ThunderClaw: Science Fiction Romance (Alien Warrior Book 2) Read online

  ‘You’re hurt, and you’re lashing out. I get it. I might even deserve it. That does no make it right. We’re going to argue or disagree at times. You can no act like a child when we do and say mean things to get back at me.’

  His look was scorching. ‘What of your behaviour?’

  ‘I’ll get to that. I need to explain something first.’ The next bit was going to cost me a whole lot of pride. ‘It was true what you said. I had lost the joy in raising Fergie.’ Shame and self-loathing burned like acid in the pit of my stomach. ‘Bringing up a child on your own in the world I lived in was no easy. My dreams were cast aside. I was so close to finishing my diploma and…that doesn’t matter. I’m getting off track.’

  ‘It matters to you, so it matters.’

  I tucked my hair behind my ears. He wasn’t trying to be seduce me. I knew that. His blunt statement that my wants were important still made me hotter than his deliberate provocations. ‘The last three years have been a struggle to keep our heads above water.’

  ‘You and my cub were caught in a flood?’ Concern lingered in his large eyes. His body shifted to face me fully. ‘You feared drowning? That will never happen with me at your side.’ His voice was firm. ‘I am best at swimming.’

  ‘It’s a figure of speech.’ I wanted to curl into his fragrant warmth. I held myself rigid. ‘I love my daughter.’

  ‘Your dedication to her is one of the things I have come to like best of you.’

  My heart leapt. ‘My intentions are to be the best mother I can and to be what she needs. That does no mean I don’t fall short.’ I made a frail gesture to emphasise that. ‘If you believe me blind to the qualities I lack think again. I know I’m failing. It’s why I looked to you for help. It’s why I trusted blindly in an alien who promised a better life for her.’

  His closed-off expression faltered.

  ‘I said horrible things. Horrible. I’m so goddamn embarrassed and sorry for it. My fears got the better of me and rather than humble myself and ask you for comfort I acted like a bitch. I showed a side of myself less than perfect. Something I never claimed to be. Now look around us. I might have had little back on Earth but I had her. I had my clan. Now my arms are empty.’ I lifted my shin, eyes shiny. ‘I let you down, Owyn, but you let me down too.’

  With that said I turned to continue our search. It was a low blow. I knew it. He knew it, too, but he didn’t protest or deny it. Circumstances in life were often out of our control but did that make us not liable to deal with the consequences when it was our choices setting the events into play? Who could predict being attacked in open space then shot down from the sky? Who could have foreseen we’d be stranded, separated and scattered as we were?

  Using it as a strike against him was harsh, but it didn’t make it less true.

  Just like regardless of how desperately I worked to be a good mother something was always missing.

  Radiating remorse and sadness, Beowyn overtook me. His hand slid around my waist, fingers gripping as he pressed the length of his solid body into my softer one. Silent tears rolling down my cheeks, I hugged him back with as much strength as I could muster.

  ‘I beg forgiveness.’ His tone was gentle. ‘You have suffered much and this latest was brought on by my hand.’

  ‘Don’t think I blame you.’ I breathed in his fainter aniseed and stronger masculine musk. ‘We’ll make this right.’

  We returned to camp, washed away sweat, yellow dirt and drank lukewarm water. I ate spit-roasted bat-creature and cried myself sick. Sour meat slid down my throat. ‘Is she hungry? Thirsty? I will no forgive myself if she’s hurt.’

  Beowyn wrapped himself around me. ‘We will find them.’

  ‘Another promise?’ I rubbed his arm when I heard as well as felt the unintended sting of my words.

  ‘Such faith.’ He pressed his forehead to mine. ‘I feel a thousand lengths tall.’ He grinned. His snaggletooth caught his thin top lip, giving it a lopsided look.

  My heart pressed my breastplate, wanting to go splat at his feet.

  I laughed.

  Chapter 9

  Éorik stared at the cub.

  The cub stared at Éorik. She popped her grubby thumb into her mouth then mumbled around it. ‘Want binky.’

  ‘This is your seventh request for binky. I do not have it.’ Bemused and thinking to distract her, so he could have a moment to think without her incessant babbling, he gave her his SonCom.

  She tossed it aside. ‘Nae.’ Opening and closing her pudgy fingers, she again asked, ‘Binky. Please?’

  He offered her a ration bar he kept in his battle leathers.

  Snatching it from his grip, she tore into the wrapper and slobbered over the densely packed grains. ‘Thank ye.’ Plump cheeks chewed dried fruits and crunched on the roasted, salted nuts without as much as a glance at him let alone an offer to share.

  Mouth watering at the nectar-soaked scent, the empty void at his middle rumbled. He swiped drool off his chin.

  She ate half of the ration bar before her pert nose wrinkled. ‘Yuk.’ She pitched it into the muck that smelt like beast scat. ‘Binky?’

  Stomach gurgling, he watched it sink deeper into the runny filth. ‘No.’

  Eyes widening, she mewled. ‘Why?’

  Éorik gripped the ripped edge of his cloak, eyes darting. ‘I do not have it. You are unreasonable to keep requesting it of me. Make do without it.’

  Fat tears rolled down pink cheeks. Lip quivering, she wailed the word over and over and over. ‘Biiinnnkkkyyy.’

  He snarled in her face.

  She sobbed into her hands.

  She stopped once he frantically laid everything from his hunting blade to his utility belt at her feet. Inspecting the items with a critical eye, she sniffed then commanded him to present binky.

  Aching from whatever happened to land him in his current circumstances, Éorik sat on a weed patch and stared.

  She stared back, a quarter-span passing with no change to her expectant, dumbfounded expression.

  Lah, who knew a cub could look contemptuous? It hurt to look at her for he knew his attempt at being a caregiver lacked finesse. They hadn’t gotten far in terms of interpersonal communication, and as the elder, he accepted the blame.

  ‘I hold vast respect for your mother.’ He itched his nape. It was sweltering. He was still in his armour but would carve out his heart with a rusty knife before he removed it. It protected him from poisonous bites and stings. How was he to transport the cub through the jungle without being gnawed on? His head throbbed. ‘How does Sìne understand you? Do you have a secret code, or does she deliver things to your feet until she gets it right?’

  ‘Sure. Okay. Mammy now?’ She cocked her head. Wisps of hair were stuck to her forehead and flushed temples, but most of the brown mass stuck out haphazardly. Leaves, twigs and other debris had somehow migrated into the glossy strands. ‘Want Mammy.’

  This was better. The cub wanted Sìne. Éorik had something he could use to forge a bargain. ‘How clever you are. We must find your Mammy. It is a game.’ At her dubious look, he inched closer, ducking his head. He arranged his features as genially as possible and even allowed his lips to curve. ‘Can you be sporting, little one?’

  ‘Want Mammy,’ she screamed spittle flying, skin flushing an alarming shade of red. She bounced on the spot, the dirty white pouch strapped to her undercarriage shifting side until it toppled her over.

  Éorik caught her before she tumbled off the boulder. He pressed her into his chest when she shrieked and made a hush sound. She quieted but continued to cry until she found trouble breathing.

  Terrified the cub might expire in his arms from a tragic case of hysteria, he made an awkward rocking, swaying, twisting motion whilst patting her shaking back. When desperate gasps for air turned into miserable hiccups, he purred, happy to see her calming.

  She stilled, burrowed into his chest seeking the sound. ‘Again.’

  Peeved to be ordered to perform for som
eone who was not his King, he considered denying the request.

  Sensing hesitation, she lay her head on his shoulder; chubby fists curled onto his chest. ‘Again please.’

  He could feel the rapid flutter of her heart through their clothes. She was scared. She needed comfort from the only person there to offer it.

  This he could do, and do well, and it cost nothing but pride.

  ‘If I must,’ he groused.

  Glancing at the trees, plants and dark spaces between them, Éorik cursed.

  Rolling his eyes skyward, he purred.

  Vibrations in his large body entered her teeny one, and soon her breathing evened. Her body went lax and snores drifted from her slack mouth.

  ‘Thank the Boar,’ he muttered.

  Easing her to one side of his chest, he unzipped his suit and manoeuvred her inside the rubberised lining backing the leather. It was a snug fit. The material was rigid and designed to withstand penetration from close contact weapons fire.

  He sealed his suit then fussed with the placement of her weirdly big head ensuring her face was protected and her airways free of constriction.

  Chuckling dryly, Éorik dragged a heavy hand through his dishevelled mane. He looked ridiculous. The lump appeared a parasitic growth on his abdomen.

  There was purpose to this madness, however.

  Claws free, he went about gathering items he’d shucked in an attempt to soothe the cub’s temper. His gaze darted. His ears twitched at the sounds of creatures roaming around them.

  Embarrassingly, Éorik had woken to this strange world with the cub sitting on his chest, squishing his cheeks between her sticky fingers. The last he remembered was ejection from the Dragongfly in an escape pod. He remembered holding onto the warm and wriggling cub before falling unconscious from the sudden fluctuation in pressure. How they had survived when the pod had been damaged, he didn’t know. He looked straight up. The capsule was torn into pieces. Giant leaves below it appeared battered and bruised, their thorny stalks snapped. His lips thinned. The growth was too dense to inspect visually. Unless he climbed to sniff out the exact path he’d fallen, all he could do was speculate how they’d reached the ground without being pulverised. Falling aside, even if he had hold of the cub before unconsciousness, how had he keep hold of her when his body would have been flaccid?

  Nastier thoughts of crushed limbs and splattered innards flittered through the convoluted mess of his thoughts.

  Eyelids squeezing closed, he took a moment to acknowledge the fear he held in his heart for his liege and the human female who had become more than an impediment to possessing the male he desired. She meant something to him. As did the brave males who left their lives behind to take their precious females to a better life.

  The humans may be dead.

  My Beowyn….

  Dark thoughts aside, Éorik decided to believe the rest of their party were alive. The alternative was unthinkable, and his already burdened chest couldn’t take the pressure. As a show of his newfound devotion to Sìne, he would protect her young with his life. He would find her somewhere safe and cool to hide near water. It would have to be high. Dense jungle like this in such a hot climate received rains and floods that drowned the unsuspecting. Even now he could feel the air pressure changing, see the already dim light filtering from above darkening under heavy cloud banks.

  Looking up, he struggled to see any sun whatsoever.

  A twinge let loose in his stomach.

  They needed shelter.

  He walked around the massive tree in his path, blowing a slow breath when he found blue moss.

  He had a direction to travel.

  Beowyn would know to head north until they crossed paths, so Éorik left a subtle sign scratched into the trunk at eye level.

  He began the trek.

  Half a rotation passed with no change to the damp, grasping vegetation, fetid smell and rotting, sweltering air. When the cub woke anxious to stretch her legs, he happily set her free of her confines. He’d seen nothing during his hiking that posed a risk to her immediate safety.

  Fergie’s pouch dragged along the peaty ground emitting a fouler stench than the decay surrounding them.

  Éorik looked around as if expecting a maternal entity to emerge from the bramble. He squatted and eyed the smelly thing as he would an adversary.

  There was nothing for it. ‘Come. I will change you.’

  Bowling into his front, she threw her arms around his neck and bounced as he tried to decipher the trick to prying her free of the pouch’s stinking confines.

  Happily babbling her nonsense, she grabbed his horn.

  ‘No.’ He shook her off. ‘They are sharp and sensitive and not for playing.’ With a snort, he used his dagger to slice the tab across her hip. ‘What a mess.’ The pouch slid down at an angle, still attached to her other hip, and its contents spilt out. ‘Dah.’ He snatched his hands away.

  Fergie stamped her chubby leg, and the pouch hit the ground with a thump just in time for her next stomp to land in the sticky muck. He was a warrior, not some weakling to baulk at a challenge, but he fought not to gag as he picked her up then held her aloft.

  Waste smeared across her wriggling bottom, leg and wagging foot.

  Éorik wrinkled his nose, dismayed at the mess, not to mention horrified it was he that had to clean it. He headed to the nearest moss covered rock. The fuzzy plant was damp like a sponge. Perfect. He rubbed her bottom against it, turning her a bit to get a better angle.

  Eyes round, the cub’s pink lips puckered into a circle. ‘Ha.’ She wriggled against the tree and giggled.

  ‘There is little amusement to be found, I sure you.’ He removed the worst of the mess then set her down to ponder the issue of covering her again. He sliced a rag from his cloak and wrapped it around her waist in the traditional style of his people. He folded the remaining flap between her legs and tucked it into the rolls around her hips. ‘There. Clean and neat.’ He studiously ignored the knowledge she would again soil herself and render his work pointless. Mayhap he would have found Sìne and the responsibility would no longer be his. A male could hope. ‘Wait here. I will dispose of the moss.’

  Grimacing, he buried the fouled moss and fetid pouch. He had the errant thought of teaching Beowyn to hide spoor when they were younger. Chest feeling tight, he whispered a prayer his liege was being careful.

  Satisfied his task was complete and ready to make camp, Éorik turned to praise the cub for her silence. He stared. He threw his hands in the air.

  Fergie stabbed at the ground, digging a hole of her own with a twig. She was covered head to toe in stinking yellow mud. ‘Good girl. Helping.’ A strange, scrunched look came over her face. ‘Potty.’ She made a strangled humming sound. Her face relaxed and she grinned. ‘Good girl.’

  The hot pong of fresh excrement assaulted Éorik’s nose. ‘Dah.’

  After another gruelling clean and change, the shelter Éorik found between a cluster of boulders was basic, but enough to keep off the worst of the weather, and enclosed enough to catch his body heat, keeping the cub warm.

  Rain proved a blessing.

  He stripped Fergie of her garments and stood with her under the deluge until the mud and dirt washed away.

  She understood well enough his intentions, and scrubbed her little hands over her face, arms and legs in an attempt to get clean before giving into the urge to splash around.

  Smiling, he used her preoccupation to cleanse himself, but didn’t let her play for too long. The temperature was falling. ‘Come along.’ He ceased his ablations and tucked his squirmy cub under his arm, retreating to the dry crook that had become their sanctuary.

  Tearing another strip from his cloak, he used the fabric to swaddle her as best he could. It was frustrating, but once she was dry and warm, he put her back into her dirty clothes, using another cloak strip to bind her bottom half.

  Scowling when her middle rumbled, she growled back at it. ‘Angry belly.’

  ‘Y
ou are hungry.’ He thought Sìne a fine mother that her young should not know the sensation. He fed her a quarter of his second to last ration bar. She fussed wanting something else, but submitted with a huff after he snapped a snarl. He ate the rest of the ration in two bites. ‘Lah, but that tasted good.’ It would be enough to sustain him until the next evening. ‘If we do not find the others soon, I will have to hunt.’ He wiped crumbs from her mouth. ‘You need meat to stay strong.’

  Collecting rainwater in one of the seed gourds he found lying under a tree was simple enough. He scooped out the hard pips then rinsed the fist-sized cavities. He set two others outside their den to gather drinking water for the morning. He coaxed Fergie to swallow as much of the tepid liquid as she could stomach. The vaccinations the humans had been given before they crashed would destroy any contagions or microorganisms that would cause her harm. He downed the rest feeling refreshed, clean and in better spirits.

  Fergie toddled around the dim burrow with the unquenchable curiosity of the young. She smelled the moss and dug her fingers into it. She flicked at tiny crawling bugs and slapped at the grainy stone walls for reasons known only to her. Oddly entertaining as it was to see her absorbed in discovering her new space, she needed rest.

  ‘Come, little one.’ He opened his arms. ‘It is best you sleep.’

  She abandoned her improvised game of smashing rocks and bounded into his embrace. The ringlets in her hair had loosened from the water and remained damp enough to handle. He spent a span easing snarls and knots. It was much the same as grooming his own mane. He took care his claws didn’t scratch her delicate flesh.

  She lay curled in his lap, yawning and babbling about the flowers and animals they’d during the hike. Her clear, high voice, her light weight and cheery demeanour despite their uncomfortable environs was rather pleasant. He found himself cradling her in his arms.

  Humming the odd line of an old Verako lullaby his grandmother sang to him in his youth, Éorik listened to the rain, the chirring of insects and the distant sounds of larger beasts.