Page 23 of Alien Healer’s Mate

“Eyes front,” he ordered, reminding them, and himself, of the occasion.

He cleared his throat, the sound echoing through the hollow space of the bay, and stepped closer to the pallet.

“We gather today to honor a brother,” he began, his voice deep and resonant. “We stand in the shadow of a warrior who walked the path of honor until the very end.”

He looked down at the wrapped form of Daae D’Taak and his chest tightened with a sudden, sharp kinship. To be a warrior was to accept the possibility of an ending like this… in battle. He’d never thought much about it before, but now he had a match, a mate; it hit differently. He would never want to leave her alone and unprotected.

“Daae did not fall in a moment of weakness,” he continued, gaze sweeping over the rows of soldiers. “He fell in a moment of absolute strength. When the breach opened, and the line wavered, Daae and his drakeen did not retreat. They became the wall. They threw themselves into the teeth of the storm to buy the lives of the team behind them. He gave his breath so that others could keep theirs.”

A ripple of movement went through the crowd. They knew this story, they’d lived this story, but it fell to him to announce it so that the gods might hear the words. As it had been at every step of Daae D’Taak’s journey home, each repeat was another nudge to the gods that one of their own was coming home.

Turning back to the pallet, his voice dropped an octave.

“We honor him one last time before he is returned to the soil of his clan. He is prepared now for the final journey to be with the gods, where he will sit in honor among his ancestors. He has answered the final call,” Kellat declared. “And now, we must let him go onward.”

He gave a sharp nod to the warrior guarding the bay door, and the male stepped aside, hitting the release.

The heavy metal plates slid back with a grinding hiss, cycling open to reveal the docking bridge. Beyond the pressurized tunnel, the cargo bay of the D’Taak clan ship waited.

A group of D’Taak warriors marched forward. An honor guard, their faces were grim and their eyes locked straight ahead, their formal leathers polished to a sheen.

Kellat marched to meet them, his stride long and measured. He stopped a few paces from their leader… a sub-commander with a jagged scar running from his temple to his jaw and eyes that looked like hammered flint.

The commander halted, his boots clicking together as he snapped a crisp, formal salute. His head dipped just enough to acknowledge the rank and position of a Lead Healer.

“Lead Healer V’Raav,” he announced, his voice little more than gravel. “The D’Taak are ready to escort our brother home.”

Kellat shifted his weight, bringing his right hand up to press flat against the center of his chest. It was a gesture of deep respect, a recognition of the blood and bone the fallen warrior had given to the empire.

“Go with honor,” Kellat replied, his voice carrying through the silence of the bay. “Daae D’Taak has discharged his final duty as an Imperial warrior. His path is clear, and his legacy is secure.”

The sub-commander nodded once and turned to his men, a low command barking from his throat. The honor guard pivoted as one, their movements fluid and precise. They stepped toward the pallet, their expressions stony, but Kellat caught the slight tremor in the lead warrior’s hand as he reached for the edge of the shroud.

As the D’Taak began the slow, ritual process of hoisting the pallet onto their shoulders for transport, a prickle of heat washed up the back of his neck. He didn’t need to turn around. He felt Delilah’s gaze on him. He had no idea what burial rituals humans had, but even so, this must be so strange for her.

The D’Taak honor guard marched toward the open airlock. They didn’t look back. The silence of the bay followed them until they cleared the threshold and vanished into the cargo bay of the clan ship.

The heavy cargo bay doors slid shut with a grinding clunk, the muffled sound of the locks cycling and the docking bridge disengaging following it.

Turning, he caught Delilah’s gaze. She looked so small, standing in the middle of the bay, her blue eyes shimmering with a lingering, quiet sadness. He should have known she would feel sympathy for a warrior she had never met. She was just like that.

He let a small, rare smile touch his lips, just for her.

“The ceremony is concluded,” he announced to the warriors. “But the tradition continues. There will be a function in the mess hall to honor Daae.”

The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. The grim masks of the warriors cracked, replaced by a restless, hungry energy. This was the real wake—the part where the ritual ended, and the drinking began. It was where they celebrated the dead with loud laughter and stories of exploits that grew more impossible with every round of spirits.

One of the warriors, a scarred veteran with a wide chest and an eager look, stepped forward. “Will the Lead Healer be joining us?”

Kellat’s gaze narrowed. He hadn’t missed the way the male’s eyes slid sideways to Delilah. They weren’t asking for his company. They wanted an excuse to linger around the human female.

A low growl built in his throat, every possessive instinct he had roaring for him to snap at the male’s neck just for looking at her.

He forced his expression to remain neutral and nodded. “I will.”

One drink. That’s all they would stay for. He would keep Delilah within arm’s reach, satisfy the warriors’ curiosity, and then haul her back to the safety of his quarters before anyone forgot their manners…

And he had to kill them.