The Morcai Battalion: Invictus. Diana Palmer

echoed.

      Madeline threw up her hands. “I give up. I’m never going to be able to pull this off. I mean, look at…?”

      She stopped, fascinated, as Rognan came dashing toward her as fast as his injured leg would allow.

      “You must deal with this,” Caneese told Dtimun helplessly. “He has been told that he will not be permitted at the ceremony. He is very upset.”

      “But why can’t he be?” Madeline asked.

      “Because he considers you his mate,” Dtimun said with a flash of green eyes. “We would never make it past him into the mating chamber.”

      “And when she becomes pregnant, there will be no place where she can go without him,” Caneese groaned, missing Madeline’s flush. “He will consider the child his as well.”

      “Meg-Ravens are quite fascinating to study,” Dtimun mused as the bird came closer. “It is best to do it at long-range however,” he sighed.

      Rognan paused in front of them and flapped his wings angrily. “Rognan must come to ceremony. Rognan is family!” he muttered.

      Madeline reached out and stroked his feathered head, scratching it gently. He calmed at once.

      “Yes, Rognan is family,” she agreed gently. “But there will be many people, and you don’t like strangers around you. Yes?”

      He hesitated. He ruffled his feathers. “Strangers make Rognan nervous,” he agreed.

      “So you can watch from a closed vid screen,” she suggested, pointedly looking at Caneese.

      The elder Cehn-Tahr nodded. “That will be possible.”

      Rognan sighed. “Very well.”

      Impulsively Madeline hugged him. “You must stop worrying so much about things. It isn’t good for you.”

      He enveloped her with a huge black wing. “Rognan will try. Rognan is happy that you will be family,” he added in a hesitant tone.

      She drew back and smiled at him. “Thank you. That’s very nice of you to say.”

      “You have amazing skills in diplomacy,” Caneese remarked when Rognan had hobbled away. “They may be quite useful one day.”

      “They already are, when dealing with some individuals,” she said, and glanced wickedly at her commanding officer.

      He chuckled.

      “What sort of witnessing are we talking about?” Madeline asked suddenly. She hadn’t wanted to bring it up, but it was disturbing.

      “We require proof of parentage in, shall we say, our aristocratic circles,” Caneese explained solemnly. “The first mating requires witnesses.”

      She gaped at the aliens. “You mean people are going to stand around and WATCH us…?”

      Dtimun burst out laughing at her expression.

      “No, of course not,” Caneese assured her quickly. “There will be a closed chamber with guards at the single entrance, to ensure that everything is correct and that only the two of you enter the room. So that there is no doubt of the child’s parentage.”

      “But I thought that was a tradition only in royal families, when an heir was involved,” Madeline said thoughtfully. “And besides,” she added solemnly, “this child is temporary.” She didn’t add that she was quite uncertain if a child was even possible, unless Komak had put something quite unusual into that injection he’d given her. Even her Medicomp was unable to analyze its contents.

      “We must follow the law, even in covert circumstances,” Caneese said gently.

      Madeline sighed. “I suppose so.”

      Dtimun walked along with them back toward the fortress. “Sfilla has arranged transport and facilities on Benaski Port. We will wait only until the pregnancy is sufficiently visible to leave.” He glanced at Madeline, who looked as uncomfortable as he felt. “There is another matter. What if it is impossible for us to breed?”

      “Komak assured me that it was not,” Caneese interjected. “And that this first mating will bear fruit. Now let us worry no more about it,” she told them firmly. “I have had a meal prepared. We can discuss the details of your journey while we eat.”

      Madeline followed them inside, more confused than ever. She hoped she wouldn’t disgrace herself.

      She glanced at the commander with a slight frown, her mind full of his behavior earlier. She was just beginning to realize that she didn’t know him at all.

      CHAPTER THREE

      Madeline was impressed by the number of guards and the obvious wealth and prestige of the guests who attended the ceremony. She wore simple robes in a pale blue gossamer fabric, her hair left long and clean and flowing in red-gold waves down her back.

      Beside her, Dtimun also wore robes, similar to the ones he’d worn to the Altair embassy when he’d blackmailed her into accompanying him. She had to restrain a smile, remembering some of their earlier battles.

      He glanced down at her with twinkling green eyes, amused at her thoughts. She curbed them. It really wasn’t a time to be humorous.

      Caneese herself officiated at the brief ceremony. She welcomed the guests, who seemed to be shocked about some aspect of the affair, and joined Dtimun and Madeline at a small altar at one end of the spacious chamber.

      She instructed them to join hands. Then she read the ceremony in High Cehn-Tahr, the ancient tongue of her people. Madeline barely understood a word of it. She was far more aware of her surroundings and the experience to come, apprehension having kept her sleepless. She had taken Caneese’s advice and used a small bit of sedative. But it wasn’t doing much good.

      In a heartbeat, the ceremony was over and Caneese was smiling at them. She nodded.

      Dtimun glanced at Madeline and indicated the back of the room. She followed him, aware of the silence as they left the guests behind.

      He didn’t look at her as they approached a door guarded by two Cehn-Tahr soldiers in full dress uniform. The guards stared straight ahead, their eyes never deviating to the bonded pair.

      One guard touched a switch and the door to the suite opened. Madeline went in, followed by Dtimun, and the door closed behind them. It was pitch-black inside. The only sound was a sudden, deep growl emanating from her companion. It was reminiscent of the cry Cehn-Tahr made when in battle, the death cry called the decaliphe. But this one had a more bass pitch.

      She couldn’t see him in the darkness, but the growl was slowly escalating. She felt hands suddenly grasp her from behind. She felt his teeth on her shoulder, his claws digging into her rib cage. His teeth moved to the back of her neck. She recalled, with growing unease, his comment that if she bent her neck to his teeth he would make her pay for it. Her heart jumped into her throat. He was her commander. She’d known him for three years. But this creature was alien in a way she’d never expected and as threatening as a charging galot.

      He felt taller and more massive than he appeared. The growls and the brutal grip of his hands would have been enough to frighten any woman not battle-hardened. She wasn’t certain whether or not to fight at this point. He wasn’t really hurting her.

      While she was considering her options, he suddenly lifted her and literally tossed her across the room.

      Gasping at the shock of movement, and the raw strength that had propelled her such a distance, she landed on her back, thankfully on a soft surface. The impact still knocked the breath out of her. Before she could catch it, Dtimun had pinned her, facedown, so that she could not escape. There was a cry, much more like the decaliphe, that chilled her to the bone. Behind her, the growl grew louder. She felt a crushing weight as sharp teeth bit into the back of her neck. To that pain was added, quite suddenly, another pain. Shocking. Humiliating. Infuriating!