I couldn’t even talk about anything going on out here. My mother definitely wouldn’t be interested. And what human man would want a Coalition combat veteran for a bride? Hell, a girlfriend even? What value did I bring to the society in Podunk, Texas? Nothing.
At least during combat I’d kept my head down, stayed alive and saved a few of my fellow fighters as well. I might have been part of a large team, but I was needed. Well, my brand of crazy was needed. Not everyone was willing to have Hive tech implanted in their head.
Stupid? Probably. But I’d just watched an entire unit of human fighters be wiped out in a strike the Hive shouldn’t have been able to organize. And I’d seen that blue bastard on the hilltop with his blue-skinned friends. I was one of the few ever to witness the Nexus in action. I’d gotten close, close enough to take a kill shot. I’d hit him, but destroyed the one thing the Core wanted, needed, to win this war. Those Nexus soldiers had some kind of processing unit that linked directly to Hive Central Command and transmitted to the rest of the Hive around them. They were like broadcast centers, commanders, if the Hive had such a thing. And the Coalition Fleet needed one of those communicators so they could break the code, disrupt transmissions, spy on their enemy’s communications.
We needed one of them, and I was going to get one. Tomorrow. And then I was going to accept my reward…a hot hunk of alien who would fuck me sideways and make me forget every damn battle I’d ever fought, every friend I’d watched die. I was going to have some happiness, damn it.
So going back to Earth? Not going to happen. But out here, in the Coalition, I could have a mate. As a warrior for the Fleet, I could be processed as an Interstellar Bride. I’d seen females and their mates on the battleship and I’d envied their obvious connection. Each one of them, from Atlans to Prillons, were bonded in a way I’d never known, never imagined. Mated males didn’t cheat. Hell, they didn’t even look.
I wanted that. I needed it, a connection. Roots. Something. So I’d agreed to the testing—a perk for all warriors completing their service. But that dream? I had to wonder if I even passed. Maybe the whole thing was a big mistake. I didn’t particularly like the dominant Atlan males. So, maybe, in that dream, I got off on his dominance during sex. Hell, yeah. But like? No. They were great on the battlefield, huge hulking beasts that ripped through Hive lines like knives through paper. But talking to one? Living with one for the rest of my life? Oh, no. They were arrogant, bossy…
“Megan?”
The doctor was staring, and I realized she’d been talking to me. I hadn’t heard a word. “I’m sorry. What were you saying?”
“I said you only have two days left. While you went through the testing, I can’t match you because you’re still a fighter. Per protocol, I can’t match you until you either consent to it or are finished as a Coalition fighter.”
I understood what she was saying in a very diplomatic way. If I were matched and then died in battle, it wasn’t fair to the mate. Who wanted to be matched and then have the person die in battle before even meeting?
I frowned at the possibility. “So I’m not matched.”
She shook her head. “Not yet. Unless you want to end your time now as a fighter. It is an option.”
I held up my hand. “No. Don’t match me now. I’ve got a couple more days to keep my head attached to my body. Watch my back. Stay out of the Hive’s hands.” Even if I was allowed to know who he was, I wouldn’t be thinking about my mission. I’d be thinking about him. His body. His mouth. His hands. God, his cock…
She tilted her head to the side, bit her lip. “As I said, you could accept the match now. I just have to push a button. Accepting a match would mean you would be removed from active duty. Brides aren’t sent into battle. No worrying about ducking or getting hit by an ion blast, or keeping your head on your shoulders. No more fighting, Megan. No more Hive.”
Any female Coalition fighter who was matched and accepted the bride testing results would automatically be pulled from their term of service and reassigned to the Interstellar Brides Program. I saw her hand on the tablet, probably hovering over the Accept button.
While the idea was appealing, I shook my head. I couldn’t walk away from my unit now. I’d made my choice—the constant, buzzing pain in my head proof of that. I had one more mission to complete, one blue-skinned bastard to take down. Billions of lives on hundreds of worlds might depend on me. Wouldn’t my mother just have a fucking stroke over that?
I looked up at Doctor Moor and placed my hand over her wrist to stay her movement. “I can’t do that to my team. It can wait a couple days. Like you said, no guy is waiting for me.”
I stood, grabbed my ion blaster from the desk and stuck it into my thigh holster. I might have just had one of the best orgasms of my life, but I was still a Coalition fighter, still a member of the Intelligence Core. My mate would have to understand that my duty had to come first. Hell, if the match was so perfect, he would understand.
Her smile slipped a little. “Very well. I will note in your record that you have rejected an immediate match—”
I opened my mouth to protest. Hell no. I wanted the match. Just not—
“For now, Megan. Just for now. Do what you need to do. You will not be matched until you return. You have no commitments, no worries for a mate.”
“I’m still single,” I said.
She smiled. “An apt Earth term. Yes, you are single. Carefree. Except for the Hive and battle. Stay safe and I’ll see you back here in two days when your service is up.”
3
Warlord Nyko of Atlan, Sector 437, Battlegroup Karter, Combat Infantry, Planet Latiri 4
Swarms of our enemy’s smaller Scout warriors scurried over and around the hills of Latiri 4 as they had done over the last two hours. No matter how many of the bastards we tore apart, more followed.
There were always more.
“Move out!” Our Commander Warlord Wulf’s voice was the deep rumble of a full beast, like a cannon shot across the battlefield. He stood over eight feet tall, his shoulders and arms larger than the rock column beside him. The specially designed armor that my unit wore adapted and stretched to accommodate our bodies, our fighting style and the metamorphosis that freeing our beasts created.
My feet hit the hard, rocky ground beneath my combat boots like great hammers striking stone as my unit of Atlan beasts raced toward our last intact transport platform to get the hell out of here.
We were overrun and outnumbered. The planet had a network of magnetic ravines and rocks that blocked our scanners and communication. The drones sent to scout the surface had underestimated the size of the Hive forces here by at least tenfold, or they’d transported more in since we began the assault. It didn’t matter that we were in beast mode. It didn’t matter we could—and would—rip the heads off of any Hive we came across. We were outnumbered. While our beasts fought with blind intent, the Atlans within still used their brains. The combination kept us alive to fight another day. And today, we needed to retreat, regroup, and come back with more weapons, warriors and armor. A lot more.
If we stayed down here, we were
