The Nanny and the Alien Warrior by Honey Phillips

Chapter Three

Craxan Rok’Darian huddled in the darkest corner of the bar, and stared into his drink. He’d never been much of a drinker, but the fiery blue liquid was Vanha’s favorite and it seemed only right to be toasting him with it. He could almost hear the old man’s voice telling him to just shut up and drink.

If only he were here.

Craxan had known Vanha for most of his life, originally as an arms instructor at his military academy. But then the plague came to his home planet of Ciresia and wiped out his family. Somehow Vanha had managed to get him off Ciresia, even while the officials were rounding up the remaining survivors. Vanha had been the one to train him, to show him the ropes as a mercenary, and to get him in—and out—of trouble.

They had been going their separate ways for the past year after Craxan finally put his foot down and refused to be dragged into another questionably legal enterprise. But they had kept in touch, and the knowledge that Vanha was out in the universe following his own haphazard path had still been there. Then he had received the message that Vanha had been killed and that thread had snapped. He felt as if he’d lost his family all over again.

He had spent most of the last six months tracking down Vanha’s killers. The last one had been eliminated today—hence the celebration. Except he didn’t feel like celebrating. He felt weary and alone. Without the burning need for revenge that had been driving him, he had no real purpose. The thought of returning to another round of meaningless mercenary jobs held no appeal.

“Hey, Cire.” The rough voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Fuck off,” he said without looking at the intruder. He was in no mood for conversation.

A big, clawed hand clamped down on his shoulder. “I’m talking to you.”

Craxan’s warrior reflexes kicked in. He grabbed the hand and twisted it up, while his tail swept out and knocked the other male to his knees. A Skaal, he decided, based on the long fangs and the dark, iridescent scales that shimmered in the dim light of the bar. Not his favorite species, but they weren’t as shady as the Vedeckians or as brutal as the Ruijins.

“And I said fuck off.” He released the other male and returned to contemplating his drink.

“Godsdammit. I got a message for you.”

“What message?”

“You were old Vanha’s partner, weren’t you?”

The past tense stung, but he turned to have another look at the male climbing cautiously to his feet.

“I was.”

“A message came into the spaceport for him. I was hired to deliver it, but when he found out what had happened, he told me to bring it to you instead.”

“Who told you?”

The male shrugged. “Don’t know. One of those fancy ass Trevelorians. Sent me twenty credits to do it.”

He shoved a message tablet towards Craxan.

Craxan eyed it suspiciously, then sighed and took it.

Commander Pasken,

I trust this message finds you well. As you may remember, Lord K’herr rendered his assistance to you some years back in the matter of the Cire youth. He is now in urgent need of your help in a similar matter. Please come to Alliko with all possible speed. You will find me at this location.

An address on Alliko followed, but Craxan was far more interested in the rest of the message. Vanha had needed help from an Allikan? For a Cire youth? It could only have been on his behalf, although he couldn’t imagine why a stubborn old bastard like Vanha would have asked anyone else for help.

He certainly didn’t bother to ask me for help when he got on the bad side of the Triad, he thought bitterly.

His first instinct was to destroy the message, but if Vanha had truly owed a debt to this Lord K’herr, it was Craxan’s responsibility to settle it. And perhaps in the process he could find out more about their past involvement—and any connection to his own history.

“What do you know about this?” he demanded of the Skaal, now seated on the stool next to him. The Skaal was looking at the bottles of liquor behind the bar, rubbing his thumb against his fingers.

“Told you. Just got paid to bring you the message.” The male looked down at his hands, then added in a carefully casual tone, “Thought if there was a job involved, you might need some help.”

Craxan took another look at him, and this time he recognized the signs of a down-on-his-luck male—the harness that had been mended multiple times, the worn hilt of the knife at his belt, and the attenuated frame that spoke of missed meals. He’d been in the same place once or twice.

“I am not sure what will be required—”

“I’m a mechanic, a good one, and I can fight.”

He could see the look of hope on the other male’s face, despite his attempt to hide it. Fuck. What was he getting himself into?

But he couldn’t bring himself to crush the male’s hopes. He sighed. “All right. Go find us the first available passage to Alliko. I’ll meet you at the spaceport.”

He saw the flash of relief on the other male’s face before he nodded. “I’m Jed.”

“I am Craxan.”

* * *

Three days later,Craxan gave the old Trevelorian scholar a disbelieving stare.

“You sent an urgent message—in the name of a dead male—because you need a child minder?”

Opinnas simply adjusted his spectacles, unfazed by Craxan’s irritation.

“I do not need a child minder. I need an escort for the child.”

“It is the same thing,” he muttered, but the other male ignored him.

“And I requested the assistance of Commander Pasken because Lord K’herr had given me to understand that he would assist him. Or, as in this case, his child.”

Fuck.He should have followed his first instincts and destroyed the message.

“You do not need me for this. My skills are more… specialized.”

“I believe you are overlooking the gravity of the situation. The child—and her companion—are being actively hunted by Lord T’paja. If he finds them, it will result in a life of virtual slavery for the child and actual slavery for her companion.”

“Slavery is illegal,” he growled.

“Perhaps. But I suspect you know as well as anyone that the Patrol is spread far too thin.” Sharp black eyes peered at Craxan, and he had the sudden, uncomfortable feeling that Opinnas was well aware of all of his more questionable activities.

“You cannot get them off the planet yourself?”

“I’m being watched closely, as is anyone who had any dealings with Lord K’herr. And it is not just getting them off the planet. It is getting them safely to Trevelor. If I was to arrange passage for myself and a child, it would immediately be flagged.”

Craxan scowled and paced the three steps that were all the small kitchen allowed. His tail lashed angrily, but he did his best to keep it under control to avoid hitting one of the many objects that covered every surface. The entire house made him uncomfortable—it was too small and too cluttered—and it had a cozy feel that reminded him of the home he had lost all those years ago.

“Why did your Lord K’herr think that Vanha would take the job?”

The Trevelorian’s feathers fluttered as he shrugged. “I don’t know. He told me that they had been acquainted and that he had rendered a service to him.”

“Service involving a Cire youth?” He pounced on the statement. “What was it?”

“I don’t know. It was some years ago, before the death of his father required him to return to Alliko and assume his duties.” Those too sharp eyes were focused on his face again. “But apparently he thought that Commander Pasken would be grateful enough to perform a similar act.”

There was that phrase again, but it took on new significance now that he knew the nature of the job. Was it possible that Lord K’herr had meant it literally?

The days after his family died had been a confused blur of rage and mourning. Then the Ciresian High Council had sent out orders for the survivors to gather under their “protection,” but it had been the last thing he wanted to do. Somehow, Vanha had spirited him onto a spaceship and off of the planet. Could that have been with Lord K’herr’s assistance?

He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. In the end, he supposed it made little difference. It was a debt of honor and he would fulfill it. There was only one problem…

“What are you paying for the job?”

The other male’s beak clicked. “You expect to be paid? For fulfilling a debt of honor?”

“Yes,” he said firmly, fighting back an immediate feeling of guilt.

His own funds were almost gone. The hunt for Vanha’s killers had used up most of his limited savings, and the flight here had been more expensive than he had anticipated. Fortunately, Jed had been able to fill in for one of the ship’s mechanics a few times and lessened the cost of his passage.

“Oh dear. I didn’t take that into consideration.” The feathered crest bobbed anxiously. “I have very few credits on hand and raising more would take time. Time I’m not sure that we have.”

“Passage on a ship is not free,” he reminded the other male, already resigned to the fact that he would not be getting paid. It would not be the first time. The reason his savings had been so limited in the first place was his unfortunate tendency to take on quixotic missions.

“How much would you need?”

“For three—no, four people?” He wasn’t going to leave Jed stranded on this planet. “At least a thousand credits.”

The sum made the scholar’s eyes widen, then his feathers drooped.

“I don’t have access to that much. I have some savings, but they are deposited on Trevelor. It could take days to arrange for the transfer. I do have a few things I could sell in a hurry.” He gestured rather vaguely at the miscellaneous objects surrounding them. “But I would be lucky to raise one tenth of that.”

Craxan’s tail twitched unhappily. Perhaps he had made the wrong decision in coming here. He was out of funds, he hadn’t received any answers, and he had an unwanted obligation to fulfill.

“How long will it take to sell them?”

The scholar looked out at the gathering darkness. “A few hours. Fortunately, the quick sale brokers are open late to accommodate the late-night gamblers.”

“Very well. See how much you can raise and I will make inquiries at the spaceport.”

“You mean you’ll do it?” Opinnas asked eagerly.

“Yes.” He had an obligation to Vanha’s memory, but more than that – he couldn’t leave a child to be victimized.

By the time all of the arrangements were made, it was long after midnight. But perhaps that is for the best, Craxan thought as he followed Opinnas through the dark streets. Despite the Trevelorian’s ungainly body, he moved with surprising stealth, slipping silently from one shadowed area to another.

They slipped down a narrow alley, then into another, even narrower space behind several taverns. The area was littered with empty cases and barrels, and there was an overwhelming stench of stale beer and rotten food. His sensitive scent receptors quivered with disgust, but it wasn’t the first time, nor he suspected the last time, that he had been exposed to such unpleasantness.

“Wait here and keep watch,” Opinnas muttered, then disappeared through the back door of the closest tavern.

Craxan sighed and eyed the mouth of the alley warily. It had been a frantic few hours. Once again, Jed had been able to use his connections to find a ship heading in the right direction. The captain had taken him on as a temporary crew member readily enough, but he hadn’t been as enthusiastic about Craxan.

Captain Merios had leaned against the open ramp of his ship and studied Craxan, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Like all Kissat males, he was carefully groomed, his dark fur smooth and shining, and his small horns polished.

“Got any skills?”

Craxan let his hand rest on the knife in his belt. “Enough.”

The captain snorted. “Don’t need security on my ship. Everyone works—” His gaze wandered over to Jed. “And behaves themselves, or they get tossed out the airlock.”

The casual brutality of the statement would have appalled him once. He’d seen enough now to know that you couldn’t let one person’s weakness endanger everyone else.

“I am strong and willing to work.”

“Nah. Got enough dumb labor.” He jerked a thumb at a young Vaivan male, struggling to carry an oversized basket up the ramp. The boy was already tall, but he was painfully thin, his muscles not yet catching up to the promise of his size. From the pale orange tint to his scales he had only just reached maturity.

“But there is one thing,” the captain said thoughtfully. “Gotta make a stop on Driguera. Take on some new cargo. I’m not exactly welcome there.”

“Then why are you going back?” He asked before he could stop himself. Fuck. He knew better than to ask questions.

The captain didn’t seem offended. He shrugged. “Cargo is worth my while. But I could have some… difficulty retrieving it. You come along with me, make sure we make it safely there—and back to the ship—and I’ll give you a family cabin all the way to Trevelor.”

Sharing a single cabin with the child and her companion was the last thing he wanted to do, especially since he suspected it would be ridiculously small.

“How many bunks?” he asked.

Unexpectedly shrewd eyes studied Craxan’s face. “Two. One for the child and one for you and your… mate.”

Craxan had told him he was seeking passage for himself and his mate and child. From the skepticism in the captain’s voice, he had his doubts about the story. Hardly surprising since the Cire were known for their devotion to their females. To the Cire females who no longer existed. The plague had robbed his race of all hope for the future when it took their females. The familiar pang made his chest ache but he shoved it aside. The captain could be as suspicious as he liked, but as long as he didn’t interfere, Craxan didn’t care.

But only two bunks? Not the most desirable arrangements. The companion would just have to sleep on the floor, he decided.

“Done.”

“Food’s not included. Bring your own or pay for it on board.”

He nodded again, hoping that Opinnas had at least managed to secure enough funds to cover their meals.

“We leave at first light. If you’re not on board, I won’t wait.” The captain had shot another look at Jed, then strolled up the ramp.

Craxan could hear him yelling at his young crew member as he turned to Jed.

“Are you sure he is trustworthy?”

“He has a reputation for keeping his word.” The other male shrugged. “But I don’t trust anybody.”

“Not even me?” he asked satirically.

To his surprise, Jed shook his head. “I trust you.”

“Why?”

“You have a reputation too. And the fact that you’re doing this? You didn’t have to follow up on some supposed debt you didn’t know anything about.”

Craxan looked away uncomfortably. “I did not have anything else to do.”

“Yeah. If you say so.”

Craxan had ended the discussion, taking Jed back to the Trevelorian’s house with him. When Opinnas returned with an unfortunately small number of credits, Craxan had sent Jed off to purchase some basic supplies while he accompanied the other male to pick up his charges.

As he stood in the alley now, waiting, he wondered if it had been foolish to entrust Jed with the funds. They had formed the foundations of a friendship on the voyage here but, like Jed, his trust was not easily won.

The sound of a door opening distracted him from his thoughts. The professor stepped into the alley, accompanied by a small figure in a hooded cloak clutching the hand of a child dressed in an oversized dark shirt. At the same time, a hint of deliciously sweet fragrance cut through the stench of the alley. He had never smelled anything quite so enticing. The tip of his tail flicked restlessly.

“My dear, this is Craxan. Craxan, this is Joanna and Sultavi.”

He heard a startled breath and looked down to see the child’s companion—Joanna—staring up at him. Even in the dim light of the alley, he could see delicate features and smooth pale skin. Big, brown eyes studied him in return, and then a small pink tongue swept nervously across a plump lower lip. Female. Very female, he amended, unable to resist a quick sweep down her body. The cloak did not completely obscure her generous curves.

For some reason, he had assumed that the child’s companion would be a grim older female. A guard. Not a soft, desirable—his thoughts came to an abrupt halt.

“I do not think that this will work.”

“Why not?” Opinnas asked.

“You can’t help us?” Joanna asked.

Her voice was low and pleasing, despite her obvious distress. His immediate instinct was to comfort her, but he had to resist the urge. She deserved far more than an uncertain passage on a cargo ship of questionable repute.

“Why is your tail doing that?” the child asked, her eyes wide and innocent.

He looked down to find his tail stroking the impossibly soft skin of the female’s wrist soothingly. Fuck. He snatched it back.

“It was an… apology.”

The female was still staring at him, blunt little teeth worrying that tempting lower lip. “Why can’t you help us?”

“I was only able to procure one cabin.” A small cabin that she would fill with her irresistible fragrance, where he would be unable to avoid brushing up against those luscious curves… To his complete and utter shock, his cock jerked. One of the crueler ironies surrounding the loss of their females was that the remaining males were incapable of complete sexual pleasure. Pleasure that could only come during intercourse with a true mate. It had been many years since he’d even attempted to find pleasure with a female.

“You’re apologizing again,” the female said.

He yanked his tail back under control.

“One cabin is fine,” she added, although he could hear the doubt in her voice. “At least we would be away from this planet.”

And at risk from every type of scum—those who would only see her as valuable merchandise. He remembered the Trevelorian’s earlier words and his own blithe denial of the threat of slavery, but he knew it existed. At the thought of this soft, beautiful female subject to those horrors, he growled.

Her eyes widened, and her sweet scent increased.

“Did you just growl?”

Unwilling to lie, he chose not to answer, looking at Opinnas instead. “You know how dangerous this could be.”

“Which is why you are needed.” The Trevelorian’s eyes dropped to where Craxan’s tail was now circling the female’s wrist. “I believe you are the perfect male for the job.”

A small hand covered his tail as she looked up at him beseechingly. “Please, Craxan. You’re our only hope.”

At the sound of his name on her lips and the feel of her skin as she touched him, his cock stiffened into a full, aching erection. Fuck. This was going to be an excruciating trip—and he could no more refuse her than he could stop breathing.

“Very well.”