The Admiral and the Wildcat: Scifi Alien Romance

R
ight hooks hurt like a bitch
.

Kelis Vann twisted and brought her arm up to block the blow almost before the young warrior in front of her threw it. Shaking her head, she hammered two jabs into his open left side and then stepped back as he stumbled to the edge of the challenge circle. The spectators scattered into the darkness beyond the lit area around the paint lines on the floor.

Her opponent shook his head, wiping the blood from the corner of his lips as he tried to focus on her.

She sighed. This one was young, very young, and it showed. Both in the rough way he moved and fought, and in the fact that the ink on his arms was mainly red, rather than the black of an older, more experienced warrior who’d fought in the wars. Kelis’ ink was black. And like most experienced warriors, she’d long since run out of room to add more.

“Give it up, Deln,” she advised, not really wanting to beat on the young lad. Not in front of his friends anyway. Especially when most of them were crowded around the edge of the challenge circle, egging him on. “This is going nowhere but the medbay.”

He grinned, blood covering his teeth. “Why, Lead? You gonna let me fuck you in a nurse’s outfit? If I’da known you were kinky like that, I’d have bought you one when we passed through Deep Space Sixteen last month.”

Kelis sighed. A Saragosian warrior through and through, she was used to the ritual of challenge. Since time before memory, their race had settled disputes with hand-to-hand combat. Everything from who owned what land to who got what when great-aunt Maadj died.

And, who got to fuck whom… kind of.

She’d been fending off Deln’s advances for months. As soon as the young warrior had joined her unit, he’d set his sights on her, arrogantly assuming that because of his bloodlines, she’d fall at his feet in awe and then hop right into his bed. Which might have worked in the backwater village he’d been brought up in—he already had the ink for a couple of kids on the inside of his arm—but Kelis’ bloodlines were better.

“Yeah… Who’s the man?” he demanded, slapping the hands of his mates around the edge of the circle.

He was like a fucking peacock, puffing his chest out and trying to dazzle her with muscles and strength. Kelis sighed. She’d seen it all before. All Saragosian men were built like—she frowned, what did the human women call them? Ahh, yes—Greek gods. So Deln was nothing unusual.

She’d started this fight intending to let him off lightly, but his arrogance and the way he strutted around his side of the circle showing off was beginning to piss her off. “Deln, you need a shedload more ink before you go trying it on with any Wildcat woman.”

The mention of ink made him pause a second, his gaze dropping to the black mass of swirls on her arms that extended down to her hands, where the double swirl of a Lead Warrior marked the skin. The pause didn’t last long, a shit-eating grin crawling over his lips.

“Yeah, well. If I’d been around in the wars, I’d have made Warlord. Easy.”

She couldn’t help the snort of sheer amusement. Deln was a colony baby, born years after the centuries-long war that had nearly decimated their race. He hadn’t seen any serious action yet, just a couple of easy jobs guarding transport runs. The fact that he thought he’d not only survive that kind of warfare with a race as hardy as their own but get promoted was laughable.

“Yeah, right. You’d have gotten yourself shot in the head on your first patrol.” With an attitude like that, probably by someone in his own unit.

He wasn’t listening to her. “I can see it now. I’d have risen to Warlord and you’d have been begging me to sire your children.” He smiled smugly, hands on his hips. The whole posture emphasised his groin. No doubt intended to prove how masculine and virile he was.

“Nice. You practise that pose in the mirror?”

She circled him in ever decreasing movements, her boots near silent on the deck plating. Anyone who knew Kelis would know the shit was about to hit the fan. She had a kick on her hard enough to fell a Hasang, and a temper to match. Her lips quirked as she saw two older warriors to the side back up a couple of steps.

“Just two problems with that little plan,” she drawled lazily. “One, the Regas Clan has a warlord and I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t fancy Dal Regas hearing that you plan to replace her. Two?”

She moved in like lightening, her leg lifted for a groin strike. But she didn’t land the blow. Instead, the front of her knee brushed his balls before he could block. She stopped, lips bare millimetres from his, to whisper, “I need a man, not a spoilt little brat.”

She slammed her forehead into his nose. Bone crunched and blood splattered down the front of his face. She danced away as he staggered backward, hands over his nose as he looked up at her in shock. Apparently a reality where he wouldn’t get his own way hadn’t occurred to him.

“For fuck’s sake.” She lowered her guard a little, her expression hard as she returned his gaze. “You really think when I spar with the unit, I show you everything I’ve got?”

She watched him, her attention unwavering. One twitch, one movement that could indicate an attack and she’d be kicking his ass to the colonies and back just to teach him a lesson. Asking a female for a roll in the bed furs was one thing, it was practically rude not to offer, but to harass a woman, then issue a challenge with her body as the prize… She needed to send a clear message that shit like that wouldn’t fly in her unit.

“Vann,” a new voice drawled, the deep tones amused. “Stop playing with him. If you’re gonna finish him, then finish him, but if you plan on fucking him later, at least leave him something to work with.”

She shifted position slightly to bring the speaker into view, but she already knew the voice.

A familiar tall, broad-shouldered warrior stood at the edge of the challenge circle. Like most males aboard, he was naked to the waist. Unlike a lot of the other men, and in particular the group of youngsters crowded around the circle, his ink was all black. Barely a sliver of skin showed through the heavy swirls and loops, and the backs of his hands carried not double swirls of a Lead Warrior like hers, but the triple swirls of the highest rank. Warlord.

The senior ranking warrior aboard. The Vann Warlord. Her father.

She flipped him off, ignoring the mutter of shock that coursed through the warriors packed around the circle. “Dad, go pick on Ferra,” she ordered, naming her twin. “I’m busy.”

Aerynn Vann folded his arms, his expression forbidding. Opposite, Deln’s expression filled with horror. “You’re…Oh, fuck. You’re Vann’s daughter? I knew you were a Vann but his actual daughter?”

“You telling me you can’t read, lad?” Aerynn chuckled, which earned him a glare from Kelis. He extended his arm, turning it out so they could all see the ink along his inner arm. There, written in bold black swirls was Kelis’ name, all wrapped around her sister’s in the double inking that marked a set of twins. Female twins. For a culture that prized fertility, she and Ferra were the golden goose.

Deln’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly, but his gaze dropped to Kelis’ left arm. The bracer she wore covered the tattoos there, including the one that named her as not only a main bloodline Vann but a daughter of the warlord himself.

If Deln had known that before, she’d never have gotten rid of the prick. So many warriors wanted the kudos of siring a child with the Warlord’s daughter, she’d started to wear the bracer to hide her lineage so she could do her job. Of course, she wasn’t under any illusions any of them wanted her, just her genetics if they were lucky enough to get her pregnant.

“Com’on, lad, she can’t wear it all the time,” Aerynn chided. Kelis didn’t say anything. She wore it as much as she could, but her dad didn’t need to know that. “And a good warrior learns as much about his quarry as he can before he makes his move. Take it as a lesson and count yourself lucky she only broke your nose. She’s the nice one. Her sisters would’ve had your balls for earrings.”

“Yes, My Lord.” Deln’s expression said he didn’t think Kelis was particularly nice and he practically fell over himself to get out of the circle as Aerynn stepped into it. She didn’t blame him. No one wanted to get into a challenge ring with a warlord. And getting into a ring with the Vann Warlord was tantamount to suicide.

“Awww, com’on, Dad.” She turned on him. “The nice one? Talk about ruining my street cred.”

“You are. He’d never have seen Jera coming and Ferra would have gutted him on the spot. Neither would have let him get into a ring. You showed restraint and, at least, allowed him the illusion of getting out of it with some dignity intact.” He shrugged. “Not your fault the little prick didn’t see it that way.”

Aerynn smiled, the younger warrior already forgotten and his attention on Kelis. It was similar to being watched by a snake and she didn’t trust him an inch, despite the blood link between them.
Because
of the blood link between them. Vanns were known to be highly unpredictable, hard as nails in combat and experts when it came to strategy and tactics. Her father was the warrior who had proven that rule over and over.

She turned to face him, her body relaxed, but with her weight on the balls of her feet, just in case. Warriors did not step into a challenge circle idly. In fact, they’d walk around the edge of a room to avoid crossing it. Which meant her father was up to something. No surprise. Her father was always up to something.

Her suspicion was proved when he stopped walking and started stalking her. His expression hardened, just enough to let her know the situation had changed from a happy little father and daughter chat to two warriors in a ring. Her heart rate picked up a notch, the familiar fire of battle entering her veins. She snapped her guard up.

“What’s this about?” She circled right, putting her leading foot on Aerynn’s weaker side. Family ties aside, she’d fought at her father’s side in the Centuries wars, so she was well aware of his weaknesses. The trouble was, he didn’t have many. Which meant that if he planned on handing her ass to her on a plate, it was going to hurt. A lot.

Aerynn lifted an eyebrow and fired off two feints to test her defences. “Why’s it gotta be about anything? Perhaps I just wanted a little family time with my wonderful daughter.”

“Yeah, right… Because we’re just the role model of the nuclear family, aren’t we?” She laughed a short, sharp bark of amusement and dropped to the floor to sweep a hard leg at both of his. He hopped back, too long in the tooth to fall for such a trick, clicking his tongue against his teeth at her chidingly.

His attack, when it came, was fast and delivered with all the power of a warrior in his prime. At sixty-five, her father was young for a warlord. He had been the youngest warlord ever, and he had earned his rank the hard way—in war and blood. But at sixty-five, he looked the way all Saragosians did, like he was barely out his twenties, thirties at most. It confused the fuck out of other species in the Alliance.

Bellowing a war cry, Kelis fought back hard. For every punch he threw, she blocked, for every kick, she countered, for every feint she had a reply. Triumph and pleasure surged through her for a few glorious moments. It had been months since she’d sparred with her father and he’d roundly beaten her. But that was months ago. She’d been training hard and it had paid off. She could do this.

Then he stopped playing and upped the pace. Within seconds, Kelis was in trouble. His strikes were too fast and numerous for her to block. Pain exploded through her body, micro-universes of agony in fist-shaped bites.

“Shit!”

She backed up as fast as she could, but it was too late. She saw the lock coming but couldn’t do anything to get out of it. With a few fast movements, Aerynn wrapped her up and took her to the ground. Her cheek got up close and personal with the deck plating. She kicked out, but only collided with fresh air as he yanked her arms up hard behind her back. A yelp of pain escaped her but still she fought back. Aerynn held her tight, his grip like iron.

“Had enough?” he asked, his voice so chirpy and happy that Kelis growled. As soon as he let go, she was going to spread his damn nose over his face. He didn’t let go, though. He just held her down like he would a struggling kitten.

“Didn’t think so. I have a job for you.”

She grunted. “Could’ve just sent me a message. Any chance of letting me up anytime soon, now you’ve proved whatever point you were trying to make?”

“Hmmm, maybe. But this is more fun.” Instead of letting her go, he put a knee in the middle of her shoulders and held her down with ease. “I need you to head out and take care of something for me. A fleet job.”

“Fuck off.” She tried to buck him off. No way did she want a fleet job. She’d rather fuck Deln.

He twisted her wrist. Not enough to hurt, but enough to prove that he could break it. Wouldn’t matter if he did. The way their species healed, she’d be good in a couple of days, but she could well do without the pain, especially if he had a job for her.

“Okay…I’ll go,” she yielded grudgingly, already plotting her revenge. That’s what this little show had been all about, beating her in the challenge ring so she couldn’t refuse the job.

He pressed his free hand in a grip over her shoulder, seeking out and pressing the nerve bundle that would deaden the limb, then rolled away. She swore, shaking her arm out as she clambered to her feet. “Fucker. You did that just so I wouldn’t hit you.”

“Of course I did.” He grinned, his expression unrepentant. “I need you undercover in the Alliance. What’s your Terran like?”