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  “Good to meet you, Rhee,” he responded, remembering that Zeus claimed this Orion as a friend.

  Rhee waved a tentacle for Sohm’lan to follow, guiding him to a cabin that would temporarily house him and the other two warlords.

  “That device is new,” he commented.

  “Prince Zeus created it for us. The Galactic Imperial Patrol have devices that allowed others to understand our telepathic speech with basic vocalization. The devices often had trouble differentiating some thoughts so many of us only turned it on when absolutely necessary. Prince Zeus designed this new device that gives us a voice. We do not care that it is large and needs to be girdled around our mantles. We were tired of people thinking we were unintelligent imbeciles that blurted unintelligible sentences at inopportune times.”

  “I am glad that Zeus could help you.” Sohm’lan was not surprised. Zeus was always helping were he could. He had genius ideas, many of which had been implemented by his father.

  They stopped before a set of doors. “This is all we could spare for you. Hopefully, you will not be on board long enough to need the room.”

  His temporary quarters had three cots and little room for anything else. He dropped his bag on one. “This is fine for however long we need to use it. Where will the soldiers and Monticore be housed?”

  For the next hour, Sohm’lan saw to his troops, watching the data pad, not that he needed it in the end. A wave of energy he would recognize anywhere brushed against his scales. Mestor was on The Gorgon’s docks and coming toward the Oethra 7. Sohm’lan did not want Mestor to see him just yet. Better to ambush him before he had a chance to run.

  The four Monticore with Mestor tensed right before Sohm’lan stepped from the shadows.

  “Prince Mestor,” he rasped.

  Mestor halted, closing his eyes at the sound of Sohm’lan’s voice. The resulting shiver was visible. With a glance from him, the Monticore stepped back. Mestor looked as if he was having an internal battle. He could not have that. He stood next to a supply room and he opened the door. “If you have but a moment to speak with me… privately.”

  Soldiers bustled about the dock, moving crates from The Gorgon onto the Oethra 7. Once they reached Valespian space, they would separate and make their way to the planet while The Gorgon dealt with any space-side threats. As Azaes had arranged earlier in the day, Mestor was on his way to see Zeus and discuss the preparations Azaes had set into motion. But first, Sohm’lan was determined to have his say.

  His prince was dressed in a combat uniform, the material clinging to him in an insanely wicked way. He wondered if it was a blessing that he could not read Mestor’s expression. He considered simply saying farewell and leaving things as they were but looking at the person he wanted to call his lifemate, he found he could not.

  Mestor sighed, altering his path to stop next to him. “What can I do for you, Warlord Sohm’lan?”

  Without warning, Sohm’lan grabbed Mestor’s bicep and pulled him into the empty room. With their movements, the lights flickered on, allowing Sohm’lan to see Mestor’s sunrise-yellow eyes narrowing as the door slid shut behind them. “Are you displeased with me? I would know the reason you are avoiding me.”

  Mestor’s famous temper spiked and he hiss-clicked a warning. “I do not run.” He yanked his arm from Sohm’lan’s hold, but there was guilt reflected in his gaze. “I do not have time for this.”

  He knew Mestor well. He did not have moments of panic often, well, not since Zeus and Ariafella were kidnapped from the market when they were young. Mestor was defensive and he was blowing like a bull lizard as his panic turned into anger. If Sohm’lan did not do something, Mestor would charge him. Neither one of them could afford to be injured at this time, no matter how much fun it would be to make love to Mestor after healing him.

  As if sensing Sohm’lan’s lascivious thoughts, Mestor’s eyes widened. Snarling indignantly, he spun to leave, but Sohm’lan was done with his amor’s avoidance. He lunged and grabbed Mestor, pushing him face first into the wall. His action took his prince off guard and he barely managed to keep from being skewered by the barbs that protruded from Mestor’s back. He knew better than to startle any Vondorian, but his only thoughts were to keep Mestor from running again. His pheromones quickly filled the small space, and Mestor groaned, his spines disappearing in a flash. Danger gone, Sohm’lan rested against Mestor’s back.

  He hissed his own warning when Mestor put up a token struggle that only meant he rubbed harder against Sohm’lan. He straddled Mestor’s thick tail, caging him, and the eroticism of the position not lost on him… or Mestor, going by the sound of Mestor’s low, tormented moan.

  “Do I have your attention now?” he whispered.

  “Do I have a choice?” Mestor snarled, an agonized quality to his words that Sohm’lan heard through Mestor’s bravado.

  When Sohm’lan rested the whole of his weight against him, Mestor turned his head and his eyes fluttered closed, as if he savored the moment. Not being near Mestor, not touching him when he wanted to was pure torture. With each passing day, he grew increasingly more possessive of his lover.

  “I am not angry with you, my amor,” Sohm’lan murmured before giving a low, rumbling hiss as he pressed his forehead to Mestor’s temple. “You have no reason to run from me. As Chief Warlord to Azaes, you will make decisions you do not want to. Some will curdle your stomach and others will not... You will help your brother carry many burdens for the good of all Mar’Sani and it will not be easy.”

  Mestor shivered as Sohm’lan settled firmly against him. His sex released, adding to the other scents filling the small room. Being this close to Mestor always seemed to steal his thoughts. He focused on how well Mestor fit against him. Sohm’lan was tall, even taller than Valdor, which he never thought much about until he was this close to Mestor. If he were a younger, more romantic bull he would entertain fanciful thoughts about Mestor being designed just for him. But he had left all the youthful nonsense behind summers ago.

  “It was not my intention to hurt you,” Mestor whispered. “If you had looked at me sideways, I would have been tempted to keep you with me. I should have discussed my thoughts with you.”

  “Nonsense. You are Chief Warlord to Azaes. You do not have to discuss your plans with anyone but Azaes. Remember, this voyage to pick up Zeus was a trial run for you and Azaes to operate without oversight. You did nothing that I would not have done in your place. I would have sent you to be safe on the surface of Valespia as well.”

  Sohm’lan grinned when Mestor stiffened with indignation. Just as suddenly, he relaxed and huffed out a hissy laugh.

  “It does not mean that I will not worry every second that we are parted.” Sohm’lan nuzzled the backside of Mestor’s earhole. Shivers met his touch.

  Mestor snorted, placing a tentative hand over Sohm’lan’s where it rested only a couple of finger widths above Mestor’s groin. He wondered if Mestor had enough time for them to rub scales. The longer Mestor remained unmoving under him, the better the idea sounded.

  “Your welfare is always paramount in my mind,” Mestor said softly. “You must know my every action reflects this. I would see you happy, and I want to be the one who gives that to you. But the very idea of you facing down our enemy… I know you are one of Atlainticia’s best warriors, but it goes against everything in me to send you into battle.” Mestor pressed his lips together as if he had more to say. Sohm’lan thought he would not continue, then Mestor blurted, “Please tell me you are going to retire soon.”

  That had been on Sohm’lan’s mind this last week and the idea still made him uncomfortable. He had no idea what else he would do. He loved being a warlord, but he could admit that part of the allure of his position was interacting with the Vondorians daily. If he retired, they would still be a part of his life, especially as Mestor’s amor.

  “I find it hard to refuse you anything,” Sohm’lan confessed. Mestor turned in his arms, obviously shocked.

  “Sohm
,” Mestor gritted out, blinking rapidly.

  He ran his cheek against Mestor’s, the soft rasp of their scales comforting. His heart beat harder, anxiety at the unknown sitting at the edge of his thoughts. If Mestor needed him to take on a different occupation, he would do as his amor wished.

  “Take your jacket and shirt off. I find I need to rub my scales over yours.” Sohm’lan licked where he had been nuzzling.

  Mestor’s fingers fumbled with the fastenings of his uniform. He had barely peeled off his shirt and jacket when Sohm’lan covered him. He raked his claws over Mestor’s torso, and Mestor moaned for more. Using his tail for support, Mestor rose up and wrapped his legs around Sohm’lan’s waist. He was not a small bull by any means, and Sohm’lan staggered forward a step to brace Mestor against the cool, metal wall of the storeroom.

  He lost track of time. Everything around them seemed to grind to a halt as he filled his senses with nothing but Mestor. Their harsh breathing and the hissing sounds of their scales rubbing together filled the space until he pressed his forehead against Mestor’s and sang. The trills and warbles were from a beautiful song his father sang to his mem. Mestor licked his lips, appearing to fight the urge to taste and bite every exposed expanse of scale. As much as he wanted to indulge his amor, this was not the place. Seeming to understand their time was coming to a close, Mestor answered Sohm’lan’s song with one of his own. Sohm’lan cherished the decadent feel of their scales scraping together. The tenor of Mestor’s voice complementing the low baritone of his own, their words of hopeful promises interweaving together as if they sang but one song, instead of two.

  “I need you to remain alert,” Sohm’lan said once the singing stopped. “I will not be there to watch your back.”

  “I will be fine, my amor. I am no stranger to battle.” Mestor trembled with excitement. Sohm’lan knew how much Mestor loved calling him by that term of endearment. “I know you have already planned for every possible scenario. Zeus needs you at his side. He will balk at the responsibility Azaes is giving him because he does not believe he is worthy.” Sohm’lan hoped he got to see Zeus’s face when Mestor dropped that bit of information. “Ignore his protestations, if he gives any. Father has plans, and Zeus needs to get used to the idea that he will be warlord to Azaes once we return to Atlainticia.” Mestor grinned mischievously.

  With great reluctance, they both dressed. He remained still, allowing Mestor to smooth out the wrinkles in the jacket. The rest of the soldiers would arrive any moment. Mestor needed to meet with Zeus as well as the Feteine, Europa. Sohm’lan wished he could delay everything just to spend a few more moments in Mestor’s presence but knew it was not possible.

  Mestor pressed his forehead to Sohm’lan one last time. “May the blood of your enemy decorate your sword.”

  Sohm’lan stepped back, taking Mestor’s hands in his, turning the palms upward. He placed a warm kiss to the center of each, inhaling sharply at the stab of worry over Mestor’s welfare. He pushed it aside and met Mestor’s expressive eyes. “Strength to your sword arm.” He paused, unable to let go until he said, “I will come for you if you delay in returning to me.”

  Mestor’s demeanor took on his familiar cocky air. “As if I would do something foolish enough that you would need to.”

  Before Sohm’lan could remind him how many times he had indeed acted rashly and needed help, Mestor was out the door and crossing to the lift. They had delayed long enough, but that did not keep him from yearning to chase after Mestor and hold him longer. He would never get enough of his amor.

  Needing something to occupy his mind, Sohm’lan saw to the newly-arrived soldiers. The Oethra 7 had several cargo bays, most of which were not being used. The soldiers were already set up in one, working on anchoring slings to the floor and ceiling for every person. The ship had a few seats along the wall, but it was not designed to transport so many people. The cohort needed to be secured once they entered the atmosphere. The slings would cradle them while the ship was travelling, ensuring their safety if there was trouble in the skies of Valespia or they had a rough landing.

  Out in the main cargo bay, he barked directions as the last of the soldiers boarded. They brought additional cargo that would sustain everyone if they had to make an emergency landing any distance from Haven. It seemed that Azaes and Mestor had thought of everything.

  Zeus and Mestor exited the lift, their Monticore spreading out. Zeus’s eyes widened at the sight of the soldiers in the bay.

  Sohm’lan could not help but drink in everything about Mestor, knowing this would the last time he saw his amor until they reunited in Haven. They would only be separated a day or so, but he could not help but feel that the coming confrontation would be more than they had anticipated. Sudden, crippling worry gripped him, and his claws scraped on the bulkhead as he sought something to hold on to. He could not lose Mestor. Sure, he still anticipated that his amor would leave him eventually, but that was wholly different than losing Mestor to an act of violence. For him to be unexpectedly snatched away before he could tell Mestor how much he loved him…

  With a soul-deep yearning, Sohm’lan stared after Mestor as Zeus walked him to the ramp. “You must also remember your mates carry the heirs to Atlainticia’s throne.”

  Zeus’s shock was endearing. “What?”

  Mestor’s smile was so tender that Sohm’lan’s heart squeezed. The twins… all the Vondorians had a special place in their hearts for little Zeus. “Azaes signed the documents before I came over. If something were to happen to him and me, your kits would be the heirs to the throne.”

  Zeus sputtered as he searched for words.

  “You are the son of Emperor Valdor Vondorian. Your kits are his grandyoung and heirs should Azaes or I neglect to provide any.” Mestor’s grin broadened, taking on a mischievous glint as he flashed his needle-sharp teeth. “Not for lack of trying, of course.”

  The ache in Sohm’lan’s chest intensified. Mestor did not say anything that he did not already know, but still, having his darkest worries spoken aloud hurt more than he imagined. The brothers said their good-byes, and Sohm’lan crossed to stand at Zeus’s side, packing away all the personal turmoil that threatened to drown him. He had a mission to accomplish and nothing, not even himself, would get in the way.

  “Prince Zeus, we are yours to command.” He bowed, happy to see those in the bay followed his lead. Zeus’s silvery-white eyes turned liquid with suppressed emotion. The youngest prince was always humble. Sohm’lan admired that about him. No one, not even Zeus’s naysayers, doubted Zeus’s love for the Mar’Sani people. As Zeus bowed in return, he showed his respect, which endeared him to the soldiers even more.

  “Prepare for takeoff. Warlord Sohm’lan, would you please accompany me to the bridge?” Zeus’s breath caught when the soldiers saluted him. Sohm’lan saw how Zeus sometimes doubted himself, blind, in a way, to how his people viewed him. He hoped that one of these days, Zeus’s eyes would be open to see how much he was adored in return.

  Europa waited at the lift that would take them to the bridge’s level. Sohm’lan hid his smile as Zeus gave her a covert side-eye, his discomfort mostly hidden unless someone knew the little princeling well enough to know what to look for.

  When the doors opened to the bridge, Zeus held Sohm’lan back, looking up at him with a beseeching gaze. Whatever Zeus had to say, he knew he would not like it. “If something happens to me… My family...”

  Nothing would happen to him, but Zeus did not want to hear that promise. He placed his hand over Zeus’s soft, alabaster one. “With my dying breath.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Mestor

  * * *

  Sohm’lan had been close by when Mestor was saying good-bye to Zeus and he had seen the hurt flash in Sohm’lan’s luminous blue eyes at Mestor’s playful comment about attempting to have young. There was much that they still needed to discuss and one of them was how Mestor was already registered with the surrogacy agency. Once they reunited, he
would make it perfectly clear that they would be married as well. He had hoped the devotion he had shown Sohm’lan these last couple of weeks would prove to him that there would be no others. But he knew his amor well and suspected that Sohm’lan believed this would be a short-term affair. Sohm’lan relied on actions, not words, and Mestor was up to the task of showing him all the ways in which he would tie Sohm’lan to him.

  After making some last-minute checks, he headed to the bridge and stood next to Azaes in time to speak to Zeus over the comm-links before the Oethra 7 left The Gorgon’s docking bay. He was surprised to find that Azaes had invited Kryp to be a passive observer. The youngling sat near communications, his expression wiping away Mestor’s earlier thoughts of his tender age. Kryp looked deadly serious, a hint of menace causing Mestor to take a second look at the Dire D’Noss. Unfortunately, he did not have time to delve into the Kryp’s mysteries after their navigator relayed what was lying in wait for them.

  There was more to the siege of Valespia than four satellites jamming communications. Four Terren battlecruisers, one T’Sali ship, and a hidden Chtichlian vessel waited for them. Mestor had hailed the GIP station of Valespia’s space dock and received no response.

  The Terrens, on the other hand, imperiously demanded The Gorgon’s surrender. Mestor snorted and Kryp’s eyes flared with excited anticipation.

  “The Atlaintician fleet is one of the most superior of the Pact. These elitist Terrens could only dream to be as well outfitted,” Kryp said with no small amount of disgust in his tone before Mestor could shush him. Soon enough, Commander Ji Huang-fu of Qing-Nian Tech and Baldassare Operations under the EarthSun Alliance would find out how outclassed his battleships were.

  The view of Meme sitting next to the captain of the Medusa remained on one of the overhead vidscreens. Kryp made a strangled noise as he stared. Mestor glanced up to ensure there was nothing wrong. Meme was regal in her battle armor of red and gold, the spikes on her helmet and breastplate looking just as deadly as her red barbs. He could even see the end of her tail had been fitted with a ball of spikes. She was as capable as any soldier and looked twice as fierce and formidable. He saw nothing wrong, but Kryp was gaping with a slack-jawed, awed expression.