Barbarian Blood: An Alien Romance Read online

  Great. Now he would have to wait for more answers. More riddles. The dumb Scroll was talking in riddles. Why couldn’t it just say it clearly? Rydel tried hard not to roll his eyes. He nodded. “I will leave right away.”

  He turned to leave the room, his heavy boots thumping on the floor, his tail hidden beneath the heavy fabric of the cloak as it swished behind him. He wanted to get out of there fast. The stench was killing him.

  “The future of our race depends on you now, Rydel. Do not fail us,” Hyrak said quietly as Rydel reached the door.

  His jaw clenched. Without turning, he replied. “Wish me luck, Chief.”

  The door hissed open and he stepped outside as another wave of stronger stench hit him.

  Rydel scowled as he headed back to his house. He wore a mask to cover his mouth and nose. The plague spread through air and water, and he had to be careful. He had already taken pills the healer gave him to prevent infection.

  He was a wanderer, a space pirate who explored and collected things from other worlds and sold them for money. He couldn’t figure out why the Scroll had chosen him to bring back this Svix – or whatever it was. Sometimes he had a hard time believing in the Scroll’s ancient wisdom. He had seen so much advanced technology in other worlds. All his life he had hardly lived on Scyok, always on the go with older men of his tribe. He thought the chief had gone insane when he said that the Scroll had chosen him. It should have chosen a healer for this task. A healer would have known to look for the Svix and recognize it once he saw it. Until now, he believed scrolls and magic were legend, stories of old told to the children.

  Rydel stared at the land before him. The two suns glaring down on him, the blue-gray buildings deserted and destroyed in the fire after the plague, the pale blue sky now fused with the constant red smog that covered the cities. It was from the burning of bodies and concrete. The perpetual smell of burnt and rotting flesh hung in the air madel it hard to breathe.

  Scyok . . . his home. More like his ancestor’s home. Rydel didn’t have many memories of the place. He had always been traveling, a wanderer. But he did remember that a decade back, Scyok wasn’t like this. It was much cleaner. And there was no horrible stench in the air. He viewed Scyok as a stopover, a temporary refuge. A place he came back to just for a while to rest then move onto another adventure. He had a house, but he it didn’t feel like home. It never had. He was always alone. His house was silent and empty whenever he got back. He had not known his parents as he lost them when he was a baby.

  He didn’t know how long it would take for him to get back . . . Or if he would ever be able to find the Svix . . .

  Do not fail us . . . Already he felt the weight of those words heavy on his chest. Rydel took one last look at his sparsely decorated house and then, picking up his bag which held only his essentials, a few clothes, his dagger, and his gun, he stepped out on the street.

  The rancid air greeted him and he wrapped a cloth around his mouth and nose to block the stench. He wore dark leather pants, a dark gray shirt, and a heavy dark cloak with a hood. With his pointed ears and tail hidden, he could have easily passed for a human.

  With long strides, he walked all the way toward the field where his ship stood on standby. Once inside, he tapped in commands to ready it for take-off. The ship’s engines hummed and then it silently rose above the surface. Ten minutes later, it was outside Scyok’s atmosphere. Rydel then set course for Andromeda 13 . . . The computer showed him it would take him three months to reach his destination. Sighing, he gave the command, and as the ship went into warp drive, he opened the scroll and read it. He had plenty of time to study it on his way.

  ***

  Three months later.

  Rydel peered at the screen, reading the coordinates carefully as he took a swig of wine. He had reached Andromeda 13 and he was manually guiding the ship toward the docking station. It wasn’t the first time he had been there. He liked manually handling the ship. He liked the sense of control. More so now as he felt fate had hurled him toward this place – toward finding something vague. Something he couldn’t grasp or hold it in his hands.

  He had visited the Station several times before, but he had never felt the kind of queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach as he so strongly felt now. In the three months he traveled, the scroll didn’t reveal another clue. And this made him uneasy. What if he couldn’t find the Svix? What if he was too late and his people died before he could help them? The strong sense of uncertainty responsibility was unnerving.

  He took another swig and drained his glass as the ship docked into its assigned place. Taking a deep breath, he tapped in more commands as he stood up and put the Scroll in a satchel. He secured the dagger in his belt and checked his gun, which was fully charged. He climbed out the cockpit and entered the decompression chamber. And as he fitted a new breathing clip suited to the Station’s atmosphere, he thought about visiting an old acquaintance.

  ***

  Rydel quietly watched the man as he skimmed the Scroll. His steady gaze studied the man while his fingers absently twisted the wine glass in his hand.

  He was human, middle-aged for human years, and had a dark beard interspersed with flecks of gray. The man frowned, peering closely at the Scroll, his crooked nose almost touching the ancient parchment.

  “Well . . . this symbol seems foreign . . . It’s nothing like I have seen in my life,” Cayne said without looking up.

  Rydel caught the lie in his voice. He remained quiet, his gaze boring into the old man.

  “I’ll search the old archives tomorrow and let you know if I come across something,” Cayne said quickly, rolling up the Scroll and putting it away.

  “What are you hiding, Cayne?” Rydel said in a calm voice that chilled the other man to the bone. He abruptly looked up and Rydel caught the fleeting fear that flitted across his dark eyes.

  They were seated cross-legged on cushions placed on the floor and between them was a low square table. The dim light on the walls glinted in Rydel’s ice blue eyes, setting them on fire.

  “H - Hiding? What do you mean?” Cayne cleverly evaded the question. Rydel wondered why the man was suddenly jittery. He was definitely hiding something.

  “The symbol, Cayne. Where have you seen it before?” Rydel asked again as he took a swig and put the glass down with a force that made Cayne wince. The Klai warrior was pushy.

  “I told you, I just saw it now . . . ” he said, shifting uncomfortably. “Tara! Bring the food!!” he yelled, turning his head toward the door. “Here. Have some more wine.” He poured more dark wine in Rydel’s glass.

  “Cayne, you . . . ” Rydel trailed off, distracted by the hiss of the opening door as he glanced toward his left. A woman carrying a tray filled with food slowly stepped in.

  He saw that she was petite and half her face was hidden by the dull gray hood she wore. The thin ring she wore at her neck, the biobank, indicated that she was a slave and a clone born and bred at the Station. She came toward them with small timid steps, as if not to make a sound, and then bent over to place the tray on the table. Her hands trembled as she put down the tray, the dishes clattering against each other.

  She was so close as he gazed at her. A whiff of her scent reached his nose, and he almost gasped. It was different, yet intoxicating . . . Her hood slipped back a little and she quickly reached up to hold it in place. But it was too late. He had seen the scars on her face, the burns that had melted her skin. Something clamped inside his chest as it constricted.

  She started laying the plates and food on the table as her hands shook. It was then he caught the symbol on her wrist. It was the same symbol that was on the Scroll: a circle with two vertical parallel lines inside it. It was faint, but it was there.

  Rydel caught her wrist as Tara gasped.

  “Look at this!” Rydel said through clenched teeth. “This is where you have seen it!” he said, pulling her wrist toward Cayne.

  Tara tried to wrench her arm free, but his hold was too t
ight.

  “Ahh!” she shrieked as she glared at him with shock.

  Rydel glanced at her, his intense blue eyes ablaze with icy fire. He saw tears pool in the girl’s eyes as she tried to pull away from him. And it was in that moment he saw the light – the silvery gray glint that flitted across her big brown eyes. And then it was gone. He gazed at her, incredulous, for a minute too long. This cannot be possible . . . No, she can’t be . . . he wondered.

  “Rydel! Let her go!” he heard Cayne’s voice from far away. He realized he was hurting her, and suddenly, he let go. He saw her straighten up and turn away as she receded into the shadows toward the door. She scurried out like a frightened doe.

  “What more do you know about the symbol?” Rydel demanded. His heart thudded in his chest as rage boiled his blood. He picked up the Scroll and put it in his bag.

  “What? I just saw it there,” Cayne lied again. “I don’t know what it means. We can discuss this later. Why don’t you try one of these crayfish . . . ” he trailed off as Rydel suddenly got up and walked toward the window. His tail twitched restlessly as he gazed out the deep dark space, at the tiny specs of stars.

  There was more to the girl, he could feel it. He had seen the light . . . The light that only a male Klai saw in a mate’s eyes. After all these years, it was strange that a human was fated to be his mate. A human clone, he corrected himself. And there was more . . . She was somehow linked with the Svix. The symbol on her wrist meant something, and he was determined to find out what.

  “How much for her?” he asked him still gazing at the stars.

  “Who?” said the man. “The girl?”

  Rydel turned his head sideways and gave him a sidelong glance. “Yes, the girl.”

  “I’m not selling her,” the man said indignantly. “You can get a hundred like her from the Bazaar of Babylon.”

  “I want this one. I’ll give you double the original price,” Rydel said as he slowly walked behind the man and slid a knife under his throat. “You name the price or I’ll take her anyway,” Rydel said in that low, chilly voice.

  The blade glinted in the dim light. Sweat beaded on Cayne’s forehead as he felt the cold blade against his skin. This was turning ugly.

  “Alright, alright . . . I will take it. Just put the thing down,” he said, breathing hard.

  ***

  Tara gazed with blurry eyes at the number of blue pills in her hand. There were fifteen or twenty. She blinked several times and tears slid down her face. She counted again to make sure the pills would be enough. They were meant to help her sleep, but the normal dosage was two. She glanced up at her reflection again. The ugly scars marred the side of her face. Could she do it? Could she end her life?

  She glanced at her hand holding the pills as she absently stroked the blue-black marks on her delicate wrist. The mark of his fingers as he had held her . . . That Klai warrior . . . The way he had looked at her with those icy blue eyes . . . She shuddered. What did he want with her? That symbol-like mark on her wrist had been there as long as she could remember. It didn’t mean anything. It was probably a birthmark. But how did he know it was there? She shuddered again as his cold eyes haunted her.

  Her fingers closed around the pills in her hand as she took a labored breath. She should end this miserable life. Yes, she was better off dead. At least there would be no pain . . . No more slavery. And yet, would it make any difference if she was gone? She was already invisible. Nobody would cry for her or mourn her demise. Nobody cared whether she existed or not, she thought bitterly.

  No. No . . . She would not end her life like this. Her parents taught her to do better than that. Escape then? That was not an option either. She gazed at the thin metal collar around her neck. It was a lethal device. The control was always with her master. It would take only one press of the button on his wrist and she would be dead. The nanites released into her bloodstream would kill her within minutes. And if she tried running away, the moment the ship was out of the range of Andromeda 13, the collar would get the signal and kill her. There was literally no way to escape this prison of slavery.

  She knew that all the clones like her who were sold as slaves wore this collar at the station. They were forced to wear it so they could serve their masters well, always obedient and submissive.

  Death seemed to be the only way, and she was not ready to end her life yet . . . She took a deep breath as despair took over and sobs wreaked her body. Her shoulders shook as she slumped to the floor. How long could she take his torture? How long would it be before she died of broken bones? She didn’t know, and once again death called to her. But her mother’s voice always stopped her . . .

  Your father was a brave man, Tara. He died fighting . . .

  They were good people, her parents who took her in. And the one thing she had learned from them was to never stop fighting.

  Chapter 3

  The door hissed open and Tara froze as the pills slid from her fingers soundlessly. Her master entered. She staggered backward, reaching the wall behind her and wishing desperately there was another door in the wall through which she could disappear forever. What did he want now? She had wrapped a thin scarf tightly around her head that hid her burnt face. She quickly covered her head with the hood.

  Cayne wasn’t alone. The hulking man that stepped in behind him as the door silently closed was an ominous presence himself. In her cramped quarters, the Klai seemed huge in his hooded cloak and dark garb. And it was his piercing ice blue gaze that seared her very soul. She clasped her hands together tightly to stop them from shaking.

  “Master . . . ?” she began and saw Cayne’s face contort as if in pain. There was a wild look in his dark, beady eyes. Something insane . . . This wasn’t right. She could feel it reverberate through her.

  Cayne raised his arm sideways and, turning violently, slid it back and upward. She caught a glint of metal in the dim light, but then the blade stopped in midair, never reaching its target.

  The Klai warrior had caught her master’s hand in midair and, without losing another second, he slashed his own dagger across the human’s throat. Silent. Swift. Neat.

  Dark red blood gushed forth as the man choked, his eyes wide. His body jolted once, twice, and fell forward with a dull thud. Tara stood frozen, her hand clamped over her mouth as she stared at the blood pooling on the floor beneath the body. A faint voice in her head screamed at her to run, run, run! And still, she was unable to move. Why was she shocked? She had wanted Cayne dead more than anything. She had imagined killing him herself so many times. It should have felt good to see him like that after what he did to her. And part of her was glad. But then again, it was the brutality of the act – the cold-blooded manner in which it was done – that made her cringe. It shook her very soul.

  Karma . . . He got what he deserved, Tara. Look what he did to you. No need to get upset, a voice in her head said dryly.

  She stood rooted to the spot, trembling as the alien circled around the dead man and came toward her. In a few long strides, he stood before her, towering over her.

  “Pack your things,” the Klai said in a low deep voice. “You are coming with me.”

  Tara gasped then, remembering to breathe. Something in his tone told her that he wouldn’t hurt her. Strange that she would think like that . . . What was wrong with her?

  “W-where are you t-taking me?” she stammered.

  “Where ever I go, you will come with me, woman,” Rydel said, gazing at her.

  “I . . . I will not be your s – s - slave,” Tara said. “Kill me now or let me go.” There. She had said it. She had had enough. She would not be his slave. Not anyone’s slave. He could kill her if he so wished.

  “Oh no, no . . . You are much more valuable, woman. I assure you, you won’t be a slave anymore. I don’t plan to sell you.” Rydel said in that low, cold voice that made her shudder. “I take what I want . . . and I take you as my mate.”

  Tara blinked and almost laughed. This was ridiculous. An
alien, a Klai, was her mate? Impossible. “Mate? I don’t understand . . . How could I be your mate? I am not even human. Just a clone . . . a copy.” Tara was really confused. “No! You can’t just take me,” she said as a wave of anger washed over her and her breathing became labored. He was surely bluffing. She trembled. All this could lead to a situation that wasn’t much different than she was in with Cayne. He would take her and rape her. And then he would force her to work as a sex slave. She couldn’t forget he was Klai. And Klai men were known to abduct women and keep them as sex slaves.

  “I know you are my mate. I have seen the light,” Rydel said in a low, deep voice – a voice that caressed her as his intense gaze pierced her very soul. “And this,” he reached out and held her wrist, the one with the mark on it. “This shows there is so much more to you. You have something that I need.”

  “W - What is it that you need?” she said in a small voice as her anger turned to fear. He was frightening her, and yet, there was something about him. Something dark and fierce. It had the strangest effect on her. Her breath hitched and she couldn’t take her eyes off his sculpted lips. His intense gaze pinned her to the wall . . . Jeez, he wasn’t even human. He was an enemy, and yet she found him attractive . . .

  “I still haven’t figured that out,” Rydel said. “Now hurry up. I don’t have all day, woman.”

  Confused, she nodded quickly. His presence overwhelmed her and she needed to get away from him. His gaze still on her, he moved out of her way as she scuttled around the room, grabbing the few clothes and toiletries she owned. The only belongings she was allowed to have. She went toward the dresser and pulled open a drawer. She grabbed her things and stuffed them into her small bag. Stealing a glance at him, she saw him wipe the blood off the rag as if it were dust.

  A wave of nausea hit her. She was not built for violence. She had hated it. But she would not die like this, at the hands of some Klai. And didn’t she wish to escape? But not like this . . . Not as a slave. She didn’t have much choice, she thought bitterly.