Alien Soulmate (Paranormal Romance Aliens)
Read Alien Soulmate (Paranormal Romance Aliens) Online
Authors: Cristina Grenier
| Alien Soulmate (Paranormal Romance Aliens) |
| Cristina Grenier |
| (2014) |
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2014 Monster Media LLC
"He's asking for you," the doctor said, standing tall and solemn, already in his mourning blues. Their leader wasn't dead yet, but it would not be long before he was. Hours, perhaps. Certainly he would not live to see morning.
The chamber had been filled with people only hours before, all waiting for their chance to say their final goodbyes to Angen. There would never be another leader like him, and he had helped many of their people in the time he had been in control of the Sitheri clan. Not everyone had been allowed in, but most were content to stand in the waiting chamber, or press their hands against the closed door to Angen's room. They closed their eyes and then made the salute, the Sitheri sign of ultimate respect: closed fist over their heart which was then pressed to their mouth and then over their forehead. G'hiltin arhd fir d'livilt. Loved by heart and head. Loved entirely.
Angen's three children hadn't left the room since they'd been summoned there earlier that day. All three had their duties, but things had come to something of a standstill in the leader's last hours. The guards were still on watch because dropping their security in a time like this would be equivalent to suicide and would go against everything Angen and other generations of leaders had worked for, but the shift changes had been expedited so that each guard could come and give their respects.
For their parts, each of Angen's offspring seemed to be taking it differently. E'lira, Angen's only daughter, was quiet. She spoke with the doctor in hushed tones and relayed the information to her brothers without meeting their eyes. She was the middle child, but as the only girl in the family, Angen had doted on her shamelessly.
Females were a gift to the Sitheri. For whatever reason, their lines were more likely to produce males, and out of the 50,000 of them that called this corner of the planet home, only about a fifth were female.
As time passed fewer and fewer females were born to Sitheri couples, and to avoid intermarrying, they'd begun taking wives from other clans. But a pure Sitheri female was someone to be respected, and the daughter of the leader was the most powerful of them all. E'lira was beautiful, as well. Tall and willowy like her mother had been before, she had the tanned complexion of her father and a fall of inky black hair that she left unbound to tumble over her shoulders and down her back.
She wore the standard maroon colors of the leader's family, but somehow she made it seem more than that. It was no secret that there was a queue of Sitheri warriors who each wanted to claim her for their mate, but Angen had told them that when E'lira was joined to someone, it would be at her own choice.
E'lira had already been in to speak to their father, and she'd emerged from the room with her hands over her face and shoulders shaking to sit down next to her older brother until she could get herself back together.
Ithril was the youngest of the three of them. He had started pacing the waiting chamber as soon as the doctors had cleared out most of the other members of their clan. Every few minutes he would mumble something under his breath and then crack his knuckles, and it was hard to tell if it was a nervous habit or some kind of desire for a fight.
Ithril didn't do well with change.
He was the youngest, and he was more brash and outspoken than his siblings. Ever since the death of their mother two years previous, Ithril had been harder to contain. He spent his time in the arenas and the guards' training area, working on his ax wielding skills as well as his ability to shoot.
Angen had worried, saying that it seemed like his youngest son was in some way preparing for war, but Carver, the oldest, had always assured him that it was just how Ithril was. He hated sitting still and feeling useless and he was still missing his mother who had been one of the only people who could actually make Ithril smile.
Carver and Ithril were as different in temperament as they were in looks. Where Ithril was fair haired and stocky, built more like their father than anything, Carver looked more like their mother. He had gotten her height and her lean build as well as her dark hair, which he kept long and tied back into a low ponytail. He had their father's sharp green eyes, and he was more soft spoken and quick to think rather than to act.
Ithril rarely seemed to stop long enough to think, and while he was pacing, Carver was sitting down, eyes trained on the door to their father's room or the floor or one of his siblings.
He was three years older than Ithril and one year older than E'lira, and on her death bed, their mother had told him to look out for his younger siblings. She had warned him that there were hard times ahead and that he would be expected to help his father and make sure that things stayed together. And he had promised her. It was something he took very seriously, and so he'd put aside his own grief for the most part and was focusing on making sure that everyone else was alright.
As the eldest of the three, by all rights, leadership of the Sitheri should have passed to Carver, but there was no way of knowing what Angen was going to decide until they went in and spoke to him.
Until he officially passed on and went to join the stars, he was still the leader, and his word was law.
When the doctor spoke, Ithril and Carver looked up at him. Carver got to his feet and went to stand next to his brother, who seemed paler than usual. Carver put a hand on his shoulder but didn't say anything. He nodded to the doctor, and the two brothers stepped into the room as one.
Usually, their father's room was filled with old books and tablets. He had been tracking the invasion of the Des'kos every minute, making notes of what land they had gained, where the boundaries were and where new guards needed to be placed. It had been actively the room of a leader, but now it was definitely a sick room.
The tablets and shelves had been covered or even moved out to make room for the machines that were monitoring Angen's condition. It was clear from the dull drone of the machines that there wasn't much life left in their father, and seeing him confirmed it.
No one had been allowed to see Angen directly for weeks while the doctors tried to see if they could slow whatever it was that was eating away at their leader's health. Once it had been confirmed that it wasn't contagious, Angen was too sick and too tired to receive visitors. He'd spoken with his family over the com screens, and after that only E'lira had been allowed in while Carver and Ithril took over some of the leadership duties that Angen couldn't direct from his room.
So this was the first time they were seeing him in person since the worst of the illness had taken him. Where their father had once been a muscular, robust man, now he was thin and frail, his skin somewhat ashen. His fair hair looked brittle and dry where it was spread across the pillow, and it hurt Carver's heart to see it. He was hooked up to the many machines in the room, and he almost seemed to disappear under the various wires and tubes.
Over the drone of the machines they could hear Angen's labored breathing, and he inhaled on a rasp when he opened his eyes, finding a weary smile for his sons.
"My boys," he said. Gone was the deep boom of his voice that could silence the rowdiest crowd in an instant.
"Father," they said in unison, bowing their heads and tapping their fingers to their foreheads in a gesture of respect.
Angen nodded and waved them into the chairs by his bedside. There was one on either side of the bed, and each brother took a chair, though only Carver took Angen's hand. His heart clenched at how waxy the skin felt, but he kept his anguish hidden.
"I don't have much time left," Angen said. "The doctors tell me the passing will be easy, but I tell them that they don't know. They have never passed. Ah, there is still so much left to do. So much I have not prepared you for."
"It's not fair, Father," Ithril said, shaking his head. "You shouldn't…" his voice cracked, and he looked away, and Carver was reminded of how long it had taken him to get over the death of their mother. How Ithril had secluded himself in his rooms for weeks, refusing to see or speak to anyone other than E'lira, and Carver had his suspicions that it was because she looked so much like their mother to begin with.
"Hush, Ithril," Angen said, but his voice was gentle and sad. "Nothing is fair. There aren't any guarantees in life. Not in this galaxy or the next. People die, empires crumble, families are torn apart. There were things I meant to teach you, but you are both strong and capable and you will learn even if I am not here. But enough of the pity. There are things I have to say."
"Of course, Father," Carver said.
"You are both everything I could ask for in sons. You are clever and quick. Strong and responsible. I know you will lead the Sitheri well."
Both brothers looked up at that, meeting each other's eyes and then looked back down to their father. "Both of us?" Carver asked.
"Yes," Angen said firmly. "Together you will be stronger than you would be separately. You are both so different, but together you have all you need to make our people great. You have all you need to make sure that we do not fall."
It was unheard of for there to be two leaders of a clan.
A leader's word had to be law. It had to be unquestioned. People had to know who to turn to for answers and guidance, and there had to be no doubt of who was in charge. Having two leaders made it easier for things to get done, perhaps, but if the two couldn't get along and have one solid ruling on what needed to happen, then a clan could fall into chaos. Especially in times like this.
But as the leader's word was law, there wasn't much either brother could do to refute Angen's decision.
Not that Ithril didn't seem like he wanted to. Carver knew his brother well enough to see that there was a fight brewing under his otherwise calm exterior, anger flashing in his brown eyes.
Carver himself had expected to feel…slighted, maybe. He was the oldest and the one who should be the leader rightfully, but he could see the wisdom in his father's words. Neither of them knew everything they needed to know to be an effective leader, not a leader like Angen was, anyway. Between the two of them, they had what they needed, but it would be a struggle to hold the clan together alone.
Ithril was looking to his older brother, almost like he expected Carver to argue, but Carver just shook his head. There was no point. If it was what Angen willed, then they had to go with it.
"As you wish, Father," he said.
Ithril gave him a narrowed eyed look and then focused on their father's face again. "Fine," he said. "I guess that makes sense."
Angen smiled and reached his hand out to pat Ithril's hand. "You will be fine. You will soar, my son, but only if you realize that you can't do it alone."
Carver wasn't sure he liked the look on Ithril's face following their father's words, but this wasn't the time for that. There were more things that their father needed to say to them, and he settled in to listen.
He didn't kid himself that he would ever see his father again. This would be the last time he ever spoke to him or held his hand, and he wanted to make sure that he didn't miss a moment of it. Carver wasn't one for open displays of sentimentality most of the time, but then, neither were any of the other Sitheri. They were a more closed group when it came to their affections, preferring to show it with actions and small gestures than words. Their mother, Bethali, had been different in some ways, preferring to give her children and husband kisses when she saw them and telling them often that she loved them, and with her death, some of Carver's willingness to be open about his feelings had gone away.
As time passed in the room, Angen grew weaker. Carver and Ithril had to pull their chairs closer to the bed to hear his words as his voice got softer and softer. Finally, as the last remnants of the day slipped away into the full darkness of night, they all three sat in silence.
Even Ithril was holding one of Angen's hands now, and he didn't take his eyes away from his father's face.
At some point, E'lira joined them, standing at Carver's back as they kept vigil for their father's last moments.
One of the machines in the room started to beep insistently, and Angen made an annoyed face. He mouthed something, and Carver heard E'lira inhale sharply behind him.
"What?" he asked softly, turning his head to look at her.
"He wants to be unhooked," she replied, and her eyes were overfull again. "He wants the machines turned off."
"There's nothing they can do anyway," Ithril said, voice flat. "We may as well."
Carver nodded. "Of course." Together they managed to get all of the wires and tubes out of Angen and pushed aside. His breathing was even more labored now, wheezing in and then rasping back out, and his chest was rising and falling rapidly.
He found a smile for all of them, beckoning them closer one by one. Angen embraced E'lira with arms that shook, pressing dry lips to her cheek, and when she drew back, Carver could see that she was sobbing quietly.
Ithril was next, and Carver half expected his younger brother to resist the hug, but he didn't. Instead he melted into the embrace and held on for a moment longer than E'lira had, before letting out a shaky breath and stepping back and to the side. His face was closed down, but Carver knew he had to be hurting.
When Angen reached a hand out for his, Carver gave it, letting his father draw him closer. He returned the embrace, inhaling the scent of sickness and death that clung to him.