Night of the Zandians (Zandian Brides 1)

I saw the domes they were putting up in the capital but seeing the males—my mates—put ours up so efficiently was breathtaking. The structure itself is vast, the top crisscrossed with silver beams and dotted with glass. The area outside the dome is rough, that’s for sure, but I saw a stream nearby when we landed, so I’m confident I can get something to grow on it. It will look completely different in a few solar cycles once the vegetation returns.

The inside is luxurious, at least compared to what I’m used to. There’s a pantry for food storage and preparation, and an eating section with a table and chairs. A storage room for clothing, tools, and weapons. A washroom equipped with an automated washtube like they had in the palatial pod. A common area for relaxation, with hoverchairs and tables. And… the sleeping chamber. Like my mate’s chamber in the palatial pod, there’s one large hoverdisk composed of three smaller ones. There are smaller hoverseats along the wall, for relaxation, possibly. The hoverdisk is outfitted with soft fabrics and a flowing canopy.

“I never dreamed I’d have a home of my own,” I admit to my mates, who trail me through the dome, watching my every reaction as I take it all in. “As an agrifarm slave, I slept on the floor in a tent with the other slaves. We weren’t allowed privacy or the right to own anything.” I touch the finely woven fabric on the hoverdisk.

But I’m getting soft. I shouldn’t get used to this. I can’t. It may not be mine for long. Am I foolish enough to think I’ll get to stay here for the five years until it becomes ours? My mates will figure out I’m not a breeder soon enough and they’ll petition for a new one.

“Everything here is yours, now, Riya.” Tarren’s voice is hard.

Tears spring to my eyes at his declaration and alarm flickers over Tarren’s face. I have to remember Zandians don’t understand human emotions. At least that’s what I’ve heard. They’re both mystified by the complexity of our emotions, and also influenced by them—becoming more emotional themselves when they bond with us.

“I’m sorry.” I wipe my cheeks rapidly.

Tarren turns away, but I think I see something flash in his eyes. He’s so guarded, and I feel the urge to break down his defenses and find out what he’s like inside, when he’s not putting up his rough exterior.

After I tour our new home, I return outside, where the crates of equipment stand under the setting sun. The warriors follow me, as if my every reaction fascinates them. “What’s in here?”

“I imagine that’s whatever they think we need to homestead. Shall we see?” Jax asks. He pries open the lid of one crate and peers inside.

“Here is your stockpile of seeds,” Tarren calls out in his gruff voice, opening several palettes of silvery boxes. “And tools.”

My breath catches, and I eagerly bend down to open the air-tight latches on the first box. On my training holo on the transport craft, I received an overview of what seeds we’d receive, what needed to be planted for sure, and what was optional, based on our personal team needs and desires. We were told we’d receive help if we needed it, but with my background, I’m confident.

“Wheat,” I exclaim at the first packet. “Carrots, tomatoes, beans, onions.” I go through packet after packet. “Strawberries, potatoes, spinach, chard.” There are also boxes of herbs, vitamins, and fertilizers.

“This must be worth a fortune.” My voice is full of awe. “How did King Zander obtain this?” I gesture at the riches in front of me. Earth foods are still prized, even if Earth is long gone. Their legacy, apart from human slaves, was our superior foodstuffs.

“King Zander has been purchasing heirloom seeds since he mated his human,” Jax tells me. I remember all the lush food-bearing plants I’d seen in the palatial pod. Ronan had told me Lamira planted them. She was previously an agrifarm slave like me. “Our crystals are highly prized, and we are able to get vast amounts of things in exchange for even small amounts of them.” He holds out one fist. “A crystal that could fit into my hand probably provided the seeds and paid for the materials for all of the domes.”

“Some of these things I’ve never tasted,” I admit to them.

“No?” Tarren looks surprised. “Why not?”

I shrug. “Even though we were responsible for growing it, slaves were harshly punished for eating even a mouthful of food that was grown for Ocretions.”

My stomach twists remembering my life before the Zandians rescued us. Thank the stars it is different now. These seeds, these

plants in the making, these will be mine. I can taste them. I feel such joy at the idea that I jump up and throw my arms around Tarren. His body stiffens but he clasps me, a second later.

Ronan scowls. “Riya, from now forward, you’ll eat whatever you want. In fact, I’ll make it my personal goal to feed you every single one of these foods every planet rotation, until you beg me to stop.” He looks at a packet. “This one. Corn. You shall have corn three times a planet rotation if you wish. Seven times.” He laughs.

I giggle and snatch the packet out of his hand. “I think once a week for corn is plenty.” The Zandians don’t understand human eating. To them, it’s as strange as their crystal sustenance is to me. “But I have plans to extract the syrup from the corn kernels and experiment—turn it into an oily fuel. I think it could possibly be useful, although I’m not sure just how, yet.” So many ideas swirl in my mind.

Ronan cocks his head. “Fuel from this?” He looks at the picture, surprise etched into his expression. “It sounds impossible. But I trust you. Soon we will have the best homestead on the planet and I will tell beings our mate is a miracle worker.”

The vast open space fills me with a giddy joy. “This is incredible.” I spin around. “I think the wheat should go in that field, there, to take advantage of the sun. And strawberries there, but beneath the peas and beans, because they will do well as ground shrubs. I think the tomatoes and chard should go—” I break off. “Unless you want them elsewhere?” I hesitate.

Surprise flits over Jax’s face. “You will decide what to plant, where.” He points to the land. “And we will plow it for you and do the work to make it so.”

I am taken aback. “I will tell you?”

“How else will we know where to plant them?” He looks at me. “We trust your judgement. You will know more about this than I.”

“But I thought you were going to give me orders.”

His mouth quirks up. “I’m sure I’ll give you plenty of orders, but most of them will be in our chamber, little human. You’re not a slave any longer, Riya. You’re our mate.”

Ronan comes up and snakes his arm around my waist, pulling my back against his front. “I have a few orders I’d like to give right now.” The dark suggestion in his voice has my feminine parts flaring to life. My freshly pierced nipples, which are slightly sore now that the analgesic spray has worn off, bead up.