Ransomed: A Sci-Fi Alien Warrior Romance (Tribute Brides of the Drexian Warriors Book 4) Read online

  Ransomed

  Tribute Brides of the Drexian Warriors #4

  Tana Stone

  Broadmoor Books

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Epilogue

  Forbidden—Tribute Brides of the Drexian Warriors #5

  Also by Tana Stone

  Free Short Story!

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Torven leaned against the weathered bar and eyed the green-skinned Grindul pouring drinks behind it. He’d been to enough seedy outposts to know when his drinks were being watered down. He glanced around the dimly lit room and tried not to inhale the smoke that hung in the air like a thick haze. This place was as seedy as they came.

  “Noovian whiskey,” he said, holding the alien’s gaze. “Straight.”

  The heavyset bartender grunted, but he seemed to size up Torven’s build and the similar bulk of his Drexian shipmate, his eyes flicking to the Inferno Force insignia on their uniforms before nodding. If the Drexian uniform didn’t scare people, the flame insignia that represented the warrior race’s elite fighting force did. The Drexian Empire may have been known throughout the galaxy as a race of warriors who defended those weaker than themselves, but their elite Inferno Force was the team known for enforcing their might with equal parts justice and fury.

  Inferno Force warriors were rough and battle-scarred, and spent most of their time fighting on the outskirts of the galaxy. They weren’t a usual sight at this particular trading outpost, but one look at their tattoos and longer hair, and the various aliens in the bar had given them a wide berth.

  The bartender poured a generous amount of green liquid into a glass and slid it over to Torven.

  “Scaring the locals again?” Torven’s best friend asked, as he thumped a hand on his broad back.

  Torven picked up his drink and tossed it back in one gulp, feeling the whisky burn on the way down. He turned to Dakar. Even though his friend was tall, as were all Drexians, he still had several inches on him. “No trouble this time, my friend.”

  Dakar cocked an eyebrow. “You haven’t even met her, and you’re already on your best behavior. I’m impressed.” He eyed Torven’s face. “Now, if we could only get you cleaned up a bit.”

  “There will be time before we arrive on the station.” Torven stroked a hand down his stubbly chin and brushed a strand of dark hair off his forehead. “Until then, I want others to know I’m Inferno Force. It keeps the local troublemakers in check.”

  Dakar’s gaze dropped to the thick, black lines under his friend’s eyes. “I don’t think that’s a secret.”

  Originally worn by Inferno Force before battles, some of the warriors had permanently adopted the markings as a warning to any they encountered. Considering the way creatures in the bar had flinched when the two massive Drexians had entered, it seemed to work.

  “You promised no fights during our journey,” Dakar reminded him.

  “You know I never pick fights. I only right wrongs.”

  “I know, my friend. There is no more honorable Drexian than you.” Dakar picked up his own glass and swirled the liquid. “Your high standards do seem to get us into more than a few fights, though.”

  Torven raised his empty glass in salute. “The price to pay for doing what’s right.”

  His friend took a long gulp. “Who’s going to keep us in check while you’re romancing your new bride?”

  Torven leaned back against the bar, thinking of the tribute bride he’d be meeting in a few days’ time. Even though he’d seen her image, he knew little about the human female chosen for him. Like almost all Drexians, his name was in a lottery for one of the human brides, since female babies on his world had become a rare occurrence.

  Instead of allowing their race to die out when they realized the birthing trend, the Drexians had scoured the universe for compatible species and had happened upon Earth. Even though Earthlings had some physical differences, about half of the females had enough genetic similarities to make them suitable for mating.

  After waiting for years, Torven’s name had been chosen for the next available human mate. From the image he’d been staring at since he’d gotten the notification, he knew she had pale, wavy hair, and blue eyes. And he knew what he’d already known about all human females—they were small in comparison and had only two breasts, and no arousal nodes down their spine. What had been a surprise was the jolt of familiarity he’d felt when he’d first seen her face on the screen. He knew it was impossible, but he felt like he already knew this female. Even her image stirred his blood in a way he’d never experienced before.

  “I’ll be back before you know it,” Torven said, tapping the edge of his glass for more whiskey.

  Dakar gave a snort of disbelief and ran a hand through his own shaggy, brown hair before pulling it up and fastening it into a knot on the top of his head. “I doubt that. You’re lucky, though. I hear they’ve halted transport of humans until the High Command is sure our enemy won’t attack them. They don’t want to risk the females.”

  Torven’s temper flared as he thought about the Kronock, the Drexian’s sworn enemy, and violent creatures known for invading and wiping out entire species. As a member of Inferno Force, he’d been fighting them on the outskirts for years, holding them back, and protecting the solar system that contained Earth. When the Kronock had attempted to invade Earth over thirty years earlier, the Drexians had stopped them, discovering that humans were compatible with their species in the process. The governments on Earth made a deal with the Drexians—protection from the Kronock in exchange for human mates. It had worked well—the Kronock had been held at bay and Earth had been saved.

  However, only recently, his people had discovered that the Kronock had been hiding their technological advancements and were planning a massive invasion of Earth. The recent incursions had been the reason he’d been unable to join his waiting bride until now. He couldn’t abandon his shipmates in the middle of a battle. Even now, part of him felt guilty taking leave.

  “Maybe I should wait until after we’ve defeated them once and for all,” Torven said. “Inferno Force needs every warrior.”

  Dakar shook his head. “This war may never end. If you don’t claim your bride, someone else will.”

  Even though he’d never met her, he’d been staring at his mate’s image for weeks, and already thought of her as his. The idea of her with another Drexian made him clench his fists.

  Dakar laughed. “Don’t worry, Torv. As soon as our shuttle is refueled, we’ll get out of this dump and head for the station.”

  Torven slammed back the whiskey the bartender poured him and glanced around the dive bar. He supposed this outpost was as good as any for fuel and supplies, and it was located halfway betwe
en his fleet and the space station where he’d meet his bride, but he also knew it attracted smugglers and arms dealers and all sorts of lowlifes. He watched as heads huddled together at the bar and money was passed underneath tables in dark corners. Even the air he breathed was tainted with sour-smelling smoke as patrons used bubbling inhalers to get their high. The sooner they left, the better.

  “What about you?” he asked his friend. “You on the list for a bride?”

  “I’m on there, somewhere.” Dakar shrugged. “I’m a third son, so I won’t come up for a while.”

  Torven nodded. He knew one of the reasons he’d finally been matched was because he was an only son. He would be the only male to carry on his family’s name. Although he wasn’t a member of the elite class, he was descended from a long line of valiant warriors. It was no secret that brides went first to the elite families, and then to only sons. Third sons like Dakar would be farther down the list, although knowing his friend, Torven didn’t think he much cared.

  Dakar had a reputation throughout the galaxy for being able to sweet talk any female out of her clothes in a matter of minutes. He was famous on the pleasure planets, and infamous among males of all species wishing to keep their females away from his irresistible charms.

  “You could become a captain and move up the list,” Torven said, taking the refilled glass from the bartender. “Our commander didn’t even put himself on the list and was called away because he got matched.”

  Dakar choked on his laughter. “Don’t worry about me, Torv. And wasn’t Commander Dorn practically dragged off his ship? I pity the female who got matched with that battle-hardened warrior.”

  Torven allowed himself a smile. He, too, remembered the stormy look on their commander’s face when he’d had to leave the fleet and report to the Boat, the space station where tribute brides were housed. “It will be good to see him.”

  Dakar nudged him. “You’ll have to tell me all about the Earthlings. And the fantasy suites. Now those I would like to see”

  Torven’s face warmed. “I’ll bet you would.” Even though he’d never seen the space station, the stories about it were legendary. It had been designed with human pleasure in mind, and contained everything human females loved most. He had no idea what those things were, but he knew the station was nothing like the old battle cruiser he’d come from. He only hoped he wasn’t a shock to his bride.

  He rubbed a hand across the scruff on his cheeks. Warriors in Inferno Force battled in the farthest regions of space, so they were allowed to be rougher around the edges. Torven wondered if he should try to appear less wild for the Earthling, like Dakar had suggested. As he debated the possibility of being clean-shaven for the first time in years. he heard a commotion from the entrance to the bar.

  Murmurs passed through the crowd as a group of uniformed Drexians entered—these warriors with close-dropped hair and starched uniforms—and many patrons drifted away, as the heavy boots clomped across the floor. The green-skinned bartender disappeared, as the four warriors approached Dakar and Torven.

  Dakar raised an eyebrow and muttered under his breath. “And I thought we weren’t welcome.”

  The lead Drexian soldier looked both men up and down when he reached them. “Torven of House Kantar?”

  Torven shifted his eyes to his friend before answering. “Yes?”

  “Your presence is requested by the High Command.”

  “I know,” Torven said. “We’re on our way to the Boat. This is just a quick stop for refueling.”

  “It’s a long trip,” Dakar added with a grin.

  The other Drexian didn’t smile or acknowledge Daker. “You need to come with us.”

  A suspicious tingle ran down Torven’s spine. He’d sent word to the space station that he was en route. Why send a squad to intercept him? They knew he was traveling with Dakar so his friend and crewmate could pilot the shuttle back to Inferno Force. “What’s all this about?”

  The Drexian Crossed his arms in front of his chest. “We are here to bring you in for questioning.”

  Dakar held up his hands. “Whoa. Questioning for what? This guy’s on his way to the Boat to be matched with a tribute bride.”

  “Not anymore, he’s not.” The lead Drexian let his eyes slide over to Dakar before returning to Torven. “He’s wanted for questioning in a criminal matter.”

  “A criminal matter?” Torven gave a small shake of his head. “I think you have the wrong Drexian.”

  “Negative.” The warrior clamped an iron cuff around his wrists before Torven could react. “You, Torven of House Kantar, are being charged with treason and conspiring with the enemy.”

  Torven’s mouth dropped open as he stared at the shackles on his hands. He heard his friend protesting loudly in the background, but all he could think about was the pretty blonde who would never be his.

  Chapter Two

  Trista sighed as she slipped out of the suite, letting the doors slide closed on the loud festivities within, and feeling relieved to be in the relative quiet of the corridor. She could still hear the music pounding and the peals of laughter, but she was glad to be by herself.

  “Macarena!” someone screamed from inside, and Trista shook her head. Yep, she’d escaped just in time.

  The surprise wedding had evolved from a pretty ceremony overlooking the African savannah (courtesy of alien holographic technology) to a dance party that would probably go until late in the night, if the Palaxian booze had anything to say about it. Her feet, which she’d jammed into high-heeled stripy sandals for the party, already ached.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy celebrating with the other tribute brides on the space station. All the other Earth women were great, but if she was being honest, Trista felt like she didn’t belong.

  She glanced down at the simple yellow sundress she had on. She’d much rather be wearing jeans and a loose-fit T-shirt, and the second she got back to her suite, she was losing the dress and heels. Not to mention the makeup the tribute bride liaison, Reina, had put on her. She knew tribute brides were supposed to look a certain way, but when she looked in the mirror and saw her usually wavy blonde hair blown stick straight, and her blue eyes heavily made up, she saw a stranger.

  Breathing in the cool night air, Trista stopped along the wooden pathway and looked out over the holographic environment. Even though the savannah was dark, she could hear the sounds of animals and the rustling of tall grass in the breeze. The alien technology that created all of it was pretty amazing, but it was another stark reminder that she was out of her league.

  What would the other tribute brides say if they knew what she was really like? They seemed pretty accepting—they’d adapted to living with aliens, after all—but what would they think if they knew about her past? Her new friends on the space station included a former ballerina, an Instagram influencer, and a reporter. That was a far cry from dating members of a motorcycle club and not even holding down a real job, unless you counted working on the broken bikes for no pay.

  A bird cawed loudly as it swooped overhead, and Trista jumped. Even though the aliens had cleaned her up pretty well and given her an entirely new wardrobe containing nothing black or leather, she felt like she was living a lie. Not that she wasn’t grateful for being rescued from her crappy former life. Being taken from Earth was the best thing that had ever happened to her, especially since she’d been running from a particularly bad ex-boyfriend. She shuddered even thinking about Rick and his nasty temper. No, she was glad to be far away on a space station. She was just tired.

  She sighed as she slipped off her shoes and hooked her index finger through the heel straps to carry them. Tired from the party, but also from trying to pretend she belonged, when deep down, she knew she was a complete fraud.

  Technically, none of the Earthlings belonged. They’d all been taken from Earth by the Drexians—huge, brawny alien warriors with bronze skin and muscles for days. Guys who would have been way out of her league back on Earth, Trista’
s little voice reminded her.

  The Drexians were smart about taking women, she’d give them that. They only took a few at a time. Plus, the chosen women had to be one-hundred-percent compatible with Drexians—not all were—and have few family and friends to miss them.

  “That would be me,” Trista muttered to herself, as she padded in her bare feet along the wooden walkway toward the inclinator.

  She’d been taken from Earth and brought up to the Boat, the high-tech space station that resided behind Saturn and housed all the tribute brides, as well as other aliens who kept the operation running. That had been a few weeks ago. The other two brides she’d been brought up with, who’d become her friends, were already mated to their guys. She still waited.

  If she was being completely honest with herself, Trista hoped her Drexian never arrived. She couldn’t bear to see his disappointment when he saw that he’d been matched to someone who wasn’t beautiful or hard-bodied or glamorous. She touched a hand to her hair, remembering that her stepfather had always called it dishwater blonde, and made a face. Who wanted that?

  Trista could imagine how a big, alpha, Drexian warrior would react if she told him she hated wearing dresses and liked working on engines. The Drexians tried to make all the tribute brides happy, but she doubted they would let her tinker with their spaceships. That would go over like a lead balloon. No, she’d rather stay in her perpetual holding pattern on the station, than have her Drexian realize he’d gotten a D-list bride.