Rescued By Tordin: Olodian Alien Warrior Romance (11 page)

Brantley didn’t stop his tirade, though; he was convinced. “They are all evil, trying to take everything from us. When I ask for normal food and water, they say they don’t have it. Lies! They want to brainwash us to be their guinea pigs. You have to stop believing them. It’s too late for Phoebe, they’ve killed her, but you—we can get away and escape. Don’t believe them. They are evil,” he said in an elevated trill.

Kyra looked around for a way of escape. If Brantley continued to work himself up, she didn’t know what either of them would do. Would he try to force her to do anything? Would she have to protect herself and harm him? How had he managed to get in here without anyone noticing, anyway? She had to get away from him before something bad happened. Then a memory brushed against her mind. It was brief and gentle, but she grabbed hold. It was a long shot, but she hoped it would work. She had nothing to lose by trying.

She blocked out everything but one thought and said in a whisper, “Tordin”, as she pressed her neck where the vo-link had once been attached.

Immediately his voice filled her head, “Yes, dear Kyra, how may I help you?”

His voice sounded like bliss. Kyra snatched her focus back to the present. She was simultaneously grateful and overwhelmed to hear Tordin’s voice filling her head, but she had to work fast. Brantley eyed her like she was crazy. She mouthed the words as she thought them and said, “Please send help. Brantley has me cornered in the training room by the Healing Section, and he’s starting to scare me. I don’t know what’s wrong, but he appears to have had some sort of mental breakdown.”

“Okay, please don’t do anything to engage or agitate him, I’m on my way. I’m very close by, so keep him busy for a few moments, and I’ll be there. Keep this line open until I reach you. Hold on, Kyra, I’m on my way.”

Concentrating on the sickly looking Brantley, everything Kyra had gone through on the station in its last moments rushed back. Oceanic waves of grief started to crest over her, washing her in anger, fear, hatred and remorse. She’d been helpless to stop any of it. She’d tried, but it hadn’t been enough, and this man was the cause of it all.

This time the stinging, angry tears rolled down her face before she could stop them. She didn’t look away, though. She continued to stare at the man responsible for causing one of the most traumatic events of her life. The sight of Brantley standing there, looking insane, triggered the other most traumatic event of her life—her parents’ death in a car accident.

She’d been a child in the back seat. She’d emerged unharmed, but they were gone by no fault of their own. The two events began to blur and fuse together. Brantley became the personification of the drunk driver and the villain of all her worst, most tormenting nightmares. People like him caused senseless accidents that could be prevented with a little more attention and responsibility. Brantley was a bringer of death and despair. Hatred threatened to send her over the cliff of reason. She wanted his blood. She wanted him dead.

“Kyra, what’s wrong with you? You don’t look right,” he said, looking at her like she was the crazy one. “Are they mind-controlling you now? Have you gone mad?”

Maybe she had. Maybe Brantley’s craziness had rubbed off on her, too. They would be two crazy Earthians in this room for all the aliens to observe and learn from. They would become a part of the Olodians’ historical record, yet another incident proving Earthians were weak and inferior. They would demonstrate how they couldn’t keep it together when bad stuff happened.

“Brantley, shut up and don’t talk to me,” she said. This was not how she should go about keeping him calm, but she didn’t care. He needed to know that he was to blame for his own predicament. “Brantley, if I never saw you again, it would make for a very happy life. Every time you’ve been involved in something around me, it’s gone wrong. You’re a screw-up, plain and simple. You don’t take responsibility for your actions. It’s always someone else’s fault, and I’m done with it. I’m taking back my life. I won’t allow you to do anything else that effects Phoebe or me. Do you understand me? Stay away from me!”

Brantley stepped back, startled at the force of her rebuke.

“Kyra, I didn’t do anything to you. I was just playing the game; you know the political landscape like everyone else. I had to do what I did. Everyone wanted me to fail. They forced me to play every card I had in the way I did.”

“Brantley, shut up! Just stop it. You’re not the victim here, you’re the villain. You are the reason Phoebe is in a coma, and we’re on this ship of aliens—you and your actions. So don’t tell me this cockamamie story about how you had to do what you did for survival. And please give it a rest about us being brainwashed by the Olodians. The only one who is brainwashed is you, by your own thinking. That’s guilt talking to you and filling your mind with outlandish scenarios—your guilt! You need to face yourself and see that you are the catalyst for all your turmoil. Buck up and be a man of honor and character!”

Brantley moved away from her and crouched in a corner, attempting to plug his ears to shut out her voice.

It served him right.

“I told you to stay away from me before we left the space station. You didn’t listen, but you will now.” She moved closer to him, where he was balled up on the floor, cowering like the scum he was. “I don’t know why or how you survived the space station, but it serves you right if you’re living in torment now. You don’t deserve to know happiness until you acknowledge what you did and take responsibility.” Kyra turned at the sound of a door opening.

Tordin entered the room and scooped her up into his arms with no more effort than picking up a small object. Up in his arms she felt grounded and sane again as her cheek pressed against his warm shoulder. She felt vibrations rumble from that same rock-hard chest— he must have spoken by vo-link to the other men filling the training room.

She watched as they surrounded the now trembling and defeated-looking Brantley. Before she could tell what they were going to do with him, Tordin turned and left the space with her still in his arms.

H
e walked away
from the training room with her still in his arms. His strides were long and purposeful as Kyra clung to him.

“I can walk, Tordin. I’m okay, I promise,” she said when he’d walked a few more moments without speaking or putting her down.

He ignored her and kept walking. Was he upset with her? She didn’t want to make matters worse. Maybe he’d heard her talking to Brantley and was upset with what she said or how harsh she’d been. Kyra’s nerves still hummed with adrenaline, and she didn’t know what to make of this, of him. She’d never seen him behave this way.

When she saw the door to her rooms come into view, she prepared to get out of his arms, but he kept walking. Where was he taking her?

A short time later and around the bend of the corridor, he came to another door and waved a hand over the panel to open it. He brought her inside a room that was vast and beautifully decorated. He still didn’t put her down until he’d made it to the lounging area. Once there, he gently sat down with her still in his arms.

She didn’t dare move. Instead she relished the feel of his strong, protective arms around her trembling form. She was trembling, but why? Then it hit her; she started to cry.

Damned wuss,
she thought.

What was the use of trying to hide from it any longer? The force of everything that had happened to her was too powerful. She gave into it and quaked with emotion and loss as tears burst forth uncontrollably. It all came tumbling forward. The terrifying last few hours on the space station replayed in her mind, despite her efforts to push it back down. The memory of the horrifying situation threw her into a tailspin of pain.

She tumbled deeper down the rabbit hole of bad memories, where she landed on the most tragic of them all—the loss of her parents. All the other things that she’d never grieved before now heaped retribution on her. She’d done this— stuffed them all down, packed them away nice and tight, and now she was consumed with the festering intensity of them. Kyra never thought about them because she feared she’d never emerge sane again—too alone and weak to venture into this space by herself.

As she clung to Tordin, though, that feeling of being alone and weak was…missing. She felt more solid somehow. Kyra relaxed a little into the onslaught of memories with him holding her and allowed scenes to play in her mind. Scenes of her dead parents in the front of the crumpled car, flashes of Commander Mark lying dead against the wall of the space station, Brantley misusing her, so much fire and fear, Phoebe unconscious in the wreckage of the station and so many more scenes of destruction in which Kyra had been unable to help… She’d pushed them down all her life, and now they wouldn’t be denied attention any longer.

The wailing sound that snaked up and out of the depths of her tormented soul prompted Tordin to give her a tighter hug. His strong, warm body acted as a buffer against the loneliness and fear of this painful plane of existence. She wailed and cried in long deep sobs. Over and over she turned the scenes at various angles in her mind’s eye, scrutinizing them. What could she have done better?

She should have been stronger, more confident. She was no better than Brantley. She was a coward, too. That fueled her hatred for him—he reminded her too much of herself. She could have done more to help and change things, but she just allowed everything to happen without fighting and resisting more. Her ugliness threatened to rip her apart.

Pain from her fingernails digging into her palms as she gripped the front of Tordin’s shirt, gave her permission to hurt. He allowed her to abuse his shirt, pulling and tugging on it as she thrashed and bucked through the darkest part of her memory palace’s dungeon. The memories were heavy chains looping over her and pulling her down to the ground. She might not make it through this—it was too much.

“It’s too much. I can’t…I can’t bear it,” she said not knowing if she’d said it aloud or in a silent scream.

“I’m here, dear Kyra, hold onto me. Give it to me, let me help you. I can take it for you and bear the burden. We are in this together,” he whispered and rubbed her back as he began to rock her.

The heat and life pumping from Tordin all around her gave her strength to withstand the worst of it. She siphoned strength from him as he offered it, in silent communication. Somehow she hoped he’d be here for as long as she needed him.

“They’re all gone. I should have done more to help them. It’s my fault!” she cried as he continued to rock her.

“No, dear Kyra. You did all you could.”

“It wasn’t enough.”

Kyra felt worthless. She couldn’t save any of them. She was weak and broken. How could she expect a strong confident man like Tordin to want to be with her once he got a chance to know her and how much she lacked in strength and accomplishment. What had she accomplished that would warrant him giving her the time of day?

“I’m not enough. I don’t measure up—can’t help you or anyone in any real way,” she sobbed, still caught in the web of memories. “I don’t deserve happiness, either. I’ve hidden from how ugly my life is.”

She didn’t deserve a chance with him. They had nothing real and concrete to base a relationship on. Who was she kidding? Outside this weird attraction, they had absolutely nothing in common. He was strong, self-assured and the Warrior Lord over an entire fleet. This was in addition to being a trusted son of a doting father, who was the Emperor of an entire galaxy. Kyra didn’t measure up. She was lacking in every aspect.

Then the ultimate realization hit. She would never be able to be the woman Tordin needed—she was too damaged, too weak, and she offered nothing that would help or support him with all the demands upon him. She’d fail him when things became too hard, no matter how much she tried to help. That was her life. She had failed.

Cold self-hatred oozed down to cover her hope. The grimness of it snatched a shudder of defeat from her.

“No, dear Kyra. Listen to me. You are strong and deserving of everything you desire. You are the bright one who brings me life and joy. I need your essence and presence in my life,” he said and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. “Look at me,” he commanded. When their eyes met he said, “I feel the negative thoughts, and they can’t have you. I won’t let them because they’re all lies. Let’s do this together; let me help you. Together we’ll overcome everything that tries to keep you locked in whatever head space you are in. I see you, the
real
you, and you’re a beautiful warrior. You, Kyra, are to be admired. It was your efforts that saved Phoebe and most likely so many others. Please don’t give into the lies—that’s all they are.”

The assault of negative emotions released her, leaving her spent, exhausted and too overwhelmed to think any further. She reached out to him to hold her and was met with warm, full lips pressed to hers.

He felt so right in spite of everything.

His lips against hers were a lifesaver in the middle of an angry emotional sea. She groped and hungered for them, for him. Her hands roamed the expanse of his chest and stomach as she struggled to sit up and straddle him for better access. Each moment and every touch gave her fresh energy of renewal to recover from her ordeal.

He answered her exploration and need by adjusting her so she faced him, as she managed to straddle his strong thighs. She would take whatever he offered this one last time before he snapped out of it and remembered that he had his precious honor to obey.

All Kyra cared about was her need to stay physically connected with him. It was as if her sanity depended on it. When she felt his large rough hands touching bare skin under her top, she gasped in surprised pleasure.

“Yes, please, touch me Tordin. I need you,” she said, ignoring how ragged her voice was with need and high emotion.

“I couldn’t stop if I wanted to,” he said, running his hands up and down the length of her torso.

Everywhere he touched, stimulating pulses of pleasure surged within her to greet him. Her body and very soul responded, arching into his touch, as she grew bolder to return the gesture.

“Please, let me take this off you?” she asked tugging at his shirt.

He didn’t speak but nodded, removing his hands from her to accommodate her, taking his arms out of the sleeves of his shirt. Something deep within her blossomed as she saw the look in his eyes. He looked happy, and her heart sang.

No matter what happened after, she would hold onto this moment in which she knew that look was meant only for her.

Before she could return to kissing him and feeling the taut skin across his chiseled upper body, he tugged at her top. She gladly lifted her arms up, allowing him to pull it from her. When he stared at her bra with confusion, she giggled.

“This is my bra; it holds my breasts still while I go through my day—you know, my over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder. These girls have a mind of their own when they’re loose,” she offered, amazed at his reaction to the garment. He’d looked at it as if he’d never seen one before.

“Take it off. I don’t want to ruin it, but I will if you don’t take it off now. I have to taste your breasts; they continue to call to me.”

“What? My breasts are doing that? I guess I have to give it up to the girls. They do indeed live a life of their own,” she said, loving the way he devoured them with his diamond-like eyes.

“Yes, dear Kyra, they torment me all the time. I’ve waited so long to have them in my hands and mouth. Please do it now, or I’ll rip that awful piece of covering to shreds.”

“Okay, no need to do any ripping. Here…” she said and quickly unhooked the back of the bra to release her swollen, heavy breasts.

When she removed it, and her breasts tumbled out on their own weight, his eyes widened. She marveled at how flecks of blue, gold and green appeared to make his dazzling gray eyes almost illuminated with colored splendor. He pulled her closer and took one of her breasts into his mouth. She mewed and almost purred as he began a slow long suckle, allowing his tongue to lap and lick her nipple.

She had a hard time keeping any sort of rhythm to her breathing. Foreign sensations raced through parts of her she didn’t know existed. Even her ears tingled with excitement. This felt like nothing she’d ever experienced before.

She wasn’t naive about sex acts and what they were, she’d just never had them happen to her. Amazing was such an inadequate word to describe this feeling. Her head fell back as her body took over. She offered up her breasts to him for his enjoyment and her arousal.

Kyra wasn’t ready for the feel of her sex clenching in time with his sucking of her breasts. Nothing she’d ever experienced in her real life or her dream one ever caused an ache as intense or exquisite as what she felt now. She wanted him so badly it hurt, and she needed to feel him inside her.

She ran frantic hands through his blue-black thick hair, trying not to tug or pull on it in her fever. He remained focused on his task as she moaned with pleasure. This must be what it felt like to be on the receiving end of worship; Tordin began to work on the other breast to give it equal attention. The coolness of air swirling around the wet nipple he’d just released sent shivers through her body. She tried to replace the loss of his mouth on that nipple with her own hand as she pinched and rubbed it in her excitement.

She needed this—him. She knew without a shadow of a doubt he was her ultimate therapy. He was the only one who could give her release and healing. He was the only one who could get her to open up so completely and withstand the hurt.

She felt him picking her back up and walking with her.

“What are you doing?” she asked, fearing he would end his ministry of healing.

“I’m taking you into my sleeping chamber where I can have full access to you,” he answered and halted. Tordin looked into her eyes, his own clouded with arousal and asked, “Do you wish to stop? It will be hard but I will honor your wishes.”

She didn’t hesitate. “Tordin, if you stop I might cause you physical harm when I attack you. We can’t stop, not now. I need you so badly. Don’t you want me? Please don’t do this, don’t reject me again,” she said pleading and not caring.

“I can’t stop. We are in the throes of mating, my dear Kyra. If you will accept me now, I will give you so much pleasure and cherish you. Do you allow me to continue? I need to hear you say it with clarity.”

“Yes, whatever I need to say, I’ll say it. Tordin, I want you to continue to give me pleasure
and
for me to give you pleasure. I want us to have pleasure together. I want you to make love to me.”

“That I will. Thank you, dear Kyra. I will make love with you, and it will be right. You are becoming my mate with this act. Here, now. Do you accept me as yours?”

He wanted to be her mate? That must be something big. She’d take it. She knew she was falling for him and wouldn’t be stupid enough to let something like this slip through her fingers. The rightness of being his mate settled over her, and she knew it was the right thing to do.

“Whatever you just said—yes, make it so. I’m your mate. I’m whatever I can be for you,” she said. Her heightened passion and need for him was impeding her ability to communicate.

He laid her on a soft platform bed, like the one in her rooms but larger. She felt her stomach flip with excitement and suspense. This was it. She was going to give the man of her dreams her virginity. She was going to mate with him. She’d expected to be scared, but instead her desire grew to a pumping drive within her. This was right, and she was so turned on she didn’t know if she could wait much longer.

Kyra began to pull down her pants to take them off when he stopped her and did it himself. She watched as he removed her panties, too, without tearing them. His movements were graceful and fluid; she watched in hypnotic fascination as he stood and removed her shoes to untangle the pants pooled at her ankles and then removed the rest of his own clothing.

Lying on his bed, bare as the day she was born, she fought the urge to cover up when she saw the hunger in his eyes and how his body responded to hers. She allowed herself to take him all in. Her eyes scanned down the length of his tall, muscled body to his manhood; the massive, stiff organ pulsed and bobbed in appreciation. This was definitely not a gherkin pickle; it was more like a hulk-sized cucumber—wow!