Paax: Warlord Brides

By Nancey Cummings and Starr Huntress

Paax never wanted to be matched to a mate.

The situation in his clan was dangerous for a hardened warrior, let alone a soft Human female without fangs or claws to defend herself. Sending her back to Earth was the only way to keep her safe. However, the moment the curvaceous woman stepped off the transporter, his tattoo burned with a passionate intensity he’d never experienced before. Paax knew he would do anything to protect her, to claim her, even challenge the clan’s violent Warlord.

No force in the universe would take his mate from him.

Matched to an alien warrior in the Draft, Mercy swore she’d do whatever it took to get out of the marriage contract. She liked her life on Earth and her independence. No one would take it away, not even the ridiculously hot warrior who demanded she call him husband.

Why is being claimed by the horned muscular alien the only thing she can think about?

She didn’t want to stay, did she?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Menura Press
• Release date: Apr 30, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370813049

Nancey Cummings

Nancey writes fun, fast and flirty scifi romances featuring feisty heroines and out-of-this-world heros. Nancey lives in an old house with her husband and two cats who have complaints with management. When she’s not writing, she enjoys video games, horror movies and anything involving time travel.

Book preview

Chapter one

MERCY

Mercy registered for the Draft on her twentieth birthday. All unmarried, single, childless women of Earth were required to register in compliance with the Mahdfel Protection Treaty.

She was twenty-two when her name was selected for genetic screening. Not a big concern, give a little blood and wait. The majority of women were removed from the screening process: not healthy enough or not genetically compatible with the Mahdfel. The Mahdfel wanted to bond their warriors with healthy mates. Malnourished, sickly Earth girls wouldn’t do.

Just her luck that she was healthy as a horse.

Fortunately, Mercy qualified for an exception. Critically injured during the Suhlik invasion, Mercy’s mother required intensive medical care. As the only surviving family member, Mercy got a reprieve from the Draft.

Birthday after birthday, guards arrived at the front door and escorted her to the testing facility. Birthday after birthday, Mercy got another year’s exemption.

Mercy knew other girls her age who got pregnant simply to avoid the Draft. Worse still, married the first man they could, whether they loved each other or not. Forced to marry an alien stranger or choose a loveless marriage to stay on Earth. Better to pick your poison, Mercy reasoned, but she was thankful for her mother’s condition, even if that condition included crippling medical bills.

No picking poison necessary.

When the guards arrived the morning of her twenty-fifth birthday, she wasn’t worried. Nothing about her mother’s health had changed.

Then, disaster struck.

The note trembled in her hand. What do you mean there’s a match? I have an exemption.

The nurse shifted her weight from foot to foot, a bored expression on her face. We re-evaluated the exemptions to include more candidates in the screening process. You were sent an update.

I don’t remember. Mercy received so much mail regarding the Draft and genetic matches. Most of it was junk or propaganda. Some of it mentioned the Earth women’s rights if matched.

You have a match, the nurse said. The genetic match was important. Ninety-eight point five percent match or better. No match, no baby, and everyone knew the Mahdfel were only interested in babies.

My Mom needs me. I can’t leave Earth. Mercy attempted to recall all her rights. There had to be a way out.

Fourteen years passed since the Mahdfel agreed to protect Earth from the Suhlik invasion, an invasion humanity, as a whole, was unprepared to fight. All the Mahdfel asked in exchange for their protection was brides. The Mahdfel only had male children so they sought mates from other species across the galaxy. Lucky for Earth that humans were genetically compatible.

Seemed a reasonable bargain, right? End a devastating invasion humanity had no hope of surviving in exchange for a few women whose families were richly compensated. The Mahdfel got a new generation of warriors. Win-win.

The politicians justified it as the same sacrifice a soldier made when they enlisted, so the media started referring to the bride program as The Draft. Then the propaganda started. Only a kid at the time, Mercy remembered the commercials, the posters, and the pop up ads on the internet.

Protect Earth, Become a War Bride.

Do Your Part for Humanity’s Future and the Mahdfel.

Yup, protect the future by popping out Human-Mahdfel hybrid babies.

The compensation for a match was generous with additional bonuses at a child’s birth. That amount of credits could buy her mother the expensive procedure she needed, but there was no guarantee the money would arrive immediately. Her mother needed her now.

But my mother is ill. She needs me, Mercy said.

Compassionate exemptions have been revoked.

She was injured in the war. Mercy remembered with perfect clarity the raid which devastated her mother’s lungs. They huddled in the shelter with a single functioning gas mask between them. Mercy, only eleven years old at the time, panicked when she realized the filter on her mask failed. Her mother traded masks without hesitation. Years later, every breath was a struggle. She needed a lung transplant. New tech— Mahdfel tech— could grow her a new set of lungs but the procedure was prohibitively expensive.

We all made sacrifices during the war, the nurse said, disinterested.

Mercy’s hands clenched. Some sacrificed more than others. Others continued to sacrifice. There has to be a way out of this.

Are you pregnant?

No.

Married?

No.

Engaged?

Mercy sighed. No.

That narrows down your options then.

Meaning she had no options. She was matched. End of discussion.

I didn’t really pack, she said, her voice small. She felt foolish. She shoved some things from the clean laundry basket into a carryall bag. No toiletries. Not even a toothbrush.

Plenty of women sitting in the waiting room had suitcases. They were planners. They were prepared.

Probably even had toothbrushes.

By all accounts, the war brides are happy, the nurse said. The Mahdfel treat their mates well. In the fourteen years, there’ve only been a handful of divorces. Five thousand matches and only two divorces. That says something.

Five thousand matches? The number seemed low.

From this facility.

Mercy wasn’t impressed. A war bride was basically a baby factory. Their only job is making kids and raising them. Sure that’s great for some but she liked her life the way it was. On Earth.

Her vet tech job wasn’t fancy but she got to spend all day with the best creatures in the world. Her childhood dream of being a vet never panned out. Between tuition, medical bills, and completing an internship, she never managed it. The added pressure of never knowing if she was about to be matched and whisked away didn’t help. It was impossible for half the planet’s population to plan for more than a year at a time.

All of that meant Mercy was not super thrilled about being matched in the Draft. Who would be? Brides didn’t get time to prepare their goodbyes. They were teleported to their grooms instantly, wherever the groom was located. No exceptions.

Her little career? Over.

Her house? Her mother was all alone in the house now.

Friends? No chance to say goodbye.

At least she didn’t have a dog. Mercy had wanted a dog for the longest time because dogs were concentrated joy, but she feared the Draft taking her away. If her name was ever pulled, how could she leave behind a being of concentrated joy?

Wherever she’s going, she could get a dog, or its alien equivalent, when she got there. That thought helped. And she didn’t have to worry about her mother affording the house all on her own. The money was more than enough to pay all the bills and cover her medical expenses. So, lemon, meet lemonade.

The nurse presented Mercy with a data table displaying the marriage contract. You are a ninety-nine percent match, which means there is a one percent chance that pregnancy with a Mahdfel child can end in death. Please sign here to indicate you understand the risks associated with breeding with the Mahdfel.

Yup, no sugar coating.

Ninety-nine percent was great odds, as best as the genetic

Reviews for Paax

[Deitriah · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Short, simple and to the point. This is a spicy, fiery,and sometimes exciting read. I laughed and blushed. Theses characters are something else.