The Warlord and the Fem

  THE WARLORD AND THE FEM

  By Angela Knight

  I had no idea everything was about to change that day. We were all killing time in the ship’s big recreation hall, some of us sprawled on the thickly upholstered couches and chairs, either drinking or watching simmies on VR glasses, while others played cards or simmie games at the scattered tables. Most everybody was waiting their turn to go on leave.

  Planets usually don’t like a big group of mercs hitting the bars at one time. Leads to public disorderly conduct and the occasional drunken homicide, so the captain liked to send us out in shifts to keep the trouble down.

  Me, I’d already found trouble at the Dirtside Grill the day before, so I wasn’t all that eager to go out again anyway. I suspected the warlord would be looking for me, so I was just as happy to play poker with Lyonet and keep my ass safely aboard Drunna’s Victory.

  So when the warlord walked in with Captain Drunna, I damn near swallowed my tongue. His narrow black eyes locked in on me, and my heart leaped into a hard, fast beat at the dark determination in his gaze.

  Oh, Lady! He’d found me.

  “This is Baird Airell,” the captain announced, and the entire company looked up from whatever they were doing to study the warlord with calculation. “He wants to join the unit. Says he’s genetically engineered for combat.” Drunna sounded justifiably skeptical, since every merc says he’s genetically engineered for combat. In the warlord’s case it happened to be true, but I sure wasn’t going to vouch for him.

  “Looks to me like he’s genetically engineered for sex,” Lyonet whispered in my ear. “And a woman designed him.”

  Though he was all the way across the rec hall, Baird’s gaze sharpened as he looked at us. He’d heard her low murmur, of course; a warlord’s hearing could put a ringbat’s to shame. He smiled slightly, the barest curve of his hard, erotic mouth. I felt my face heat. Lyonet was right, damn it. He had been genetically engineered by a woman. And it showed.

  He had the unearthly beauty of all the warlords, chiseled cheekbones and a broad, square jaw, a narrow nose that flared slightly across the nostrils, a wide mouth with full, sensuous lips framed by a short, dark goatee. On his right cheekbone glittered an iridescent blue tattoo – a sharp slash of color against his tanned skin. His hair fell around his shoulders in careless waves, one lock of it twisted into a thin braid that swung beside his cheek. He’d worked a red gemstone and silver beads into the braid, and they gleamed against the dark silk of his hair. In a fight, I knew, he’d club back that long mane and leave the gems at home.

  Looking around at my fellow mercenaries, I saw the males looking skeptical, the women, sexually interested but doubtful. I knew what they were all thinking. On the one hand, he was just too damn pretty. On the other, that body was one you had to take seriously. I was probably the only one who knew just how seriously you’d damn well better take it. The others had never even heard of Vardon and its warlords, and had no idea what Baird was capable of.

  He had the big, powerfully muscled build of a warlord genegeered for hand-to-hand; he probably could have put his fist through a deck plate without so much as a scrape across the tough skin of his knuckles. But he was also lean, with long legs and long arms, so he also had speed and reach.

  Not a Pershing, then. Commanche Class, maybe. I couldn’t be sure; I’d never seen anything but a Pershing, and that was long ago.

  But the Captain and the others didn’t realize what they were dealing with. I did. I also knew something they didn’t. Baird Airell didn’t give a rat’s ass about joining Drunna’s Rangers. He was after me.

  Captain Drunna lifted one dark hand for silence, and the murmur of speculation flooding the ship’s recreation hall cut off. Drunna was a big man, with a round, merry face and the coldest eyes I ever saw, and when he gave an order, you damn well obeyed. “Mr. Airell, here,” and he nodded at the warlord standing beside him, “has offered to give a demonstration of his skills with one of you....”

  “Me, me, me!” Lyonet whispered, grinning, and I kicked her under the table. Baird would probably be more than happy to give her the demonstration she meant, though. Unbonded warlords were notorious womanizers, and Lyonet, with her curvy little body and wicked green eyes, attracted the attention of every man she met. Men looked at me too, but it tended to be the kind of look that mixes intrigue and caution. They liked the breasts and the legs and the ass, but I looked too much like the fighter I was. Besides, I was taller than damn near every human male in the rec hall. Except for Baird Airell. Next to him, I’d look delicate.

  Why did I find that thought intriguing?

  Captain Drunna looked the length of the hall and said, “Mr. Jogox, would you mind giving Mr. Airell a hand here?”

  “Or a fist,” someone shouted. “Or maybe a kick....” Everyone laughed.

  Baird smiled tightly, grabbed the hem of his black tunic, and pulled it off over his head. The sight of him cut off the laughter. His magnificent chest more than fulfilled the promise of those broad shoulders. Every inch of it was plated in thick muscle, beautifully defined, forming a lovely sculpted V covered with a pelt of chest hair that looked tempting and soft. He saw the eyes locked on him and shrugged. “Don’t want to ruin the tunic.” He folded it neatly, his biceps bunching and rippling with the movement, then placed it on the bar running the length of the room. Then he turned to stride toward Jogox, now rising endlessly from his table.

  Like all his people, Jogox was well over two meters tall – he never met a doorway he didn’t have to duck under. His skin was white as milk and tough as plate armor, and he was so broad he looked like an animated wall. He had four sets of bright red eyes that glowed against his pale face, a mouth full of razored teeth and huge, seven fingered hands. I’d seen drunken Marines run from him, but he was normally a very sweet man.

  Normally. In a fight, he underwent a personality change. There weren’t many men I’d hesitate to mix it up with, but big, sweet Jogox was one of them, because sometimes his instincts overcame his judgement. And then people tended to get hurt.

  My shipmates had hastily cleared all the tables and chairs from the center of the room so the two would have a place to fight. A crowd already ringed the space, so I stood up on my chair to get a better view of the proceedings. My mouth was dry as sand, but I had to dry my damp palms on my unisuit covered thighs.

  I wasn’t sure even a Commanche Class warlord had the strength to mix it up with Jogox. A Pershing, maybe, but the Commanche Class, though inhumanly strong, was designed for speed and agility. Baird could end up badly hurt. That would solve my problem, true, but I found I didn’t want it solved like that.

  “Hey,” Lyonet said suddenly, looking at me as she stood on her own chair. “I just realized something. That tattoo on your cheek looks just like the one he’s wearing. What’s the deal?”

  I ignored the question, too busy concentrating on Baird and Jogox as they stood on either side of the circle sizing one another up. Captain Drunna stepped into the middle of the space, obviously ready to play referee. “Okay, gentlemen,” he said. “I don’t want anybody hurt badly enough to need an extended stay in Regeneration. Begin.” He moved back.

  And with a blur of movement, they did just that.

  Jogox came in charging, probably figuring to knock the warlord cold. Baird Airell just flowed away from his attack like liquid mercury, the long, powerful muscles in his bare torso shifting as he ducked and spun. He also gave Jogox something to remember him by as he danced away: a hard punch in the gut that tore a grunt from the big, pale alien.

  Jogox eyed Baird a moment, and something malevolent slid through his four red eyes. His lips drew back from those razored teeth, and I swore under my breath.
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  “Ooooh!” Lyonet gasped. “He’s pissed Jogox off! The shit’s hit the turbos now!”

  I chomped down on my lip. Jogox was going to rip off his head, and it would be all my fault. Stubborn , stupid stallion, more balls than sense....

  The Zurine charged Baird again, swiping at him with one of those huge hands, and again the warlord ducked. But this time Jogox was waiting for him; a backhanded blow caught him across the face and sent him flying like a spiked grav ball, slamming into the crowd behind him. People tumbled amid a chorus of yelps and curses, and chairs went flying at the impact. I caught my breath, hoping the warlord wasn’t hurt....

  Then he catapulted out of the mass of bodies in a low, hard rush, those dark eyes glittering, no expression at all on his bloodied face – not rage, not fear, just cold, inhuman determination. I was probably the only one in the room who knew what that look meant.

  Baird had entered riatt. Like the Viking Berserkers, a warlord in riatt becomes insanely strong, but what’s more, he feels no pain or pity. He will keep going, relentless and remorseless, until his enemy falls or he dies of injuries too severe for his supercharged body to survive.

  The crowd he’d hit were still regaining their feet when Baird rammed into Jogox like a torpedo, one big fist scything out to hit the long white nose. A spray of lilac flew; Zurine blood. The big alien staggered, then regained his balance and struck out, rapping Baird hard in the jaw. The warlord shook off the blow as if it was nothing.

  The next few minutes were a blur as Baird and Jogox pounded at one another, flat footed, trading punches like boxers. I caught my breath. The Zurine was so much bigger than the human, yet Baird’s ferocious blows staggered him, while the warlord himself didn’t seem to feel the impact of those huge white hands at all. In minutes, the watching crowd was spattered with red and lilac and sweat as they fought.

  “Damn,” said Lyonet, awed. “I’ve never seen a human hold his own with Jogox before. The big guy’s actually looking worried.”

  Baird, on the other hand, simply looked feral, the gold striations in his brown eyes expanding as he went deeper into riatt, sweat and blood rolling down his magnificent torso. His powerful arms worked like pistons as he shot punches into Jogox’s white hide, the thick muscle of his chest rippling with every blow.

  I had never seen anything like it. I grew up hearing my mother’s stories of the warlords, been quietly envious as my sister boasted, but the reality was breathtaking. It was all the more unnerving when I knew what his real objective was.

  Me.

  Baird never looked at me, never took his eyes off Jogox; he was too utterly focused on his opponent. But I knew. In his mind, I was the prize he was fighting for.

  I tried to reject the thought. No one would fight like that, suffer like that, just to clear the way to me. What was I, after all? He was doing this for his own pride, his own honor.

  Yet deep in my mind, some illogical fem part of me saw a message beaten out in the rhythm of every punch and kick: I’ll have you, I’ll have you, I’ll have you.

  Suddenly he finished it. There was a blur of movement, as Baird swarmed up Jogox’s massive back. He wrapped his powerful thighs around the Zarine’s torso and both arms around the thick white neck, applying a vicious choke hold. Jogox fought it, clawing at Baird’s arms so hard he left bloody furrows. Still the warlord clung and choked him. I saw disbelief in all four red eyes as the Zarine realized he was losing to a human.

  He slammed down on his back, trying to break Baird’s hold, but the warlord would not release him, though the Zarine’s weight was crushing. Somehow Baird managed to flip them both so he was on top, his body riding Jogox like a horse.

  And that treacherous fem part of me showed me an image – myself, stretched out under Baird’s masculine power. But in the dream, those big, hard hands were gentle and skilled on my skin. I shook it off.

  “Enough!” Captain Drunna called, throwing both arms up and stepping into the center of the ring of spectators. “Don’t kill my Zurine, Baird.”

  It took the warlord a moment to come out of riatt enough to obey him, but finally he released Jogox and let him gasp in a hard breath. Baird rolled off the alien and shot to his feet, staggering a little.

  Drunna put out a hand to brace him. “Easy there, Airell. Damn, I didn’t think you could do it. Guess you really are genegeered.” He clapped one thick, bloody shoulder. “You’re in, boy. Welcome to Drunna’s Rangers.”

  Baird’s gold shot eyes went to me and narrowed. “Thank you, Captain.”

  The rest of the crowd pressed around him, slapping his back and congratulating him while medtechs raced to tend Jogox.

  “What a fight!” Lyonet said breathlessly. “I’ve got to meet him. Come on, Kyna. Let’s introduce ourselves.”

  She scrambled down off the table and I followed mechanically. My first impulse was to run, but I’d never run from anyone in my life. I wasn’t about to start with Baird Airell. So I stayed where I was, listening to the sounds of backslapping and congratulations as my comrades at arms welcomed the warlord into our midst.

  I heard a shout of approval as Jogox made it to his feet. There was another surge of movement as folks started toward him to commiserate and compliment him on the fight.

  Then Baird stepped out of the crowd and started toward me. Frozen with a kind of feminine panic I’d never known before, I watched him come.

  He gleamed under the rec hall lights, his skin slick with sweat, muscle rippling as he stalked me. Blood marked him in red and lilac like alien camouflage, and the silken hair on his chest was slicked down and matted.

  He kept coming until he loomed over me. Every muscle in my body tightened, including those down low in my belly.

  Baird stared down at me. His brown eyes looked wide and wild still from riatt, and the gold striations snaking through them were so wide his gaze had a manic glitter. I met his gaze uneasily, taking in the tight triumph on his face, the hungry line of his sensuous mouth.

  “You said you would not leave your crew,” he rumbled in a dark, purring bass so much deeper than the voice he’d addressed the captain in. “So I have joined it.”

  I clenched my fists, feeling panic rise. I couldn’t handle him, and I knew it. “Baird....”

  “You wear the half-circle,” he interrupted, simply plowing over what I was going to say. “I mean to fill it.”

  I lifted a hand to touch the tattoo on my cheekbone. It was different from the one on his – except for one mark: a half circle that hung from the bottom point. When I became bonded, my mate would add the other half of the circle, showing my new status. And I’d do the same for the one he wore.

  Baird lifted one hand and brushed his index finger across his blooded lip. Frozen, I watched his big hand approach my face, felt his fingertip press against half circle. Covering it with a full circle of his blood.

  I closed my eyes as the tips of my breasts began to tingle.

  The hand brushed my lips, and my eyes flew wide as I tasted the smear of blood he left. Leaning forward, he took my mouth in a kiss.

  It seared me as no touch ever has – the softness of his mouth, the feeling of his long, powerful body pressing against mine. I felt the sweat and the blood and the heat of his battle, and I gasped. Jerking free, I did the only thing I could do.

  I ran.

  Fems are genetically engineered for speed, and there are few that can outrun me. But I’d barely hit my full stride in the corridor when Baird Airell’s big hand closed on my arm and pulled me to a stop. I wheeled on him, snarling.

  “Let me go, Baird!”

  “Not until you do me the courtesy of telling me why you run!” A tendon ticked violently in his broad jaw, but every muscle in his powerful body was tight with self-control.

  I opened my mouth to growl something insulting, but looking into those dark eyes, I saw confusion and hurt. Almost at once his face slid into expressionless lines, but I knew what I’d seen. And it surprised me. I hadn’t realized my re
jection would hurt Baird. I thought he viewed me as nothing but a brood mare, but now I saw I’d been wrong.

  I groped to explain. “Baird, I wasn’t raised on Vardon.”

  He frowned impatiently. “None of us were raised on Vardon, Kyna. They drove us from the planet thirty years ago.”

  “But you told me you grew up on one of the colonies. I didn’t. We lived on mercenary vessels. My father was a warlord, but he was killed when I was five. I have lived all my life in that culture. I don’t know if I can submit to you.”

  The hard lines of his face softened into a smile. I thought again how breathtakingly handsome he was. “The submission is only in bed, Kyna. You are my equal otherwise.”

  I shook my head. “No, I’m not. And that’s the point. I’m at least twice as strong as any man I’ve ever been with. But you.... I’ve practiced with Jogox myself. I didn’t last five minutes before he put me halfway through a bulkhead. You not only lasted with him, you put him down.”

  He lifted a dark brow, that beautiful mouth curling in a one-sided smile. “What I have in mind for you is not a contest of strength, Kyna.” Suddenly the smile faded, and shock flooded his dark eyes. “You don’t think I would hurt you?”

  I made a dismissing gesture. “No, no.” The warlords might play hard in bed, but they’re also strictly raised to honor. They’re taught never to turn their formidable strength against anyone under their protection, particularly bond mates and children. To abuse one’s own is a mark of great dishonor.

  “If you don’t fear my strength, I don’t understand your objection,” Baird said. “Aren’t you tired of sleeping with civs?” He spread his beautifully muscled arms, and for a moment I was distracted by the play of shifting sinew. “It’s like trying to make love to a soap bubble. I dare not release my passion least I deal some injury. By Our Lady, I have had to confine my attentions to my own hand.”

  Hooo, boy. “How long have you been celibate?”

  He shrugged, the play of contours in his torso a marvelous thing. “Five months, perhaps.” Which, for a man with a warlord’s appetites, is a very long time. Lust would be riding him hard. For a moment, my treacherous imagination summoned an image of what it would be like to have all that ravenous hunger turned on me. I felt my nipples harden. What would it be like to share one night in a warlord’s bed? “Perhaps....”