Page 24 of Saved By the Alien Mercenary

“Left, then right, there’s another stairs there,” I muttered to myself, certain of my recollection of the map. Brace was going to be furious that I’d disobeyed his order, but he’d deal. All that mattered was my son. I bit my lip, pressing my back against the wall at the sound of footsteps rapidly approaching. I’d ducked back behind a wardrobe that lined this hallway, out of sight of whoever had just come around the corner. They clattered past me without seeing me, and I spun, aimed my gun, and shot the bastard in the back without hesitation. He went down like a ton of bricks—a large Kertinal—his tail limp, his horns thudding into the wall and gouging two big furrows in the plaster.

I saw the silver Riho pounce over his shoulder, and then it silently moved past me, tail swishing. As it passed, it aimed a satisfied look my way. I followed it, as it was going in the right direction. I wouldn’t say no to a little extra help, and I was certain that’s what this was. We found the stairs without further hostile encounters, but the sounds of fighting were fierce and loud. The silver creature went up first, bounding in slinky, sleek steps up the stairs. I followed lightly, my breathing easy and my thoughts still calm. So close I could almost taste it, he had to be here.

I was going to name him after my dad, I’d decided that months ago, when I first learned the gender of my baby. It had felt like I’d jinx things if I called him that in my thoughts, especially now. Silly, maybe. Then I crested the top of the narrow servant stairs and stared straight into the open door of a room. The room.

A nursemaid stood beside a crib. She was a Ulinial, her blue skin and long braid giving her away. That was good, her species tended to be pacifists. Nobody else appeared to be in the small room with her, but I crossed the red carpet that lined the hallway silently, holding my pistol at the ready. This could be a trap, though for the life of me I couldn’t see why Jalima would care about my baby. De’tor had cared, but he was dead.

“Give him to me,” I demanded as soon as I stepped over the threshold. She was trembling, her head shooting up to glance at me, eyes wide. “That’s my baby. Give him to me,” I said more firmly. She backed away, hands raised, shaking her head but not speaking. It was unclear whether she was a slave or a paid servant, but no collar graced her slender neck. I couldn’t count her out as a threat.

Then my eyes landed on my son, lying quietly inside the crib. He seemed so small, and he was wide awake but silent. His eyes were a silky brown, his skin black like his father’s, but streaked with copper. The shock of hair he had was also a coppery brown, with hints of gold. Soft nubs sat on his forehead, an indication that he’d grow horns one day. He was holding his tail in his tiny fists, the pointed tip in his mouth as if it were a pacifier.

My chest ached; my breasts ached even more. I forgot about the woman in the room with me, entranced by the sight of my son. “Hey there, Mateo. Mama’s here. I’ve got you now,” I whispered. I placed the pistol on the edge of the crib, then leaned in to pick him up carefully. He didn’t make a sound until I nestled him against my chest. Then there was a pop as his tail left his mouth, and the little appendage curled around my wrist instead. A deep sigh seemed to run through him when I rocked him gently in my arms, one that I mirrored as everything inside me righted itself.

A curious thing happened then. The silver armor that encased me so snugly melted away at the front of my body, no longer a barrier between my son and me. I felt the warmth of his small body, felt him press against my swollen breasts, where he belonged. I could not look away from his face, or the way he seemed to know he was with his mama, relaxing into a peaceful slumber, with what had to be a smile gracing his tiny, perfect little mouth. Babies didn’t smile—not on day one; I knew that—but it sure looked like Mateo did.

There was a clatter behind me. I spun in reflex, pressing my baby to my chest with one hand, the other snatching up my gun. I gasped in surprise when I spotted the large figure in black standing over the sprawled body of the Ulinial female. She was out cold but still breathing, and the Varakartoom male was flexing his fist at his side. His helmet was open, allowing me to see the skull-like markings of his Asrai face. “What happened?” I asked, shocked. The female looked unarmed, but when he jabbed his finger down and pointed, I had to concede that she hadn’t been safe. A com device lay at her side, as if she’d been about to sound the alarm. Maybe she already had.

I started moving immediately, and the silver armor shifted back over me, this time pinning my arm and my baby into a protective shell against my chest. I stumbled by the doorway, a wave of weakness crashing through me and catching me by surprise. I’d felt so strong until now, so ready to face anything, but now it felt like the rug had been pulled out from under me.

The Asrai hissed furiously, but he caught my elbow with his hand and held me up. His shoulders twitched as if he were full of anxious energy, but his grip was steady as he propelled me down the hallway. The fighting was still going strong, the sounds had not abated, not even a little. He was taking me straight toward those noises, and I began to shake my head. “No, we have to get back to the shuttle. I have to protect my son. Unless…” A cold wave of fear ran down my spine like icewater. With it came an unexpected surge of strength, my legs straightening. I sped up, rather than let the Asrai take the lead. “Brace is hurt, isn’t he?”

The Asrai snarled silently, shaking his head, but his feral red eyes told me nothing. He said even less. There was nothing reassuring about staring into a face like a skull, with dried blood in the corners of his eyes and by his ears. Nothing reassuring at all.