Page 36 of Healer (The Outlander Book Club… in Space! #4)

"Let me be sure I have this straight. The youngling Daisy and Daicon rescued from the mines, is the crowned regent of the Kerzak?"

I wanted to make sure I heard my Chieftain correctly. The rumble and clank of the space station engines were an aggravating but necessary hindrance, as was the oppressively humid heat thick with the smell of oil and metal common to the engine room.

I needed to speak to my ship, the Bardaga, without being overheard. Thankfully, my sister and her mate ran security operations on the Ardeese Valout, so getting past space station's surveillance came easy. Staying out of range of prying ears not so much, hence my occupation of the engine room.

Personally, I'd been stunned to learn my War Chief had adopted an orphan, but finding one's mate does strange things to a male.

"Not crowned yet, but yes." My Chieftain said with a chuckle. "He is Prince Alokar Vey, next in line for the throne, long thought dead."

"How are Daicon and his mate handling it?" The one thing I knew for sure about my War Chief—he safeguarded those he cared about.

"They are protective of the youngling, of course," Khaion said in a voice that indicated he didn't blame them in the least. "Princess Vienda and her mate are just as protective. Thankfully, Ewok was very young when he was taken so he remembers little of what happened."

"What's the plan?" I might be stuck on the space station for the time being, but that didn't mean I wanted to be left out of the loop.

Khaion let out a heavy sigh. "I have spoken with the Alliance council.

No one wants the news leaked until we can ensure Ambassador Yaard is neutralized.

The Ambassador is expected to attend Duke Ako's birthday celebration at the Citadel.

The plan is to rendezvous with the Alliance council, arrest Yaard, and install Ewok and his sister as regents. "

"I didn't think female Kerzak were allowed to rule?"

Khaion laughed at my confusion. "A situation to be remedied by the young king. His new mother and the other human females feel strongly about a woman's right to rule."

"At least we'll get rid of Yaard," I snorted. "He was always a nasty fucker."

"I forgot how much you enjoyed Earth's curse words," Khaion chuckled. "I also have good news to share."

"Yes?" Curiosity bubbled inside me. I already knew Hakkar had rescued his human, and both were safe aboard the Bardaga.

"Daisy and Daicon are expecting a youngling."

"That's great news!" The words burst from my lips.

Younglings were always a source of great joy for the Vaktaire.

Hearing that our species could not only mate but also conceive with humans came as a happy surprise.

"How is your mate, Emmy?" Khaion had been the first of us to mate with a human female.

While I hadn't met the other females yet, I knew Emmy and could only imagine how she kept my Chieftain on his toes.

"All the females are well and happy in their mating."

"All the females?"

"Agnes and Hakkar have mated as well."

I laughed, more from the sappiness of the situation than my joy at hearing yet another of my brethren found his mate. Some might think the hand of the goddess Valana guided each of my crewmates to find his mate in the female he rescued.

Not me.

I had suspicions that my brethren completed the true Vaktaire mating ritual with the human females.

The valakana proved hard to survive. My sister mated with a Stranac, a warrior species, and she had forgone the Vaktaire mating ritual for fear of his harm.

For a frail, delicate human to survive seemed impossible.

While I was happy for my brethren, personally, I wanted a true mating—one I knew the goddess blessed.

"What?" I came out of my thoughts to catch the end of what Khaion was saying... something about kismet.

"I was saying that perhaps you will be as blessed as well and claim Pearl as your mate."

"She threw a knife at my head." I reminded him.

"You probably scared her," Khaion laughed.

"She scared me," I muttered.

I'd used my sister's connections to gain entry into the Baron's suite, intent on contacting Pearl to let her know rescue was nigh.

Pearl wasn't in the harem chambers, although purchased by the Baron as a sex slave.

Rumor had it that she proved herself an excellent chef and earned a place in the kitchens.

I'd found her alone, chopping a pika root into translucent slices. Her long, delicate fingers handled the knife with confidence and precision. The sunlight streamed from overhead, sparking strands of red in the rich brown hair she wore pulled back into a low, messy bun.

I’d cleared my throat to announce my arrival, planning to introduce myself and inform her I'd been sent by her friend Emmy to affect rescue.

When the word hello left my lips, she glanced up, sharp, deep blue eyes centering on me.

Her face was heart-shaped, with pale skin, pink cheeks, and full lips.

The shock playing across her features had been breathtaking, and for a moment, I'd give her credit as being the most beautiful thing I'd ever laid eyes on.

Then, she frowned, yelled at me to get the hell out of her kitchen, and threw the knife she held at my head. The blade embedded in the door frame scant inches from my ear. If I hadn't been so appalled, I might have been impressed. I must admit, it was a decent throw.

"Wait until you hear how Tarook and his mate met," Khaion teased.

"Did she throw a knife at him?" I countered.

"No." My Chieftain laughed. "It's a great story though."

"I look forward to the story, but don't get excited," I warned him drolly, certain of my next words. "Pearl is not my mate."

"Human females have a way of getting under one's skin, Jutuk," Khaion warned. His voice held a knowing smile that not even the rumble of engines could overcome.

"Maybe," I conceded. I certainly understood it after meeting Emmy. "But the only way Pearl will get under my skin is if she peels it away with that knife of hers—which, after having come in contact with her, seems a valid possibility."

Khaion laughed briefly before adding, "We are leaving planet Arstan's orbit within the hour and should arrive at the space station within seven rotations."

"Duke Ako is set to arrive at the space station within twenty-four hours to begin his birthday festivities," I related the latest intel.

"Does Baron Oappo plan for more than just the birthday feast?"

The Baron wasn't one to involve himself in Alliance politics, although he did like the appearance of counting council members and other royalty as close allies.

Oappo inherited generational wealth, having not worked a day in his life save for the effort he put into showing off his riches and treasures.

"Yes and no. Since discovering Pearl's culinary skills, the Baron has boasted that he owns the best chef in the universe. He intends to prove it with some type of contest in the days leading up to the feast."

"It's Iron Chef!" Emmy's voice floated through the comm, flowing by a wet smacking sound.

"Hello, Emmy." I greeted my Chieftain's mate. As humans went, I liked her. While feisty, she possessed a calmer demeanor than her knife-wielding friend.

"Hi, Jutuk," she returned with a faint giggle.

"What is this Iron Chef?" Khaion beat me to the question.

"It's a cooking competition we have on Earth. Pearl's won it like a dozen times,” Emmy explained.

"I don't know what the Baron has in mind, but I don't believe there is any iron involved, and I fear it will include more than mere cooking," I informed her.

"What do you mean more than mere cooking ?" Emmy's voice carried a tone of worry.

"Most cooking competitions require not only cooking but hunting and killing the ingredients," Khaion explained. "Often, there is fighting between participants."

Emmy hummed, which sounded oddly like the capacitor running in the corner.

"Jutuk, there has to be a way you can help her with the contest. Maybe you can be her sous chef ?

"What is this sous chef ?" I didn't like the sound of it.

"It's a person that assists the chef. You know... helps them cook."

"I cannot cook," I admitted. I even had trouble using the food replicator at times. I heard Khaion snort in agreement.

"You wouldn't have to cook exactly. How are your knife skills?

"Not as good as your friend Pearl." I huffed.

"What does that mean?" Emmy's voice went an octave higher with confusion.

"She threw a knife at my head when I tried to enter the kitchen to greet her." I regretted relaying this shameful behavior to Emmy. She did count Pearl as a dear friend. Emmy, however, did not react as I expected.

She laughed.

And laughed.

And laughed.

"Sounds like Pearl," Emmy said amid guffaws.

"What if she won't let me be this sous chef? " It seemed like an obvious question.

"Pearl can be a little emotional when it comes to her kitchen, but once she knows you're there to rescue her, she'll come around," Emmy promised. "Be sure to tell her I sent you and that Clara, Daisy, and Agnes have been rescued, too."

"I tried to tell her that, but she threw a knife at my head."

Emmy giggled, but then her voice grew serious. "Take care of her for me, Jutuk. I know Pearl can be a handful, but she's worth it."

"I give you my oath, Emmy. I will return your friend to you," I vowed, although I seriously doubted if anything could make dealing with Pearl worth it .

"Thank you Jutuk. Thank you too, my mate."

More sounds of wet smacking followed Emmy's words, and the conversation went dead without further comment.

I believed the sounds meant Emmy and Khaion were doing something called kissing, a human sign of affection made by smashing one's mouth with that of one's mate.

A rather nasty proposition, in my opinion, and another reason Pearl would never be my mate.

I wanted a mate.

Someone beautiful, kind, and known for her sweet disposition. Someone with whom my mating would garner the goddess Valana's blessing. Someone whose heart would be completely for me and me alone. Especially someone who eschewed throwing knives at people.

I gave my oath... and I would see it through. I would rescue Pearl and return her to her friends or die trying. It was my duty as a Vaktaire warrior and Earth protector.

But falling for Pearl, the way my brethren had fallen for the human females.

Never.