Page 43 of Becoming Brandy

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Brandy waitedoutside the closed wall as Rahan and Han talked inside. From the sounds of things, the conversation wasn’t going well.

Men’s voices argued. Something crashed. Brandy bit her nails until they were ragged. There was no moment in her life more important than this one, and the tension of it all made her feel sick. Or maybe that was the pregnancy.

The wall split open and Rahan stormed out, Kahn at his heels. Rahan glanced at Brandy standing there and shook his head. “Pigheaded, that one. Stubborn as a moose.”

“Maybe stubborn as a mule?” Kahn offered. “He’s just in a mood. Charis’s time is close.”

“So?” Rahan said loudly. “We’ve got three of our cousins, and warlords of clans that want to kill us, and he thinks a public execution is a good idea? It’s a great way to start a war! Can’t wait to see how they retaliate,” Rahan yelled inside loud enough for Han to hear. More crashing sounded from the room.

Brandy cringed. “Nothing changed his mind?”

Rahan sadly shook his head, and Kahn offered her a sympathetic shrug. “We’ll keep trying.”

“But he wants to do it tomorrow,” Brandy cried with exasperation in her voice.

“A lot can happen in a day,” Kahn offered.

“No,” she said, marching past the boys and into the room. She was going to confront Han herself. Sure, he was brash, rude, and angry, but he was also her best friend’s mate and she’d seen him melt more than once at Charis’s touch. He had a soft side, and she could find it.

“What are you doing in here?” Han growled.

Lord, he was big. Standing over six and a half feet tall, Han was imposing, more so than the abnormally big males she’d been around. He was pure intimidation, and it sent chills up her spine. Most of her wanted to turn around and run, but she remembered her baby and her men. She stood her ground.

“Your Majesty, I come to plead my case.”

“I’ve heard your case,” Han said, thumping a book shut on his desk. The area resembled a mid-century office room from some British house of Parliament—oak desks, scrolling woodwork, lots of bookshelves and tapestries. Stacks of books waited beside the big leather chair in the corner by the fire. He glanced at them, clearly wanting to be done with her already.

“Han, these men are not criminals. One of them is the father of my child.”

“Which makes the other two unnecessary. What if I spare one of them in order for the child to have a father? The man would spend his life in jail, but the child would be able to see him from time to time.”

“How can you even suggest that?” she asked, her voice rising. “What you want to do is barbaric. We don’t do public executions anymore.”

“On Earth. But this isn’t Earth, and you cannot pretend to know the Cartharian ways. You are human and a woman. I do not need your counsel, so good day.” He turned his back, dismissing her with a wave of his hand.

Oh, he was making her furious. She even stomped her foot. “Han, listen to me.”

“Sire,” a voice said from the doorway. A humanoid guard rushed in. “It’s time.”

When Han stared blankly, the guard tried again. “Your mate, sire. She is giving birth to your child.”

Han’s face went white. The book dropped from his hands as he took off running.

Charis was having her baby? Brandy had been so preoccupied she hadn’t even asked how much time Charis had left. She had to be there.

Forgetting everything, she took off running after Han.

Sprinting down the hallway, she came to a room flooded with commotion. Aliens were coming in and out. Hushed voices were turning into shouts. Inside, someone was screaming.

Brandy recognized her friend’s pained cry, turning like a corkscrew into her chest. She pushed past an alien guard and slipped into the room.

It was bright white and devoid of furniture except for what she guessed was a bed in the center of the room, though she couldn’t see it for the group of people clustered around. Aliens and humanoids both were blocking her view of her friend, so Brandy rushed forward, ducking under elbows until she could wiggle to the front.

Charis lay on the bed, sweaty and disheveled, like she’d just run a marathon or swam the English Channel. Her shapeless white gown was drenched in sweat. Brown hair lay in soggy curls on her forehead and down the nape of her neck. Brandy watched, pained, as Charis squeezed her face up, moaning and balling the blanket into her clenched fists. Her cry sounded like pure agony.

Han paced on the other side of the bed, lost. Brandy had always seen him as a powerhouse, demanding things, knowing exactly what he wanted, but right now, he was a scared little boy in a man’s body. Her heart went out to him, even though he’d just been ordering the execution of the father of her child.

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