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Rojan:
“Captain Rojan, report.”
Rojan—dressed in full uniform—stood at his captain’s chair for the voice-log recording.
“The Helian Six crew reports the kidnapping of the four women referred to as Puritans during the night of the wedding reception for Supreme Commander Pritchard, formerly known as Supreme Commander Kriekjan. Echo Nine reports the kidnapping is likely affirmative according to video clips of one of the abductions caught on tape.”
Rojan mentally winced. Watching that tape a bit further, one could see a bag tossed over her head as she fell backward. But the lighting was bad and the Puritan sat outside on a bench, where he’d left her. Technically, it could be anyone. It didn’t necessarily mean Jo had been Joy. And everyone had all but stated the Puritans were short, hairy, demure women. So opposite his sexy, kitty-cat Josie. Who—with all the sheer fabrics she wore—didn’t look like she possessed an ounce of hair past the glorious golden red mane of her head.
The sexy, kitty-cat he’d run off with his paranoid assumptions during their date.
“Any leads as to where they have been taken?” The voice of the superior on the other end sounded bored.
“None. The Herbasnuts deny the claim. Our next move is to search the planet to see if they are being held here despite the assurances otherwise.”
Rojan disconnected the call and leaned back in the chair, the tips of his fingers tapping together.
“You did not report that we suspect the human cousins of being the Puritans.”
“Nope. We will be the laughingstock of the federation if they are not.”
“But if they are, we look like lovesick puppies who were fooled by beautiful females,” Baub said.
“Who here believes the cousins are the Puritans?”
No one was able to raise his arm. Instead, his normally opinionated men squirmed.
“Truth is, I just can’t tell. I mean, I’ve tried to get Virginia into the sack, but so far nothing,” Baub admitted.
Hekek harrumphed. “It’s not like we’re experienced in seduction. Maybe we’re doing it wrong.”
“We’re not doing anything wrong, warrior!” If Rojan’s voice was practically a feminine scream, so be it. “One of us needs to get his female in the sack. Only then will we be able to tell if they are virgins or not.”
Rojan left out the fact that his men were virgins also.
“How are you doing with Jo?” Baub narrowed his eyes.
“She’s still upset with me right now,” he admitted. “She saw me outside earlier and ran back indoors until she was sure I was gone.”
“Well you did practically accuse her of being a Puritan in front of the Citrine Seven males at the party last night,” Viktel said.
“At least Ginny Ann doesn’t avoid me,” Baub muttered. “Hard to seduce them from a distance.”
“I can’t apologize to her if she turns the other way every time she sees me,” Rojan said, and his voice sounded miserable instead of the snarl he’d meant it to be. Damn female had him all twisted up inside. He needed silence while he pondered these strange feelings running rampant.
“Dismissed, warriors.”
His men scattered quickly, and it suddenly dawned on him who could help. He rushed out of the ship almost as fast as his warriors had and headed into the Helian Six vessel instead.
“Captain Tristan.”
“Captain Rojan. How goes the search for the Puritans?”
“Slow. But there is something I wanted to talk to you about.” The tone of his voice let Tristan know this was serious. “Do you remember when you discovered the Barlesquyins?”
Tristan cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. “It was not our fault they decided to pursue that line of work for money.”
“Of course not,” Rojan agreed.
“The women were obviously enthralled with us and wanted to do it daily with others to see if anyone else was as good as us.”
“They were always searching for what they could not have.”
“And we could not stay. We were in the middle of our careers,” Tristan barked.
Rojan leaned in, ready for the kill. “But my men, you see, while they like to think they are experienced, they need some help. Now that they are interested in your cousins...it is a fragile situation...one that we cannot mention to the humans in order to gain their help.”
Tristan looked around, his eyes darting back and forth. He looked much like his daughter, Titi, at that moment. “Never mention it to our humans,” he stated clearly.
“Of course not,” Rojan assured the paranoid leader of the planet. “But I simply must ask for my men, you understand. They are not quite sure of exactly what to do. I mean, I know, but I cannot cross the lines of professionalism and let them know that I know while they do not know. Instead, I thought it would be easier if your men perhaps helped them out. Without naming names.”
“Yes, yes,” Tristan agreed. “We can do this. For the men. Let me gather my guys while you call yours and we’ll have a...what do they mates call it? A boy slumber party. It is where males bond.”
It took just a few minutes to call his warriors to the ship. Rojan’s crew sat in the center of the room, scowling. They did not like to be the center of attention, especially regarding such a personal matter.
“Now, warriors, we’re not going to call out any names or point any fingers as to which of our brothers needs information on snagging a female. We will keep this session neutral. Let me start by sharing what I know about the female species. Deep down inside, women like to be told what to do,” Tristan began.
Bajoc snorted. “Then why were you bawling like a sissy when Lara was pissed that you knew their language all along?”
“I did not like fooling her,” Tristan growled, standing and clenching his fists. “It was necessary to learn about them.”
Bajoc stood, too, narrowing his eyes and balling his fists.
“Oh, I have a good one,” Kresna said, his gaze on the fight about to break out. “These females are frail and do not like growls and fights. They call us uncouth.”
Both Tristan and Bajoc immediately sat down.
“Uncouth? What is that?” Baubles asked, interested suddenly. Did he perhaps get called that by one of the human cousins?
“Uncouth. It means scary and manly. And while they know we are, they do not like it pointed out. On their planet, males must pretend to be delicate.”
“Not delicate. Well-mannered,” Bajoc ground out. “A trait which I have clearly mastered.” He passed out several small cards, his pinky extended. “I am teaching tea at 1 p.m. tomorrow.”
“This weekend? I am watching my offspring for Raine. She is having her crochet class that the cousins are teaching.”
“Yes. That is why we are doing the tea at the same time. Our mates will be busy and never know the importance of what we discuss.”
Chastien scratched his head. “Are we bringing the older offspring?”
“Of course. They will play quietly. The mates will have the nutlings because they can feed them easily, but the older children may be more distracting.”
“Tea? Why would we want to learn tea?” Pulmar scoffed.
“Because I took his class and Anita kept me well pleasured for two weeks straight,” Kamau said, a goofy grin on his face. “She loved that I was so well mannered.”
“She did? Is that why the ugliest of the lot are the happiest? Kamau is so pale he looks ghostly. I never thought any of the females would look at him.” Chautles scratched his head and then sailed to the floor when Kamau pitched himself at him. The rest of the men let them hammer each other for a couple of minutes before pulling them apart.
“Don’t get distracted,” Tristan snarled to Chautles. “Look at Bajoc. He has two offspring, and you do not.”
Tristan seemed careful not to mention how ugly Bajoc was despite the number of younglings.
But Bajoc took it in stride. “Trust me, your woman will not notice the scars on your face when she is so impressed with your manners that she is trying to subtly get you into the bedroom every time you have tea.”
Kresna cleared his throat. “Ahem. Ahem. I’d like to sign up for your class.”
“Of course, my good man,” Bajoc said haughtily. “Be prepared to have to put out every night for at least a moon rotation. Guaranteed.”
Kresna’s eyes looked like they wanted to cross. “I will,” he promised.
“But what about us?” Hekek asked. “How will we impress our little humans when they are not our mates?”
The rest of the men were silent. “Or human,” it sounded like someone whispered. There was a loud groan as he was elbowed.
“It is easy,” Tristan announced. “Because thanks to us, we know how the delicate cousins think. We are willing to impart that knowledge to you.”
“They like to dress up in their strange Urth culture,” Tiernan said. “Bright, flimsy fabrics that hint at the female form underneath. Strange coverings over their faces.”
“The veil,” Hekek said suddenly.”I have seen this. I wondered as to its purpose.”
“Yes. They also wear fancy gowns, no matter the heat. You will notice sometimes Titi mimics them. We all pretend not to see.”
“She is precocious,” Tristan snarled. “It is not my offspring’s fault.”
“We all know this,” Kamau assured him. “We do not mind if she is a little precocious. She cannot help being special needs.”
“No,” Tristan said, calming. “She did not do well with hundreds of years in stasis.”
“She just does not understand fashion like the cousins do,” Bajoc said to the confused Echo Nine crew. “Hence, the unfortunate hair incident.”
Tristan squirmed. “Lara assures me it will not take long for your offsprings’ hair to grow normally.”
“Hmmph,” a voice muttered from the back of the room. “Lara has lied before.”
“Who said that?” Tristan snarled.
There was no response.
“Moving on,” Bajoc said pointedly. “The cousins like gifts, just like our mates do. The gifts can be anything that makes a female tear up. But these are tears of joy. And joy means they are more willing to give soft touches and easy kisses. A handful of wildflowers. Perhaps a couple of rocks. Do not—whatever you do—ask another female to replicate her jewelry. They are quite possessive of jewels.” He grimaced, the scar stretching over his cheek. Bajoc may be his friend, but he was not attractive. Obviously, he knew what he was doing if he had scored the delicate Marcie for his mate. Humans must certainly be enamored with manners.
“They also like us to be sensitive to their feelings,” Kamau offered. “They like to watch men touching—“
“—but not fighting so hard they draw blood,” Tristan snarled, cutting him off as if he wanted to change the subject. “They are fragile and dainty. The sight of blood makes them gasp in fear. Something our well-mannered Bajoc did not understand when he smeared the guts of their kidnappers over the walls of their ship.”
“I have learned since then,” Bajoc muttered. “I was young and brash. Headstrong. Since becoming a father, I have come into my own.”
Rojan cleared his throat. “But what about...I mean, since they are so fragile...how will we...I am talking between the sheets.”
“Just take it slow the first time and everything will be fine.” The rest of the men were nodding, so they must know.
“But no means no,” Tristan said.
“And their cooking is horrible if you do not keep them happy,” Kamau said. “We are lucky the replicator is still active upon the ship. We are thinking of adding a second as a backup.”
“Incoming shuttle belonging to Supreme Commander and Ambassador Pritchard requests permission to land.” The voice was computer generated and echoed over the loudspeakers.
“Permission granted,” Tristan said, heading outside. The rest of the warriors followed him.
“Trichen. Up.” The small voice was as demanding as the small purple dropling who held her arms up to her parental unit.
“What are you doing out of school?” Tristan asked, perplexed. He lifted her easily to his chest.
“I don’t know.” Titi shrugged.
Tristan tried to appear stern, but the small one leaned in to press a slobbery kiss to his cheek. The tall warrior with the reputation of a brutal beast melted like...a female.
It was disgusting. Rojan would never behave so ridiculously around females, droplings or full grown.
Two warriors from Citrine Seven stood at the shuttle’s door when it opened. A woman stepped out, dressed in a tight, black travel catsuit that hugged her form. Her hair was piled atop her head in a huge round ball. She carried a small suitcase.
“Ma’am? I need you to clear this area. We’re expecting Commander Pritchard.”
“Clear the area?” Her voice dripped ice.
“Yes, ma’am. No one is allowed here but him. I need you to join the others behind the ropes.”
“I will stay right here. My man says I’m special,” Pariah sneered.
“Your man would be right.” The guard rolled his eyes.
“Do you know who I am?” Pariah looked down her nose. “I am the Supreme Commander’s wife. The Pariah Pritchard. He took my last name, soldier.”
Titi muttered. “She lost contact with da mothership.”
Tristan whispered into her ear.
“Awwight, Da,” she said. “I pwomise.”
“Good girl,” Tristan muttered, setting her down. “I can vouch that’s the Supreme Commander’s wife,” Tristan said.
The males nodded and moved away from Pariah. She stomped toward Tristan. “Where are my girls?”
“The Puritans are still missing, Pariah,” he gritted. “Meet Rojan. He is with the sniper team who will find them.”
“Kiss,” Titi demanded.
Pariah leaned in and Titi did her strange eyelash flutter on her cheek. Pariah patted her head softly, and then her sharp eyes turned to him. He felt the piercing stabs of her gaze as they roved over him, assessing his character.
“Good day, Ms. Pritchard.”
“Pariah, we have you set up in the cabin where Marcie’s Earth cousins are staying. There is an extra bedroom. Did you get to meet Josie, Mollificent, Trisha, and Ginny Ann at the reception?”
“Yes, I met them briefly,” she said. A look seemed to pass between her and Tristan.
“I’ll take you, ma’am,” Rojan said. “I’m on my way there. I’d like to talk to Jo.”
“Jo?” He could swear the woman’s nostrils flared.
“Josie.”
Pariah’s smile was thin. “A nickname. Is she your girlfriend?”
A few of the men actually snickered, fools that they were. He decided to ignore the question. “Is this your bag?” He picked it up.
“Don’t forget the tea,” Kamau called to him.
He waved to acknowledge that he’d attend the training session.
The crazy bat who was dressed in the rubberized catsuit of a much more slender woman and had ensnared the Supreme Commander never said one word as they walked the short distance to the cabin where Jo and her sisters lived.
Ginny Ann and Mollificent sat on the porch. They rose as he and Pariah approached.
“Ladies, this is Pariah Pritchard. I’m sure you remember her from the wedding. She’ll be your houseguest while she is here.”
Ginny Ann, silly twit of a creature, actually giggled. “Miss Pariah, it is my greatest honor to meet you.” She curtsied.
The dried-up prune of a woman softened, looking pretty for a moment. Rojan blinked in surprise.
“It is my honor to meet you also. I look forward to our visit.”
He was so enthralled with the odd interaction, he missed that the three females were staring at him. He cleared his throat.
“Jo. Is she home? I’d like to talk to her.”
“I’ll get her.” Ginny Ann’s voice was cold. Apparently, the sisters had been talking.
All three disappeared, leaving him on the porch. From inside, he could hear the oddest shrieking from them, as if Pariah was a long lost friend instead of a stranger being introduced.
Humans were an odd race.
And then it was suddenly quiet. Jo stepped onto the porch. “Rojan? What do you want? I must get back to seeing to the needs of my new guest.”
Her voice was as icy as his had been when he’d last spoken to her. He winced. It was no less than he deserved.
“I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “I was jealous last night. The Citrine Seven crew was getting your attention and it made me crazy and paranoid. I’ve never had such difficulty with a case, but I’m at a loss with these missing Puritans. They seem to have vanished without a trace.”
“And you’re telling me why?”
He was dumping his problems on her like she was expected to care. But one of the problems was her fault, dammit.
“Because I can’t focus,” he snarled. “You’re on my mind day and night. And I’m not sure if I’m coming or going.”
Jo blinked up at him with adorably confused eyes.
Rojan gave in to his primal instincts. He grabbed the human female, bent her backward, and kissed her senseless.
Because if he couldn’t focus, it didn’t seem fair that she should.
