Kept by the Zandian (Zandian Brides 5)

“I was thinking about that.” He nods. “And it’s true. As you once told me, other Zandians are attached as sole mates. Maybe you don’t need to share her.”

“I don’t intend to keep her, so it hardly matters.” I force myself not to react to his words.

He picks up the unit, and turns it in his hands, presses his optical sonar button on his headset. A series of beeps and flashes indicate that electrical signals are being sent directly to his frontal lobe. “Looks like you ruined a cap bridge, so we’ll send this to repair.” He raises an eyebrow. “Remember that Zander also wants us to repopulate. A strong warrior like you could surely be beneficial to our gene pool.”

“Why don’t you add yourself to the gene pool and leave me alone?” I snap.

His face loses all expression. “You know why.” His tone is cool. “My genes are inferior. Blind from birth. I will not risk putting a young Zandian into the same situation.”

“Brother, I am sorry.” I reach out to slap his arm. “I spoke without thinking.”

“I accept my situation.” He turns his head to me, and I swear, his eyes—blind though they may be—seem to be directed right at mine. “And you are lucky to be able to choose your situation, Drayk. Yours is not foredesigned, like mine. So be sure you choose wisely, and pick a life that will benefit Zandia and yourself. From what I have learned, other Zandians only thrive and increase their productivity when they mate with humans. Why would you be any different?”

He picks up the comm unit. “I'll drop this at the shop.”

By the time I arrive at the meeting, I’ve succeeded in putting that conversation from my mind. When King Zander calls us to order, I’m back to my laser focus.

“Tensions with the Ocretion are escalating.” Commander Seke flashes up a holo image. “We unscrambled this transmission from an Ocretion ship. They believe that we have humans on planet that we set free and use for mating, and that many of our humans were stolen from them.”

A murmur rises in the room.

“Do they have any plans?” “How did they find out?” “How serious is this?”

King Zander holds up a hand. “We assume they have learned to intercept our messages, as we do theirs. And there may be rumors started when we rescue and buy humans from slave auctions. Other beings recognize Zandians and there is talk.”

“Whether they plan anything? We do not know.” Seke frowns. “But while we do recon,

we are avoiding certain target areas within the local galaxies where they have strong activity. With the starship that Mirelle and her mates stole from them, we have knowledge of their current masking technology and can find their ships. But we need to lay low and avoid conflict while we plan.”

“What about the most recent human acquisition?” A warrior speaks up from the back of the room. “Is there any issue with her arrival? Is it even a good idea to have her on planet?”

I snap my head around. “There is not. She snuck onto our ship and is believed dead by her previous master on Romon-3. She participated in a mission on the way back to Zandia but was not detected. She is a boon to Zandia.” My body is stiff. It’s my job to question her—not his. And truly, she has done good deeds. I’m just… making sure she’s fit. For the planet.

The warrior persists. “So it’s just coincidental, then, that her removal and their aggression happened in such quick succession? Should we send her back?”

I’m ready to snarl at him, but King Zander speaks, and I bite my tongue. “This tension with Zandia and Ocretia is not new. And we never consider sending humans back to slavery lightly.” His voice holds a rebuke, and the warrior nods in apology, and lowers his gaze. “Even if they found out about our most recent human, it would be just an additional drop to their bucket of anger. We are working on a toxin right now that is fatal to Ocretions. This is a top secret project, and must not be discussed or found out by anyone on Ocretia. If they know we are working on this, it is possible they might do a preliminary large scale attack, and our current anti-aircraft and missile interception systems are still solar cycles from completion.”

“What are our orders?” The warrior asks the burning question we all hold in our heart. “What shall we do?”

“We shall carry on as normal.” Zander’s voice is firm and calming. “You will each do your job. You will engage in patrols and rescue missions. In medicine and training. In mating and raising young. You will live and support Zandia, as you always do. In addition, we will increase our monitoring and code deciphering efforts. And we will pour efforts into the training of new fleet captains and fighters. You will be notified as you are called for duty.”

As the meeting disperses, Zander gestures for me to remain. “How goes it with Taisha?”

“It is fine.” I try to maintain my composure. Surely Zander would be displeased at my lapses in self control with Taisha. But I know I can overcome this, push past it. Make a decision based on data. Maybe I should recommend he choose someone else to judge her fitness for our planet. But I barely entertain that thought before discarding it. I know her best. I’m the one who can find out her secrets.

“The end of her probation draws near. You’ve seen nothing to preclude her from asylum, have you?”

“No, my lord,” I admit, even though I want to insist she requires a longer probationary period. That I need more time with her.

“I have received more than half a dozen requests to mate her from various groups. If she is cleared for asylum, I’d prefer to integrate her into society sooner rather than later. After all”—he gestures at the station where the holo information was presented—“there is increasing urgency to grow our ranks.”

I glower at him, and I swear he finds amusement in it. “I believe she has not disclosed all of the information she knows,” I blurt.

It’s true. She still has secrets. Ones I thought I’d have out of her by now.

“Most humans are not capable of disclosing all of their thoughts and memories immediately upon arrival. If we deem them a safe fit for Zandia, we allow them to do it in their own timeframe.”

“Something critical. I just—sense it.” I stiffen. This does not sound like my usual logical self. I’m the one who relies on data, not nebulous feelings.