Chapter 4

Nakia:

Six Weeks Later:

Nakia slurped up her soup in a rush, barely tasting the chicken or the noodles. The soup was bland but she had plenty of experience wolfing down bland, straight out of a can soup. It reminded her of her mom, cracking open the red and white can of chicken noodle soup every time she had the sniffles. For a moment, her heart hurt but she couldn’t focus on that.

It was Wednesday afternoon, which meant Rohn would come by and walk with her. The walking was a figure of speech, as Nakia moved about on crutches, but it was their standing appointment. Rohn’s visits had grown erratic, with more and more days passing between, but he always made it a point to visit on Wednesdays.

The unusually warm day meant they could leave the rehab facility. Last week, snow flurries confined them to the courtyard. She happily stood outside in the cold, awkwardly moving on the snow-covered pavement, glad to be out of the sterile building. It was almost magical the way the snow clung to Rohn’s horns and shoulders, like he had been dusted with powdered sugar.

And just as tasty looking.

Maybe today they could get ice cream. Then it’d be like a real date.

Yes. She’d show off her brand-new prosthesis and Rohn, super impressed, would insist that they walk through the camp to the canteen, where he could show her off to everyone.

The idea pleased Nakia so much that she wrapped her arms around herself as she walked, hugging the fantasy of a date with her Mahdfel warrior. Sure, he kept telling her that she was just a kid, but she wouldn’t be a kid forever and she knew they were destined to be together. She knew it.

She heard his deep voice echoing down the hall the minute she entered the ward, followed by feminine giggling.

A nurse, pretty and blonde, lightly touched his arm and then tucked her hair behind her ears. She smiled and laughed again, flirting so loudly that even Nakia could see it from a distance. And Rohn—her Rohn—just stood there taking it, smiling back at the nurse.

Nakia tried to walk faster but that made her new leg twist uncomfortably when she didn’t step just right. Her hands clenched in frustration. She only had a few days practice with the prosthesis and she needed to slow down, or she’d fall flat on her face.

The thought mortified her. Bad enough being flat chested, with her curling hair a frizzy mess, plus the breakout of spots on her chin, she didn’t need to add clumsy kid to the list.

Besides, Rohn wasn’t there to see the blonde nurse; he was there for her. She let that little bit of knowledge warm her. The handsome, heroic alien man came to visit her, no one else. Sure, the first time was after he pulled her from the building, to make sure she survived, but all the times after that? He didn’t have to do that. Very few other Mahdfels visited the humans they brought in to the hospital. Nakia knew. When she was bored, she sat in the lobby and people watched.

Rohn must visit her because he wanted to, because he liked her, because they were going to be married when she was old enough. She knew it.

Nakia squeaked the soles of her shoes against the linoleum. Rohn immediately stepped back from the nurse. He smiled in her direction, brighter than the smile he gave the other woman, she noted with pride.

“Something is different,” he said, his tone light and teasing.

“Isn’t it a nice leg?” Nakia struck a pose, thrusting out the leg with the artificial limb. Denim covered her leg, but a bit of the matte black plastic showed at the shoe. Rohn made the appropriate noises of appreciation. Constructed of lightweight and durable metal and plastic, the prosthesis was a basic model. “The doctor says that when I’m desensitized to wearing this, I’ll be upgraded to a fancier model.”

He nodded, attention fully on her. “You move well. Ready for our date?”

Nakia held her head up a little higher. It was a date. She knew it.

“Here are my contact details,” the nurse said, shoving a piece of paper at Rohn.

Oh, that thirsty bitch did not just do that.

“I’ve been practicing. Look,” Nakia said breathlessly, just before launching into a spin on her artificial foot. It seemed like a good idea at first, demonstrating her balance and how she ever-so-maturely and gracefully was learning to adapt to her new prosthetic.

Then she wobbled a bit, twisting the muscle in her upper thigh and hip, and feared a fall. Face planting into the floor in front of Rohn was bad enough, but to fall in front of the smirking, flirting nurse, was too embarrassing.

Strong arms caught her at the waist and stabilized her. “Careful,” he said.

“I guess I’m not going to be doing ballet anytime soon, huh?” She pulled away, smoothing down her shirt over her stomach. Embarrassment burned bright in her cheeks.

“Ballet is a Terran dance?”

“Um, yeah. I always wanted to take lessons.” Ballet lessons remained too pricey for Nakia’s parents, so she played baseball and basketball instead. She probably wouldn’t make those teams either, if the world ever got back to normal.

“Dance would be a good addition to your physical therapy, to develop balance, strength, and agility.” He looked toward the nurse, who gave Nakia a cutting look.

“I can ask, but I don’t think that’s in the budget,” the nurse said. She flipped through some pages on her clipboard before walking away.

With triumph, Nakia stuck her tongue out at the retreating nurse.

Rohn noticed and gave a disapproving frown.

“Sorry,” she muttered, cheeks burning again that he caught her acting childishly.

“That one will not ask, I think,” he said.

“Probably not.” She focused on ballet class, which would be good physical therapy and more interesting than walking mile after mile on the treadmill. Shame. She’d said it in panic to cover her embarrassment, but she’d like to attend ballet lessons.

“Where shall we go today?”

“I was hoping for ice cream,” Nakia said.

“I like the way you think.” He looked down at her feet. “The canteen will not be too far?”

“Nope. I’m a total pro at walking. Been doing it for years.” Truthfully, the canteen, while part of the joint military-Mahdfel camp, might be stretching how far she could go. The prosthetic felt comfortable, but it was so lightweight that it confused her balance.

Nakia kept her eyes on the pavement, on her feet making contact. Without the sensation of her foot hitting the ground, it felt as though she had nothing to support her weight. She knew she’d get used to it in time and the fancy models came with embedded sensors that connected to her nerves. The doctors claimed that with the medical tech the aliens’ shared, she’d one day have a prosthesis nearly as functional as her original leg. Until then, she needed to learn to walk and not fall on her ass.

Crestwood was a small mountain town. Before the invasion, it had a tourist economy: snow bunnies and skiers in the winter, hikers and campers in the summer. Now the surrounding mountains provided a line of defense from the Suhlik. The Mahdfel placed their hospitals in Crestwood to take advantage of the relative safety of the area.

Nakia hadn’t seen the actual town of Crestwood yet. A complex of temporary buildings—the hospitals, rehab units, human civilians, and some refugees—flanked the town’s south side. Actual soldiers and aliens with guns were to the north. She heard that there was a larger refugee camp in another town further north. She wondered if her parents had been moved there.

The pavement ended and turned into a dirt path between domes. Carefully, she watched her feet on the uneven ground. The domed buildings were very recent constructs. Nakia had watched from her windows as the domes went up over the course of a single day. The Mahdfel engineers had simply placed crates in an orderly pattern. Once they were satisfied, the crates opened, and the domed structures unfurled. Perhaps that wasn’t the best word, but she couldn’t think of another way to explain how the domed structures popped open.

The canteen was housed in one such dome. On the outside, it resembled a huge tent, the kind used for outdoor weddings. On the inside, it was a furnished building, complete with a spongy resin floor, electric overhead lights, plumbing, and heat.

Nakia touched the wall, finding the tent-like fabric to be stiff and unyielding.

Rohn noticed her leaning against the wall. He noticed everything. “Do you require rest?”

She did but she refused to admit it. “Just curious about the building. It looks like a stiff wind can knock it over.”

“Absolutely not. This is Mahdfel construction and designed to be portable and tough.” He rattled off the amount of force from a direct impact the dome could withstand. It sounded impressive.

A hush fell over the largely human crowd. Nakia felt the itch of being watched by dozens of eyes. Rohn approached a table with open seats, causing the couple there to scatter. Her alien frowned but said nothing at the slight.

“Sit. I will retrieve the ice cream,” he said.

“Chocolate, if they have it.” Exhausted from the short walk, she sat at the empty table.

A small family, a harried-looking mom and two boys, sat at the next table over. The older boy dangled gummy worms above his younger brother, who leaped up in this chair to bite, snapping like a shark. The mom smiled weakly at Nakia before glaring daggers at Rohn.

At least she didn’t clutch her purse to her chest or leave, frightened of the alien, like Nakia had seen some people do when confronted with a Mahdfel warrior. She supposed it was one thing to know that aliens existed, but it was something different when they walked into the cafeteria. Still, it was a shitty way to act.

“Thank you so much! I’m sick of hospital food,” she said loudly as Rohn returned with not-chocolate soft serve with sprinkles, but a plate piled with cookies.

“It is my pleasure,” he murmured. His brow scrunched up, as if confused why she spoke several decibels too loudly. “I did not know what kind you would enjoy, so I got one of everything.”

“No ice cream?”

“These were the only desserts available. I have not had one before, so I cannot swear to its gastronomic pleasure.”

She blushed at the mention of pleasure. “You’re a cookie virgin.” She slapped a hand over her mouth, shocked at her words. His eyes narrowed but, thankfully, he ignored her blunder. “I mean, it’s fine. Everyone likes cookies, and I’m not about to look a gift cookie in the mouth.”

She pushed an oatmeal raisin to the side and revealed the only chocolate chip cookie in the pile.

“That compound has caffeine, which is harmful for a child’s development. I will ingest it for you,” he said, reaching for the chocolate chip cookie.

“No way. I heard that chocolate kills aliens.” Or maybe that was dogs. Whatever.

She shoved the cookie into her mouth before he could steal it. The cookie was soft, chewy, and so much better than the ones her mom made with the burnt bottoms. And when Nakia said her mother “made” cookies, she bought a tube of premade dough, sliced it up, and over baked it. They were hard enough to hammer nails but perfect for soaking in milk. Nakia would give anything for her mother’s burnt-on-the-bottom cookies and a tall glass of milk.

Still, sharing cookies with Rohn went a long way to making her feel like everything was going to be okay.

“I could make you cookies,” she said, not entirely understanding where the idea came from. “From scratch.” She’d have to teach herself but if she followed a recipe, how difficult could it be?

He shook his head. “Thank you for the offer, but supplies are hard to come by.”

“When supplies aren’t rationed? I don’t mind. I’d like to make you cookies.”

He nodded and a pleased flush swept over her.

“You want this one?” Nakia held up the oatmeal raisin.

“I am suspicious. You rejected it immediately.”

“Duh. It’s got raisins. Gross.”

Rohn gave the cookie a dubious glance and grabbed another from the plate, snickerdoodle by the looks of it. With an experimental nibble, he nodded. Nakia spent too much time focusing on his tongue and lips before realizing that he said something.

“Any progress on locating your family?”

Nakia took her time replying, shoving another cookie in her mouth, this one peanut butter. “I dunno. Maybe.”

A social worker visited Nakia once, after her surgery, and they partially registered her information into the system. She had been too groggy from the meds to finish at the time and the social worker gave her a code to log in and finish. She just hadn’t. No one noticed—except Rohn—and with the system clogged with new refugees every day, no one would ever notice. She got lost in the chaos.

She missed her parents, she did, but she’d spent a month in the hospital and why weren’t they looking for her? Nakia could only think of one reason and it was grim: they weren’t able to look for her because they died.

If that was the case, she’d rather not know. Right now, with her half-completed application for reunification, she didn’t know they were dead for sure. They existed in a nebulous, unknown state—possibly alive or possibly dead. Nakia focused on the possibly alive aspect and wanted to keep it that way, because thinking about them in any other way hurt too much.

“I’m sure they’re fine,” she said.

“I’m sure they worry for you.” Seriousness permeated his voice.

Nakia shoved the rest of the peanut butter cookie into her mouth, only it must have been too big because she choked on the cookie and not her emotions. She wasn’t a baby. Using a wad of paper napkins, she dabbed at her eyes.

Rohn rubbed her shoulder sympathetically but said nothing.

“They should be looking for me,” she said, heat creeping into her voice. “Why are they expecting a teenager to do all the work? They’re so selfish. They’re always selfish. For all they know, I’m still buried under that school! I’d rather they were dead than assholes who can’t even be bothered to look for their missing kid!” Her last words rang out in the shop. The family at the next table over looked shocked.

“Are you okay, sweetie?” The mother stood at the end of the table and cast a suspicious look at Rohn. “Is there anyone I can call?”

Right. Like cell phones weren’t the first thing the Suhlik destroyed. She wished she could call her mom. Nakia felt small and alone and wanted nothing more than her mother at the moment.

The woman gave Nakia a weak smile and patted her on the back. She flinched away from the unwanted touch. The weak smile turned into a frown. “I know you’re too young to understand, but his kind only want one thing. You’re under no obligation.”

The woman placed a hand on Nakia’s shoulder and squeezed.

“Rohn rescued me,” she said. “He dug me out from underneath a building.”

“You say he saved you, but you don’t owe him anything.”

Nakia shifted uncomfortably. “He’s my friend.” She didn’t know what the woman was getting at. Okay, she understood that the woman thought Rohn was some sort of creeper, hitting on young girls. He wasn’t. He never touched or looked at her inappropriately.

No matter how much she wanted it.

God, did she want him to look at her that way.

“Enough,” Rohn said, his voice calm but edged in annoyance.

“I heard about the treaty on the news,” the woman said, turning her ire toward Rohn. “I know all about your kind. I know why you’re here.”

“Then you know my people were once the thralls of the Suhlik.”

“You always trot out that old line, but I don’t buy it. I know you’re here to get women. You want babies. Human-alien babies.” Her voice rose in pitch.

One of the boys tugged on the sleeve of her sweater. “Mom…”

Rohn nodded, conceding the point. “Yes. That is one condition of the treaty.”

The woman crossed her arms and gave a smug smile.

“Is that true?” Nakia asked. “You’re here for, um, brides?” Nakia didn’t want cookies anymore. She wanted to know more about how brides were selected and if she could volunteer.

“Aren’t you going to answer? Afraid your little girl won’t like what you have to say?”

“Are you finished?” He spun on his heel and marched away, not waiting for her response.

“Yeah, sure.” Nakia pushed the bowl away and followed Rohn out.

Her alien marched several paces ahead of her. She hurried to catch up, but her leg ached. “Hey, wait up! I can’t walk that fast.”

Rohn paused, tension vibrating in his body.

“Is it true?” Nakia panted when she reached his side.

“The Mahdfel were once the thralls of the Suhlik,” he said.

“Not that part—”

“It is important!”

His shout alarmed her. “Okay. Tell me.” She rested a hand on his arm, skin to skin. He was warm to the touch and she noticed that the black ink of his tattoos looked gray in the afternoon light. He looked down at the point of contact and shrugged her off.

He ran a hand along a horn, taking a deep breath. “Forgive me. The misinformation is frustrating.”

“So tell me. I’m listening.”

“We were once enslaved by the Suhlik. They took us from our homes. Changed us. Made us into their perfect warriors.”

She nodded, having heard that part before. The Mahdfel had been genetically engineered to be super soldiers.

“Part of the change is that we can only have sons,” he said.

“No daughters? Not ever?”

“Not once since our liberation.”

“How have you not died out?” As soon as Nakia uttered her question, she knew the answer. They made alliance with new planets, places with a population of women. “You can do that? Have babies with aliens?”

“Terrans are a compatible species.”

Nakia briefly wondered what would have happened if humans weren’t compatible—if the Mahdfel would have left humanity alone to be slaughtered by the Suhlik. She didn’t want to hear the answer, but she had to know. “If we weren’t, um, compatible?”

“There is no honor in letting another planet fall to the Suhlik,” he said.

She sighed. That was an answer of a sort.

They walked together in silence, but it needled at her. Now that she’d asked a hard question, she couldn’t stop. “Do you have a wife?”

“No. I have no mate.”

Mate. She liked that word, to the point and yet it held an air of mystery. “Will you get one from Earth?”

“Perhaps. Warriors are matched to females based on genetic suitability. There is little choice.”

“When?”

“When the Suhlik are gone from Earth, as per the treaty,” he said.

“But what if you found someone you really liked? Or they liked you? Do you get to pick?”

Rohn stopped, staring down at her with his bright tawny eyes.

Pick me, she mentally begged.

“Rohn, I—”

“No.” He resumed walking.

“But you don’t know what I was going to say.”

“I know enough.”

She hated the sight of his back to her, stiff with anger, his voice as cold as the February air.

“You can pick me,” she said.

He paused before turning back around, fixing her with his hard gaze.

“If you want. I mean, we’re friends. We like each other. I like you. A lot.” Her cheeks burned. She blinked, staring down at her shoes rather than face Rohn’s judgment.

He snorted. “You cannot even look at me when you make such an offer. No.”

Of course, he would turn her down. He could have anyone. He was brave and handsome and a genuine hero and… Wait? She couldn’t look at him?

She tugged on his hand, summoning the nerve to stare into those tawny eyes. “I’m looking at you now. Pick me.”

The moment stretched out as they stood together, two people finally seeing each other. Nakia’s lips curved up into a smile. He felt the connection between them. She just knew it.

“No,” he pulled his hand away. “You are a child.”

“I am not! I’m sixteen, which is the age of consent.” In some parts of the country, she conveniently failed to mention.

“You are a child,” he repeated. “I am here because my warlord commanded that I see to your wellbeing until your family can be located. That is the extent of our relationship.”

Nakia knew she should back off. She offended Rohn and nothing she said would make it better. The thing was—the more Nakia knew she was wrong, the more stubbornly dug her heels in.

“Age doesn’t matter.” She flinched at her own words, realizing how young she sounded.

“I am too old for you.”

“If you’re worried that I don’t have experience, I do. Plenty,” Nakia lied. She kissed a boy once at a party, but that was the extent of her carnal knowledge. The kiss had been wet and sloppy, and she suspected that Rohn would do it so much better when he gave her a proper kiss. She wanted to learn.

She wanted Rohn to teach her.

They stood outside the rehab building. Desperate, she said, “I’ll be eighteen in a year and a half.” Then, because she might as well beg, “Please, Rohn.”

He took a step back, shaking his head. There might as well have been a thousand miles between them. He pressed the security panel and the front doors opened, warm air swirling around her.

“Concentrate on growing up and worry about mates later,” he said, and left.

Nakia stood in front of the doors, the afternoon light fading into evening as the street lamps flickered to life.

She fucked that up so hard.

Rohn:

A package, folded carefully in dark crimson fabric, rested on his bunk. Rohn knew what lay inside, even before he unwrapped the amser.

He lifted the weapon, testing the weight and heft of it. A wicked ax curved at one end of the long staff and a hammer provided ballast at the other end. With enough momentum, the amser could deal a devastating blow. It was a brutal weapon, one for ritual combat when blood, blade, and hammer were the only means of reparation. That is what amok amser meant, the price of blood, blade, and hammer.

He gave a test swing, admiring a beautifully crafted weapon. The amser felt old, possibly ancient. A clan mark and family name had been carved into the side of the hammer. An heirloom, then, belonging to Levin’s family. Wear showed on the staff, where generations of Mahdfel warriors gripped.

Levin must have sent for it. Briefly, Rohn wondered about a family that solved so many disputes enough to have their own amser relics. His own father did not have such a weapon, keeping instead an extensive arsenal of useful devices. Never one to hold a grudge, his father had been quick with a smile and quip. Rohn could never picture him owning a weapon strictly for revenge.

The medic must come from a line of warriors who felt passionately or who nursed grievances the way other males nursed their beer.

The warlord would send them both away, without question. The alliance with Earth was shaky at best. He did not need two hot heads jeopardizing that.

Rohn wanted to remain on Earth. Specifically, he wanted to remain at Crestwood. He had not yet found Nakia’s family, as he had promised, but he knew his desire to stay was more. He liked Nakia, not the awkward, fumbling way she suggested to be his bride—the sooner they forgot about that the better—but as a friend. At their first meeting, she showed no fear of him, and at every meeting since then, her eyes lit with adoration.

He knew himself to be a selfish male, wanting the light of adoration in Nakia’s eyes, the joy she felt just for him. If she knew—no, he corrected himself, she already knew what his error cost her, but not that it took Cirra’s life as well—that light would fade.

Amok amser would not bring Cirra back. It would not give Levin back his unborn son, nor would it give Nakia the use of her leg. It would only end his time with his friend.

Correction, his time had already ended.

Determined to find Levin and answer his challenge, Rohn grabbed the amser. He did not have to travel far, finding the male loitering in the corridor, eating a red apple. The sweet flesh filled the space between them.

“Did you know,” Levin said, mouth full, “that the core of this Terran fruit has minute traces of poison?”

Rohn had no idea what Levin was trying to imply, probably the general terribleness of Earth and Terrans. “Very interesting. Did you know the apple is both a forbidden fruit and the symbol of love in Terran folklore?”

Levin gave the apple a contemplative look before taking another bite. “I did not know that.”

“Tells you something about the Terran psyche.” He did not want to stand in the corridor and wax philosophically with the male, not with such unadulterated hate burning in his eyes, but wasting Levin’s time pleased him inordinately.

Levin’s mouth twisted into a bitter frown. “Such charm. Did you think to talk your way out? The warlord might fall for such tricks, but I will not.”

Rohn’s grip tightened on the amser. It was not his place to defend the warlord, but he had a strong urge to take offense.

Instead, he brought his hand to the blade end of the weapon and sliced the palm of his hand. He smeared his blood on the handle in acceptance, an archaic gesture that revolted Rohn but obviously pleased Levin, judging from the gleam in the male’s eyes.

“Tomorrow, first light,” Rohn said.