Imperator_A Scifi Alien Romance Page 8

  When she reached his office, she saw his head bent over his desk as he read something. His brow was furrowed.

  Did the man take any time off?

  Sam sauntered in and his gaze flicked up. For a second, her mind went blank. Dios, he was something to look at. Not handsome, but something beyond that—tough, rugged, and strong. Strength radiated off him, and made you know that he’d shield you and keep you safe.

  “Dinner is served.”

  He raised a brow.

  She set the tray down on his desk. “Arroz mamposteao, a sort of fried rice with meat and whatever those things are.” She pointed at her bean substitute. “And for dessert, my own version of tembleque. A sweet treat my mamá makes. Plus a few Puerto Rican sweet rolls.”

  He eyed it all. “You cooked for me.”

  “I promise there isn’t any poison in there.” She perched on the edge of his desk.

  He grabbed a utensil and tried some rice. His eye widened.

  She laughed. “Were you expecting it to be bad?”

  “I had no idea.” He scooped up some more, trying the meat. He smiled, clearly liking it.

  Sam liked seeing that smile. He was pretty stingy with them.

  His gaze traced her face. “You have so many facets. I can’t seem to get a handle on any of them. I expected a battle-hardened warrior.”

  “I’m that.”

  “I didn’t expect a gourmet chef.”

  “I think gourmet is stretching it.”

  As he tried some of the dessert, she saw the faintest flutter of his eyelid. Hmm, the workaholic imperator had a sweet tooth. As he took another spoonful, she felt a spike of satisfaction. She liked watching him enjoy himself and relax a little. He also ate more than one of her sweet rolls.

  “What are you working on?” she asked.

  “I’m going over everything I have on the Thraxians, and all the information I’ve accumulated on Zaabha.”

  Her muscles tensed. “Tell me.”

  They talked about the implants and Thraxians. He spun the screen around so she could see the data.

  “What the hell are they planning, Galen?”

  He grabbed her hand. “I wish I knew. But we will stop them. We will take them down.”

  She linked her fingers with his, feeling his calluses brush her skin. “I know.”

  The air felt charged and their gazes locked.

  He cleared his throat. “I have some House business to attend to.”

  “Let me help.”

  He studied her for a second, then nodded. She pulled a chair around the desk, and watched as he pulled out some paper files. Carthago was such a perplexing mix of low and high tech, and she found that fact strangely amusing and endearing.

  Galen started going through inventory issues and training schedules. Sam offered some suggestions, and they talked about several improvements. For a moment, she felt she was back on Fortuna Station, locked in her office and working on her security paperwork.

  She watched him take a bite of another sweet roll and hid her smile. “I’d really like to go over your training schedules.” She leaned over and pointed at the chart. “I was watching your recruits train, and I have some ideas.”

  He nodded. “I’m sure my recruits and trainers would benefit from any advice from the Champion of Zaabha.”

  Sam felt a warmth rush through her. She could add value here. “I had some ideas for how you could mix up the weapons training.” She walked him through her thoughts.

  He grunted. “That’s an excellent suggestion.”

  She looked up and smiled. Then she stilled. Their faces were close together.

  “You smile more than I guessed you would,” he said, after a long moment. “After what you’ve been through.”

  “Being the boss, or having gone through a hard time, doesn’t mean you have to be serious all the time, Galen.” She reached out, gently rubbing the groove in the center of his brow.

  A strong hand reached up and gripped her wrist. Then he turned her hand over, studying her palm.

  “Such elegant hands.” He stroked her skin “Strong enough to wield a sword, talented enough to cook an exceptional meal.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the center of her palm.

  Sam shuddered, her gaze glued to him. She thought she saw surprise on his face. Surprise he’d initiated such an intimate gesture.

  His lips moved up to her fingers. His tongue darted out, licking between the digits. Sam’s belly tumbled with the zing of pleasure and anticipation.

  “I can taste the dessert you made me.”

  “I may have tested it.”

  “Sweet.” He licked again.

  Sam couldn’t help it, she moaned.

  He stilled, his face hardening. “I’m trying to stay away from you.” The words were a growl.

  “Why?”

  “You need time and space to heal.”

  “That’s nice, Galen, but unnecessary.” She cocked her head. “Don’t you ever just do something spontaneous? Something you want?”

  “No.”

  She shifted closer to him. “You’re allowed pleasure, Galen.”

  His gaze dropped to her mouth. The icy blue of his eye glittered with heat. “I’ve never wanted something so badly before.”

  Desire hit her, coiling low in her belly. She leaned closer to him.

  The knock at the door made them both jerk apart.

  “Excuse me, Imperator.” Two guards stepped inside, both wearing red-and-gray cloaks, with swords sheathed at their hips. “We’re here for the evening security report.”

  “Duty calls.” Sam sat back, her heart beating hard. Ignoring the guards, she reached up and stroked Galen’s stubbled jaw. “I’ll let you get back to your work. I’ll see you later, Galen.”

  She felt his gaze on her as she walked out. The sensation put a smile on her face.

  Late the next morning, Galen found Sam going over training plans with Kace.

  “Sam?”

  She spun, shooting him a smile. “Hi.”

  Need slammed into him and he beat it back. “I had word from Magnus. They found something.”

  Her smile dissolved, her face turning serious. “What?”

  “Magnus told me he’d tell us when we get to the House of Rone.” Galen took her arm and nodded at Kace. “We’ll update everyone when we get back.”

  Together, he and Sam strode out of the House of Galen. He tried not to notice the way her leather trousers hugged her form. Or how her thick, brown-gold hair was pulled back in a long tail that fell past her shoulders.

  “You’re sure we can trust the cyborgs?”

  “Yes,” he replied. “The House of Rone is our ally. Magnus is an honorable man.”

  Sam released a breath. “Sorry. I saw too many augmented fighters at Zaabha. None of them were very friendly or honorable.”

  Galen touched her arm. They continued down the tunnels, and soon turned another corner. The doors of the House of Rone were ahead, with the House logo embossed on it—a gladiator helmet resting on crossed swords. Cyborg guards flanked the doors, and Galen nodded at them. They silently opened the doors.

  “Sam.” Ever rushed forward to give Sam a hug.

  Magnus was just behind her, his face cool, and his muscled body clothed in black. He was holding a sleeping baby in the crook of his arm.

  Galen shook his head. There was a sight he’d never thought to see. A huge, seemingly emotionless cyborg carting a baby around like it was the most precious thing he’d ever seen.

  As Galen watched, Sam moved forward and gently stroked the baby’s cheek.

  Something shifted inside of Galen. What the drak? He’d never given any thought to kids. Protecting Raiden had been his life, his duty.

  But watching Sam bend over that small baby… He frowned.

  “Let’s talk in the main hall,” Magnus said.

  They went inside and sat down on some couches.

  “Winter and the healers sent your implant to us, Sam,” Ever said.r />
  “We’ve also been studying several of the smaller implants from the House of Zeringei,” Magnus added.

  Ever leaned forward. “These newer implants are fascinating, and the Thraxians have made remarkable improvements. The implant is smaller and more powerful.”

  “What did you find?” Galen demanded.

  Ever shared a look with Magnus. “We found a blueprint in the data.”

  “About how to make the implants?” Sam asked.

  “No.” Magnus’ voice was ice cold. “The Thraxians plan to infiltrate the Kor Magna Arena.”

  Galen frowned. “What?”

  “They want to rule it,” Ever said.

  “The imperators rule the arena,” Galen said.

  “The Thraxians want to implant gladiators and control all the Houses.” Now Magnus’ tone vibrated with anger. “They want to rig the fights to make more money.”

  Sam shook her head and Galen felt his own fury boil up inside him.

  “Sand-sucking cowards,” he snapped.

  “Galen.” Magnus stared at him and Galen saw the glimmer of rage. “We have to stop this.”

  Before Ever, Magnus had shown very little emotion, but since the cyborg had fallen in love, he showed glimpses of emotion more freely.

  Sam’s hand fisted and she bumped it on her leg. “This is bigger than just Zaabha.”

  “Zaabha was their testing ground,” Ever said quietly.

  Galen gritted his teeth. “This is war.”

  Magnus nodded. “War.”

  Sam reached out and squeezed Galen’s thigh. That touch helped him find some control.

  “What do we do next?” she asked.

  “I’m going to call a meeting of all the Houses and their imperators. Next, we put our army together.”

  She nodded, her face calm and composed. He wasn’t looking at the smiling woman who’d cooked for him, or the interested woman who helped him with House business. This was the battle-hardened warrior.

  Sam stood. “Then we go to war.”

  Chapter Eight

  As they walked through the tunnels heading back to the House of Galen, Sam could see that Galen was lost in thought and brooding. His hard jaw was tight, and that groove in his brow was back.

  Part of her wanted to help him. Made her want to give something to him, and see him relax and smile. She knew he was angry about the Thraxians and their plan. She felt the same.

  And that feeling wouldn’t go away until they stopped the bastards.

  When they reached the House of Galen, he stormed off without a word. She stared at his back as he strode away.

  “He gets like this sometimes.” Raiden stood beside her. “Holes up, broods for a while. Best to give him some time.”

  As Raiden walked away, Sam stared at the empty corridor Galen had used. He had no one to talk to, lean on, who worried about him. His people saw him as strong and unbending.

  Sam saw beneath to the man.

  Galen was just so used to being alone that he never asked for help. She turned and walked down the corridor. At the end was the door to his private suite. Two guards flanked it—one older with an experienced look in his eye and the second a young recruit.

  As she drew near, the guards shifted, crossing their staffs to block her way.

  She looked at them. “That’s not going to stop me.”

  “The imperator doesn’t want to be disturbed,” the younger man said.

  “Well, the imperator is used to getting what he wants and not enough of what he needs,” Sam responded.

  The older guard eyed her with a considering look. She took another step and the recruit tensed.

  The older man shook his head. “You can’t take her, boy. She’d leave you bleeding and use your hide for fighting leathers. Let her pass.” He pulled his staff away from the door.

  The young guard stared a moment longer, then reluctantly stepped back.

  As Sam walked past them, the older man gave her a faint smile. She nodded at him and walked through the door.

  “Mistress Sam?”

  She looked back. The young recruit met her gaze, but looked ready to fidget. “I heard you might start training sessions with the new recruits.” He lifted his chin. “I’d like to be a part of your training.”

  Feeling lodged in her throat, but she kept her face steady. “I’ll expect to see you there, recruit.”

  He lowered his head and Sam let the door close.

  She moved through the large, spacious living area. It was clearly a man’s domain, decorated in shades of black and gray with the odd touch of blue and red. A set of carved stairs led to an upper level that she guessed was his bedroom. The arched doors to the terrace were open.

  She stepped out into a small, private training arena. It was bathed in golden light from the afternoon sun. Dios, she loved it. Dark green vines grew up the surrounding stone walls.

  But as her gaze shifted, all she saw was the man.

  Galen swung his sword with powerful flexes of muscle. He wore no shirt or cloak. He was only clad in well-worn leather trousers, a simple leather harness, and gauntlets on his forearms. His muscles gleamed.

  He moved with formidable confidence, his powerful blows tearing open the training dummy. The script on his sword flared, and for a second, she thought she saw his tattoos glow too. When she blinked, she only saw black ink and figured she’d imagined it.

  She strode across the sand and saw Galen pause, lowering his sword. His back was to her.

  “I want to be alone.” His voice was deep and gritty.

  Sí, definitely brooding. He was so tense, his back muscles taut. He carried so much weight on his broad shoulders.

  “I think you’re too used to being left alone,” she said. “Drowning in your guilt.”

  He spun, a muscle ticking on his unsmiling face. “Leave.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “No.”

  His eye widened. She suspected that was a word Galen wasn’t used to hearing.

  “You helped me the other night,” she said. “You held me together when everything was too much. I want to help you. I want you to relax.”

  He didn’t move. “I should have stopped the Thraxians a long time ago.”

  “None of this is your fault, Galen. The blame lies solely with the Thraxians, for all the atrocities they’ve committed. Including the destruction of your planet.”

  He spun and threw his sword. The blade speared the training dummy through its faceless head, setting it rocking.

  “I don’t need any help.”

  Stubborn man. She strode to the small weapons rack at the side of the arena. She barely swallowed her moan of appreciation. It was filled with the highest quality swords of all shapes and sizes.

  She lifted a sword similar to the one she’d used before. She liked the size and weight of it, and when her fingers curled around the hilt, she saw inscriptions gleam on the metal.

  “An Aurelian short sword,” Galen said.

  He’d retrieved his own sword and she saw the matching inscriptions on it. “From your homeworld?”

  “Yes. The script is a verse to honor the warrior, to give them strength and skill in battle.”

  She raised the sword. If he wouldn’t talk, she had another idea for how to get him to burn off his tension. “So, are you up for a challenge, Imperator Galen?”

  “I don’t want to fight you.”

  “Not afraid of the Champion of Zaabha, are you?” She jabbed, her sword missing his face by an inch.

  He didn’t move, didn’t flinch. “Sam.” A warning tone.

  She used the tip of her sword to lift his up. “Come on, Galen. Show me what you’ve got.”

  He exploded into action.

  Sam danced backward, meeting his blows. She ducked and dodged, spinning around his body. She struck back, and he met her, hit for hit. He deflected her strikes or met them with hard swings of his own.

  It wasn’t long before her arms were burning. They moved back across the small
arena, turned, and kept fighting.

  It felt almost like a dance—a fast, deadly one.

  When Galen finally stepped back, the sunlight was long gone. The shadows were broken only by the glow of orange lights that had come on. Chest burning, Sam leaned over, pressing her hands to her thighs.

  “Not bad,” she said.

  Galen raised a brow. She could tell not all the tension was gone, but it was a start. “Why do I get the feeling you wanted to add ‘for an old man’ to that?”

  She smiled. “You said it, not me.”

  He grunted, placing his sword on the rack. He moved over to a large chair set up beside a small table. A long cool drink rested there…as well as a plate of her sweet rolls.

  A pleasant clench in her belly. He dropped into the chair and lifted the glass. As he drank the liquid, she watched his strong throat work. Desire curled inside her. Dios, the man was attractive.

  “You like my sweet rolls?” she said.

  “Yes.” He set the glass down. “Thanks for checking on me. You can go now.”

  Ow, she’d been dismissed. But as she stared at that blue eye that looked like cut glass, she still saw the boiling emotions—anger, guilt, fury, pain—before he hid them.

  Luckily, Sam didn’t scare easily. She sauntered toward him.

  Galen sat in his chair, willing Sam to leave.

  Instead, the infuriating woman moved closer. He smelled her scent, something spicy covered in healthy sweat.

  He wanted to be alone. He was feeling on edge, the jagged void inside him extra hungry tonight. On nights like this, he locked himself away until the worst of his bad mood was gone.

  “I’m starting to think you have no idea what the word ‘relax’ means.” She lifted his glass and took a sip.

  There was something incredibly intimate about the move and his gaze locked on her. The muscles in his body were stretched tight.

  She moved behind him and a second later, he felt her working the buckle of his harness loose.