Barbarian's Seduction: A SciFi Alien Romance (Ice Planet Barbarians Book 20) Read online

  BARBARIAN’S SEDUCTION

  Marlene's not like the other humans. They weep while she smiles. They look at us with fear, while she entices me with a come-hither look.

  I...have no idea why such a bold female resonated to a male like me. I am the most reticent of all the sa-khui tribe, a hunter that never expected to have a family of my own. But resonance chooses, and it has chosen her for me. And Marlene is quite determined to seduce me…and who can say no to such a woman?

  This story explores the long-awaited romance of Marlene and Zennek. Even though it is a ‘flashback’ to the beginning of the Ice Planet Barbarians series, it can be read out of order. Enjoy!

  BARBARIAN’S SEDUCTION

  ICE PLANET BARBARIANS BOOK 20 - A SCIFI ALIEN ROMANCE

  RUBY DIXON

  WWW.RUBYDIXON.COM

  Copyright © 2019 by Ruby Dixon

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Photography by - Sara Eirew Photographer

  Cover Design by - Kati Wilde

  Edits by - Aquila Editing

  Created with Vellum

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Author’s Note

  Cast of Characters

  IPB Reading List

  Also by Ruby Dixon

  Want More?

  1

  MARLENE

  Current Day

  Even though it has been more than twelve years since Maman passed away, I see signs of her everywhere. Maman is in the endless white snow, because she loved a good snowfall. She is in the crisp, fresh air because she adored a morning walk with her daughter, just like I am doing with mine. Most of all, though, she is in Zalene's goofy little giggles as she hops between one cobblestone to the next. Sometimes I think my little daughter is all Zennek, with her thick body and flashing tail, her quiet moods and easy smile…but then she will giggle over the most absurd things and I am reminded of how my Maman loved to laugh.

  "Fais attention, ma petite cocotte," I caution my daughter as her boots skid on the cobblestones. Even though she has sprouted up in this last year, I still call her babyish things like cocotte and chouchou because she's always going to be my little baby. There have been no more kits for me and my Zennek as of yet, but I don't really mind. I like my small family. When another resonance strikes us, it will be grand, but until then I will focus on my little Zalene. I want to be as close to her as I was with ma mère.

  Of course, my father was not in my life, and so it was only me and my mother. That is not the case with my little Zalene, and so I must share her with Zennek. This day will be one of those “shared” days. Zalene and I take our morning walk, and then she will be going with her father to check traps this afternoon. That is another way my daughter takes after her strong, handsome, silent father—she loves to hunt. I do not have the stomach for it, but oh, my Zalene is a bloodthirsty one. She brought down her first hopper just last season and talks all the time of when she will be old enough to hunt dvisti with her father.

  Zalene springs ahead of me, then dances back, all wiggling childishness. "What are you thinking about, Maman?"

  I smile at her and hold out my hand as we walk to the dirtbeak nests. We don't need fuel, but I have my gathering basket and we're going to check for eggs. It's mostly just an excuse so we can have our precious mother-daughter time together before the day starts. "I was thinking about your grand-mère. She loved the snow."

  Zalene lets go of my hand and races forward again, noticing a particularly deep drift of snow piled against the side of one of the high walls that encase the village. She flings herself into it, snow flying around her in a puff, and then flops onto her back and windmills her arms and legs. "She should have come with you, Maman! There is so much snow here!"

  My heart aches, but I smile, rolling my eyes at my daughter's nonstop energy. "Grand-mère is in heaven. I told you this. She is gone."

  "But you always say she is with you."

  "She is with me," I agree, and tap my chest. "In my heart, but her spirit watches over me, coco." I move to my daughter's side and take her hand, helping her up from the snow bank she's destroyed. I crouch and dust snow off of her leathers, even though it's a futile gesture. In five minutes, she will be completely covered once again. "She sends me little signs to let me know all is well."

  "Like the hearts?" Zalene asks before prancing away again.

  "Oui, the hearts."

  It's something I've only talked about with Zennek and my daughter, because most of the women I am stranded with are very practical. They have families they left behind back on Earth—or some, like Josie, had no family at all. But growing up it was always Marlene et Cecile, daughter and mother, and we were so close that when she died of cancer, I felt as if my world ended. Before she passed, Maman told me she would always watch over me. That she would give me signs.

  That was when I started to see the hearts.

  Maman loved hearts, and Valentine's Day, et l'amour. She was a romantic, a dreamer, and too good for the world. The day after she passed, I saw a bright red balloon in the shape of a heart float past in the sky. It made me think of her. At her funeral, the leaves that fell to the ground were heart-shaped. After that, I began to see hearts everywhere. They would flash up on a screen, or someone would stamp one to a receipt. There would be heart-shaped cookies at my favorite bakery. I would see them everywhere, and I knew it was Maman reminding me that we were still together, always.

  Even after coming here, I see them. I see them in the stars at night, or in the pattern of leaves in my tea. I see them pressed into the snow, or a cloud that is shaped like a heart. Even on another planet, Maman watches over her Marlene. I scan the ground around me, looking for such signs, for her to let me know that all is well yet again today. The hearts are comforting, a silent hello from a loved one I can no longer hug.

  "Ew!"

  I'm drawn from my thoughts as Zalene makes a gagging noise. "What is it?"

  She lifts her foot and shakes her little fur boot. "I stepped in poop!"

  "Which foot?" I ask immediately, going to her side.

  "The dirty one!" She gives me a dramatic look that would otherwise make me laugh, but I can't help but frown as I realize it's her right foot. Maman was always very superstitious, and I am the same. Stepping in animal droppings is good luck…but only for the left foot. For the right, it is not good. I do not say this to my daughter, though, because she is still young enough that such things upset her. "Did you make a heart out of it?"

  Zalene studies the squished turd in the snow. "No. It's just a big flat circle of old poop." She leans over it, full if childlike fascination as she holds her nose. "Do you think it was Chompy's? Or Mr. Fluffypuff? Should we pick it up so we can burn it?"

  "Mais non," I say immediately, hurrying her along. "Leave it be. We will get nests for fuel when we need to. We do not gather all the poop, coco."
And I try not to think about it. It's nothing, just me being superstitious. I look for a sign from my mother that she agrees, but there are no hearts today from what I can see. Just snow.

  It is nothing. Nothing at all.

  * * *

  We return from our morning walk and my mate Zennek is waiting at the front of our hut for our return. He scoops Zalene into his big arms and tweaks one of her fat, short little braids. He says nothing in greeting, letting his smile speak for him. My quiet, handsome mate. Just seeing his broad face makes the unease in my heart lessen.

  I am worrying over nothing. It was merely my daughter stepping in animal dung on a path that often has animal dung. I move forward and kiss my mate’s cheeks in greeting, even though I but crawled from his embrace a short time ago. I just like seeing him blush, and even after all this time, he still colors at the base of his horns, as if a kiss on each cheek is scandalous and full of lust.

  For me it is, of course, but I am always full of lust when it comes to him. “My handsome mate,” I purr, sliding a hand to his waist and then caressing his backside and the base of his tail. “Do you leave me soon?”

  “Soon,” he agrees, and sets Zalene down and points. “Go inside and put on your heavy boots.” She scurries in and the moment she is out of sight, Zennek pulls me close and presses a kiss to my mouth. “We will not stay out long.”

  “Not if you want your tail pulled again,” I agree, teasing. He is not quite as shy as the day I met him, but it has always been clear that I am the bold one. I don’t mind this. It’s fun, and it makes his occasional boldness that much more exciting. I enjoy his embrace, loving that he stoops low enough to nuzzle my nose and places another kiss on my lips. He breathes in my scent and I burrow against his warmth, happy.

  “Strong weather above,” he murmurs, fingers tracing my jaw. “Need more fuel?”

  “We have plenty,” I tell him, but his comment reminds me that this is la saison brutale and Zalene had an unlucky step this morning. I straighten his thick, furry tunic, fussing over him as he reluctantly lets me go. “You will stay warm? Be safe? Watch your steps?” He nods and I continue. “Should you leave Zalene?”

  “It is fine.”

  I bite back a sigh. I know he loves his papa-daughter hunts as much as Zalene does. Soon she will be big enough to carry a real spear and then I will truly worry. “I saw a bad omen this morning. Mind yourselves.”

  “Your mother?” he asks. He knows I look for little signs of her “spirit” being nearby. When I shake my head and cast him a worried look, he leans in and nuzzles my face again. “I will be most careful.”

  “Watch Zalene closely,” I ask.

  He nods, and then our daughter flings herself at our waists, all childish glee. “We ready to go, Papa?”

  “Ready,” he says, and pulls her tiny bone spear from his backpack. He has made her miniature copies of his own gear, and I love how close they are. My heart tightens in my chest as I smile and wave, watching them go toward the pulley, hand in hand, spears at the ready.

  These days are good, I remind myself. It is bonding time for them. If my father had not abandoned my mother when I was three, would I not have wanted the same thing?

  I am just worrying for the sake of worrying. I look around at my surroundings, hoping for a small sign from my mother, but there is nothing. Even inside, I scan the discarded laundry and blankets, hoping for a symbol in the shape of a heart, but I see nothing but wrinkles. Frustrated, I straighten things up and then, since I have the day to myself, I head over to visit Zennek’s mére et pére.

  Kemli and Borran are just waking as I shake the bone chimes I made for them. “Coucou,” I call out in greeting, then wait for the screen to be moved and for me to be invited in.

  “Enter,” Borran calls out, and I push inside, replacing the screen before much cold air can get inside. I’m not entirely surprised to see old Vadren piling out of their furs. It happens from time to time—Vadren has no kits or mate of his own, and Kemli and Borran’s children have all mated and have families. Their youngest, Farli, mated recently and is at the Icehome beach, so Kemli and Borran have found themselves with too much hut and not enough heads to look after. At first I told myself that Vadren simply joined them for body heat and company, but Zennek just blushed and admitted that Vadren and Kemli were pleasure-mates before she resonated to Borran, and perhaps they are all three pleasure-mates again.

  La. I cannot judge. They are adults. They are happy, and I am happy for them. I enter with a brilliant smile and kiss cheeks—including Vadren’s—and then move toward the kitchen area. “Can I make you all tea? Petit-déjeuner?”

  “Oh, daughter, let me,” Kemli says, but I cluck fiercely at her until she sits down once more. They are elderly and I know their bones hurt in the brutal season, so I like to come and help out.

  “Back under the covers with all three of you,” I say, picking up a bone utensil from Kemli’s stone countertop and waving it at them. “You can come out when the place is warm and your bellies are full.”

  They chuckle at my bossiness, but I know they like it. I keep up a steady stream of chatter, telling them all about Zalene and our walk this morning, and what Zennek is up to as I put on a morning stew and steep a pouch of tea. Farli looked after them when she lived at home, but now that she is gone to Icehome, Tiffany, Stacy and I make sure that they are taken care of and their fuel baskets are always overflowing and there are leftovers to warm up. Kemli loves to cook and fuss over people, but she also grows tired more quickly than before, so I don’t mind stepping in. Zennek and I perhaps look after them more than the others, but we only have Zalene to fuss over. Tiffany has Lukti, but she also takes on all the plants in the village and a variety of other projects, whereas Stacy handles all of the central fire cooking while fussing over her young sons. I don’t mind. Zennek has his parents and in a way, they are my parents, too. So I cook and I clean and I make them clothing to keep the cold away.

  My heart skips a beat when I pull out her not-potatoes to chop for a stew. Kemli has them stored in a shallow basket, and the skins have been browned slightly so they can be chopped easier, a trick Stacy taught me. But the way they’re laid out and lined up, they look just like loaves of bread that have been turned on their backs. Hastily, I flip them over and then cross myself, murmuring a quick prayer to the saints like my mother always did. Loaves on their back is bad luck.

  These aren’t loaves, but…this is the second bad sign. My fretting intensifies.

  “I made Zalene coo-kees last night,” Kemli says, walking up behind me. She’s bundled in furs and picks through some of her baskets before setting one down triumphantly in front of me. “Her favorite.”

  I smile absently at Kemli and hug her close. Zalene indeed loves Grand-mère Kemli’s cookies, especially the herbs-and-hraku mixture that is bafflingly awful to everyone but Zalene. My chubby little daughter probably doesn’t need more cookies, but she’s active and healthy, so I let her eat as much as she likes, even if Kemli is stuffing her like a piglet. “You are good to us,” I tell Kemli, determined not to look at the not-potatoes.

  Now I am just worrying myself.

  I eat breakfast with the three elders and listen to them tell stories. I love hearing about my mate, how Zennek was always shy, how he would fight with Salukh and Pashov like angry snowcats, and the pranks they pulled as youngsters. The elders always have dozens of stories, and I normally enjoy sitting and relaxing the morning away with them, sewing in hand, but today I cannot seem to sit still. I’m antsy, and after I clean the dishes and store the rest of the stew in a bowl with a heavy lid and place it in the snow behind the hut to keep it cold, I throw back on my furs. “I promised Ariana I would sew with her today. Do you need anything?”

  Borran gets to his feet and I can practically hear his bones creak. He looks how I imagine Zennek will when he is older, his dark hair streaked with silver and his face lined. His body is strong and thick like my mate’s but shows the wear of time. “I ha
ve extra leathers I saved for you, daughter. Perhaps they will make a nice tunic for Zalene?”

  Zalene already has a dozen tunics—both from my efforts and Kemli’s—but I beam and take the leather, promising to make something pretty. With the cookies and roll of leather in my arms, I hurry out of there and head for Ariana’s hut next door to mine. Of all of the women I am here with, Ariana is my closest friend. We are less social than the others, I think, so we lean on each other more and more. She struggles with her anxiety, and I so rarely worry over anything, so we are a good balance for each other. Today, however, I am the one full of worry and I want to talk to my friend. Perhaps speaking my fears aloud will make them disappear.

  I scratch at Ariana’s hut and wait for my friend, clutching the leather close to my chest. Her soft laughter floats through the air, followed by a baby’s gurgle. A moment later, Zolaya comes to the entrance, his long hair freshly braided. He nods at me and lets me in, and as I duck inside, I see Ariana in her chair, her newborn at her breast as she nurses. I watch the little tiny tail flick as Zoari suckles, and feel a little stab of envy. I do not mind just one little bébé, but sometimes when I see un petit enfant I miss the sweet face and tiny, whirling tail as she nursed.

  Analay is playing with carved toys in the middle of the floor, and Zolaya moves to his side and helps him put them in a basket. “Come, my son. Do you want to go help me check traps while your mother sews with Mar-lenn?”

  “No,” Analay says brightly. “There’s nothing in the traps.”

  Zolaya pauses and looks at his mate, who purses her lips. After a moment, Zolaya speaks again. “If there is nothing in the traps, then we will gather herbs for your mother’s tea.”

  “Okay.” Analay gets up and heads to his bed, pulling his furs out of the basket of clothing. He begins to dress and Zolaya moves to his side while Ariana glances down at the baby at her breast.

  I move inside, pulling out my folding stool from its spot in the corner next to my sewing basket. With her pregnancy (and now new bébé) making her slow, we sew at her hut so she does not have to walk the extra steps to mine. “Can I get you something? Food? Tea? Cookies?”