The Alliance Boxset Books 4-6

Chapter 11-2

Hours later, a message came in and Destin’s arms briefly tightened around Sula. He reluctantly released her to roll onto his side. Leaning up on his elbow, he pulled the communicator around and read the message. He murmured a response in a quiet voice.

“What is it?” Sula asked, sliding an arm around his waist.

“We’ve reached Earth,” he murmured, replacing the communicator back onto the side table.

A smile curved Destin’s lips as he laid his hand over hers and rolled onto his back. Her face was still a little puffy from crying. Lifting his hand, he traced the outline of her cheek.

She turned her head to brush her lips against the palm of his hand. A teasing smile crossed his face and he suddenly rolled on top of her. Her startled giggle sent the now familiar wave of warmth through him. The lightheartedness of the moment faded and he gazed down at her with a serious expression.

“What is it?” Sula asked, tilting her head sideways on the pillow and giving him a questioning look.

“Things are going to be different on Earth,” he said.

A flash of uncertainty swept across her face and she licked her bottom lip. Drawing in a deep breath, he turned his head and pressed his lips against her wrist when she threaded her fingers through his hair. He felt her slight tremble at the intimate gesture.

“We will work together this time,” she promised, gazing at him. “There has to be information somewhere on where Badrick sent those women. I will find it. I will also work beside you to help with the rebuilding. As an Alliance representative, I can fight for any funding that is necessary and work with the other Councilors to ensure you receive the support you need. I know you will be busy helping your people, Destin. I will, also.”

Destin leaned forward and rested his forehead against hers. He didn’t have as much faith in finding the women as Sula did. Razor had assigned two Trivators almost two years ago to locate the women. They found and returned over half of them before they were recalled.

Destin seriously doubted the Trivators would be able to find the rest of the women after all this time. Razor had promised he would reassign the men, but Destin was skeptical of his brother-in-law’s promise considering the new threats to the Alliance. From the little that he’d overheard, there was more at stake in the universe than the lives of a group of human women.

Destin bent and brushed a kiss across her lips. “I know you will,” he murmured before he pulled back and grimaced when the communicator buzzed again. “We’d better get a move on or Trig will be having puppies.”

Sula’s brow furrowed at the comment. “I do not think Trivator males can have puppies. They may obtain them, but the canine species are not found in their world,” she said, following him when he slid out of bed.

Destin’s eyes twinkled with amusement when she stood up and straightened the oversized Chicago Cubs T-shirt she had confiscated from him. Sometimes Sula took his statements very literally, leading to some interesting – and often amusing – discussions. He shook his head and wrapped his arm around her. If it wasn’t for the fact that Trig was getting impatient to get off the ship and wouldn’t leave them alone, he would postpone going down to the planet for as long as possible. The communicator chimed again, almost as if Trig sensed his procrastination.

“For crying out loud,” Destin muttered, glancing at the message on the communicator. “He is worse than a kid at Christmas!”

“What does it say?” Sula asked.

“’Are you ready yet?’” Destin replied with a slight growl in his voice. It pinged again. “’How about now?’ I’m going to shove this damn thing down his throat.”

“Wouldn’t it just be easier to remove his ability to communicate with you?” Sula asked.

“Yes, but not near as much fun,” Destin muttered, sliding his hand over Sula’s hip and pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “I’m going to have Cutter assign him to latrine duty at the Army National Guard building if he doesn’t stop driving me crazy.”

Sula chuckled. “I think we better go,” she murmured, kissing the corner of his mouth.

There was a bang on the outer door. Destin watched Sula quickly gather some clothing and step into the bathroom. Grabbing a pair of jogging pants, he quickly pulled them on before he strode the short distance to the door and opened it. He glared at Trig.

“I got your message,” Destin replied dryly. “All of them.”

Trig looked Destin up and down with a dark, impatient frown. Destin watched Trig shift from one foot to the other and glance over Destin’s shoulder into the cabin behind him before scowling at him again. Destin raised an amused eyebrow at Trig and ignored the alien male’s impatient glare.

“We’re here,” Trig stated.

“I know. You already told me that,” Destin pointed out.

“Why aren’t you ready?” Trig demanded. “I’m ready to get off this ship.”

Destin casually leaned against the door frame. Amusement swept through him when Trig’s expression darkened at his lack of motivation.

“I can kinda tell you are ready to get off the ship. Did your parents ever tell you that you are very annoying?” Destin asked before he shook his head. “The answer to your question is no, we are not ready. We were asleep until a few minutes ago. It should only take us about fifteen minutes if you stop interrupting us.”

Trig’s lips twitched and his eyes glittered with a rueful expression. “You don’t want to ask my parents that question. It would take years to hear about how annoying I can be,” he retorted, glancing over Destin’s shoulder again. “Good morning, Councilor Ikera.”

“Sula,” Sula responded automatically, wrapping a tie around the end of her long braid. “Good morning to you as well, Trig. I understand that we have arrived. I have already submitted my request for delivery of my belongings to my new living quarters.”

“At least one of you is organized,” Trig replied with a satisfied nod before he stepped back and started to turn away. “I’ll meet you in the shuttle bay in ten minutes.”

“Fifteen,” Destin called out behind the Trivator.

“Shuttle leaves in twenty,” Trig retorted, not turning around.

Destin chuckled and straightened. Turning, he closed the door to his living quarters. His gaze swept over Sula. She looked beautiful, exotic, and definitely alien in the dark red, form fitting top, leggings, and silver transparent cover. Her hair was braided to the side and hung down over her shoulder. Thin ribbons of red and silver ran through it.

“You look beautiful,” Destin murmured, stepping toward her.

He raised his hand and brushed the back of his knuckles down her cheek before turning his hand to trace the line along her throat. His fingers grazed the long scar on her neck. Bending, he brushed his lips against hers before releasing an annoyed grunt when his communicator chimed.

“I’ll kill him while you go get ready,” she laughed, lifting her hand to brush it across the rough skin of his jaw.

“Sounds good to me,” he grunted out, reluctantly turning away from her. “I’ll be out in a couple of minutes.”

“Take your time. I’ll need it to hide the body,” she teased.

“Number Three in the Disposal Unit incinerates really well,” he suggested, turning and retrieving some clothes before disappearing into the bathroom.

His amusement vanished and once again he felt the tightness grow in his chest at the thought that they were finally back on Earth. Reality was a brutal companion and it was tapping him on the shoulder at the moment, reminding him of his responsibilities. He stepped into the shower and quickly washed. Within minutes, he was dressed and stepping out of the bathroom.

Sula was gone. She had probably already headed down to the shuttle bay. It didn’t take him long to gather the few articles of clothing and his other personal belongings. He wouldn’t need anyone to transport them since they all fit into the duffel bag he pulled out from under his bed.

Glancing around one last time, he shouldered the large green bag and stepped out of the room. He nodded to several warriors he passed. He was beginning to disconnect himself from the ship, this strange, alien world. His mind was already focusing on going home.

The trip down to the shuttle bay took a lot less time than he’d anticipated. His gaze narrowed on Trig where he was talking quietly with Jag, the commander of the Star Raider. Jag glanced his way, nodded, and returned his attention to Trig. Both men’s faces held an intense, grim expression.

“What is it?” Destin asked, glancing back and forth between the two men.

“A Waxian starship was intercepted while entering this part of the galaxy,” Jag stated.

“When?” Destin demanded.

“A few hours ago. There was a brief battle before it was destroyed,” Jag replied. “They are no match for our defenses.”

“It only takes one ship to get through to discover an area of weakness,” Destin said, glancing around the shuttle bay. “How many Waxian ships were there?”

“Just one,” Jag replied. “It is not uncommon for them to travel alone and recklessly, but something feels wrong. There was very little resistance.”

“It proves they are a threat, though,” Trig added.

Destin nodded. “Where’s Sula?” he asked, glancing around again.

“She has already boarded the shuttle to go down,” Trig replied, turning to nod at the shuttle behind him. “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” Destin said, noticing that Jag’s attention was already redirected to another issue. “So, what happened with the Waxians?”

“A Waxian starship appeared near the planet you call Uranus. One of our patrols intercepted the ship when it came out of trans-galaxy acceleration. All our warnings to stand down for boarding were ignored. The Waxians on the ship opened fire on the patrol cruiser,” Trig stated.

“And there were no other ships?” Destin asked.

“No, and that is what worries me,” Trig replied, stepping up onto the platform.”

Destin watched Trig for a moment, his eyes narrowing on the stiff shoulders of the Trivator. Trig had told him about what happened to Dagger. He also knew what Taylor had gone through. There were a lot of things that he still didn’t know, but both events had deeply affected the man.

Sympathy for Trig swept through him. He remembered the feelings of helplessness when Kali had been captured and almost killed. Fortunately, his sister had not been subjected to years of torture the way Dagger had been. It amazed him that the other man was even remotely functional.

It was obvious from the little he had seen of Dagger that the man suffered from some form of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Destin had seen it over and over among members of his team while fighting against Colbert. Hell, he knew he suffered from PTSD himself. He had quickly learned that each person handled the disorder differently. Only the person going through it knew how to handle the stress and the flashbacks. They needed to do it in their own way and at their own pace – without judgment or criticism.

He climbed the platform, stepping to the side to allow a few warriors carrying additional cargo to pass him before he headed through the narrow corridor toward the front. He paused at the entrance to the next section. Almost a dozen warriors were strapped into the rows of seats lining each side. His gaze narrowed on Sula.

She stood out like a glowing beacon among all the black clad warriors in her vivid dark red bodysuit and silver cover. Her feet were clad in a pair of red, knee high boots. A smile curved his lips when she absently tucked her feet under the seat when two large males passed by her. She was totally engrossed in whatever she was reading and had not seen him yet.

“Is this seat taken?” Destin asked, grasping the handrail running above the seats and leaning on it.

Sula looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. “Yes, I was saving it for a very special human,” she quipped.

Destin glanced around the cabin before turning his gaze back to her. “Looks like you’ll have to settle for me,” he said, turning and sitting down.

“Any time,” she murmured, leaning toward him.

“You two need to get a room,” Trig muttered when he walked past Sula and sat down on the seat next to her.

“I should have incinerated him like you suggested,” Sula retorted under her breath, sitting back and shooting Trig a cool glance.

“There’s still time… or maybe not,” Destin briefly chuckled before the shuttle began to vibrate. He quickly pulled the straps over his shoulders and connected the ends. He groaned softly and grabbed her hand before closing his eyes. “God, I hate space ships.”