn thing had pretty much eaten everyone who moved, and it was only because some bigwig Lathar general had been on planet and taught them how to fight it that anyone had survived.

  Opposite them sat Jay Stephens, a marine who’d been captured by some non-friendly Lathar months ago. Somehow he’d managed to make it halfway across the galaxy to the same colony as Gracie with the help of the non-human in the group.

  Keris M’rln wasn’t human, nor was she Lathar. Nor was she really a “she.” Technically. An AI in a metal body, she sat at the head of the table, watching them all. Well, Indra assumed she was watching them from the tiny movements of her head. Her faceplate, as always, was blank so it was hard to get a read on her emotions. The one thing she did know about the alien robot girl was that she was devoted to Jay. They had this weird survivor’s thing going on—a link between them none of the rest felt comfortable asking about.