It would be up to Mel, they said, to kick some Prime male butt and convince Wulf that she could still be a Captain in the Alliance Military and meet his needs as a mate.
After all, battle-mates had fought alongside their mates during the Berean wars and had managed to bear children. Her father had copied several battle-mate diaries to her personal computer for her to read and use to bolster her argument about continuing her military career.
Logically, it sounded like a great argument, but her parents had not met Wulf. He was an über-alpha-male. She was pretty sure the word “compromise” was not in his vocabulary.
Her mother put down her part of the ancient weapon she’d cleaned and reached for Mel’s hands. “Have you truly forgiven your father and I for not telling you how we found you?”
“Yes, Mama.” Mel pulled her mother into her arms and hugged her tightly. The familiar scents of dust and her mother’s favorite jasmine perfume comforted her. “I couldn’t have asked for better parents.”
She’d been rescued from the wreckage of a Prime ship. The only survivor. Her Prime mother had sheltered her infant’s body with her own and saved Mel’s life.
Mel held her mother away from her. “Besides you and Papa taught me everything I know about the Prime. You gave me my heritage.” She grinned. “Now, I’ll be able to help you with your work. You’ll have an inside source to all their libraries and museums.”
Her mother laughed. “Your papa is already making a list of questions for your Wulf.
And an even longer list of treatises he wants to find to supplement the ones he has found on the Prime digs.”
Her Wulf.
Just the thought sent a shiver down her spine. He was hers as much as she was his.
Somehow that seemed only fair. If he were as half as uncomfortable as she’d been in the two standard weeks since she’d left the Galanti, he was in deep pain. She felt as if someone had ripped out half her heart and had set fire to her womb.
“Mellie.” Her mother touched her cheek. “When you first arrived here, well … you were angry with the whole situation. With Wulf. Now, you seem more resigned to his mating with you.”
“It’s the bond, agape mou.” Mel’s father stood in the doorway, smiling fondly at his two women as he always called them. “She is missing him, eh, my little Mellie?”
“Yes, Papa.” Tears filled her eyes and she never cried—ever. She blamed the hormones rioting through her blood. Emotionally, she’d been a frigging mess. “I just want him here so we can have this out and do whatever we need to do to move on.”
“That means physically mating, Melina. Did you read the manuscripts I gave you on this bond?”
“Yes, Papa.” She sighed and shifted in her seat. Just the thought of making love with Wulf had her wet and aching. “I’m restless. I think I’ll go into the catacombs and dig some. Work off some of this energy.”
Work off the sexual frustration, was more like it.
Her father nodded. “Good idea, Melina mou. I’ll send one of the Obam workers to call you for dinner.”
“Thanks, Papa.”
The last sight Mel had of her parents was them embracing. The love they shared glowed like a halo around them in the late afternoon sun. She smiled and wondered if she and Wulf would ever look that way at each other.
From the smaller dome where the dig had offices and cleaned and stored artifacts, she entered the main dome where the living quarters were located. Obam IV had a thin, dry, dusty atmosphere, thus necessitating the domes for a clean, breathable environment.
The planet was dying, and the Alliance Space Archaeology Division wanted to record and preserve as much of the early Prime history as explorers in the Milky Way as possible. The theory was that Prime DNA could be found on every planet where humanoid life was found, or had existed in the past. So far, it had proven true. The Obamian population, now living on a more habitable planet in the same solar system, had a trace amount of Prime DNA. Obam IV had proven to be a major waystation for the Prime’s past exploration of the Milky Way.
Nodding to several of the dig members, she made her way to her room, where she picked up her personal breathing unit, her digging tools, and a laser pistol just in case any of the legendarily large Obam IV rodents, called ROUS for some obscure reason, still inhabited the catacombs. Rodents survived hardily even on dying planets.
“Hey, Mel,” called out one of the students. “Need any help?”
“No. Just going to work off some energy on the burial chamber.” The student laughed and waved. “Good luck. It’s a bitch of hard rock down there.” Mel smiled. Just what she needed to work up a sweat and sublimate all the hormones battling for supremacy in her body. If Wulf didn’t get there soon, she’d be using the self-pleasuring device the military issued to all female officers. She’d never used it before, but she sure as heck was tempted now.
* * * *
Obam IV, later the same day
The ground shook. Dust drifted over her from the catacomb’s packed dirt and rock ceiling.
Startled, Mel looked up from the carving she traced.
Earthquake? There’d never been any tectonic activity here.
Another shaking. The metallic support beams and wall liners in the burial chamber moaned as if in sympathy with the vibrating earth. Rocks tumbled off the trash pile to land close to her seated position.
“Better go topside and see what’s going on,” she muttered. She stood up, picked up her breathing unit, and put it back on. The normally clean, cool underground air was now thick with dust, making it hard to breathe. Besides she’d need it topside. It was an oddity on Obam IV that the underground usually had a more breathable mix of oxygen and nitrogen than the surface. The Prime had somehow set up a natural filtration system, the secret of which was still just that—a secret.
Another shaking. The tremors were too evenly spaced and of equal force for a natural occurrence.
Obam IV was under attack.
But who? And why? This was a dying hunk of rock. The archaeological dig was the only activity on it, and the finds were more of galactic historical value, than monetary.
Mel raced her way through the maze of catacombs she knew so well and ran out into the dying light of the day.
Against the orange and purple glow of the setting sun, a large Antarean battleship hovered in the sky. Its weapons aimed at the domes on the planet’s surface, decimating them.
“Mama! Papa!” she cried as she wound her way among the inadequate cover of rocks and debris toward the two main domes.
There was nothing here for an Antarean raider, not even enough humans to make it worth their while to rape and pillage.
Shocked realization halted her frantic forward motion for a split second. They’d come for her. A full-blooded Prime female. Wulf’s battle-mate. An Alliance officer. She knew it as surely as she knew that she had to get the people in the domes underground and send out a distress signal for the Alliance to come and rescue them.
Shoving through the broken door of the main dome, she stopped and choked back a cry of horror.
Bodies lay everywhere like broken pieces of artifacts. The Antareans had hit the main dome first—and hit it hard. Keeping an eye on the ship in her peripheral vision, she went from person to person to see if she could find anyone alive.
The ship fired once more, hitting the rock wall behind the dome. Mel dove under a heavy support column, covering her head until the debris shower ended. Cautiously, she crawled out from under the sturdy protection. No moaning. No rustling. No sound but the wind whistling through the holes in the dome and the whining sound of the laser cannon as the Antareans bombarded the area surrounding the domes.
She checked every body in the dome. No sign of her parents. They must still be in the secondary dome.
Anger, grief, along with desperate hope swept through her mind. The other dome had not been hit as hard. It was protected by a mountain of rock on two sides; her parents could still be alive.
Running from the death and massive destruction in the main dome, dodging and climbing over obstructions, she entered the smaller shelter. Dust devils fueled by the erratic winds of Obam IV whipped through the massive destruction.
Where were they? Moving forward, she tossed debris aside.
Groans came from the rubble. Near the back where the structure had the most natural protection. Hope beat back her despair.
Climbing over mangled support beams, she searched for the source of the sounds of life.
She found her parents under a large metal beam. A sharp cry left her throat. Her mother was dead. No neck had ever meant to be at that angle.
“No-o-o-!” she screamed. Grief coupled with rage almost drove her to her knees. Her heart bled at the loss of her mother. She struggled to calm herself, to shove the debilitating emotion to a place deep in her mind. Later, she would pull out the emotions and succumb to them. If she did so now, she’d be dead also—and wouldn’t be able to seek justice on behalf of the dead.
Another groan told her that her father still lived. His body curled around her mother’s. His arms caressed her. His tears drew streaks on her mother’s pale, dirt-covered, still face.
Mel knelt by his side. “Papa!” She touched the bloody gash on his head. It was not bad, but the piece of metal lodged in his chest just right of his sternum concerned her.