Terran (Breeder) (15 page)

“Yes,” Dak agreed.

“I will become his personal target.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“Should Qalin succeed in killing me, would you ensure that Tara is safe and provided for?”

Dak nodded. “Consider it done.”

Chapter Thirteen

After exiting the tram, Marlix retrieved his conveyance to continue the trek to the Enclave. En route, he detoured to the river to wash the blood off his face and change into his hooded uniform. He stared at the large boulder in the stream, remembering how he’d taken Tara, and then at the golden sand, where he’d used her a second time. Their cries of ecstasy had sent roosting fowl into flight. Surely the pleasure she found with him would convince her to remain?

Until abducting her, he had had no experience with females raised outside of Protocol. Laws and customs facilitated smooth gender interactions. Males took. Females accepted. If not for Tara, he would not have arrived at a place where he opposed Qalin and Artom to shield the Enclave. He would have voted with them to destroy it. Without Tara, he would not have marshalled the courage to admit
he
was one of the reviled deviants. His exploration had led him through a door that had locked behind him. He had no choice but to move forward.

Marlix reboarded the conveyance. He, Urazi, and Tara could not remain at the Enclave indefinitely. He’d never intended for them to remain as long as they had, and now that trouble brewed, leaving acquired a new urgency. But until Qalin could build up his forces, he would not attack. Only a fool declared a war he was preordained to lose. Once Qalin strengthened his army, he would become a formidable enemy. The battles would be vicious and bloody. Many would die, and much infrastructure would be destroyed.

Nothing fueled ruthlessness like a quest for vengeance. Though Qalin considered the Enclave an abomination, his proposed invasion had been a means to strike at Dak rather than an end goal in and of itself. Now that Marlix, through his perceived betrayal, had supplanted Dak as Qalin’s primary enemy, Qalin would shift his focus to Marlix’s holdings and territory. Ironically, the Enclave was probably the safest haven of all—at least at the present time.

Upon entering the confines of the village, Marlix delivered the conveyance to the stable before heading for his hut. Along the way, he happened upon Anika. He almost did not recognize her for the swath of fabric wrapped around her head.

“
Kianiko
,” he greeted her warmly, happy to see her, despite their previous uneasy parting.

“Kianiko.” She repeated and gaped, whether at his cuts and bruises or at his warm welcome, he could not tell. Only males in a familiar relationship used the salutation; no one deigned to greet females.

“What do you wear on your head?” he asked.

Anika touched the band of fabric. “It is a scarf. Some females wear them to keep the hair out of their faces while they work.”

If her hair did not show, Tara would not draw as much attention. “How can I acquire one of those scarves?”

She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. “Have you acquired a breeder?” Though she phrased her comment as a question, a peculiar intonation made it sound more like a statement.

Marlix fidgeted. Engrained reticence and self-preservation held his tongue, but lies did not come easily. Truth defended itself; it needed no cover. He believed that. Trust, on the other hand, was a rare commodity, as precious as telenium, the rarest and most valuable metal. But before today, he never would have expected he would ally himself with Commander Dak, nor that the Alpha would trust him.

He eyed the female for whom he’d held a great measure of affection, for whom he’d done his best to secure a good purchase, whom he had bounced on his knee to hear her giggle even though such coddling was frowned upon.

He sighed. Anika had threatened to expose him. But alliances had been drawn, and it mattered no longer if Dak learned he resided inside the Enclave. “I am with a female.” Marlix nodded.

“The Terran from the Bazaar.”

Marlix snapped his head back. “You know?” He dropped his voice to a hoarse whisper. “Who else?”

“Your secret resides safely with me,” Anika said. “No one else has made the connection. Jergan overhead the entry guards talking about a female who had suffered a severe genetic defect resulting in pink hair. But I have met Tara, so I recognized their description.”

She regarded him without blinking. “You would be wise to not invite conjecture or further comment. A scarf would be good for her, as well as one of the new female uniforms that conceal both sides of the body so that her arm with the flowers does not show.” She plucked at her grayish-blue shift. It covered her entire chest and her upper limbs down to her wrists. “As we do not stand on Protocol, there is no need to bare the chest to reveal insignia.”

“When did you meet Tara?”

“Commander Dak’s breeder introduced me to her shop many months ago, and on another occasion, Jergan and I purchased fabric for the Enclave,” Anika explained and tugged at her shift again. “But she was absent then. We dealt with the other Terran in her shop, a male.”

“Ramon.” Marlix ground his teeth.

“Why do you say his name like that?”

“I do not like him.” He remembered the way the man had held her.

“He seemed helpful and efficient.”

“Perhaps.” Marlix tightened his jaw. It was best for all concerned not to dwell on Ramon. “You mentioned you work. What is it you do?”

“I have many jobs,” Anika said. “I assist the panna baker, and I feed the domesticated fowl and ovine mammals. In the spring and summer, I till in the garden. It has become dangerous to venture into the Market, so we are trying to become self-sufficient. There is much work to be done year-round, but as winter approaches, harvesters are needed.”

Their conversation continued amiably, even warmly, and upon parting, Marlix embraced her, feeling better about her situation. He had had his reservations about his sire’s female offspring joining the Enclave, but, given the unrest sweeping across the planet, Protocol did not offer the security it once did. And Anika appeared to be thriving.

Best of all, she’d given him some ideas. Tara had bristled at the inactivity and isolation, so Marlix had conceived of a perfect, albeit temporary, solution. He couldn’t wait to inform her. She would be pleased.

* * * *

Tara was studying her stained fingernails when she heard a footfall outside the hut, and then the door flew open to reveal Marlix.

She gasped at his bruised and battered face. A cut sliced through the skin above his left eye, which was swollen half shut. A vicious bruise darkened his right cheek.

“Monto!” He reeled in shock. “What happened to you?”

“What happened to
you?
Are you all right?” Tara rushed toward him.

He kicked the door shut, threw a package on the table, and grasped her chin. His knuckles bore more scrapes and bruises.

He grabbed a handful of her hair and peered at it. “What did you do?”

Tara bit her lip and patted her head. “I dyed it. Back to my, uh, natural shade.” She released a nervous laugh. Marlix had worried about the attention her appearance would draw, so she figured if she colored it brown, she would blend in better. Maybe then she could convince him to allow her outside. Marlix’s mouth moved as if she’d stricken him speechless. Her certainty she’d found a solution wavered.

“How did you change your hair?”

“I had some dye in my bag that you retrieved from the Bazaar.” Her tiny assigned living quarters contained only enough room for a bed, a table and chair, and a few very basic essentials. Everything else she had to store at her shop. “You don’t like it.” She fingered the strands of her now mousy hair.

“I did not say that,” he said. “It is a shock. I have grown accustomed to pink.” He glanced at her face and added, “Though brown is not…unattractive.”

“Tell me what happened to your face,” she said, blinking back tears. He hated her hair.

“A minor disagreement. It was nothing.” He waved his hand.

“If the damage to your face resulted from a minor disagreement, I’d hate to see a major one,” she said.

“They are very unpleasant.” He nodded, still appearing almost shell-shocked.

He hates my hair
. She jerked her head toward the package. Brown hair flounced. “What did you bring home?”

Most men in positions of power would prefer their partners maintain a conservative appearance. But not him. Oh no. He preferred
pink.

“Have I displeased you?” he asked.

“Why do you say that?”

“You are glowering at me.”

She sighed. “No.” She reminded herself she could not blame him for his lackluster response. One did not have to be trained in intergalactic relations to notice Parseon females did not alter their appearance. They did not wear cosmetics; they did not style their hair—hell, they wore the same beige uniforms day after day. Only in the Enclave had some diversity arisen. She shifted her gaze to the package and arched her eyebrows.

He got the hint. “I brought some supplies for you.” He untied the bag and extracted a folded light green cloth. He shook it out and held it up. “A new shift. One to cover both arms.”

“You don’t like my tattoo?” Tara rubbed her right arm and eyed the double-sleeved garment.

“I did not say that. You are wearing two shifts now. With this, you will only need one.”

“Since when do Parseon females wear green?” She eyed the garment with suspicion.
He doesn’t like my tattoo either!

“They do not under Protocol, but Enclave females have taken to wearing a variety of colors. This was the closest match to your eyes.” He peered at her. “You are not going to change those, are you?”

Her jaw dropped. He’d managed to compliment and insult her in the same breath. What an ass. “What else is in the bag?” she snapped.

“A head wrap.” He dangled a scarf-like thing. “I do not think this will be necessary now.” He tossed it aside. “But I did not tell you the best news. You will be pleased.”

She hoped so. She needed to hear something positive. “What is it?”

“Tomorrow you begin work in the fields, harvesting the autumn crops,” he announced.

“I’m going to do what?” Smoldering anger burst into flames. “If you think you can send me to the chain gang, shackle me, and sentence me to hard physical labor, you have another thing coming, buddy.”

Marlix blinked.

“I won’t do it.” Tara stomped around the hut. “Do you hear me? I refuse. You can drag me to the fields, but you can’t force me to work.”

Marlix’s jaw dropped. “I thought you would want to spend time outside in the sun. You seemed to like the river.”

Tears of fury and hurt trickled out of her eyes. She turned her back so Marlix would not see. Only sissies cried at the drop of a hat. Unfortunately, she seemed to be developing into one. What was it about this man that wreaked such havoc with her emotions?

Marlix clasped her shoulders, and he pressed his front to her back. His warmth and scent coaxed her to melt against him. Well, she wouldn’t. He could take his hard body and his pheromones and his Alpha mojo and stuff it where the sun didn’t shine. She held herself rigid.

He sighed. “I do not understand. I thought you would want to work.”

“I don’t want to be forced!”

“Forced?” He spun her around and tilted her chin up to stare into her eyes. “I am not forcing you. I am offering you an opportunity to leave the hut before winter arrives. If you would prefer to perform another task, tell me, and I will try to arrange it. I do not have authority over the Enclave, but I will do everything I can.” Golden eyes, one puffy and nearly shut, radiated sincerity.

Tara slumped. She’d misunderstood his intentions, had assumed the worst. A tornado whirled inside her, spinning out bits of data. Leave the hut. Sunshine. Before winter. He chanced she would not run and would allow her out of the cottage—but he planned to keep her through winter.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I misunderstood. I would like to work in the fields.”

He smiled. “I am glad.”

* * * *

Tara wiped the sweat from her forehead and straightened to a standing position. An unseasonable warmth beat upon her head and shoulders, but she enjoyed the sun and the fresh air—Marlix had been right. She could work at her own pace and had no boss, so the labor was not arduous other than being physical, and she enjoyed the conversation and companionship of the other women.

It shocked her no longer that Marlix had abducted her—what she could not fathom was what impulse had driven him to it in the first place. From the females, she’d learned how brutal males could be, but in his awkward way, Marlix had been gentle, almost tender. He did not fit the profile.

Tara eyed her long shadow cast by the sun. The days grew shorter now, and most of the crops had been reaped and stored—after today, little harvesting remained. Nearly two weeks had passed since Marlix had informed her he was sending her to the chain gang. She twisted her mouth with wry amusement. Though she spoke his language, his autocratic style and their cultural differences had resulted in another bout of miscommunication. What she had perceived as an order, he had intended as a gift. A golden opportunity presented on a silver platter. Her freedom.

Each morning he left for his province, returning to the Enclave before the sun set. Urazi, with whom she spoke on occasion, occupied himself by assisting with the construction of new huts, since an influx of people continued to arrive during the month they’d been there. No one guarded her anymore. No one paid her any attention.

She could have run back to the Market village and hid at the Terran Embassy before anyone suspected she had left. But each morning she awakened with a disinclination to leave and promised herself, “Tomorrow.
Tomorrow
.” And somehow a fortnight had passed.

Now that she’d been handed freedom, leaving seemed more like a moot exercise than an urgent need. It felt less like escape and more like breaking up.

She’d grown attached to the big baboon. To his gestures of affection, to the nights of passion that drained her yet aroused an appetite for more. Her body could not get enough of him, as if his bodily essence had caused a physiological addiction. She was wet and ready at a moment’s notice. Ready for him now. She wondered if Marlix assumed Terran women had hard nipples all the time. Around him, hers were.