Warlord's Baby

Mercy:

Mercy glowed in the dark.

No one really told her what to expect when she was expecting an alien’s baby.

The same genetic quirk that allowed her husband’s tattoos to glow caused the amniotic fluid to glow. Between her unborn son punching her bladder, the constant ache in her back, swollen feet, sensitive nipples and the mood swings from teary-eyed sentimental mush to full-on grumpypants, Mercy was ready to get this kid out of her.

Don’t get her wrong. She loved being pregnant. She loved feeling the baby inside her move and she loved the look of pure joy in her husband’s eyes when the baby kicked. Even with all that, she was tired and uncomfortable and ready to hold her baby in her arms.

Soon.

How soon, exactly? No one would say. Medic Kalen was oddly tight lipped about the subject and his wife, Meridan, just nodded with a comforting smile, saying the baby needed a “little more time in the oven.”

Easy for her to say, she wasn’t hauling the oven all over creation.

Mercy rubbed ineffectively at the back of her neck. If she could just get a good night’s sleep her mood would improve. At the moment, everything irritated her. The lighting was too harsh and hurt her eyes. The battle cruiser smelled. Not bad, just stale like the air filters needed to be changed. In an effort to placate his wife, Paax had his warriors running all over the ship replacing them, but installing new filters did nothing. And sounds drove her crazy. The background hum of the ship was too loud.

Mercy would lay on her side in bed, pillow at her back, wedged between her knees and at her stomach, listening to Paax breathe. He didn’t snore, just breathed. It never bothered her before but now it was too loud. She wanted complete silence to sleep but how could she complain that her husband breathed too loudly? At least she recognized her unreasonableness for the pregnancy induced crazy that it was. That counted for something, right?

What she wouldn’t give for a solid night’s sleep. Or even a good nap.

Focusing on the negative wouldn’t improve the situation.

Mercy took a calming breath, counted backwards from ten, and exhaled. The meditation garden quickly became her favorite place on the Judgment.

Water from the streaming fountain arch splashed on pebbles. Cushions propped up behind her back supported her in the large papasan chair. The air was cool and fresh. Bird song played from cleverly hidden speakers.

As large as a small city, when she arrived a year ago the battle cruise was… stark. Bare bones and utilitarian. The previous warlord had stripped the Judgment of anything that reminded him of his deceased mate, including the mates of other warriors. All females, and their mates, were removed. With the female population gone, the warlord saw little need for luxuries like greenery or social spaces, fresh food or entertainment. Endless training and prepackaged rations were good enough.

It was miserable.

Fortunately, her husband, the new warlord, agreed to improve the quality of life on the battle cruiser. Green spaces that served no purpose other than to be green and pleasant returned. A real chef and cooks brought freshly prepared meals to the clan. Social spaces appeared but the Mahdfel had a hard time grasping social events. Battle was hard wired into the alien warriors and the idea of “just relaxing” was anathema to them.

Fortunately, they did understand meditation, in so much as it focused a warrior’s mind before battle. Whatever. Mercy didn’t have the energy to argue. Paax carved out a meditation garden complete with a fountain, the perfect chair for her aching pregnant back, and even a master gardener to maintain the slice of heaven.

“Warlord’s female,” a voice said, disturbing her peace, “you are needed in Medical.”

Time for her twice daily checkup.

Pregnancy was always risky. Pregnant with a Mahdfel baby? Even more so. Pregnant with the warlord’s baby? Risky or not, everyone acted as if she were the most fragile, precious thing imaginable.

Mercy was miserable.

Her pregnancy started with bi-weekly checkups. As her belly grew, so did the medical appointments, from once every two weeks to weekly, then twice a week, then once a day. Now, in the final days before her labor, the appointments were twice a day. She might as well have a medic slap a monitor on her and follow her around, like her security detail. What was another purple, horned alien male in her entourage?

“Warlord’s female?”

“Is something wrong with her? Why does she not answer?”

“We will call a medic now. I refuse to allow the warlord’s female to be injured on my watch.”

Mercy held up a hand before Braith, Kleve or Jolyon called down the wrath of Medic Kalen. “I’m fine. Just one more minute. I’m actually comfortable and I don’t want to get up.”

“Your medical appointments are non-negotiable,” Braith said.

“Help me up then,” she said, stretching out her arms. Any shyness or shame at needing help up had long since vanished. This was her reality and Braith, Kleve and Jolyon had been her assigned security for the last month. Initially her security detail started with one warrior. As her belly grew, much like with the frequency of medical appointments, her security detail grew. When the baby finally arrived, Mercy imagined another warrior would be added, too.

Mercy took another deep breath, focusing on the positive. Her husband loved her. He was kind and passionate and gave her everything she asked. Paax brought her mother, Dorothy, from Earth and used Mahdfel medicine to heal the old injuries she received during the invasion. Paax didn’t have to do that. He didn’t have to do any of it: the meditation garden, the cook, the fresh meals, or the slow but steady refurbishing of his battle cruiser, but he did it for her.

Hormones and the sheer uncomfortable nature of being very pregnant made her grumpy. Focus on the positive. She was healthy. The baby was healthy. She loved her husband and he loved her.

The medical bay was like a second home at this point. Kalen kept a human-sized exam table and chair just for her, complete with pillows for her back. She climbed onto the table, ready for Kalen to wave a scanner over her, frown and then insist that everything was “acceptable.”

His reactions never felt acceptable. They felt like he kept something back.

“Is Paax here?” Mercy asked, scooting back on the padded table.

“The warlord sends his regrets,” Kalen said crisply, eyes fixed on the scanner.

Mercy’s smile fell. “Oh. He said he would be here.” She didn’t want to whine or cry but emotion bubbled up unbidden at the back of her throat. Stupid hormones. She was disappointed, yes, but her body was at the cusp of bawling her eyes out like Paax broke her heart. She could just have easily flown into a rage. Her emotions weren’t real but hormone induced. Still, he did promise to be there and what type of husband couldn’t keep a promise to his heavily pregnant wife?

The waterworks started and Mercy was helpless to stop them.

Kalen jerked the scanner away, alarmed, and took a step back. “Meridan,” he called, the unease in his voice making Mercy cry harder.

She didn’t want to cry. She didn’t, but she couldn’t stop, either.

Meridan came over quickly, hair pulled back and wearing bright pink scrubs. She looked every inch the friendly, compassionate nurse. Tension eased in Mercy’s chest as Meridan produced a box of tissues. She was always so thoughtful toward Mercy, and she had the sweetest little girl. And just like that, Mercy grew teary eyed again thinking of Estella stolen away by the Suhlik and rescued by Paax’s clan, growing up in a loving family now, complete with a dog. Never mind, that the dog had actually been Mercy’s puppy, Cookie. The love between girl and dog was instant and Mercy couldn’t separate the two. Besides, she didn’t have the energy to give Cookie all the attention and exercise he deserved.

“How is Cookie?” she asked, chest heaving.

“Having the time of his doggy life. Estella keeps feeding him table scraps and she thinks we don’t notice. Cookie’s gained three pounds.”

“I’m glad. They deserve—” Ragged breath. “To be ha-happy—” Mercy broke down into tears again.

“What did you say to her,” Meridan snapped at Kalen.

“I did not say anything.” The alien medic’s back stiffened.

“Baloney. This is not the face of a calm and relaxed woman.” Meridan crouched down next to Mercy, eyes level. “Was he rude? Did he make you feel silly for asking a simple question?” Eyes narrowed, she glanced over her shoulder, back toward the medic.

Mercy shook her head. “It’s not that,” she managed to say between shuddering breathes. She hated this. She hated being a blubbering mess, held hostage by hormones.

“The warlord is unable to attend her check-up,” Kalen said.

“Call him,” Meridan said immediately.

“I will not.”

Mercy scrubbed a tissue at her face, breathing under a thin layer of control. “It’s fine. Paax is busy.”

Meridan stood and grabbed the scanner out of Kalen’s hands. “Honestly, the two of you. Call him. Tell him to get his purple butt down here and provide the emotional support his mate obviously needs.”

“I cannot order the—”

“Are you the head of medicine? Is your top priority the well-being of the warlord’s mate? I thought the point of all this was to keep her stress levels down. But, please, just stand there and pretend that you don’t have the rank to give the warlord a direct order.” Meridan didn’t pull punches. Mercy liked that about her, also.

Kalen nodded. “Very well.”

Meridan’s attention returned to Mercy and the scanner in her hands.

“We’re not going to get Kalen in trouble, are we?” Mercy asked.

“Nope,” she said without hesitation. “I think he relishes any opportunity he gets to give the warlord orders. It’s probably not good for his ego, though.”

Kalen snorted. He held out his hand for the scanner.

“Well?” Meridan asked, withholding the instrument.

“The warlord is on his way.”

“Good,” she said, handing it over.

“Your vitals are strong,” Kalen said, reading the instrument. “You will have healthy sons soon.”

“Sons?” Mercy asked, dumbstruck. No one had ever mentioned the possibility of multiple babies. Was that why she was so huge? She had twins? Paax was a twin. Those type of things ran in families. Her heart raced with panic.

Twins.

One baby was more than enough. How could she handle twice the diapers, feedings, naps, tantrums and everything else that came with motherhood?

Kalen frowned. “Son. I misspoke.”

“Enjoy it,” Meridan added quickly. “He doesn’t like to make mistakes and hates it when anyone catches them.”

“So just one baby?”

“Just one,” Meridan said. “Big and healthy.”

“Paax told me Mahdfel-Sangrin babies gestate quickly. This is—”

“Nine months almost to the day,” she said. “Sangrins have a gestation of seven months. Remember, this baby is half human.”

“And he’s taking the full nine months.” Mercy sighed. “Any idea when I’m going to be due?”

“They’ve—he’s dropped lower in your pelvis,” Meridan said, placing a hand on Mercy’s stomach to demonstrate. “Do you feel him down there?”

Mercy nodded.

“And your cervix is thinning, which is what we want to see.”

“But no time frame?” She could handle a day or two but another week? Two weeks? Didn’t Mercy’s mother warn her that Mercy herself showed up two weeks overdue as a baby?

“Soon.”

Her shoulders slumped. Soon. That tired old routine.

Soon could not come fast enough.

Paax:

Paax paced the length of the bridge of the battle cruiser Judgment. The short journey took him from the communication station, whose officer was currently trying to explain the very detailed reasons how they lost all contact with Earth, Sangrin and the council, to the science station and back. A solar flare knocked out the communication relays and it would be several hours before the systems were operational.

“It seems to me that a solar flare is something that is easily anticipated and avoided,” he said, grinding his teeth. What was the point of a science station if they didn’t use science?

“I don’t know, sir,” Antu said. “You’d have to speak to navigation or the astro lab.”

“And why were our shields unable to withstand a solar flare?”

“You’d need to ask engineering.”

Paax cocked his head to one side, considering the communications officer. He found no disrespect in his tone, just a crisp, professional indifference, but it seemed like the warrior knew very little about his station and did none of the actual work. “When you say repairs will take several hours, how many hours is several hours?”

“Forty-eight.”

Two days?

“Are we waiting for engineering to repair or completely fabricate and replace parts?”

“You’d have to ask—”

Paax held up a hand. “To ask engineering. Good suggestion, Antu. Go down to engineering and apply your expertise to speed along the process.”

Antu gave him a blank stare.

Paax held his challenging gaze. He could threaten the male or pummel him into submission but that would make Paax look weak in the eyes of the clan. A warlord commanded the respect and obedience of his clan. He did not threaten or use his physical prowess to demand it. A warlord did not work his way up the ranks. He led because he bested the old warlord in battle and the clan followed him. It was the right of any warrior to challenge the warlord if they thought they could best him. Antu was completely within his right to challenge Paax, even if he was a lazy, insubordinate little shit.

Antu’s gaze fell to the floor. “Yes, sir.”

Paax watched Antu’s receding figure as he scurried off.

That one was trouble, just like his brother, Antomas. While Paax did not have to deal with Antomas on a daily basis, the Sangrin council spoke of the young warlord often enough for Paax to draw an unfavorable opinion. The council's words were of praise but Paax saw nothing but a lunatic berserker who found himself leading a small clan and a nimble ship. Antomas had a growing reputation for daring raids, daring battles and unchecked ambition. The council was concerned that his small ship would not be enough to hold the warlord and he would need a larger ship, perhaps a battle cruiser…

Paax thought he hated politics when his brother served as the warlord. Now limitless loathing filled him.

Paax knew very well the council was enamored of Antomas’ rising star and considered Paax too old and too conservative to lead the largest battle cruiser in the fleet, but that was another problem to add to the list. Two days without any communications was far too serious.

While he did not appreciate Antu’s insubordinate excuses for why he failed at his post, Antu had a point. He just worked the comm relays. Astro lab, navigation and even engineering failed to alert him about an incoming solar flare, a flare they could have avoided or at least been shielded against.

Someone wanted the Judgment to be out of contact and anything could happen in two days.

The clan was restless. Paax knew that. Dissent grew. The pressure for change was internal as well as external. A challenge was coming and his head of security was still on Earth and his mate about to give birth and the battle cruiser was essentially silenced—

The challenge would be soon. Now was the perfect time, whether by happenstance or fabricated, now was the time for a challenger to arise.

He couldn’t stop them. Wouldn’t stop them. Every warrior had the right to challenge the warlord. Whether it was a good idea or not—that was a different matter. If Paax avoided or deferred the challenge, he would be seen as weak and the challengers would only multiply. When Paax assumed the mantle of warlord, he battled a handful of challengers but he prevailed in the arena. In truth, he knew it was not because of his superior skills. The clan was in shambles at the time and no one wanted the job of rebuilding. However, it was a year later and the clan flourished. The warriors grew restless, perhaps thinking that they could do a better job—

Not for the first time, conflicting emotions of regret and anger rose up as he thought about Omas, the last warlord. He nearly destroyed the clan in his grief at the death of his mate. He put Paax in the terrible situation where he had to defeat the warlord to save not only his life but the life of his mate. Omas had also been crazed, twisted physically and mentally by an experimental treatment Paax developed in a desperate attempt to save the warlord’s life.

Omas also forced Paax into accepting a match and taking a mate, when Paax refused for years to take a mate. Mercy was the love of his life. A year ago he had not even met the little Terran female who would claim his heart, and now he couldn’t imagine life without her.

Omas was also his twin brother.

His mad, twin brother forced Paax to kill him in battle because that was the only way to save Mercy’s life.

Conflicted did not begin to describe the situation. Furious. Remorseful. Thankful. All that applied in equal measure.

“Does anyone else think astro lab or navigation should do their job for them?” Paax asked loudly, eyes scanning the bridge.

No one met his gaze. Good. A challenge would come but not at that moment. He had time to prepare, to devise a strategy. He couldn’t avoid the challenge but he could meet it early, catch it on the wrong foot and have the advantage.

It was as good a plan as any. Mylomon, his second in command, would be proud.

“Sir,” a voice came over the wrist comm unit. Internal communications seemed to be working just fine.

“Medic, report,” Paax said.

“Your mate requires your presence in medical.”

“Is she harmed in any way?”

A pause. “She requires you.”

Paax sighed. He knew some of the warriors believed he doted on his mate. He did. Why shouldn’t he? The two main impulses in a Mahdfel’s life were to battle and to breed. His mate brought him joy. He was not ashamed to indulge her.

Was his indulgence detrimental to the clan? Did he play it too safe, too conservative? While his need to breed was more than satisfied, and the number of mates in the clan grew daily, the need for battle was ignored. In the last year they had one raid and destroyed two Suhlik research facilities.

Paax stroked his chin. It was not enough. A good, hard fight would take the edge off. He’d speak with Mylomon but first his mate required him.

“Sir?” The medic voice, thin over the device, roused Paax from his thoughts. Often his mind saw patterns and made connections. Each connection was a new possibility and he chased down that possibility to its conclusion, but such introspection made him quiet and he forgot to share his conclusions. Some warriors trusted that he arrived at the correct conclusion. Others stared at him, baffled.

“On my way.”

In the corridor, the unmistakable rasp of a blade being unsheathed rang out.

Paax paused but did not turn to face his challenger. To sneak up from behind was cowardly and he would not acknowledge such a low attempt.

He wore no armor and carried no weapon himself. The head of security, Seeran, hounded him to remedy that but Paax believed that if dressed as if he expected to battle his crew, they wouldn’t disappoint him.

There was no good solution. Dress for battle, expect a challenge. Dress to avoid battle, appear weak and vulnerable, and expect a challenge. This was the never-ending problem his brother left behind for him.

“Be certain before you act,” Paax said, voice carrying. He might be unarmed, but he was far from helpless.

The sword was sheathed and the would-be attacker retreated.

Paax still did not turn. He did not need to see Antu’s backside to know it was the hot-headed male who nearly attacked.

He had to do something about the growing dissent in the clan, sooner rather than later. But first, his mate needed him.

* * *

His little star sat on an exam table, tissues in hand and her pale Terran face streaked from crying. Wrapped in the oversized Sangrin-styled robe, she had an uncanny resemblance to his mother.

Kalen’s female spoke to his mate, voices low. Whatever the female said, a smile briefly flashed across his little star’s face.

All at once Paax was a child again, helpless to ease the suffering of a loved one, and his mother suffered. She seemed to be forever great with child, always pregnant. Despite her smiles and the hugs for her sons, her weary body ached. Every pregnancy was more difficult than the last. Every child she grew wore on her body, stealing away her vitality and, eventually, her life.

He should go to her and comfort her but his feet remained rooted in place.

Paax pulled Kalen to the side. “How is she?”

“Emotional,” Kalen said in a huff. “But that is not unusual for a Terran female.”

“And the—”

“Stable. Strong heartbeats. No unusual readings.”

“No signs of incompatibility?”

“We would have seen that earlier. At this stage, we need to monitor her organ functions and blood pressure. Her body has undergone a great amount of stress and Terrans are fragile.”

He glanced over the medic’s shoulder at his mate, so small and yet so mighty. Had his father worried so over his mate and her endless pregnancies?

“You made it,” Mercy said, a smile lighting up her face. It took so little to make his mate happy, just time. He desperately wanted to have more time to give her.

“The medic says you are healthy.”

“The medic says a lot of things,” Mercy said, rubbing her belly absently, “but what he doesn’t say is more important. I’m overdue and no one will admit it.”

“Your pregnancy is progressing normally,” Kalen said, back stiff but voice even stiffer.

“This kid should have been out of me days ago.”

“The gestation is within an acceptable timeframe.”

They would bicker at each other endlessly if Paax did not put a stop to it now. He put a hand on the small of her back, rubbing a calming circle. Tense muscle relaxed under his touch. “Is my mate free to go?”

“Yes. I will reevaluate tomorrow.”

“So that’s it?” Mercy narrowed her eyes. “Yesterday you had to take blood.”

“That was yesterday,” Kalen said.

Paax helped Mercy off the table, all the while she grumbled about doctors with the bedside manner of a bedpan. He took her back to their quarters and put her to bed with kisses and the promise that he would be there when she woke.

“You work too much,” she said, adjusting the pillows surrounding her on the bed.

He worked to keep her safe, to keep their sons safe.

Son.

He frowned. He needed to control his thoughts better, lest he give her cause to worry.

“There is something I need to do before our son arrives,” he said, repositioning the pillows at her back. She sighed and snuggled in.

“No one will tell me when I’m due and it’s driving me crazy.”

“These things are—”

“Hard to predict. Yeah, I’ve heard that before. Wake me when you come back. I want a good night kiss.”

Paax leaned in, the scent of her clouding his senses in the best way. “I can kiss you now.”

“You should,” she agreed, lifting her face.

His lips brushed hers softly. He held himself back, gentle and patient.

Mercy grabbed him by the collar and pulled him forcefully down to her. “Don’t go soft on me now, warrior.”

Never.

The kiss deepened and grew urgent. It grew harder to leave her, even for moment, with her hands tugging on the shirt like it offended her.

Mercy pulled away, lips swollen and a deep pink. “That was a see-you-later kiss. Wake me up for your proper good night kiss.”

He wouldn’t miss that for all the stars in the sky.

The Judgment ran on a twenty-four-hour schedule with constant shift rotation, but the lights dimmed to simulate a night cycle. Paax stalked through the darkened corridors, passing crew who did not look him in the eye. Was that the proper amount of respect or total lack of respect.

Perhaps the warriors were not the only one in need of a solid fight.

The double guessing needed to end. Paax made himself a mug of steaming tea before summoning Mylomon to his ready room. The male’s sharp eyes noticed the crystal beads on the table. Paax had been trying to construct a pendant but the wires were fidgety and his fingers not as nimble as they used to be. Progress was slow as he would only rest when the pendant was flawless.

“Tea?” Paax asked. The pungent green scent reminded him of home.

Mylomon looked at the mug in Paax’s hand with suspicion. “No.”

Paax took a sip. Sharp and bitter, the tea could not be described as pleasant. “It’s an acquired taste.”

Mylomon shifted, betraying his unease. “Is there a reason you called me so late into my rest cycle?”

“Yes. Sit. Tomorrow we will do two things. One, we will move the Judgment deeper into Suhlik territory.”

“The council has not—”

“The council merely advises a warlord, they do not dictate.” The council would advise the Judgment to remain in neutral space, but was it violating orders if communications were down? Ask no questions, tell no lies. He always liked that Terran phrase.

“You’ve already decided on coordinates.”

Paax transmitted the location to Mylomon. The male glanced at his wrist comm to confirm what he already knew. Several months ago the clan raided a Suhlik research facility. The data specialists were able to recover communications which hinted at other hidden research facilities. Paax wanted to hunt down the possible sites and eradicate the Suhlik’s vile “science” but the council encouraged him to remain in place. The council didn’t forbid him, as if they could forbid a warlord from anything, but they did not sanction it, either.

“This location will require several weeks of travel.” Meaning the council would notice if the Judgment’s excursion.

“There is a Gate near Alva. It will reduce our travel time.” Gates, teleportation devices large enough for spacecraft, linked Mahdfel territory and planets. Massive interstellar distances became nothing more than brief journey and what one took months now took days, possibly hours. They required a security code to activate. The Alva Gate was far enough away that he could reach it before the council realized the Judgment was gone and deactivate his security code. The timing would be close but it was doable.

“And our warriors on Earth?”

The pilot was useful but not vital. Seeran, his chief of security, was vital. “We’ll finish our missions before they leave Earth.”

The dark male nodded. “A fight will be beneficial for the clan. They grow restless.”

“The second point, I will call a gathering for our warriors in the arena.” Paax paused, waiting for his second-in-command’s reaction.

“You expect a challenge.”

“I invite a challenge.” Better now, on his terms, than later when he was not prepared or distracted. His mate would give birth any day now. If he were an ambitious male, that’s when he would strike, when the warlord was occupied with his mate.

“Mercy will not like it,” Mylomon said at length.

Paax nodded. Mercy did not like many things but this was their reality. Yes, his life would be simpler if he was still a scientist in his lab but there was nothing to be gained from wasting energy on the wishful thinking. He was the warlord. He needed to cement his leadership in place to secure the safety of his mate and their soon-to-be-born children.

“What do we tell her?”

“Mercy does not need to know.”

Mylomon frowned. “Terran females like to be informed of decisions, even ones that they cannot influence or change.”

“That knowledge will only worry her and her health is delicate enough.” Mercy would only worry if she knew. Better to say nothing than be cornered into a lie or admitting the truth.

Paax swirled the remaining tea in the cup, sediment from the tea leaves settled at the bottom of the amber liquid. His gut protested that it was wrong to keep this from his mate but his reason told him it was for the best.

Yes, this was best.