Legend Beyond The Stars (36 page)

“You have already accused me of betraying you. You have already said I was a part of this madness.” His voice sounded as cold as the waters of Antarctica.

“I was confused. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

“I should never have left you.” His slow admission of regret rekindled a flame deep within her heart.

“To be fair, I guess you could not have known your orders would be countermanded. And you did come back for us. You saved us.” She drew a deep breath. “So?”

“I could tell you anything—how will you know if my words are true?”

“Please, Tarak.”

“I did not know the full extent of the experiments. What I did know of, I abhorred and had argued long with my father and the council for it to be abolished. I was overruled.”

Alana sighed. “That’s all I need to know.”

“That was easy,” said Tarak in a thoughtful voice.

”You once told me I could trust you and I find that I do.”

In the long silence which stretched between them, Alana wondered what was going through his head.

“You should know there is more.” Tarak’s voice was flat.

“More?”

“It has long been the Darkon practice to cull any new Darkon life which does not meet strict criteria.”

Alana pressed her hands against his chest and leaned back to gaze into his eyes. “You don’t mean …? How? Oh God, you mean babies are killed after they are born if they are not perfect Darkon warriors?” Despite her best efforts, she could hear her voice rising in accusation.

A spasm of discomfort rippled over Tarak’s face but he kept his eyes steady on hers. “Not quite. They are tested and terminated before full gestation.”

“That’s terrible.” Tears welled in her eyes. “How horrible for those poor women!”

Tarak frowned. He said slowly, “I do not see how it impacts on our females.”

Alana gaped at him, then tore herself out of his arms. Her eyes narrowed. “Surely even you can see how barbaric it is to make a woman miscarry her child! It would be even worse than if the miscarriage happened naturally.”

“I have no meaning for this word miscarriage, Alana.” Tarak’s heavy brows furrowed with thought.

”It’s quite simple!” The words snapped out through her clenched jaw. “A woman becomes pregnant and then things go wrong. She loses the baby.” Alana patted her stomach where anger and nausea rolled together like enthusiastic sumo wrestlers.

His gaze focussed on where her hand lay. Through a sheen of tears, she watched a myriad of emotions cross his face.

“Aaaah. So the women in your world carry your child here?” His warm heavy hand covered hers. “And this is where you carried your child?” His dark chocolate eyes swept up and fastened on her with such a fierce hunger her soul rejoiced.

Fire scorched her cheeks, his touch and words engendered a trembling response deep in her womb. Longing for what could never be, pierced her heart.

“Yes, my little daughter, Theresa.” There was pain in her soft admission.

His harsh laboured breathing was loud in her ears and melded with the swift heavy beating of her heart.

“Darkons are bred in the laboratory. Never cradled in the comfort of a female’s body. We meet our parents and family at brief intervals, our lives are structured to training and discipline depending on our particular strengths.” Tarak’s hoarse voice cut through the observation cube. “If I had been given the chance, this I wanted above all matters, to change. To go back to our ancient traditions. No culling. Real families. But it was not to be.”

Wordlessly, Alana reached her arms around his neck and pulled him close, offering him comfort.

He shuddered then wrapped his arms around her, drawing her tightly against his chest for one bittersweet moment. He released his hold. When she did not move, he clasped her hands and pulled them away from him and stepped back.

Confused, Alana stared at the tense line of his back as he turned away. She struggled to deal with his rejection. A shaky pride came to her rescue. She scrubbed at her wet cheeks and thrust her damp fists deep into her pockets.

Fine then, there’s no way I’m running after him again
.

The sound of the door behind them sliding open had her spinning around. Magar entered.

Oh no
. He brushed past her and strode to his Commander’s side.

“Tarak.” Magar’s voice was grave. “Lord Char requests your presence.”

Alana saw his body stiffen but Tarak’s face was calm when he turned and bowed his head. “Come with me, Alana.”

The words were part order part request, and she could no more refuse him than turn into a spaceship and fly home to Earth.

She placed her hand in his outstretched one and together they hastened back to the Analysis Chamber. Char was waiting for them at the entrance. Without speaking, the healer led them over to where Lord Dion lay.

The lines of pain so deeply entrenched in the warrior’s face were smoothed away. His eyes were closed. The hum of the machines still tethered to his body, silent. Tarak’s grip tightened convulsively as he stared at his brother’s lifeless form.

”He has passed to the other realm, Commander. He will now reap his eternal reward for a life well lived as a great Darkon warlord,” the healer intoned.

“Leave us.”

The healer hesitated then spoke again. “As you wish, Commander. We must ready him for the last rite.”

“Ten sectons, no more,” Tarak ordered.

The others faded away. Despite her earlier intentions and his denial of her offer of comfort, Alana looped her arm around Tarak’s waist and curved her body into his long length. His arm settled about her shoulders and together they maintained a quiet vigil.

It was not until the healer and his attendants returned that Tarak spoke.

“In accordance with our tradition, my brother’s body will be incinerated and the ashes jettisoned into space. Will you attend the last rite?”

“Yes, I’ll be there.”

“I wish you by my side.”

Alana swallowed hard on the sadness choking her voice and nodded. She squeezed his hand and left him.

The ceremony was performed in the main departure bay. Rows of fully armoured Darkon warriors stood in military precision. Off to one side, Alana’s friends and the other women listened to the Healer’s soft voice as he led the service and performed this last
Darkon ritual. His voice faded away. Into the well of silence slow heavy strikes of metal against metal began, as the dresser of the dead recounted Lord Dion’s life cycle.

Tears pricked Alana’s eyes. It was all such a stupid waste. It was depressing to find even technologically advanced races were not above reverting to bloodshed and chaos over greed and power.

Were humans to be always at war?

For the first time, Alana admitted she longed for a peaceful existence. An ordinary life, one with a husband and family, time spent doing everyday things. Her wistful eyes lifted and met the Commander’s questioning gaze. He stood firm at her side.

In his eyes, she recognised the same yearning. Tarak’s hand reached for hers, his grip closed strongly over her fingers.

The tolling ceased.

Together they stood before the Darkon warriors and watched the ceramic urn which held Dion’s remains be expelled into black infinity. The Commander and his men, as if on cue, voiced a loud roar. Tarak lifted his hand in acknowledgement and Alana swore every eye was on them as still hand in hand, he led her across the runway. She had the feeling something of incredible significance had occurred and puzzled over it while they strolled towards the chutes.

“I will return to the Command Centre,” he said.

His voice sounded distant. Suddenly she longed for a return to their former intimacy with a desperation which terrified her. He was shutting her out and it was all her stupid fault.
His pain lanced through her as if it was her own, and her need to offer him comfort overrode all her previous good intentions.

They crammed into the chute and shot skywards.

They stood silent outside the chute, each one waiting for the other to turn and walk away.

She let her gaze slide hungry with need over his body. She noted how tense he held his shoulders, his clenched fists, his dark compelling eyes.

Stuff it!
She was wrong—there was no way she could walk away from him now. In whatever long years that lay before her, she would take with her this one, last memory. One last passionate union to fill the emptiness ahead.

“Later,” she said and leant up to press a soft kiss against his hard lips. She heard his quick intake of breath, saw fire leap into his dark eyes and she smiled. “Your quarters or mine?” She watched with relief when the grimness eased from his features at her teasing words.

He raised her hand to his mouth and pressed an open mouth kiss to her knuckles. His arm encircled her waist and with infinite care he guided her to his quarters.

When the compartment door slid shut behind her, Alana cast all doubts to the four winds. She reached for the clasps of his armour, her hands fumbling with the mechanism securing his protective suit.

“Be easy, my Alana.” Tarak’s voice rumbled in her ear as his mouth moved slowly down her neck. “Let me savour you. Allow me to show you how very precious you are to me.”

He clasped her hands and raised them to his mouth. His heated gaze on her, he suckled each of her fingers one by one then placed her hands on his chest. Her eyes drifted shut as his lips nibbled hers, sucking and drawing her lower lip deeply into his hot mouth. He plunged his hungry tongue between her parted lips and claimed possession. Her passion for this man roared through her veins, pulsed hotly in her blood. Her heart skittered with the frantic wings of a flustered butterfly. Alana squirmed and fought to press herself closer to his hard body.

She needed his bare flesh against hers.

Now.

But it seemed Tarak had other ideas as he gently avoided her attempts to strip both of them of their clothing. A sob fought past her throat. He murmured soothing endearments against her skin, his hands moulding her breasts with exquisite care.

“More! I want more.”

Tarak laughed, a dark sound that curled her toes, at her panting admission. “Then let me show you more.”

As if her demands released some inner demon, his tempo changed with a fierceness which flooded Alana’s heart with joy. Through the heavy pounding of her heart, she heard his armour snap open and fall away to the floor. Barely aware of her clothes being removed, all she could feel was the heat of his demanding hands as they roamed her body as if desperate to leave no inch of skin left unclaimed. His hard body covered hers, imprinting her mind and senses forever with the memory of the feel against her sensitive skin of the roughness of the fine hairs that covered his limbs, the hard sculpture of his well-honed body as he pressed her
onto the floor. His distinctive scent filled her nostrils, his deep voice had her toes curling, his rough tongue as he lapped along her inner thighs sizzling fire through her veins and dissolving her bones into water, the teasing softness of his long hair as it spilled over her belly and through her clutching hands, these things she would carry with her for all time.

Through a fine sheen of tears, she gazed into his dark eyes when he lifted his head, his stern mouth softened. His intense possessive look pierced her to her soul, before their lips met in a kiss that sung a sweetness to her heart she knew she would never experience again.

They joined together in a turbulent meeting of such urgent molten heat she thought their two bodies fused into one. He spoke her name with a wealth of emotion, his hands cupped her face and she smiled up into his fierce face revelling in his long slow thrusts. She wrapped her arms around his heavy body as if she’d never let him go. Locking her legs over his back, she took all he had to give as her body exploded in a convulsion of joy.

Gradually her heartbeats steadied as she lay quiet, spent and fluid beneath him and listened to the pounding of his heart against her chest. With loving hands, she smoothed his black hair while he lazily pressed wet kisses to her bare breasts with his mouth. He eased his body to one side, shifting his weight off her and inconsolable loss crept into her heart. A kiss as soft as a butterfly wing drifted against her cheek. Her eyes lifted and in his serious gaze she read the finality of this precious moment. Inwardly, she railed at the ironic coils of an unfair fate which had led her here to the far flung reaches of another galaxy to find the one man she had been born for—and the one man she could never be with.

They were both bound by duty.

Both entrusted with the care of others.

These truths she read in his sombre face as if they were etched in neon on the walls behind.

“We are a doomed race. This I vow will not be your fate. I will see you and the others safe from here.”

Somehow, Alana found the courage to nod in acquiescence. He shifted and she scrambled to her feet. With hope as dry as the Simpson Desert clogging her heart and feet feeling as heavy as armoured tanks, she swiped her clothes off the floor and headed for the cleansing tube. The sound of Tarak swearing with force behind her did little to relieve her pain.

When she emerged clad once more in her flight suit, she found Tarak also fully dressed in battle armour and performing a methodical check of the various compu systems embedded in the panels on his forearms. Grimness etched deep furrows into his features and a desolate sadness pervaded her as she recognised the signs of a warrior preparing for battle. He ceased his systems check and strode to her side. His embrace closed around her and, lowering his head, he pressed his lips against hers, ravishing her mouth before thrusting her away.

Alana darted a quick look at his averted face before also fixing her gaze to the opposite wall.

“The Ark is entering the outer approaches of Cerciron. You will come with me to the Command Centre.”

“What do you intend to do?”

She watched the slow, feral grin spread across his face. “What should have been done many cycles ago.”

Steel tightened her spine. “Give me a weapon and I will fight at your side.”