The Mad Lieutenant (The Lost Planet 3)

“Sayer explained,” Draven says through gritted teeth, “about needing a mate?”

I lift a shoulder dismissively and clasp the necklace around my neck. “He did. I haven’t quite wrapped my head around it all yet. How could I? But they were very kind. Is this candy?” Before he can answer, I pop one into my mouth. The sugar-sweetness bursts over my tongue, causing me to make a sound of pleasure. “Mmmm! This is just like butterscotch. Well, don’t that just beat all?”

“What else did they explain about mates?” Draven takes a step closer. I eye him warily. I haven’t quite decided if he’s dangerous or not. He doesn’t seem as unstable as he did when we first met, but there’s still a wild energy around him that reminds me of an untamed animal—like the first provocation will send him nipping and kicking at anyone in his immediate vicinity. I’d rather not be there when that happens.

“Sayer and Jareth brought me to the sub-faction—Is that the right term?—Anyway, they told me how you are the last of your kind, that you found me and the others, and have decided to take us as mates among you. How does that work—exactly? Are we assigned one of you?” My tone is blithe and uncaring. Better to get the harsh realities over with as soon as possible, so I can deal with them. I’ve never quite been in this situation, but I’ve dealt with life-altering changes before, and I will deal with this, too.

I have to.

As I wait for his answer, I begin to hum another tune. This one is “I Walk the Line” by Johnny Cash. Draven reminds me a bit of Johnny Cash. Rough around the edges. A rule-breaker. If his scars and brash demeanor are any indication, he’s not the gift-giving kind like the others. Not that it matters. I haven’t decided which alien I’ll let woo me, for now, but Draven doesn’t seem like the mating sort.

The sliding door behind him opens, and another alien—one I haven’t met yet—walks through, his pace brisk and no-nonsense. He’s draped in a thin gown over his suit—like the one I’m wearing—except his is covered in smears of blood. Draven snaps to attention, his ears flattening, and long, dangerous looking claws extend from his massive hands.

“Aria?” Draven barks at the newcomer.

With a sigh of relief the other alien says, “She’s well. All is well. Their son is also. They’ve named him Sokko, after Breccan’s father.”

I freeze, the butterscotch-like candy sticking in my throat. My tongue seems to have swollen in size, and I wonder if I’ll choke on them both. The two aliens don’t seem to notice my distress.

“A son,” Draven says, almost breathlessly. “A son.”

A baby. There’s a baby here.

“Yes, it’s incredible. But first, Breccan was wondering what the alarms were earlier. He sent me to check. Is everything—”

It’s then he notices me. I lift a hand in welcome, swallowing the last of the candy, even though it scratches my throat on the way down. “Hey there,” I say with what I hope is a friendly smile. “I’m Molly.”

“Mortarekker,” the new alien says. “What is the meaning of this?” he demands of Draven. “Breccan will have your nog for waking a female early. We were supposed to wait until Calix returned to run more tests. Aria’s delivery was successful, but we still don’t know if that will always be the case. How could you be so reckless?”

As the other alien berates Draven, I watch as Draven’s ears press closer and closer to his skull. The slits of his eyes pinch closed until only the barest glint of black is visible. I’m reminded of a puppy I once owned when I was a girl. The poor dear had been abused by her previous owner, and even though she was only a few months old, she’d already learned to make herself as small as possible whenever she encountered loud sounds. What had happened to Draven to make him react the same way?

I launch myself to my feet and across the room before I know what I’m doing. “It wasn’t his fault!” I interrupt. “The other ones—Sayer and Jareth—they told me a magna-something hit the building and fried the thingy I was in. It made it malfunction, and Draven saved me.” Save is a loose interpretation of what he did, and I expect him to interject, but he’s quiet behind me. I can feel the waves of anxious energy buffeting against my back. He’s practically vibrating. “It wasn’t his fault,” I repeat firmly.

The alien in front of me purses his lips. Despite his harsh words toward Draven, he doesn’t seem like the malicious type. His eyes—black though they are—seem kind. His fangs aren’t sharp and imposing like the others, they’ve been filed down to look somewhat normal. He holds up a hand, which I clasp with my own, and gives me a benevolent smile.