Fenrir (Scifi Alien Dragon Romance) (Galactic Mates) Read online

  FENRIR

  GALACTIC MATES

  LUNA HUNTER

  CONTENTS

  Copyright

  Newsletter

  Also by Luna Hunter

  1. Abigail

  2. Fenrir

  3. Abigail

  4. Fenrir

  5. Abigail

  6. Fenrir

  7. Abigail

  8. Fenrir

  9. Abigail

  10. Fenrir

  11. Abigail

  12. Fenrir

  13. Abigail

  14. Fenrir

  15. Abigail

  16. Fenrir

  17. Abigail

  Epilogue

  Also by Luna Hunter

  About the Author

  Copyright 2016 Luna Hunter.

  Published by Luna Hunter at Amazon.

  This work of fiction is intended for mature audiences only. All characters represented within are eighteen years of age or older and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. This work is property of Luna Hunter, please do not reproduce illegally.

  Created with Vellum

  Thank you for picking up my book! Fenrir is the second book in the Galactic Mates series. Each book can be read as a standalone, but if you want the entire backstory, I recommend picking up Thabo, or starting with the Zoran Warriors books first. You can find the links on the next page.

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  Enjoy!

  ALSO BY LUNA HUNTER

  Zoran Warriors

  Alien General’s Baby - Jillian’s Story

  Alien Warrior’s Baby - Kaitlyn’s Story

  Alien Soldier’s Baby - Kelly’s Story

  Alien Guardian’s Baby - Isabella’s Story

  Galactic Mates

  Thabo - Riley’s Story

  1

  ABIGAIL

  “WAKE UP, sunshine.”

  Begrudgingly, I try to open my eyes, but they feel welded shut. Every single muscle in my body aches as I try to wiggle my way out of my sleeping pod. My back is as stiff as a board and refuses to cooperate.

  “Need some help getting out, love?”

  “Never,” I grunt, still half-asleep. I muster all the energy I have and clamor my way out of the sleeping pod. I rub the sleep from my eyes, and I’m greeted by Nathan’s grinning face. He’s wearing the same shapeless outfit I am: a beige and baggy overall, courtesy of Calloway Corps. A big mop of unruly black hair sits atop his head, and I wonder if my hair looks as bad as his. I’m still too tired to worry about it.

  “Cryo-sleep’s a bitch, right?”

  “Something like that,” I yawn. “Have we reached Audur yet??”

  “You bet ya. Here, a coffee. Or something that is vaguely supposed to taste like it. ”

  “Thanks,” I say. I accept the steaming hot cup and take a large sip.

  “Careful,” Nathan says, but it’s too late. I’m still dazed from the six months of cryogenic sleep, so it takes me a few seconds to register that the hot coffee is scalding my throat. I yelp in pain and spill the drink all over my overall.

  “Are you sure you’re awake?” Nathan laughs.

  “Very funny,” I mutter as I wipe my clothes down. At least the overall is already beige, so no one’s going to notice the spot. Not that it matters, really, as I’m the only woman on this whole mining rig. A clean overall would only stand out.

  “Boss wants to see you, by the way.” Nathan says. “I’d get on that.”

  “Didn’t care to mention that earlier?” I say as I run my hand through my hair, trying to tame my bed-head. To no effect. “What does he want?”

  Nathan shrugs. “Didn’t say.”

  “You’re about as much help as a Zoran in a pie-baking contest.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Nathan says. “I don’t suppose Zorans make a mean pie, do they?”

  “Why don’t you ask one the next time you see one?”

  “Will one of them big one’s kick my ass for it?”

  “Maybe,” I smirk. “Only one way to find out!”

  I leave Nathan behind to ponder the baking skills of the Zorans while I make my way through the Rusty Weasel. The captain’s quarters are all the way in front, so I have to squeeze my way past many of my co-workers in tight quarters. These hallways aren’t made for my curves, but I make do.

  “Sorry, excuse me, coming through, pardon, sorry.”

  When I first signed up the miners flung every crude joke that is in the books my way. It takes more than few lewd comments to ruffle my feathers however, and I picked up enough comebacks in college to stand up to these deep-space miners. When the men noticed I wasn’t some delicate flower I earned their respect, and most of them treat me like an equal nowadays.

  “Well well, ain’t that a sight for sore eyes.”

  Like I said, most of them.

  Joe – or Big Joe, as his friends call him – blocks my path. He’s as round as he is tall, his faded overall smudged with oil. He’s got a big, bushy beard that is every bit as disheveled as his stained clothing.

  “Not in the mood, Joe.”

  “Oh, so miss Snow doesn’t have time to slum with the crew now, is that it?”

  “Boss wants to see me,” I grit through my teeth. “Unless you want to explain to Boris why you made him wait, I suggest moving out of the way.”

  The color quickly drains from Joe’s face. “Oh,” is all he can muster as he shuffles out of the way.

  Boris Krupin, our captain, instills fear in his men. I have no idea why, and to be honest, I’m a little scared to ask. I try to stay out of his crosshairs, but he requested my presence specifically, according to Nathan.

  I wipe my clammy hands against my overall before knocking on the captain’s door, taking one last, deep breath. Here it goes.

  “Come in.”

  I step into my captain’s quarters. My boss is standing by a window, overlooking the planet Audur. It’s the Falur homeworld and our destination, but more importantly, it’s drop-dead gorgeous. Hovering above the planet like a giant halo is the Observer, the Intergalactic Alliance’s massive spacestation.

  “How was your first cryo-sleep?”

  “It was fine, sir,”

  “Come on, take a closer look,” Boris says. He’s tall, broad-shouldered and bald. A deep scar runs down the side of his face, across his left eye. Mining incident, he told me the first time we met. I didn’t pry. “This is what you signed up for, right?”

  I follow his order and stand next to him by the window, drinking in the amazing sight of the alien planet. This is what I’ve dreamed of my whole life. To be millions of lightyears from home, in deep, deep space, about to meet aliens with their own culture and language…

  “I was leafing through your file, and I couldn’t help but wonder… why did you sign up for this mission? With your expertise on alien languages, I’m sure you could have landed a better paying job. You could be working there,” he says, nodding towards the Observer. “Rather than on this scrap-heap. Why, miss Snow?”

  Because I couldn’t stand the thought of being in the same galaxy as that cheating ex of mine and this job was the first one I saw that would take me far, far away from Earth, that’s why.

  “I needed a change of pace, sir,” I say, mustering a polite smile. My captain doesn’t need to know my sorrows.

  “You’re lying. No one signs with
Calloway Corps because they’ve made the right choices in life. The pay is shit.”

  I’m very familiar with Calloway Corps’ dodgy reputation. The chatter on the web is that anyone who joins Calloway is doing so because the Federation mining operations rejected them, either because they simply lack ability, or because they don’t have a clean record.

  I was so desperate to leave Earth I didn’t let that stop me.

  I didn’t care about the pay, or the benefits, or the fact that most of my co-workers would be ex-cons. I just wanted to leave Earth as soon as possible, and this was the first gig I found.

  “Regardless, I’m happy to have a translator of your caliber on board,” Boris says. “We’re going to need it. You are familiar with Falurian, correct?”

  “I’ve studied their language, yes,” I answer.

  I purposely omit the fact that all my knowledge of Falurian is purely theoretical. I’ve never met one, or spoken the language with anyone but my professors, but my captain doesn’t need to know that fact.

  “Good. I’m meeting with Vilmar Grimsson, the Falurian ambassador, on board of the Observer in a few hours. I want you by my side.”

  “Of course,” I answer, doing my best to appear confident. In truth, I’m anything but. I’ve studied alien languages for years, I’m fluent in several dialects of Zoran and Terulian, I can even ask for directions in Tyk’ixian, but my Falurian is just a tiny bit rusty.

  I may have exaggerated my grasp of that particular language on my application the teensiest bit.

  “Excellent.” Boris turns to me, his eyes scanning my disheveled hair and my stained overall. “Go freshen up and report back to me in 90 minutes.”

  “Yes, sir,” I say. I turn on my heels and march out of his office, my heart beating in my throat. This is what all of my years of studying, all the late nights and early mornings have come down to. This exact moment. For the first time in my life, I’m going to meet an actual alien.

  I’m certain Vilmar speaks Universal, so my expertise isn’t even needed, but I’m still nervous as hell. Most aliens on the Observer speak Universal and the ones that don’t carry auto-translators, but down on Audur that won’t be the case.

  Down there, it’ll be up to me to communicate between our motley crew and the hot-tempered Falurians.

  Oh god, what did I sign up for?

  2

  FENRIR

  “IS THAT ALL YOU GOT? You fight like a Tyki’ix.”

  “You take that back,” Oddur shouts at the top of his lungs, baring his fangs.

  “Make me.”

  “You’re going to eat your words, Fenrir,” my opponent threatens as he licks the wound on his claw. “Just you watch.”

  “Quit stalling and fight me like a Falurian,” I growl, raising my claws.

  Oddur Oskarsson, heir to the throne of his clan, is flying in circles around me, flapping his giant, green wings. We are thousands of feet up in the air, the valley down below nothing but a green blur. His eyes are reduced to yellow slits, scales appearing across his chest as he threatens to shift fully into his dragon form. His obsidian-colored hair dances in the wind as he points at me with his claw, daring me to make the first move.

  I’m hovering in the air, my broad wings keeping me in place, waiting for the young blood to strike. Oddur is full of fire and passion, but he lacks experience. He’d be a match for most Falur warriors, but not for me.

  I’ve spend the last three years in rigorous training. I’ve fought like this every single day for a thousand days straight with opponents who are faster, stronger, more intelligent and more experienced than him, and I bear the scars that prove it. Since yesterday I’m a proud member of the Magni, the most elite band of warriors on the planet.

  The first day I return home to my clan’s ground and already Oddur of Clan Oskar challenges me to a duel. Our clans have a blood-feud that go back so far no one even remembers who started it, so the challenge doesn’t surprise me. I’m sure he wants to prove his prowess now that his wings have come in.

  However, he picked the wrong Falurian to fuck with.

  I must destroy him. I don’t have a choice. A duel can’t be refused, and to go easy on him would bring him more shame than defeating him would.

  He suddenly dives towards me, swiping at me with his claws, yet I easily dodge his strikes. The movement of his wings telegraphs his attacks, and so I’m always one step ahead of him. I enjoy watching his rage grow as I dodge one swipe after the other, but it’s time to end this. I fly upwards, flapping my wings, and Oddur takes the bait, following me.

  “Where are you going?” he growls. “Scared? Had enough?”

  Once we’re high enough I turn around in mid-air, speeding down towards the ground in an instant, my wings tucked in. Oddur doesn’t see it coming, and I tackle him, my claws burying into his wings. The wind is knocked out of him, and he’s powerless to resist me as we race down towards the mountain top. The young upstart struggles to break free from my grasp, but it’s pointless.

  I slam him down on the top of the mountain with all my strength, shattering his wings. His cries can be heard down in the valley.

  “M-my wings,” he groans in pain, bloodied and defeated, shifting back to his humanoid form. Only his broken wings remain.

  “They’ll heal,” I say as I shift back, my claws turning back into hands.

  “N-next time,” Oddur grits through his teeth. “I’ll get you next time.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “Fenrir!”

  A man flies up the mountain, his armor red and gold, the colors of my clan. I recognize him straight way – it’s Ragnar, my friend. He stops next to me, gulping for air, sweat dripping down his brow.

  “W-what happened here?” he asks as he stares at Oddur’s mangled wings.

  “Nothing of importance. Why have you come?”

  “T-there’s a meeting of the jarls! Happening right now! I came as soon as I heard. They say Dagur wants to allow humans on Freya.”

  My good mood is instantly ruined. My father allow humans on our sacred soil? On the mountain that has given us life?! Has he lost his damn mind?!

  “Humans?!” I snap. “Where?”

  Ragnar’s eyes go wide as he looks past my shoulder.

  “There.”

  A space-shuttle is making its way down towards our planet, a grey spot in the otherwise clear-blue sky. My battle rage instantly flares back up with all its might. I dive off the mountain, racing towards my father’s fortress. It’s carved out of the rock of this mountain itself, the sacred ground that’s been our clan’s home for all of recorded history.

  No aliens have ever set foot upon it – not even Melek or Tyk’ix, our sworn allies in the Intergalactic Alliance. And no outsiders ever will. Not on my watch.

  I burst through an open window and land in the middle of the circular throne room. I’m surrounded by three jarls, the leader of the clans, the men who control this pocket of Audur.

  “What is the meaning of this?!” Jarl Oskar bellows. “This is a private meeting!”

  It is his son whose wings I’ve just clipped. His hair is as black as his son’s, and he’s wearing dark-green armor, the color of the forests. He controls the vast valley down below, yet he’s always coveted our mountain. The symbol of a tree decorates his chest, signaling his domain.

  “My, if that isn’t Fenrir. You’ve grown, lad,” Jarl Viktor says. His armor is blue, as are his eyes. A wave is painted on his ocean-colored armor. He is a water-dragon – his kind has the ability to breathe underwater. They care little for the constant squabble over the mountains, for they prefer life in the ocean. “I remember when you were but a lad. Last I heard you joined the Magni. Have you already completed your training?”

  I show him the medallion of a dragon’s tooth that hangs round my neck that proves I passed the trials. I also have a tattoo on my inner thigh, but that is only known to other Magni.

  “My, my,” he says. “Congratulations.”

  “Thi
s is how you greet your father?” Jarl Dagur says. “Interrupting a meeting? Leave us, son. We’ll talk later.”

  “No, father,” I say. “I saw the ship. What’s the meaning of this? You mean to allow mennir here?!”

  “Ha!” Jarl Oskar says. “Even your own son disagrees with you, Dagur!”

  “So it’s true?!” I growl, my voice growing lower as my anger builds. I feel my muscles ripple as my body prepares to shift. “On our sacred ground?! We should cast them off it for the insult of even showing their face here!”

  “Calm yourself,” my father says. “You are still seething with battle rage. Your shift is showing.”

  Fuck. If my trainer at the Magni saw me now, he’d tear my medallion off and kick me out of the order without a second thought. Controlling my powers is of the utmost importance, yet here I am, barely managing to keep a grip.

  Only family can do that to you.

  “I think we’re done here,” Jarl Viktor says. “I side with Dagur on this one, Oskar, and my decision is final. I see no reason to extend this meeting. Thank you for your hospitality, Dagur, and it was nice to see you, Fenrir. Good day. Come, Oskar, leave them be.”

  The two jarls leave, one smiling, the other steaming mad, and he hasn’t even heard what happened to his son yet. It’ll take weeks before he can fly again.

  My father sighs deeply the moment the two leaders have left. He sits down in his throne, resting his head on his fist. His armor is as red as fire, the symbol of a flame adorning his chest. His hair has turned white from old age, and the lines in his face are deep, but despite that, he looks as fit and strong as ever.

  “Is that what they taught you these last few years? To meddle in the affairs of jarls? Not a word for three years, and you burst in like this? Questioning me in front of Jarl Oskar?”

  “We learn to take action when we must,” I say, not breaking eye contact. “This is one of those times.”

  “I am your father and your jarl, damn it,” he snaps, slamming his fist down on his armrest. “If you want to change that, you’ll have to kill me.”

  I ball my fist to keep from lashing out. Damn if he isn’t right. I disagree, but I have to honor his commands.