Alien General's Bride: SciFi Alien Romance (Brion Brides) (26 page)

“Him?” she asked finally, her voice much gentler now.

A look of cold fury flashed behind the senator’s eyes, then it disappeared and was replaced with simple regret. “We are both rarities, you see, Isolde,” she said, not adding anything to Isolde’s name to show she was talking to her as a person and not as part of whatever she and Diego were. “You are the first
gesha
who is not a Brion and I… I am the
gesha
that rebelled.” Another smile made her eyes flash wildly. “You see, Brions like their choices too, sometimes.”

Isolde hadn’t the faintest how that was even possible. The entire galaxy knew that the Brion matches were indisputable to them.

“You are not the first?” she dared ask.

“No,” Eleya said, taking a drink. Isolde thought they had more in common than she’d have ever guessed. She needed a drink too, which Eleya poured when her eyes had stared at the bottle too longingly. “I am not. At least that is what the healers tell me. But it is rare, so very rare.”

For a long moment, they sat in silence, sipping the alcoholish thing. “I did not mean to offend you by asking, you know,” Eleya said. “I just – really wanted to know.” When Isolde looked at her, the senator appeared, for the first time she’d seen her, relaxed like a normal human. Like a woman – a woman first and a senator and a former general and all the rest second.

Isolde’s resolve not to speak of anything was crumbling before that brutal honesty. She didn’t need to ask to know that what Eleya had trusted her with wasn’t public knowledge in any way. They were the
Brions
, for gods sake, neither of them could have held high office while defying the most sacred of Brion traditions.

“I’m not honestly sure I am refusing anymore,” she said quietly. “I want him. I really do. But this whole fate thing is so… so…”

“Flimsy?” Eleya asked, smiling. When Isolde nodded, a truly,
truly
grateful sigh falling from her lips, she nodded. “I know. You have no idea how much I thought that when Eren told me.”

Just for a moment, her eyes were melancholy. Not for him, but for old days full of hope. Only when a surge of compassion shot through her heart did Isolde realize how much of the recent weeks she’d spent pitying herself.

“I had such dreams for my fated,” Eleya was saying, barely noticing Isolde in the midst of her memories. “My brothers took me to watch the fighters when I began my own warrior training. I always wanted a general. I was strong, I would have made such a great match for one. All our generals are older than me, and Faren and Diego were already distinguished fighters. How I dreamed it might be one of them.” She suddenly trailed off, managing a look Isolde was forced to pin down as apologetic. “Forgive me, it is horrible to say that of your
gerion…
”

“No worries,” Isolde said, smiling. “Any Brion woman, remember?”

Eleya snorted. “Yes. But of course, I had to wait. I was so afraid. You are a researcher, you must know our matches are often the opposites of each other. I feared another general might be too close to what I was myself. I ruled Diego out fairly quickly. He was too much like me. But Faren – I hoped we could be a match of generals. He was the strong, silent, precise type and I was as I am now.”

She went quiet for a moment. “Fate had other plans for me, as it seems. It was not meant for me to be happy. I always hated politicians. I always hated the senators, treacherous even then. Always trying to assert control over the Elders, believing to know better. We are the Brions. We do as the smartest of us think is right. They repulsed me. And of them all, Eren was always the worst.

I often thought they should have made a warrior of him with all that aimless, pointless bloodlust, but for some reason he went another way. As I slowly approached the age where most matches are made, I prayed to the fates not for Faren or Thora or any of the others. I prayed, ‘Not him.’ And when he came to me, I could not even reply. I just said no and walked away. It was like a…”

“Great galactic joke?” Isolde provided, smiling sadly.

Eleya nodded. Isolde thought she saw the hint of the same relieved smile of someone, finally, understanding. And so they sat, two people who fate had deserted and given their worst fears. One left without a choice and one left with nothing but the worst choice.
 

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Diego

Diego Grothan had never been truly afraid of anything.

Sure, he’d experienced fear every once in a while, in situations where his life was in very clear and real danger, but even that had been more dread of his life ending too soon, before he was ready to leave. He’d admit – to himself, of course, not to any other living soul – having been afraid of some of his more worthy enemies. It was a healthy feeling, it showed he wasn’t completely insane.

Faren was right, being fearless wasn’t a sign of bravery, it was a sign of stupidity. There were plenty of things in the universe to fear. Diego could pride himself on being one of the most feared beings in the known space, but even he wasn’t immortal.

With Isolde down on Briolina and him still on the
Triumphant
, after returning from the space station, Diego finally understood what it was to be afraid. Not for himself, or of his fight with Crane, which would both have been completely reasonable fears.

For Isolde. For his
gesha
.

He didn’t like the feeling. Cold, unyielding terror seized him at the thought of her alone on Briolina. Not that she was alone, of course. Deliya and Narath were among his best and Eleya was far from helpless. Yet Diego had no illusions, if Eren wanted Isolde dead, he’d make it happen. The only way to keep her safe now was to make sure he didn’t give the senator a reason.

Isolde was no longer a threat to him, but Diego didn’t doubt for a moment that if Eren felt like he had nothing to lose, he’d burn down everything he could with him. Including Isolde. And without being near her, Diego was helpless to stop it.

He shouldn’t have let her go. Shouldn’t have listened to Eren, or Eleya, or even Isolde herself. Should have kept her, taken her back to the
Triumphant
and gone to battle for her. His entire being called for that. Diego was a Brion warrior, he didn’t back away from fights, not even with a very real war looming on the horizon.

Only he’d betray the Brions doing that. The Elders had trusted the senators to rule Briolina in their absence, but they’d made a mistake in trusting Eren. Now Diego had to fight both for Isolde and for them, to make sure Eren didn’t toss them all into a war they could only hope to survive. Luckily for them, the senator’s self-preservation so far overruled his need for war. Politicians were like that. If it were any of the generals, they’d have claimed Rhea long ago and not cared in the slightest what anyone in the galaxy thought.

Even more fortunately for them, Diego’s word meant something. So did Faren’s. So did the generals’ who had sided with them, and Eleya’s. There was doubt among Eren’s ranks. Doubt whether they were betraying the Elders and if they were to be exiled or worse.

Eren had to know that. And Diego had to walk the thin line between giving him hope and dashing it.

With the fate of the galaxy resting on his shoulders, his thoughts were still on Isolde. Her soft lips, the delicious sexy curves of her body, begging to be fucked even if she wasn’t vocalizing that wish. Her eyes did, Diego had seen it more than once. Her eyes called to him, imagining the same things he was: them together, fucking each other into oblivion, her soft body welcoming his intrusion, accepting his claim… He shook his head clear.

No one had told him how maddening being away from his
gesha
would be. His body trembled with need, unfulfilled without her. Satisfying himself was a poor replacement for what he truly craved, what he
needed
.

Worse was the longing to simply be with her. Everything else came second.

Two weeks ago he had been perfectly content, but two weeks ago he hadn’t known the absolute pleasure of having a
gesha
, even if she was not his. Yet. Hopefully.

Fate must have had plans for the two of them. Diego had to trust that.

---

Faren and Atren joined him for a last meeting on the
Triumphant
before descending to the planet. Still adjusting to the command of the
Fearless
, Atren hurried to help him in any way that he could. The part of Diego that could still find humor in life thought if they all survived the coming days, Faren would have the younger general rename his brother’s ship. He almost pitied Atren – to be a Brion general and still have to obey. Yet it was as it should be. Diego and Faren were simply stronger and might was everything to Brion warriors.

“It is official,” Atren said seriously. “My sources confirm it. Crane has gone mad.”

From another, Diego would have taken it as an exaggeration, but they had no time for such games. So that rumor at least was true.

“A mad Crane,” he said. No fear, not even judgement, simply a statement. “That should make the fight interesting.”

Faren’s face was as unreadable as ever, but Atren’s concern showed.

“It is always better to fight a sane enemy,” the young general said. “They fear, can be cautioned, and can be tricked. This one, his strength combined with an empty mind…”

“Do not quote basic tactics to us,” Faren said, standing with his hands crossed as he usually did, not lifting his gaze from the ground. “Diego knows.”

Diego
did
know and Faren’s comment amused him. Even if only for the look on Atren’s face at being reprimanded by his idol. After surviving this – and renaming the ship – the young general really needed to grow some balls, Diego thought. Letting that comment go without an answer, if not a challenge – what kind of a general did he expect to be? Gawen wouldn’t have let Faren finish the sentence. Then again, for the seniority they had over him, he supposed it could be forgiven.

“Are you prepared for his choice?” Atren continued cautiously.

The challenges were always traps of sort. It was the right of the one being challenged to choose the weapons, which was a huge advantage and the reason there were so few challenges to death. There weren’t many who could boast equal skill with all weapons. Diego was one of the few.

“He can choose any weapon he likes,” he said calmly. “It makes no difference. Strategy remains.”

Atren frowned. “Yes, but the obvious choice?”

“Obvious?” Diego growled. “I would not say I had such a clear weakness as you seem to think. Which weapon would you use to fight me?”

To his credit, Atren stared him straight in the eye. “
I
would not challenge you and would not want to be challenged
by
you.”

Some balls, after all. Some brains too.

Atren went on, “But if I were Crane… If I was an insane giant warrior and my opponent was one of the best fighters in our armies with the clear intention of trying to tire me out and keep me at a spear’s length… I would not choose a weapon at all.”

Now Faren looked up and he and Diego exchanged a long look.

“Find out if he has been modified in any way since we have been gone,” Diego ordered at last. “Any built-in body armor, reinforced bones, you know the stuff you need to look for. If Eren had even a bit of time to get work done on him…”

Atren left, leaving Diego and Faren to a tense silence.

“Even if Eren did not modify him…” Faren said and left it at that.

Diego didn’t need him to elaborate any further. Atren had been right. He simply hadn’t wanted to consider the option that Crane might choose to fight him barehanded. All the advantages Diego had were based on
distance
and his weapons wearing Crane down before moving in for the kill.

Going close combat on that brute was practically the same as putting his head in Crane’s headlock voluntarily. Faren didn’t need to say anything. They’d both seen Crane rip limbs off and break bones with horrifying ease. That had been when he was still sane.

No, Diego Grothan had never truly feared anything. Now he was about to fight someone who was incapable of fear.

---

Urenya was hard at work as always when he entered the med bay. He fought down a pleased smile seeing her equipment already prepared for him.

Diego had never felt the temptation to go through the complicated, painful and unpredictable procedures of modifying his body. In the dark days, when the Elders of old had tried to reel in the uncontrollable Brion rage, technology had been the most advanced they’d ever had. It was long lost, but not all knowledge could be deleted at a wish. Things remain; get passed down from one to the next, especially in a culture relying heavily on oral tradition.

Still, modifications technology was far from perfect and far from precise. There was a whole field dedicated to unlocking its secrets, but so far only bits and pieces had been discovered. Of course there were plenty of those who would risk it for the promising outcomes – bones as hard as metal because they
were
partly metal, skin and flesh that healed faster, and so on. Some were lucky, but the occasions where the modifications proved to be more help than distraction were rare.