Teril's Fire: A Mate Index Alien Romance (The Mate Index Book 12) Page 2

  “With the way my luck has been, it figures you’d say something like that,” she replied as she squinted at the town.

  Despite the starships and private flyers docked everywhere just outside the town, the trading port itself was dreary. The scattered buildings were all made of the cheap, bland insta-structure material that was used throughout the Intergalactic Union for setting up inexpensive buildings. Earth had bought a bunch of it to work toward dealing with the homeless population, but she understood that its wider use was in starting the basic structures for new colonies.

  These, however, looked as if they had been used far longer than they were designed to be. The material still held together, but it was badly abraded from weather. That told her that they had been there longer than the hundred or so years that they were meant to be used for. She didn’t even want to think about the numerous questionable stains that appeared along the lower walls. No doubt some of it was food, but the rest… she wasn’t going there. A pair of droids exited a nearby building, nearly as worn in appearance as the town.

  “I’m in a high-tech version of an old shanty town,” she muttered to herself with a shudder.

  “Do you find the planet objectionable?” the Itashvanda asked curiously.

  “Only if you consider Tatooine minus the desert objectionable,” she replied. “For me, that would be a resounding yes.”

  “Ah… a lack of deserts. If it is any comfort to you, there is desert on approximately forty-eight percent of this planet’s surface. Those zones are generally uninhabitable, save for some species of crops that thrive in such climates. If you are fortunate, your mate may be in one of those zones. The file just says that he is a farmer by name of Grish Ugaar.”

  A farmer. She was going to be spending what may be the rest of her life with a farmer—possibly on a farm in desert conditions in the middle of nowhere.

  “Fucking perfect,” she sighed.

  The Itashvanda smiled. “I am glad I could be of assistance to alleviate your concerns.”

  Crystal stared at him blankly. Did he…? He did. He actually thought he had helped her. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that it didn’t alleviate her concerns and in fact did the opposite, but despite being somewhat unscrupulous at times, she was burdened with a soft heart. So instead, she returned his smile as she held back the pained grimace that threatened to pull at her mouth.

  “I hope that this does not offend you, but you do not look like the other brides we have transported,” he observed, his brow puckering a little as he glanced over her attire.

  Squashing a derisive laugh, Crystal’s smile widened. “No, I suppose I don’t.”

  On her first matched mating, she saw how many of the brides were dressed when arriving at port. The majority of the women had dressed… well, like brides. With her messy ponytail, scuffed sneakers, an oversized band shirt, and her best pair of black leggings, she knew she didn’t make the perfect picture of a blushing bride eagerly awaiting her mate. She didn’t even have a splash of lipstick since she didn’t own any makeup—well, none she had remembered to throw into her Bug Out Bag. Not that there was space for her to fit much. There had only been enough room for her to toss in a few changes of leggings and several tees. When running for one’s life, comfort and utility over fashion seemed like the wiser choice. At that time, she hadn’t considered that she would need to escape Earth.

  Watching her matched mate look right past her, hoping that one of the well-dressed manicured women was his, had stung. When he finally realized that she was his, the disappointment on his face had been acute, evident in every useless salon appointment he booked and every ugly, uncomfortable outfit he insisted she wear in his presence. Of course, she hadn’t been welcome to take any of the clothes with her, and she was glad because she hadn’t wanted to deal with getting rid of it.

  Any hope that her next mate would be better died a swift death upon meeting her second match. Thankfully, it hurt a little less each time it happened so that now, with the Itashvanda looking at her clothes doubtfully, she barely felt anything more than wry amusement.

  “I’m afraid when I left Earth, I packed for comfort and didn’t really think ahead to the arrival.”

  He nodded and patted her arm reassuringly. “Do not worry, female. A good male will see the value of a mate regardless of her odd apparel.”

  She wanted so badly to snort derisively at that but opted instead for returning to people-watching as the crowds moved to and from the large market. Crystal shifted uneasily. The mash of numerous species was chaos, but as she watched them, she wondered, like the Old West of Earth, just how much lawlessness was on Antari Minor. Sure, she often stepped on the wrong side of the law, but she had never physically hurt someone. Even hacking, she only took jobs that targeted entities who could afford the hit and deserved it. The idea of being thrown alongside possible killers and hardened criminals outside of her usual crowd was making her increasingly nervous.

  “So,” she began, “what do you know of this place other than geography? Is it pretty safe usually?”

  The male tilted his head in consideration. “It is widely known that the planet harbors intergalactic criminals, but also that most of the males who come to lose themselves here are doing so to escape that life, so few bother them. There are always those who might hide out here to shake the law, but nothing escapes the notice of locals. In that way, it can be considered safer than many other places, although like most things, it can be a matter of perspective.”

  “I see,” she murmured.

  It wasn’t entirely comforting, but it was better than she feared. There was some sort of law and order, even if it came from retired killers keeping the others in line to some degree. At least there was a lower chance of someone running wild, threatening to cut her life short. If she wanted that, she could have remained on Earth running from the Calystii. It sounded like those thugs would have a harder time running loose on Antari Minor, and that cheered her some.

  “Any idea when he’s coming?”

  “Your mate responded to our comms upon landing and indicated that he was en route to the trading port. He will be here soon.”

  The Itashvanda shifted uncomfortably, drawing her attention.

  “What’s wrong?”

  The male’s gray skin acquired a bluish flush, his dark crest of leathery feather things flattening to his head with discomfort.

  “I did not wish to bring up the subject, but as he is on his way and we are running behind to our next destination on our route…”

  They were anxious to be on their way, and she wasn’t their problem. Of course they wanted to be on their way. No doubt they preferred to just dump her out there and leave as fast as possible to move on to their next item of business. That was all it was—business. She was cargo. She was going to be in Intakfell alone.

  Crystal felt a trickle of fear but pushed it back. She was twenty-nine years old. She had a lot of time since becoming an adult of being on her own. Never on an alien world, but she would handle it.

  “I get it,” she said, softening the sharp bite of her words with a small smile. “If he’ll be arriving soon, there’s no reason for you to just hang around and babysit me in a place that ought to be relatively safe.”

  The male let out a relieved sigh and smiled down her. “Precisely. I would recommend that you wait in the teahouse. Best to stay clear of the activity in the market since you have a lot of offworld traffic there. The proprietress of the teahouse will make certain no one disturbs you while you wait. I will personally comm your mate so that he knows where to collect you and make certain that the owner of the teahouse is available to greet you.”

  “Thank you,” she murmured, grateful in face of the uncharitable thought she had just moments before.

  Since she didn’t have any personal possessions with her other than the small bag she wore over one shoulder, it didn’t take long before she was on the ground making her way toward the teahouse. At her approach, a door slid
open, revealing a muted interior with a spicy-sweet scent that ran over her senses like honey and cinnamon. Although it wasn’t an exact fit, it was familiar enough that it sent a wave of unexpected homesickness through her.

  Blinking several times, she stayed rooted in place as she allowed her eyes to adjust to the dim interior. Swathes of beautiful fabric fell, segmenting the larger room into smaller, semi-private areas as males and females alike sat on plush pillows around circular tables as they spoke, stopping only to sip tea from brilliantly painted heavy glass cups. A few eyes turned her way , but it was only in passing curiosity. Most ignored her presence, engaged in conversation, drink, and in a few cases smoking from long, thin, hooked pipes.

  From one corner of the room, a large female covered in pale golden scales bustled forward, her shrewd green eyes focused on Crystal before a wide smile broke out over her face. The darker golden brown braids of her hair fell over her shoulders, the ends swaying gracefully with every step. She wore a sleeveless red robe with wide slits on the sides beneath her arms to accommodate her folded wings.

  “You are Crystal, yes?” the female’s soft, raspy voice addressed her.

  Crystal nodded, clutching her small bag closer to her. “Yes.”

  “I thought so. We do not see many of your species around here. I was asked to see to your comfort while you wait for your mate. In the meantime, I am Nikana. Welcome to my teahouse. I have all the best teas from Mora II. We Morith are known best for it, so you are in for a treat.” She paused, a tiny frown puckering her brow. “You do like tea, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Crystal lied.

  “Wonderful! What is your preference? Something light and floral, sweet with a hint of rich flavor?”

  “How about bold, dark, and packs a punch?” Crystal asked.

  Nikana blinked slowly before a low chuckle burst from her. “I see you are a customer after my own heart. You sit here,” she said gesturing to a small table, “and I will get for you intimbar.”

  Crystal settled among her pillows, eyeing the other patrons until the proprietress returned with another thick glass in hand, this one a bit larger, with dark, steamy liquid in it. A bitter aroma hit her nose, suffused with spices like some sort of fancy seasonal flavoring. As the cup was set in front of her, she bit back her instinctive request for creamer and cradled it in her hands. Asking for dairy was hazardous among aliens.

  At best, it earned an odd look as the alien tried to wrap their mind around the fact that someone actually wanted to consume that. At worst, the milk source was so strange that she couldn’t stomach the thought of drinking it. That one she found out the hard way, with failed match number two, who offered her the pulverized innards of a huge, monstrous worm he had discerned to be their closest equivalent to milk.

  She learned her lesson there.

  Bringing the cup up to her lips, fully conscious of Nikana’s eyes on her, she took a small sip and bit back an exclamation of surprise as the dark liquid hit her tongue. Instead, she let out a loud, embarrassing moan and took a deeper sip. It was like coffee, cream, dark chocolate, and a dash of cinnamon in the slightly sweet drink. It was indeed rich, bold, and dark and satisfied every craving she had had for months.

  Suddenly, every eye in the tea house was on her, but one pair in particular felt heavy. That gaze grew even weightier as everyone turned to look in that direction.

  Nikana’s eyes sparkled, and she chuckled. That alone was finally what broke the frozen hold over her muscles. Slowly, she raised her eyes, and they fastened on the largest male she had ever seen in her life.

  Just over what had to be seven and a half feet tall, positively dwarfing her five feet and six inch frame, the enormous male was a dark sandy brown, the scales on his body thick like a crocodile all the way from his head to the end of the thick tail swaying behind him, and yet they possessed a suppleness in places that drew her eyes. Flushing when she discovered that she was staring at the expanse of muscle peeking out from his shirt, she lifted her gaze to his face.

  Every line was strong and blunt, with small horns studding the length of his jaw and over his eyes, and even larger horns rising from a thick, boney crown-like crest. Every inch of him was hard and rugged. So much so that he looked like he could beat the Kool-Aid man in a wall-breaking contest. There was something so primitive and undeniably appealing about him despite his obvious alienness. Even his blunt, flattened nose seemed to fit him perfectly.

  Crystal took a hasty sip in a vain effort to distract herself from the muscle lover’s buffet in front of her. She was as good as mated. She should at least try to act appropriately so she didn’t get sent back by yet another male.

  “Ah, Grish!” Nikana exclaimed with a happy greeting. “I see you have arrived in time to enjoy some intimbar with your new mate!”

  Him? He was her mate?

  Crystal felt a bit light-headed, possibly from all the blood rushing to her head with the blush deepening on her cheeks. She cursed her light Cuban complexion as he came to a stop in front of her, his eyes fastening on her.

  “You are Crystal?” he rasped.

  “Yes.”

  Was that her voice sounding all breathless and husky as his gaze practically devoured her? That chemistry hadn’t been there with the other matches. This arranged mate just might work out. Just maybe the universe was going to cut her a break for once.

  He made a rumbling sound of approval as his eyes roamed over her before fixing on her face. He peered at her for a long moment.

  “What is that metal deformity on your nose?” he asked.

  “It’s not a deformity,” she snapped.

  She was aware of her neck growing hot with the attention of everyone in the teahouse on them. A soft laughter rose from somewhere behind her, deepening her embarrassment. It appeared that the universe still had jokes.

  Chapter 2

  “My nose piercing is ornamental,” his mate hissed. “At the moment, however, I’m trying to figure what purpose those monstrosities you call your horns serve other than to drain power from your brain.”

  Grish started, perplexed at the vehemence in her voice until he realized what he had done. He had embarrassed his mate. He wanted to groan. He did not know what had come over him. He had seen the strange metal bit protruding from the side of her nose and had been caught by surprise. Mortification suffused his mate’s round, soft cheeks, and a spark of anger lit her dark blue eyes.

  For a second, he was caught in her gaze. Her eyes were like the deepest of pools, ringed in an even darker shade of blue. A color that seemed to deepen with her mounting anger. He had just met his mate, and he had already managed to offend her. Borth would never let him live it down if he found out. Desperately, he sought some way to remedy it.

  “Not that it is unattractive. Odd growths can have a certain charm on the right female. My mother, in fact…”

  “Please… please, sit down and shut up,” she choked out around her fury, her teeth audibly grinding together.

  That could not be a good sign.

  Though the words were spoken so softly that he barely heard them, he sank his enormous girth to the cushions on the other side of her, taking care to not accidentally hit her legs with his tail, and shut his mouth so fast that his teeth clicked together.

  “My apologies,” he muttered. “I did not mean to embarrass you. I have not seen a female adorn herself in such a way before. I honestly have not had such an unfortunate encounter with a female since my youth.”

  To his relief, a bit of the tension eased from her, and she regarded him skeptically, one peculiar human eyebrow raised in his direction. “Are you trying to tell me that you’re normally some kind of Casanova?”

  He snapped his fingers and let out a booming bark of laughter. “I know that reference! The humans in my squad used it many times. That wouldn’t be an accurate descriptor, no. But neither have I failed to communicate so horribly. I thought I left that behind… when I was an awkward youngling.”

  To his
surprise, a smile appeared on her full, inviting lips as she visibly thawed a little and settled more comfortably. He wasn’t sure how much of it was to lead him into a false sense of security, so he kept his full attention on her, as if she were a dangerous pit marslet rather than a tiny human.

  “Just how awkward?” she asked.

  He grinned at the memory. “My brain-draining horns you were admiring were far too large for my frame, and my tail was still on the stubby side. I was all wiry muscle and large hands, horns, and feet, and had a penchant for speaking before what I said made any contact with my brain. My mother, many times, marveled that I survived to adulthood. Though one thing remains the same.”

  A soft chuckle escaped his female, bringing a surge of warmth to his heart.

  “Good to know the awkward stage isn’t unique to humans. My hair and skin were oily, and I already had bigger boobs than any girl my age. I was frequently the butt of jokes carried out by adolescent boys. I’m so glad those years are behind me.”

  “Not all Terils suffer so unfortunately, but we do have an ungainly phase that we must suffer through,” he agreed, sitting back as he poured the intimbar into his own cup. Taking a deep, satisfying sip, he rumbled with pleasure. “Intimbar, one of the greatest of delights from Mora II.”

  “It is good,” Crystal agreed. “Like coffee with other stuff added.”

  It was probably not polite, but Grish could not restrain the laughter that boomed from him. His little female would hopefully forgive him. “I have had this human coffee through the replicator. It is not bad, but it is weak and bland compared to intimbar.”

  Crystal’s laughter stirred in response, and she regarded him through eyes slit with mirth. “You’re basing human coffee on what you get through a replicator? That’s crazy. Coffee carries a personality that depends on who’s making it. It varies not only from household to household but between cultures. If I had some decent roasted beans, I’d make you coffee like my abuela made.”

  The note of challenge in her voice made him smile.