 
## TALES  
FROM  
THE  
SFR  
BRIGADE

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are the product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidence.

All stories contained in this anthology are published with the written consent of the authors. Reproduction or distribution of any or all of these stories without consent of the author is prohibited by law.

Cover Art Designed by The artist is Melody Simmons, Ebook Indie Covers: http://ebookindiecovers.com/

Imprint – Copyright 2013, Pippa Jay

Allure – Copyright 2013, Amy Laurens

Nobody's Present – Copyright 2013, Marcella Burnard

The Stranger – Copyright 2013, Kyndra Hatch

Mission: Nam Selan – Copyright 2013, Linnea Sinclair

Sensations – Copyright 2013, Liana Brooks

Envy's Revenge – Copyright 2013, Berinn Rae

Whiskey and Starshine – Copyright 2013, Erica Hayes

Copyright © 2013  
ISBN: 9781301209194  
Smashwords Edition published by The Science Fiction Romance Brigade, July 2013

Jayne C. Hicks, Editor-in-Chief

Paula Dooley, Developmental Editor

Laurie A. Green, Editor-at-Large

All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted by the U.S. Copyright act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, stored in any database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

## Foreword

" _Why don't we put together a free anthology of short stories by Science Fiction Romance Brigade authors?"_

That's the suggestion that got me into trouble. Everyone thought it would be great fun, especially with me at the helm, since I'd been the one to open my big mouth to start with.

You know what?

They were right!

From start to finish it's been a blast putting together this collection of short stories, novellas, novelettes. From the early days of sweating over whether we'd have enough submissions to make a decent anthology, to the thrill of realizing that Linnea Sinclair herself had submitted a story, it's been a fun project. I've enjoyed working with fellow editors, Paula Diane Dooley and Laurie A. Green to bring this anthology to publication. Paula worked with the authors and copy editors to polish the stories, Laurie took the point on getting the cover details worked out and I was responsible for the final assembly and publication.

I would be remiss if I didn't thank our Chief Copy Editor, Laurel Kriegler, who had the unenviable task of polishing the prose to a high-gloss. Laurel had help from Patty Hammond, Cary Caffrey and Danielle Cassels.

I'd also like to thank our Brigadiers who pitched in wherever possible, Pippa Jay, Melisse Aires, Heather Massey, Cathy Pegau, Jody Wallace, Jean Walker, Eva Caye, and Ella Drake.

A huge thanks to all the authors who submitted their stories. It means a lot that you would place your trust in us to do right by your work.

Most of all, thank YOU, the reader. All of our hard work and countless hours away from other tasks to bring this story collection to your e-reader were worth it just to know that you are enjoying the read. The whole point of this anthology is to introduce readers like you to the talented writers and storytellers active in the Science Fiction Romance genre today.

If you've liked what you've read, please look for more stories by these talented authors, and check out the work of our editors as well.

JC Cassels,

Editor-in-Chief

Tales From the SFR Brigade

## Imprint

by Pippa Jay

Tevik's mouth hovered an inch above hers, the heat of his breath warming her face. Luminous eyes, the eerie blue of Trimeera's legendary moon, gazed into hers with an intensity that made her stomach flip. Spiked electric blue hair crowned a rugged, strong-jawed face with copper-tanned skin. Damn, but he was gorgeous! His heartbeat matched the frantic pulse of her own as his hard, muscular body pinned her down.

"We really should stop meeting like this, Jiona."

"I agree," she gasped, driving her blade into his side. He grunted and jerked away, her weapon only skittering along his ribs. Damn, he must have micromail on under that black silk shirt. But his reaction gave her enough leeway to get her foot into his stomach and shove him backward. Up on her feet in an instant, she spun, slamming her boot into the side of his head. His neck popped, and he dropped faster than a nymphomaniac's underwear.

She stared down at him, her chest heaving. Even with a bruise now reddening the side of that sculpted face, he was still gorgeous. And still breathing, she noted. She nudged him with her toe. Nothing happened. She gave a kick to his ribs. Not even a twitch. He wasn't faking it.

Jiona considered the blade in her hand. Tevik had been pursuing her for months. In a purely professional manner, of course, which was a shame, but hardly surprising. One female super villain on a crime spree justified one intergalactic Marshal dogging her heels for the last few weeks. But she could fix that right now.

Kneeling by his side on the cold metal floor, she pressed her knife to his throat. One thrust and he'd be off her case, permanently. Unfortunately, they'd soon send someone else after her. However, she'd have a few days grace with enough time to change her identity and location again.

Yet somehow, with Tevik lying there helpless, his full lips slightly parted in open invitation, she couldn't bring herself to push home the blade. In a straight fight, sure. She licked her lips, then leaned down and kissed him. Still no response, but the heat of his mouth made her blood burn. He tasted of spice and salt. What a pity she couldn't risk getting to know him better.

"I'm giving you a sporting chance, Tev," she whispered in his ear. "And only because you're hot. I've had so much fun with you on my tail."

With nimble fingers Jiona slid a small detonator from her utility belt, setting it as she carried on talking. "I know you can hear me, even unconscious. One of those sneaky little Deluvian tricks you possess, being aware in your sleep. So, the timer on this won't start until it hits the floor." She rolled Tevik into the recovery position and rested the device on the point of his shoulder. Tiny metal spikes slid from the casing and attached themselves to his shirt. He couldn't reach it without moving, and any sudden movement would knock it to the ground. With that done, she planted another kiss on his cheek. "Run like hell when you wake up, pretty. I'd like to see you again, and in one piece."

Stepping back, she clipped the zip line dangling from the ceiling to the waist band of her harness. Being skinny had its benefits sometimes. Not many people could squeeze down the narrow central ventilation shaft of this building like she had. The downside being that most men didn't look twice because of her lack of curves.

Jiona slapped the remote at her waist and a slow pull lifted her toward the square opening in the ceiling. Once there, she wriggled inside, hitting the control again. The line snatched her skyward, leaving her innards behind as the dark metal sides of the shaft blurred past. A couple of gasping breaths later she slowed, then reached the top. Slots around the edge of the shaft opening gave her toes purchase as she tugged the slack on the wire and levered herself out.

Her manta ray-shaped flitter ship sat, in camouflage mode, nearby. The craft shimmered into a reality of silver and black at her touch, gleaming in the hazy sunlight. Jiona slipped inside, harnessed herself into the pilot's seat, and fired up the engines. As soon as it left the ground, she gunned the engines and plummeted over the edge of the TransGalactic Bank's three hundred story tower into the airborne tumult of the traffic below.

As she dived into the busy lanes of Chupalla, sirens blared. Jiona dodged oncoming vehicles with ease, laughing. The criss-crossing exhaust trails and energy signals would throw any pursuer off her track, and few law enforcers would be suicidal enough to try following her. Still smiling, she dropped through the last lane and into the sea of fuel fumes clouding the lower levels of the city, and headed for her base. Only the smallest sliver of guilt tightened her chest as she thought of the handsome man she'd left lying under a ticking bomb.

***

Nobody lived in the bottom sections of this city. No one could. When the poisonous smog had started to thicken at ground level, humanity had begun to move higher, abandoning the lower layers. Now the city's debris and garbage filled the streets and pavements where people had once walked, filth climbing toward the sky, pushing the deadly fumes upward with it. Safe inside her flitter ship, Jiona skimmed above the trash-filled concrete alleys and veered through a gaping hole in the side of a building.

Deep within the ruin, a suspiciously new set of airlock doors parted to allow her craft inside, before it slammed shut behind her. As the flitter touched down, its engine whirred into silence. The haze of smog that clung to her ship was circulated out by the ventilation, but she double checked the atmospheric readings on her console before opening the hatch. Even then, an acrid scent remained, scratching at the back of her throat as she climbed out. Checking the data cube of banking codes still lay safe in her hip pocket, she headed toward the wall in front of her. A small inner hatch irised open, swiftly contracting behind Jiona as soon as she'd passed through. Low intensity lighting glowed throughout the narrow tubular corridor that led from the docking bay to her hidden sanctum. She thudded to a dead halt as she reached the end of the corridor.

The chamber beyond was in chaos. Cold washed through her. Jiona eyed the wreckage that had recently been her laboratory, her chest locking tight. While she'd been busting the TransGalactic Bank's vault and dallying with Tevik, someone had turned over her hidden base. Which, judging by the evidence, was not well hidden enough. It couldn't have been Tevik. It wasn't his style for one, and he'd been so close on her trail at the bank she'd imagined his hot breath on the back of her neck the whole time she'd been on the job. No, this had to be someone else entirely. Either a rival or—

A slithering sound stopped her thoughts dead. Careless, Jiona scolded herself. Very, very careless. She should have cut and run the instant she saw the devastation. Sucking in a breath, she took a tentative step back. Glass fragments ground under her boot. She froze. A shape moved in the darkness further inside the lab.

Something grabbed her neck hard enough to choke, then slammed her against the wall. Agony flared down her back, jolting through every nerve in her body, as though she'd been electrocuted. A face, a distorted amalgam of dull metal and gray flesh, thrust into view.

_Gutu_.

Her fingers dug into him, grabbing at the melded flesh and metal of his cybernetic arms. His hold didn't budge one iota. She lashed at him with her feet, but he laughed as her boots bounced off his legs, a wasted effort. Even a foot to his crotch had no effect. She flailed wildly, fighting for breath, but nothing could break his crushing grip. Everything started to go dark. Blood pounded louder in her head as her limbs went numb and her arms fell to her sides.

"Hello, _t'ela_." Gutu's voice grated, as though he had to force it past vocal cords shredded by decay. He loosened his hold enough that she could yank in a few frantic breaths, but not so much she could twist free. Not even if she'd had the strength to do so.

She sucked in air, her throat burning, black spots dancing in her eyes. Her legs trembled, and only Gutu's grip kept her from dropping to the floor. "I'm no lover of yours, metalhead," she rasped out.

"Ah, but I'd be so much better than those soft, fleshy males you humans prefer. You should try me sometime."

Jiona coughed, as much from the stench of his breath as from having her windpipe almost mashed. She grabbed his wrists, using the leverage to ease the pressure on her neck. Bile added to the burn in her throat, and she spat it at him. "Over my dead body."

"Necrophilia can be arranged." He licked his dried-out lips with a tongue as gray and slimy as sewage effluent, and Jiona clenched her teeth against the urge to vomit. "Unfortunately, Del has first claim. And you know he likes his bedmates quiet and submissive." He gave her a shake. "But if they have a few breaks and bruises, that won't bother him over much."

Ice flowed through her veins and she bit back a whimper. If she'd known what was waiting she'd have let Tevik take her in without a fight. "Vaz Del?"

"You disappointed him, _t'ela_. He's very angry with you."

Jiona shuddered. An angry Vaz Del wasn't healthy. "I can explain—"

"I'm sure you can. And you will. Face to face. If there's anything left after he's finished, maybe I'll take a turn." Gutu tugged her forward, then slammed her against the wall a second time. The sound of her skull impacting on metal was the last thing Jiona heard.

***

Waking up was no blessing. Awareness hammered into her skull like someone had driven an icicle between her eyes until it skewered her brain. Jiona pried one eye open, groaning as light burned into her optic nerve. Something cold and hard pressed against her back. _Metal?_ Restraints rasped her wrists and ankles as she struggled. Another shackle at her waist stopped her sliding off the table she'd been strapped to at a forty five degree angle. She clenched her jaw, but a whimper still escaped. _Fuck!_

"Oh, Jiona." Del's voice, dripping fake regret, made her jerk hard enough in her restraints to scrap some skin from her bound wrists. Fear pounded through her veins, stealing what little breath she had left. Even her eyes throbbed. She'd have been a damn sight better off letting Tevik take her in. The Justice Bureau _might_ just have executed her, but at least it would have been peaceful. Del wouldn't let her die that easily—or that quickly. Shit, he might even try to keep her alive and suffering for months, just as an example. Her lip trembled, but she held back the tears. He'd just enjoy that.

She squinted at him. Light haloed his tall frame, but his face was in shadow. "Del." She licked her lips, tried to frame the magic words that might get her out of this alive and in one piece. "This really wasn't necessary. All you had to do was call."

"Really?" He limped toward her, and what little hope she had left crawled into a ball in her stomach and whimpered. Last she'd heard Del had been caught up in a gang war. What she hoped _he_ hadn't heard was that she'd set it all up. "And you'd have come running? Just as well, really, seeing as I..." He slapped his hand against his right hip with a dull clang, "...can't run anywhere yet." He leaned in close, and the livid wounds that trailed across his once handsome face had Jiona swallowing hard against sudden nausea. Del had always been proud of his good looks. Injuring his pride was probably going to cost her a lot more than simply shooting him might have done.

"You don't have to do this, Del. It was just a mistake. I can make it up to you."

"Oh, you will. I have to admit, I was just going to let Gutu have his fun and watch, but there was always the danger you might actually enjoy it, and even a cyborg can't keep it up endlessly." He stared deep into her eyes; his own a fraction too wide. _Crazy._ She tried to swallow, but her throat was locked solid. She wanted to beg, to scream, anything that might spare her this. Instead another low sound escaped her lips and a tear trickled down her face.

"Now that's what I like to see. A little respect from you at last." Del brushed her cheek, examining the moisture he collected on his finger as if he'd found a precious gem. "You set me up and left me to die," he growled. "It's almost cost me my entire empire to get myself put back together and track you down. And now I'm going to make you pay." He stepped back. Dozens of silver tendrils, each tipped with a glowing blue-white light, emerged from the metal table, and folded around her like a cocoon. Jiona shivered as the delicate points touched her skin. _Nerve shredder._ Illegal on every world in the Territories. This was going to tear her apart from the inside, yet wouldn't leave a mark. She'd probably go insane in the first few hours.

"Don't worry," Del assured her, and his teeth flashed in a deadly bright smile for an instant. "I won't kill you straight away."

Blinding, white-hot pain ripped through Jiona's body. She screamed, but the agony didn't stop. It intensified, like burning needles tearing into her flesh. She couldn't breathe. Her heart pounded ever faster, thundering over her shrieks until all she could hear was her life beating away. Her body started to spasm, smacking her skull against the metal surface behind her. _Please let it kill me!_

Something hammered into her chest and heat scorched her face. The agony of the nerve shredder eased, leaving her limp and gasping in her restraints. She gulped in air, her whole body throbbing, tasting the blood from her bitten tongue. Another explosion blasted across the room, blinding her with dust and smoke. She choked, trying to blink it away. Shots rang past her, streaks of brightness. _What's happening?_ _Where's Del?_

Someone materialized from the smoke, encased in combat armor, face hidden beneath a protective mask, and gun in hand. Jiona stared, her vision blurred by tears and grit. Fear shivered through her. Who was it? What did they want? Her gaze fixed on the gun, her stomach dropping as the weapon was pointed at her. _I'm going to die. Fuck!_

The gun discharged, and the bands lashing her to the table sprang open. Her legs gave way and she slithered to the floor, barely able to lift one arm to guard her face as she crumpled. Hands grabbed her and lowered her onto her back. The visor slid back to reveal the face behind it as he kneeled at her side.

Pain still rippled through her awareness, but she knew the worst was over. A pair of concerned, eerie blue eyes gazed down at her. _Tevik._ He'd found her. Who cared if he was the law here to arrest her? He'd come for _her._ And he'd saved her from Del.

Healing warmth seemed to lessen the pain, and yet he wasn't doing anything except supporting her head with his hands. _How is he doing this?_ Had he given her something?

"Still with me, Jee?"

"Still..." She sucked in a breath. "Hate the nickname, just FYI."

He grinned and her heart skipped a beat. "How bad are you hurt?"

Bad enough that she couldn't move and that breathing took an effort. Enough that she almost wished it had killed her. Almost. "Well, I don't feel much like dancing right now." Her voice was a rough whisper, but her words tugged a faint smile onto his lips for an instant.

"Here." He reached into a pocket, ripped the top from a small packet with his teeth and held it to her lips. "Sip this."

The fluid inside was sweet and sickly, but it eased the painful dryness in her throat and mouth. "Thanks."

"I'll get the medics in. You'll have to go to a secure medical unit until you're fit for trial."

"No."

"I have to take you in, Jiona Sax." Tevik said it a fraction louder than necessary, and she guessed there must be more enforcers in the room. He lowered his voice. "Even though it's been fun."

"Please." Fingers trembling, she grasped his wrist. "I don't care about being caught. I don't care about facing the charges. But please..." She swallowed hard. "I don't want to be carried into my cell on a stretcher. I want to walk in, head held high. Please?"

He shook his head. "Do you know how much trouble I'd be in?"

"What about under your personal custody? You can do that, right?"

"I'd need a damn good reason to. Besides, you need a hospital."

"Please."

"After that stunt you pulled at the bank?" He snorted. "If it wasn't obvious you can't even stand, you'd be in cuffs right now."

"Look, if you take me to hospital, you might as well kill me now. Del's gang, whatever's left of it, _will_ come after me. I know too much about them." Jiona shuddered. Del still had people on the loose. Loyalty to the family was something Vaz had prized in his gang members, and betrayal came at a heavy price. "Did you get them all? If you didn't, you can't guarantee my safety."

Tevik frowned. "All right." He didn't sound convinced, but he shouted to someone beyond her sight. "Meka! Get over here."

A slim, dark haired man, almost Tevik's height and dressed for combat, materialized at his side. "What's up? Is she giving you trouble?"

"Hardly. Tell Reine I'm taking Jiona Sax into my personal custody and that I'll deliver her as soon as she's fit for charging."

"You ragging me? Reine will go kag-shit crazy!"

"Tell her I'll take the rap. Sax has info that could put all a stop to all Del's gang operations. Taking her to a hospital, even under guard, could give them the chance to get at her. Have you rounded them all up yet?"

"Not yet, sir."

"Then this is the only option. My place is all set up for witness protection—Reine knows that—and I'll get the Bureau medic in." He looked back down at her, but his face faded until only the blue gleam of his eyes remained. "Jiona? Jiona..."

Tevik's voice died to a faint echo as she slipped into the darkness.

***

Jiona awoke in a soft bed, in a room dimly lit by yellow glows strung all over the ceiling above her. The walls were midnight blue panels, with little space between them and the edges of the hugest bed she'd ever been in. A mirror was opposite, showing her pale face whiter than ever, except for the dark shadows beneath her eyes, and framed by cropped hair that was white-blond this time around. Shock at her reflection jerked her fully awake. Why did Tevik have a mirror opposite his bed? Seemed a little kinky for a Marshal.

Her body aching, she stretched cautiously. Something was missing. She darted a glance under the cool blue sheets, finding herself naked except for a sleeveless top several sizes too big. _Bastard!_ She hadn't had any physical injuries that required him to strip her completely. Outrage slammed into her and she clutched the covers tight, curling into a knot. Had Tevik taken the opportunity for a good look and maybe a grope while she was unconscious? Her skin crawled as if she could still feel his touch even now. He was male, after all, even if he wasn't human. Who knew what kind of kicks he might have got out of the experience? _Like when you kissed him when he was out for the count?_ Her conscience prodded her. _That was different. It was just a kiss! Not the whole naked-body-helpless-female thing._

And what if you hadn't been in such a hurry to get out of there?

Jiona shut the conversation out of her mind, tentatively flexing her arms and legs. They throbbed as though she'd been running all night instead of being laid out. But the nerve torture Del had subjected her to didn't seem to have left any permanent damage. Lucky her.

_Yeah, great, I can walk into my execution unaided._ She tried to blank the thought from her mind. After all, she'd never actually killed anyone. Not directly. Maybe they'd show a little leniency on that score?

The door slid open and Tevik walked in. Jiona resisted the urge to leap up and tackle him. There'd be time for escape plans when she knew the deal...and had some clothing. A semi-naked female running loose would attract too much unwanted attention, even one as skinny as her. He'd done her a favor. Dammit, he'd saved her life. Plus, he held a tray with food and drink on it, and her stomach was already clenching in ravenous anticipation.

"Good morning." He eyed her with suspicion and kept his distance. What was he afraid of? That she might kiss him again? Or try to hurt him? Right at that moment she wasn't sure herself. He'd saved her, agreed to her insane request to be taken into his custody...and then stripped her. A slap would be appropriate, surely. "How are you feeling?"

"A damn sight better than the last time I was conscious." Jiona couldn't help staring. Tevik was only wearing jeans, displaying an expanse of coppery skin and a well-muscled torso. She found herself licking her lips, and quickly snapped her mouth shut.

He gave her an odd look, although those luminous eyes might seem weird to anyone meeting a Deluvian for the first time. Their strangeness had grown on her over their numerous tussles. "Are you sure you're okay? I can still take you to the hospital."

"I'm fine." _Not the hospital. Not there._ She shivered. "Care to explain why I'm half-naked in your bed?"

Tevik quirked an eyebrow and perched beside her on the edge of the mattress, still keeping out of reach. "My bed, because there was nowhere else to put you. And as for your clothing..." He had the grace to look sheepish. "Strip search. After that trick in the vaults with the knife..." With one hand he gestured to a long, dark bruise over his ribs that matched those on the opposite side from where she'd kicked him. She flinched. "I couldn't be sure what else you might have tucked away."

"Bet you enjoyed searching me."

A faint blush colored his cheeks. "I did what I had to do, for my own safety as much as yours. I didn't want any booby traps going off in your outfit. You _are_ known for them."

She smirked. "Thought I might have a weapon tucked away in my panties?"

His blush deepened. Her panties had been little more than a strand of lace. Less restrictive, but certainly no cover for a weapon. Not even a very small one.

"With you, anything is possible."

Jiona laughed. "Ah, now there's a reputation I can be proud of!"

Again, Tevik raised an eyebrow but a slow smile warmed his face. "Pursuing you has been both a challenge and an education."

"I bet. Did you have as much fun as I did?"

"Up until your trick with the bomb, although I wouldn't admit to that in court."

"Of course not." Her stomach growled and she eyed the tray. "So, were you planning to feed me or not?"

"Oh." He glanced at the tray in his hands and slid it across the bed. "If it's not to your liking I'll order out. I don't keep much in the apartment. Not with having to keep on the move to chase after you."

"So if I starve, it's my own fault?" Jiona grabbed the protein cubes and crammed them into her mouth. They'd been flavored with fruit and tasted fairly fresh, not like some of the things she'd eaten lately. If Tevik thought he'd been hard done by, she'd fared even worse trying to stay ahead of him. "Not apologizing for that. You owe me a decent meal before you pack me off to the detention center. I'm sure it's one of my civil rights or something."

"You have to be treated humanely," Tevik agreed. "But providing digestible sustenance is as far as it goes in the food department. It doesn't have to taste good."

"Well, this isn't so bad." She cleared the plate, then swigged down a mouthful of water and almost choked. "What's this?"

"Restorative. I figured you'd need it after your trauma last night. You've been out nearly a standard. Sixteen hours cold."

"Sixteen?" Jiona winced. Almost a whole day lost to her. And yet, it could have been so much worse. If the torture had lasted much longer, she'd have been a drooling wreck for the rest of her life. She swallowed hard. "Damn you, Vaz," she whispered.

"He's dead, by the way." Tevik stared at her as if gauging her reaction to the news. She kept her expression blank, and forced down more of the restorative. What did Tevik expect? That she'd be glad? Upset? Relieved? Truth be told, she was happy to hear it, but someone would soon take his place and were just as likely to come hunting her hide.

"Gutu?"

"Dead."

She sighed. The cybernetic bounty hunter had been more of a concern. Notoriously difficult to stop and, once given an order, impossible to dissuade. He'd have kept after her forever. "Good."

"Not from my point of view. I'd rather have seen them in detention."

"Worried you'll miss out on your little gold Good Marshal stars?" Jiona mocked.

His face hardened and his eyes narrowed to laser points of glowing blue. "It's not about scoring marks and medals. It's about clearing the scum out of society and seeing justice done."

Jiona gulped. That was the Marshal speaking. The man she'd come to know in such a bizarre fashion disappeared behind that crystal sharp statement. After all the chases through dark corridors and busted bank vaults, his body pressed to hers as they fought— in the end he was a man of the law. And she was nothing more than his prisoner.

Suddenly she wished things were different. _Regret?_ Wow, that nerve shredder of Del's must have done more damage than she'd thought. "Tevik." Those glorious eyes of his gazed deep into hers. She felt impaled by his stare.

"Yes."

"Are you still going to take me in?" A dumb question. That was his job. His duty. His obsession.

"I have to. I'm a Marshal. And you're a criminal."

"But you saved my life." _He could have left me to die there. That would have saved everyone a lot of trouble, even with his credo of bringing criminals to justice._

"I was duty bound to follow you wherever you went. Taking out Daz Vel was just a bonus."

_Another crim, is that all I am?_ Jiona shook herself. Of course she was. "So is having me semi-naked in your bed another bonus?"

This time he smiled. "Yes."

"You're easily pleased."

"No. Not generally."

_Ooh, cryptic!_ "So, what about sex?"

Tevik blinked as if she'd breathed fire and ashes into his face. "I'm sorry?"

"Would having sex with me be a bonus?"

"It would be immoral and unethical."

"Why? I'm here. I'm hardly resisting."

"You're my prisoner. I'd be taking advantage of my position."

"I'd like to see that."

Tevik shook his head. "You could use it to press counter charges for assault. Is that your plan? Tricking me into bed to get a lesser sentence?"

"Tricking you?" Boy, he was hard work. Most men she'd offered herself to had jumped at the chance. Jiona made up for her lack of curves in talent. "No. Consider it the last request of a condemned woman. I'm likely to face disintegration even if I press counter charges. Isn't that true?"

"Not necessarily. You could plea bargain. The amount of information you could give us would probably be enough to negotiate yourself freedom and a new identity. We could—"

"I never beg." She leaned toward him. "All those months you've tracked me, every time we've fought, I've always wondered what it might be like to be on the same side as you. Did you ever think about it, Tevik? Why don't you show me what it's like to be a good girl?"

"I'm not doing this, Jiona. Whatever scheme you have in mind, I'm not playing the game."

She pulled the sheets aside, leaving her legs exposed. He jerked his head away for an instant but his gaze drifted back to linger over her. "I'm not playing, Tevik. I'm making a simple request. One last night to enjoy my freedom." She smiled. "I promise you won't regret it."

Tevik shook his head. "No. Besides..."

"What?"

For a long moment he didn't answer. Then: "If we did, you'd be imprinted on me for life. No other Deluvian female would ever come near me."

She held her breath, then exhaled slowly. "Is that a cultural or a chemical thing?"

"Both."

"Does that mean you've never—"

"No! I mean yes. I..." Jiona loved to see him flustered. "We are trained by non-imprintable females when we reach maturity, so that we won't disappoint a future mate, since the bond is permanent. Human females wouldn't be bound to a Deluvian male, nor human males to a Deluvian female. But a Deluvian partner would sense it. Smell it. All their life."

"No casual dates for you then. Must be frustrating."

Tevik quirked an eyebrow. "That would be true of humans, but we have far more restraint in these matters."

"Clearly." Thwarted, she tugged the covers back over herself. "So, do you have someone waiting for you back on Delu?"

"No, actually. I'm not welcome back there."

"Why not?"

"Deluvians don't become law enforcers, especially off-world."

"For what reason?"

"So many damn questions. I'm supposed to be interrogating you, not the other way round."

"But I'm curious. Why do something so against your own culture?"

Tevik sucked in a breath. "Deluvian youngsters were going missing and I was one of the investigating officers. All the evidence pointed to them being taken off-world, but the Delu government wouldn't make that jump. So I had to do it by myself."

"Then..." She trailed a hand down his arm and he quivered. "There's no real reason to hold back."

Tevik stood abruptly. "You should be resting. The Director wants you within three standard."

_Three days?_ Her insides twisted. "Oh."

"And just so you know... all exits are triple sealed and secured to my personal DNA. There's no way out." His tone came out hard, then he bolted from the room like she had the plague.

***

Pain. Bright blue lights touched her. Burned her. Her body spasmed and she moaned. Sweat chilled her skin.

"Jiona?" Light flooded the room. Tevik's hand touched her shoulder and she groaned again.

"Easy. Were you having a nightmare? I heard you screaming."

Sounds of movement before he pressed something to the back of her neck. Warmth spread into her spine and through her body, dulling the pain as it went. Analgesic. Gradually she uncoiled her limbs, in less pain but still aching. "Oh, it hurts."

"Here." Tevik sat beside her on the bed. "I can help with that. If I have your permission?"

"Wha...what are you going to do?" Despite the concern in his voice, she tensed. She could hardly fight back.

"I'm going to have to touch you. Your back and neck anyway."

Jiona clenched the pillow, torn between wanting to accept his help and fear of the unknown. The movement didn't go unnoticed.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Jiona. I'm hoping it'll ease your pain and help you relax."

"All right." Her voice shook.

He rolled her onto her front and carefully kneeled astride her. For an instant she wondered if that's how Deluvians mated and if Tevik had changed his mind now that she was completely helpless.

His fingers dug into the knots of her neck and shoulders, unlocking the tension and chasing away the remnants of her nightmare.

"Oh, that's so good." Jiona moaned as he worked his way over her taut muscles. "Don't stop."

He didn't. With an expertise that left her gasping, he massaged away the cramps and pains, leaving her limp. The heat of him astride her back felt wonderful, and she shivered, another kind of tension coiling inside her at the thought of his bare skin pressed against hers.

He finished with feather light brushes over her skin, then sat back. A different ache filled her now—the need to have him touch her again.

"Is that better?"

"Oh, yes." Jiona sighed into the pillow. Faint twinges still rippled through her body, but the major pains had faded. If he'd put his hands on her again, or even moved in for a kiss, she wouldn't have squawked.

Tevik shifted off her back and stood. His sudden departure left a chill and a strange sense of loss.

"Please. Stay with me." _Drek, did I just say that_? She turned and sat up abruptly, the sheets slithering to the floor.

He made an exasperated sound. "You don't give up, do you?"

"I just don't want to be alone." No lie there. The thought of him leaving brought the aches creeping back. "I could be spending the rest of my life in solitary _if_ they don't execute me. Please?" She tried not to overplay the helpless, needy female, but a part of her was close to tears. When had she gone from trying to escape him to _needing_ him? Had Del's nerve shredder wrecked her reason? Or was it the knowledge that soon she wouldn't see Tevik ever again, just the four walls of a detention cell?

Tevik's gaze bore into her, as if he was examining her soul or perhaps just her motives. Deluvians could sense deceit, or so they said.

"I'll stay if you go back to sleep," he said grudgingly.

Her heart jumped a little faster at his offer. It was more than she'd expected. He lay on the bed beside her, folded his hands across his stomach, and closed his eyes. Jiona stared at him, tracing his profile. Without the blue glow of his eyes she still couldn't ignore the fact that he wasn't human. Tevik's ears were small and lacked lobes; his spikey blue hair was as thick and coarse as a cat's whiskers.

Her gaze trailed lower, wondering what other differences there might be. She'd studied the origin of species at college, knew that most of the sentient mammalian races populating the galaxy had come from a single common ancestor so far back in time that no trace of them remained. Some speculated that evolution alone was responsible for the current diversity, despite the common ancestor. Others promoted the theory that an even more ancient ancestor had played with genetics to produce a species suitable for the planet they'd been assigned to. No one knew for sure.

"Are you comfortable?" she asked him.

Tevik didn't appear to be. He seemed ready to leap from the bed in an instant if she even thought about touching him. She should leave the poor man alone. But his shoulder looked so tempting. She longed to lay her head on it.

"Go back to sleep, Jiona."

_So much for pillow talk._ "You really are determined not to cross the line, aren't you?" She grabbed a pillow, thumped it a couple of times in the pretense of making it the right shape, and buried her face in it. _Damn him, then._

***

Jiona snapped awake, the heat of another body pressed against her back. The weight slung over her waist turned out to be Tevik's arm. Warmth washed through her. However stubborn he might be conscious, he'd obviously relaxed his guard in sleep and had drawn closer.

Something hard pressed against her buttocks. She stifled a giggle. Did he feel more for her than a Marshal for his mark? It would seem so. "Hey, Tevik. No need to poke me awake."

"Hmm?" He stirred, his mouth brushing the back of her neck. "What the—" Tevik shot from the bed in a flurry of blankets, then sat hunched over on the side of the bed as if in pain. Or embarrassment.

She sucked in a long breath. "What's wrong?"

"I'm so sorry." He hung his head, his voice thick with emotion. "I've never had that reaction to anyone."

"Oh, I'd say that's a pretty typical male reaction to a female."

"Not for Deluvians."

"Really?" Now that was something she didn't know. "Then I guess your body is trying to tell you something. Like we're meant to be together? Even for just one night."

"Damn it, Jee!" He shoved himself to his feet and punched the wall. "Why do you have to be on the wrong side?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I could give you plenty of excuses. My upbringing. Rich girl gone bad. Tragic family fall." She let sarcasm flood her words.

"I know all that." He kept his back to her, cradling his hand.

A chill settled in her chest. "You've read my file?"

"Yes. Only child of a Prime family. Rich, influential—"

"—spoiled," she interjected.

"—honorable," Tevik finished. "So how did you end up here? I know what happened to your family—"

"You've no idea what happened!" Jiona broke in. A sudden crimson heat burned inside her. "Don't patronize me. Don't think you know anything just because you've read my file."

Tevik raised his hands. "I wasn't. I know the syndicate bought out your family's business—"

"Oh, they did more than that. They _destroyed_ my family. My father was a proud man. It broke him..." She stumbled to a stop, her lips numb. Cold washed over her. Did Tevik know she was the one who'd found her father's body? _Blood, so much blood. The screaming in the background._ "Mother..."

"Did she ever recover from her breakdown?" Tevik asked softly.

His voice snapped her away from those memories. She shook her head. "She'll never get out of the Psych Center."

"Why did you keep running away from the orphanage?"

He was forcing her to remember things she didn't want to. This was worse than the nerve shredder. "I thought you'd read my file?"

"I did. But you said that it wouldn't tell me about you. So...tell me."

The orphanage. Visits in the night from a man who liked making me cry. The threats. The pain.

"Jiona?"

He said her name so gently, with such sympathy, but... "How do I know you aren't recording all this?"

"I'm not. I promise you." Tevik dropped to his knees in front of her, and grabbed her hand. "But these are things that could get you a lighter sentence. Motive, information-sharing... We've always wondered how you managed to hack into the syndicate's system. We'd never been able to. How did you do it exactly?"

Jiona smiled without any feeling of humor. "Now, Marshal, you're asking for too much."

Tevik sighed. "We know what happened at the orphanage. You posted all the details on social media. You were happy to go public then. Did you know that man was hunted down by a mob and torn to pieces?"

"Oh, yes. I keep all the pictures up on my wall. Revenge was sweet," she murmured, but the words were dust dry on her tongue. She'd gone public alright, but not happily. It hadn't given back her childhood. Just as damaging the syndicate hadn't brought her father back—or her mother. She pulled her hands from Tevik's.

"So why didn't it end there? You'd paid them all back." He sat back on his heels, his hands held in a strangely imploring gesture "What you did—I understand it. But why didn't you stop?"

"Because I couldn't! I worked in the shadows with the bad guys. I was good at it. They accepted me and paid good money. And then I played them. One against the other. I punished them, and profited, too. But I never harmed an innocent person. Never!"

"You stole, you defrauded, and you conspired to murder. These were crimes, each and every one. And if you were so damn good at it, how did you end up in Del's nerve shredder?"

She shuddered. "Don't—"

He grabbed her chin, forced her to look at him. "Why, Jee? You're not telling me the whole truth. I can tell."

"What do you expect me to say?" She swiped at her eyes. Crying was pathetic. Weak. And she'd been careless to admit anything to this man.

Tevik cupped her face, his thumb brushing a tear from her cheek. "The truth would be good."

"Oh, all right! I kept going because I enjoyed it! Better? I got a thrill out of it all, thought myself oh so smart taking them all down, and getting chased, but never caught. Especially when it was you."

He drew back, a frown etching deep furrows in his face as if she'd tried to knife him again. A long silence before he spoke again. "I'm sorry."

Jiona snuffled, and eyed him suspiciously. "For what?"

"For all of it. For what you did and why you did it and most of all, for being the one who has to take you in."

Tevik sounded sincere. Jiona wondered how much. "If you feel so bad, then don't take me in."

He reached out and stroked her hair. "You know I have to," he said, his voice pained.

Jiona hugged her knees. "And nothing I say or do will change your mind?" Some hope. She'd read _his_ file too. He'd always got his mark and brought them in alive, regardless of who they were or what they'd done. Incorruptible and steadfast. The epitome of justice.

"No, nothing." She saw his face harden after an instant of confusion. She almost believed he hated the thought of taking her in.

"And no regrets?"

"I never have regrets." He said it a shade too quickly.

"Never?"

He made a sound—exasperation. "You don't give up, do you?"

Jiona laughed shakily. "That should _definitely_ have been in my file. Besides, what do I have to lose now?"

"Is that how you see it? Might as well throw caution to the wind?"

"Why not?" She slid onto her knees, and pressed herself against him. "You're taking me in tomorrow. So why don't you take a risk too? You can't deny you want me."

He leaned forward, his mouth just a breath away. "From the first moment we met, I've wanted you. First, for the satisfaction of taking down a notorious criminal. But the longer it took, the longer the chase went on, the more I felt a connection. Until you tried to put that blade in my ribs."

"I'm sorry about that."

"Hmm." His glowing gaze filled her own, cool and piercing. "But you did give me a sporting chance. Not _your_ usual MO. And...you kissed me."

"I did. Want to try it conscious?"

He froze, and her heart sank. _Why can't he let himself go? Just for tonight. Just this once._

"Just a kiss. Or are you _that_ scared of me?"

"Yes. I am." His voice dropped, and a frown twisted his expression. "You're asking me to put my job, my integrity—everything I value— on the line. And it's so hard to keep saying no to you. That kiss at the bank...And then finding you in that nerve shredder. I thought you were dead."

Her breathing hitched. "That mattered to you?"

"Yes."

"Then prove it." Jiona leaned closer, leaving the last few millimeters up to him. If he dared.

He touched his lips to hers. So light a touch sparking a response so strong—as if he'd kissed every inch of her body in one instant. She drew back, gasping.

"Changed your mind?" He looked as bewildered as she felt.

"No. Do that again. Please."

He did, and the sensation of every part of her body being touched flowed over her again. And yet he hadn't even put a finger on her.

She pulled back, shaken. "How are you doing that?" she whispered.

"Deluvians are empathic. When I do this..." He kissed her, and golden warmth rushed like sunlight over her skin. His mouth spoke into hers. "You experience what I'm feeling. And I experience you."

His words stirred an internal heat like nothing she'd felt before. "And what are _you_ experiencing right now?"

Tevik smiled in a way that made her quiver. "The worst torture I've ever felt in my life. You have no idea what you're doing to me."

"You're supposed to enjoy it."

"Jiona." His expression was so serious she wanted to laugh. "If I give you this one night you've asked for, you'll be condemning _both_ of us to a life sentence."

_Huh?_ "I don't understand." Then it hit her. "You mean you were _serious_ about that bonded for life thing?" Shock pelted her in the chest.

Tevik nodded, his smile bittersweet. "I'd never be able to take another mate. I'd spend the rest of my life alone."

"No." She forced the words past the knot in her throat. "You're making that up."

"I don't lie." Absolute sincerity filled his voice.

Jiona tugged in a breath, her chest hurting. "No, I won't do that to you. I didn't know what it really meant..." How could she possibly do that to him now? _Time to pull back._ Long past time.

"I know you didn't." He took her hand, caressing her palm. "But it's too late. For me anyhow. I don't think I could ever be with someone else even if I wanted too." He gazed into her eyes, the blue glow more intense than ever. "And I _don't_ want to."

"Tevik..." She couldn't stop shaking. He was giving up too much for her. Way too much.

"One night is all we'll have, Jiona. And then I'll wait for you. Maybe you'll change your mind and choose to bargain, but that has to be your decision. Just as this is mine."

Her tears came so fast she couldn't see. "But you'd be tying yourself to someone you'll never see again, and throwing away your chance to find another."

"There will never be another. Deluvians know the moment they meet their life's mate. We're never wrong."

She couldn't breathe. Reality twisted around her, dizzying. "That can't be true."

"It is true. You were always the one meant for me. I didn't want it... at first."

"Because I'm such a bad girl?" She was only half teasing, trying to evade the truth, the responsibility. This was no longer just about her fate, but his as well.

"And because you're human. I've never heard of it happening before. Even though my species and yours are physically compatible, our biology isn't. No human/Deluvian hybrids."

"Poor Tevik." Her heart ached. "I've messed up your life as much as I have mine."

"Look at me."

Jiona obeyed, and his gaze held hers fast.

"Tell me you don't want me after all."

She couldn't say it, despite what he'd told her. How could she do this to him? And yet he was offering her everything, heart and soul. "I can't," she whispered.

"Then come here." Tevik sounded _so_ sure as he pulled her toward him. Jiona reached out to lay her hands on his shoulders, then caress down his chest. His skin wasn't like that of a human male; it was more like chamois leather, stretched taut over his hard physique. As she stroked lower he quivered under her touch. Was he as nervous as she was? She couldn't believe how much he would be giving up for this. Was he serious?

"Are you sure this is what you want?" The heat of him burned her palms, the vibration of his heart pounding against her fingertips. With any other man, she'd have had no doubts.

"Yes."

She let her fingers trail over his abdomen, savoring the velvet smoothness of his skin wrapped over tensed muscles, all the while conscious of what he was surrendering. The guilt stung as though she'd been put back in the nerve shredder. She couldn't do this. This time she'd be stealing more than information or money or technology. She was taking his life, more completely than killing him would. Then he kissed her again and all her resistance dissolved as his need for her scorched away the uncertainty, silencing any protest. In that kiss she could feel he wanted her more badly than she'd wanted revenge.

"Tevik." She slipped her hand inside his pants, and he growled, a long, low sound than rang more of desire than warning but she hesitated.

"Scared?" he whispered by her ear, his breath catching.

"Maybe a little. I know our physiology is compatible but—"

"—it is different," he finished for her. "I won't hurt you, Jiona. I can give you my word. But I want you to be sure."

He wanted _her_ to be sure? _If I'd have known, I'd have let him catch me sooner. Maybe even have turned informer... no. Not that._ She buried those thoughts and looped her other arm around his neck to hook him closer. His hands rested on her hips as she slid her hand lower. Tevik was as hot and hard as any male she'd ever been with, and he groaned as she grasped his shaft and felt along its length. Wider at the base than a human's, and tapered toward the end, the skin as velvety-soft as the rest of him. Not so different. At least not until the tip coiled partway around her wrist for a moment.

She forced herself not to jerk away. Prehensile? Okay, so that was odd. But hardly scary.

She withdrew her hand and leaned back a little. "Your turn," she whispered. "If this is really what you want."

The expression on his face—like a teenager caught peeking in the girls' changing room—made her smile inside.

He lifted the edge of her t-shirt, and she raised her arms to let him tug it over her head. His movements were slow, as if he was waiting for her to say no. "Lie back on the bed. If you want me to stop, just say."

Jiona obeyed; certain Tevik would keep his word as he crouched at her side, his mouth lowering to hers. His fingertips stroked the side of her face, trailed down her neck, then followed the curve of her breast—a steady, deliberate torment that left her trembling. His thumb traced a slow spiral around her nipple before grazing across it in firm strokes until it hardened. His mouth moved to her other breast; his tongue bringing it to the same peaked state to match. It wasn't enough. Need spiked through her and she grasped his hair, wanting to pull him right into her. His kisses had been liquid heat washing over his body, but the touch of his lips and hands elsewhere burned, an all-consuming fire.

Her breathing grew ragged as his hand traveled lower, and she moaned as he reached the juncture of her thighs, exploring gently. His fingers dipped inside her, tentative at first until she arched into his hand in a silent plea for more. He responded by plunging deeper, then built up a rhythm as his lips sought hers again.

She shook with her need for him. _Ached_ with it. Tension built in her groin until she wanted to scream. As she neared her peak, Tevik removed his fingers and shifted until his body lay between her legs.

"Jee?" he whispered.

"I don't want you to stop." She could barely get the words out. If he didn't do more soon...

"You're sure?"

"More than you know." But what about him? A few moments of pleasure in exchange for a life of solitude? She opened her mouth to ask him again if _he_ was certain.

He thrust himself into her, and her body bucked as she clutched at his hips. Too late. He kept the same rhythm going but now he filled her completely, claiming her, bringing her back to the edge. Molten heat rushed up through Jiona's body, an explosion of pleasure blinding her. As she came, the intensity forced a scream from her throat and she threw back her head, letting it out. Seconds later Tevik roared his own release, ecstasy still pulsing through her veins. As he collapsed onto her and buried his face in her neck she wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight. Felt the sweat coating his back and layered between their bodies from the heat of their union. His heart was pounding in time with hers as they panted in each others' arms.

For a long time they lay silent, Tevik still resting inside her as her pulse slowed to normal. Jiona was afraid to let him go. For him to leave her. The fear locked her rigid. When had that connection come? When he'd finally agreed to have sex with her despite condemning himself to life without a mate? When he'd saved her from Del? Or further back, when they'd faced each other at her numerous crime scenes? When he'd failed to take her in, but their battles had heated her blood and left a smile on her face every time she recalled them?

"Jiona? Are you all right?"

Tevik sounded so concerned, his voice quivering. His whole body shook.

"Fine." She squeezed the word out from a throat gone tight. A tear ran from the corner of her eye.

He pulled away and withdrew, frowning down at her. "Did I hurt you?"

She shook her head, unable to speak.

"Then why are you crying?" He lifted himself off her and rolled to the side, then gathered her into his arms. "Tell me how I've hurt you because I can feel that I have."

"Not that like. I just...didn't expect it."

"Expect what?"

_For you to give me everything. For me to fall in love with you..._ Jiona stamped on the thought. No. They barely knew each other, and they'd spent most of their time trying to kill each other. Well, seriously cripple in her case, perhaps just capture in his. No, this couldn't be love.

"Was it...that bad?" Tevik ventured.

Despite her tears, Jiona couldn't hold back a giggle. " _Drek_ , male pride remains the same whatever the species!"

"So it wasn't that." Tevik stroked her back and then ran his hand over the curve of her hip. Jiona shivered as the now familiar sense of warmth swept through her. Hell, how soon could a Deluvian be ready for a second session? His touch ignited an instant desire to taste him again, to kiss him and have him inside her. "Tell me why you're crying, Jiona Sax, and no lies. You know I can tell when you lie."

He spoke like a Marshal at interrogation, but his voice softened on the last line as he kissed her tears away.

"Because it's a hard thing to find happiness and know you'll lose it tomorrow," she whispered.

Tevik froze. "I've made you happy?"

"Couldn't you tell?" People in the next solar system must have heard her come. Surely he'd felt it too?

"All I can feel now is a pain inside you. I never had that kind of response from a female before."

"Oh, it wasn't your lack of prowess, believe me. I've never felt so good." She snuggled into his chest. The heat and silky-skinned hardness of his body soothed hers better than any analgesic. A damn shame she'd waited so long. "And just as soon I get you, I'm going to have to give you up."

"Then tell them what you know. Negotiate." He cupped her face, forcing her to look deep into those glowing eyes. "Buy yourself a shorter sentence. I'll wait for you. Don't condemn us both to a life alone."

_But it won't stop you taking me in..._ And maybe, just maybe, he'd lied about the imprinting. Could it all have been just a trick to get her to confess? _No._ Suspicion had become her constant companion. Tevik was an honorable man. Surely he wouldn't try something so underhanded?

She pulled away. "I won't plea bargain. I told you."

"Then at least let me spend tonight trying to convince you." His mouth claimed hers and flame poured through her body.

Oh, hell, yes. Go ahead and try...

***

His methods of persuasion left Jiona limp and gasping, but didn't change her mind. Through the night she learned the other talents a Deluvian had. Talents she'd willingly serve several life sentences for the chance to experience again. And whatever damage Del's nerve shredder had done, the aches and pains melted away every time Tevik touched her. Yet, she wouldn't give up the information the Justice Bureau wanted, even with Tevik's life on her conscience. Better a life in a cell than a bounty hunter with a contract on her. _Or maybe not..._

Still juddering in the latest sexual aftermath, Jiona lay beside Tevik, bodies touching at shoulder and hip, his fingers threaded through hers. When she felt capable of moving again, she levered herself up onto her elbow to stare down at him. He had his eyes closed, his blue hair still spiked and unaffected by the sweat sheening his face. Hers had become plastered to her skin. Would he let her take a shower if she asked? He could surely trust her enough for that now, couldn't he? "I'm sorry."

Tevik shifted to look her in the eye. "What for?"

"The long chase. The knife. The bomb. But most of all the imprinting. I regret that most of all."

He sighed and reached up a hand to brush a stray thread of hair from her cheek. "It doesn't matter. The instant I saw you I knew you were the one, however hard I tried to deny it."

"But I'm a criminal. And you're a Marshal."

"You're not like the others. For all the bad things you did, you were still seeking justice and trying to make some sense of the world. Just like me."

"But you did it the _right_ way."

"Maybe." His fingers brushed her face, then travelled down her neck. As he went lower, she shivered. Again? Hell, Deluvians were insatiable! Or maybe it was all those years he'd gone without since his training. He'd certainly lost all that restraint he'd boasted of.

"I need a shower." It was a feeble enough excuse.

Tevik smiled. "Can't let you go in alone while you're in my custody."

"Why the hell doesn't that surprise me?"

***

"Jiona?"

"Hmmm?" She didn't want to talk. Didn't want to move. She'd never felt so relaxed. Her body bathed in a golden glow of post-coital bliss. She pried her eyes open, finding Tevik's face close to her own.

He stroked her cheek. "Are you alright?"

"Uh huh."

"I have to take you in now."

Cold reality washed over her and chased the euphoria away. "Already?"

"I'm afraid so."

Tevik's expression told her he was suffering. Maybe if she was practical, if she concentrated on the mundane, she could ignore the internal voice screaming at her to escape. "I'll need some clothes."

"I have some ready for you."

"Do I have time to shower again?"

"Yes. And to eat."

Suddenly she'd lost her appetite.

***

She wasn't sure how many days she'd been inside. They fed her regularly, as far as she could judge, and she'd slept fourteen times since Tevik had brought her here. But if they were deliberately upsetting her body clock by changing the time intervals between meals, she wouldn't know any different. Most days she was so exhausted that she slept between every meal and interrogation session. The same questions over and over again. Names. Locations. Plans. Connections. They wanted them all. She gave them nothing.

And she hurt. She missed Tevik in ways she'd never missed anyone in her life. She wanted him. _Needed_ him. It felt like a huge chunk had been carved out of her insides, and every time Jiona made the mistake of thinking of him, the pain just got worse. Had he been wrong? Could imprinting work both ways, even though she was human? It couldn't be love, not really...

The door slid aside. She opened her eyes, but the bright glare of the cell's lights blinded her. She squinted, seeing nothing but a dark shape and a pair of boots.

"Jee?"

Her pulse leapt but she couldn't move. Her skin burned as he squatted down so that his eyes were level with her own. "Tevik?" She levered herself up. She couldn't believe it. "You've come to see me?"

"Yes, Jiona Sax."

Her heart shriveled at his formal tone. "This is business, right?"

He nodded, but the look in his eyes said something else. Pleading with her, full of a pain that echoed her own.

Hope flickered in her chest. "Well?"

"I heard they weren't getting anything out of you."

"So? They think you might work better?"

"They didn't send me. I asked to come."

"You...asked?"

"Jiona." He placed a hand on her shoulder, and warmth flowed into her body. "Please. Give them the information. Save yourself."

She tried to laugh, but dissolved into tears instead. _So tired_. "If I inform on them I won't even make it to court. I'm amazed they haven't got to me already."

"Please, Jee," he whispered. "You'll have a shorter sentence. Then protection and a new identity." His voice caught.

"As what? Some nobody, forever trapped and under protection? What kind of life is that?"

"It doesn't have to be like that." He rose to leave. "At least think about it?"

Jiona bit her tongue as Tevik walked away, her body longing for his touch. It was all she could do to not throw herself at him and beg him to take her away. She wouldn't. She _couldn't._

He hesitated at the door and looked back. His lips parted as if to plead with her again and she remembered the touch of them on hers, all over her body. Then his mouth snapped shut and he stepped out the door.

_Tevik._ She curled into a ball and cried silent tears, the pain so intense she hoped it would kill her.

But she was still breathing when two guards entered her cell. Still hurting. It felt too soon, but maybe they hoped Tevik's visit might have loosened her tongue or at least softened her resistance. When she reacted too slowly, the guards yanked her to her feet, and she yelped. They hadn't been rough before. Jiona glanced at the guard to her right as they led her out of the cell. She'd seen the same faces on most shifts, but this guy was definitely not one she'd seen before. She peeked at the other guard; another new face. The leer he gave made her stomach knot. And... She sniffed. He stank! She'd survived on her gut instincts long enough to know when something was off, and this situation smelt worse than the guy's sour body odor. When they reached the end of the corridor and turned right instead of left, the suspicion spiked. Adrenaline sent her heart leaping. _What the hell am I going to do?_

Blood pounding in her ears, a hundred ideas flashed through her head, but it all came down to two options. Go along with it and wait for an opportunity to escape or fight like hell now and hope the real guards came to her rescue. What a choice.

With a loud groan, she let her legs buckle, using her body weight to pull both guards off balance. Stinker loosened his grip and Jiona jerked her arm free, using it to ram the other guard into the side wall as hard as she could. His head smacked hard against the surface and he collapsed.

"Bitch!" Stinker grabbed her from behind, one arm around her waist, the other around her neck.

She jabbed an elbow into his ribs, then clutched the hand at her throat, yanking his smallest finger back until it snapped. He screamed and pulled away, cradling his broken digit.

With rage pulsing through her body, she channeled it into a punch that splattered his nose across his face and put him on his knees. "Who sent you?" she shrieked, booting him in the stomach until he squealed. "Tell me!"

White-hot pain flared up her left leg and she collapsed, twitching. The other guard, the one she'd thought unconscious, stood over her with an electroshock Stinger in his hand. _Damn, that hurts._ He picked her up and slung her over one shoulder, just as sirens wailed out and red lights started to flash. Then he ran, Jiona bouncing helplessly against his back, agony throbbing through her every nerve while she fought to retake control of her limbs. She clenched her fingers, forcing them to cooperate, and attempted to claw the man's back. Her short nails just skittered across the thick fabric of his uniform. Desperate, she pushed away with one hand and rammed her other elbow into the pressure point near his spine. He stumbled, then dropped her to the ground. The other guard caught up with then and stood over her, his mouth twisted, his fist raised.

Jiona lay helpless, cringing, waiting for a blow that never came. A pair of Marshals had appeared around the corner and taken up point. Both phony guards raised their left arms; the shield devices strapped to their wrists blurred the air as invisible energy fields sprang to life in front of them. Shots blazed both ways along the corridor.

Jiona flexed her arms and legs, moaning in pain. _Move, damn it. Work!_ She struggled to her hands and knees, just in time to be hauled to her feet by a rough hand on her collar. Her knees buckled and her legs folded, still paralyzed from the Stinger.

"Jiona!"

Her heart jolted at the call. Tevik ran toward them, weapon raised and blazing. The other Marshals hung back, providing covering fire. Smoke filled the air. Jiona's captor, both his arms around her waist, dragged her away from the battle. She rammed her head backward into his face and heard a satisfying crack. The blow broke his hold enough for her to wriggle free.

"Tevik!" She tried to run to him, her legs failing her yet again—just as a shot hit him in the shoulder. He lost his grip on his gun, and a second blast smashed into his chest, tossing him backward.

"No!" Jiona watched him fall, his arms flailing. She crawled to his side and grabbed his limp hand. Tevik's eyes met hers for an instant, his breath coming in shallow pants, flowers of crimson staining his shirt. His lips moved as if to speak. Then the bright blue glow of his eyes faded—and died.

"No." It couldn't be. "No." From somewhere she found the strength to get on her knees. She lowered her mouth to his and tried to breathe air into him. Someone grabbed her from behind, shouting, and pinned her arms to her sides. She shrieked, lashing out at her captor, but he had a good grip on her this time. They left Stinker shooting at the guards who were edging slowly closer— too slowly to be any use to her...or to Tevik.

All the strength leeched from her body, Jiona stumbled, crying, as she was half-carried, half-dragged down the corridor. Everything passed in a blur, the sound of gunfire dimming behind them. They came to a doorway, and she was shoved through it and into a Bureau patrol flitter. Her stomach lurched as the man gunned the flitter, then veered it away from the Bureau's base. Away from Tevik.

Jiona levered herself up and stared at him. "Why?" Her insides felt crushed. Not from the crazed flight path her captor was steering or from the beating she'd taken. All the pain flowed from a single memory, of the light dying in Tevik's eyes. "Why didn't you just kill me?"

"They want you alive," he said. "They want to know what you told them."

"I didn't tell them anything." _I wish to hell I had. I wish I'd told them everything. And that I'd told him I loved him._

The pilot snorted. "Like the Vaz Family are gonna believe that. They want to know exactly what you said. And then..." He sniggered. "I guess they'll make sure you never say another word."

Rage boiled in her gut and exploded out of her. With a scream Jiona launched herself at him, scratching and hitting in a frenzy. He tried to fend her off, the flitter dropping as he lost his hold on the controls. The craft plunged into the smog-filled depths of the city before the pilot managed to regain control of the steering column. Jiona kicked at him and stamped on his hands until he let go with a yelp. The flitter dropped, then grazed a building, the impact tossing them both across the cabin.

"Crazy bitch!" The pilot dragged himself back into the command seat and hooked one strap of the safety harness over his shoulder. Jiona saw a blur of smoke-wreathed buildings and garbage streak past as he yanked the craft level. Gravity punched her in the gut as the flitter fought for height.

_They're not getting me alive._ She braced both her feet and sprang at him, sinking her teeth into his hand.

"Argh!" He punched her in the face and the craft nose-dived again. This time the flitter bounced off the edge of one building, spiraled into a side street, then collided with another wall. The pilot's harness snapped and they flew both flew into the rear compartment. Jiona slammed against the back of the flitter. The ship plowed into the garbage below and slewed to a halt.

Jiona collapsed to the floor, her captor right beside her. Every bone in her body felt shattered, her ribs throbbing as she coughed. Smoke and the scream of an alarm filled the cabin.

"Warning. Hull integrity breached. Oxygen levels falling. Toxic elements detected."

The computer's alert sounded so calm and unimportant, yet they'd crashed in the depths of the city where the atmosphere was pure poison.

Jiona turned her head to the side. Her captor wasn't moving. She sucked in a breath, her throat burning in response.

"Oxygen levels critical. Please switch to manual emergency supplies."

Panels in the ceiling opened and oxygen masks dropped out. Jiona reached for the mask dangling above her. Then she remembered the light fading from Tevik's eyes. He was dead. Yet the love or the imprint or whatever this feeling for him was called, was still alive. And it was agony. Tevik was gone. And even if she survived this attempt on her life, there would surely be further attacks.

Her lungs scorched, her body battered and aching. Jiona let her hand drop to her side and closed her eyes, only one thought left in her mind...

Tevik.

***

She didn't get her wish. No one was willing to let her die until they'd got what they wanted from her, it seemed. At least the Justice Bureau had done a good job on her after they'd pulled her out of the crashed flitter and patched her up. Lung repair, melamine infusions, and a few genetic adaptations later, her once blonde hair was now coiled in pale auburn ringlets, her eyes had been lightened to hazel-tinted green, her skin glowed an attractive shade of gold, and she could finally breathe without pain. They'd left her face and figure alone though. She hadn't allowed them to cut her.

The official report stated she'd finally cracked under pressure, a credit to the interrogation team. It hadn't been that, of course. The memory of watching Tevik die had done it. Suddenly none of it mattered. Let the Vaz family kill her. It couldn't hurt any worse than losing him. She'd paid them back for his death in the only way that she could. Let the information to the Justice Bureau be her revenge.

They'd allowed her to attend Tevik's memorial service before her transformation was complete, snapping her inside Marshal armor to hide her identity. She'd stood among the ranks of the Bureau staff, sobbing her own tribute behind a mirrored mask. Somewhere else, the funeral of a certain Jiona Sax had also taken place, and while the casket being vaporized had been empty, her heart was certainly dead—buried with the man she'd loved ever so briefly.

They were shipping her to the other side of the galaxy, to be an admin for a trade corporation on the commerce world of Mahiti. Worse, they'd assigned her a husband. Jiona snorted. She'd been paired off with the newly assigned Marshal there. Officially he was her protection; she wasn't required to share his bed. She'd make dang sure he was clear on that point.

The final insult had been that her name was now Jee Salaz. She hadn't been allowed to choose that either, but had been given something close to her original to help her remember it. Ironic that the pet name Tevik had given her was now real, a permanent reminder of what she'd lost. Every time someone said it, she heard his voice, and every time the grief would come like a punch to the gut.

The spaceport heaved like the stomach of a newbie astronaut, a churning maelstrom of color. The 'port staff wore bilious green suits, while travelers were assigned the standard gray all-in-one life support suit in case of emergency decompression in transit. You could survive in space for an hour in one of those things. She flexed her shoulders. The suit was as uncomfortable as Hades though. This new Marshal had better show his butt soon or she would leg it back off-world. She hadn't revealed _all_ her secret caches to the interrogation team. She could still have a decent—even legal—life under a new pseudonym elsewhere.

Among the seething masses, her gaze caught a single figure heading her way, his long strides purposeful. A Marshal in full combat gear, including the helmet. Unease prickled down her back as crowds parted around him. There was something oddly familiar about the way he walked, sparking a memory she'd rather not recall. Del's hideout, strapped to a nerve shredder as the place exploded around her. Gunshots. A Marshal coming toward her.

Her heart thundered, every muscle in her body snapping taut. She couldn't see his face. His eyes. But the way he moved couldn't be mistaken. It was Tevik. _I saw him die. I went to his funeral._ Yes, on the same day that Jiona Sax had supposedly been cremated. She mentally slapped herself. If the Bureau could pull that trick once, it could do it twice.

He drew closer, flipping the visor of his helmet, and she saw those beautiful eyes once again. His face had changed. He looked uncertain, a frown creasing his forehead. Did he think she wouldn't recognize him? That she might hate him for letting her think him dead? She couldn't move, had to force herself to breathe, her body shaking like it had during their first kiss.

Tevik stood in front of her, staring down into her eyes. It took an eternity for him to speak. "Hi," he managed.

Jiona launched herself at him and kissed him so hard she thought she might suffocate him. Which he'd deserve for not letting her know he was alive. His arms went around her, crushing the last of the breath from her body. It left her in no doubt that he was as overjoyed to see her as she was him. Only when she thought she might pass out did he pull back.

"I'm sorry about the secrecy," he murmured. "The Bureau ordered it, thinking it safest. Hope you don't mind the new face."

She shook her head. "The face is fine. Please, just tell me you're here to take me into your personal custody again."

He nodded, smiling. "For life this time."

She took his hand and led him away. "Now _there's_ a sentence I can live with."

### PIPPA JAY

About the Author

A stay-at-home mum of three who spent twelve years working as an Analytical Chemist in a Metals and Minerals laboratory, Pippa Jay bases her stories on a lifetime addiction to science-fiction books and films. Somewhere along the line a touch of romance crept into her work and refused to leave. In between torturing her plethora of characters, she spends the odd free moments trying to learn guitar, indulging in freestyle street dance and drinking high-caffeine coffee. Although happily settled in historical Colchester in the UK with her husband of 20 years, she continues to roam the rest of the Universe in her head.

Awards or Special Recognition

SFR Galaxy Award winner 2012  
Readers Favorite Award Finalist 2012  
GCC RWA Silken Sands Award Finalist 2012

Story Inspiration

I have to credit friend and fellow scifi author Gayle Ramage for the original idea that sparked this story, one of several plot bunnies she threw at me on Twitter after I'd pleaded for suggestions (I was a bit stuck for inspiration when the submission call first came). Strangely, the one I chose wasn't my usual thing at all. I'd never written from a villain's point of view before, but once the opening scene sprang to mind, I soon realized Jiona and Tevik were going to be a lot of fun. So much so that, even though this was planned as a standalone story not related to any of my others, I'm now working on a (hopefully novel length) sequel. I must also thank Liana Brooks for her demand for more explosions.

Other Works by This Author:

_The Bones of the Sea_ , a free SF Short

(http://pippajay.blogspot.co.uk/p/bones-of-sea-scifi-short.html)

_Keir_ , a Lyrical Press Inc. Science Fiction Romance Novel

(http://pippajay.blogspot.co.uk/2009/01/keir-excerpt-and-links.html)

_Terms & Conditions Apply_, a Science Fiction Romance Short

(http://pippajay.blogspot.co.uk/2012/01/terms-conditions-apply-excerpt-and-links.html)

_Gethyon_ , a BURST (Champagne Books) YA Science Fiction Novel

(http://pippajay.blogspot.co.uk/2012/01/gethyon-excerpt-and-links.html)

Web Site

Pippa Jay - Adventures in Scifi  
http://www.pippajay.co.uk

Blog

Pippa Jay - Adventures in Scifi  
http://pippajay.blogspot.co.uk

Author Contact

Email pippajaygreen@gmail.com  
Twitter @pippajaygreen <https://twitter.com/pippajaygreen>  
Facebook Pippa Jay Adventures in Scifi  
https://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Pippa-Jay-Adventures-in-Scifi/114058821953752  
Google+ Pippa Jay  
https://plus.google.com/app/basic/101080630877126516448/about?cbp=xirdu3chv0ax&force=1&partnerid=t3search&sview=11

Goodreads http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5054558.Pippa_Jay

## Allure

by Amy Laurens

Sara gripped Ash's hand fiercely as the wind tangled her hair in her mouth. The summer night lay hot and humid, heavy with the feel of beaches even though the closest was at least a hundred kilometres away—a night full of pregnant pauses and insects humming, rocked intermittently by explosions of sound and light; a night when, despite the fireworks of the rockets, sensible people would be indoors in their air conditioning, watching the Christmas carols or yet another clichéd family holiday movie.

The launches were old news; ships had been departing continuously for weeks, and Christmas was a greater novelty.

Not for her. Sara swallowed and squeezed Ash's hand tighter. Instead of the traditional family meal by candlelight, she stood on the hilltop with her ex-fiancé, fingers entwined, watching the rockets streak skywards. _Christmas is a stupid time to schedule launches. It should be for homecomings and returns, not departures to worlds unknown._ But the Government called, and Ash was duty-bound to answer. In less than twelve hours he'd be on board one of those streaks of light that rumbled like the thunder of the gods, a meteoroid shooting up in reverse to join the stars in space.

"Are you okay?" Ash said. He meant it to be quiet, a question full of warmth and concern, but over the ships and the wind he had to shout close to her ear.

Sara nodded, rescuing more hair from between her lips and tucking it futilely around her ear. "I'm fine."

She had to be, didn't she? She wasn't the only fiancée scheduled to be abandoned on Christmas Day, made ex-fiancée by the war. Each fiery streak in the sky represented at least a score of soldiers, plus a host of supporting crew and technicians, all headed to Tarne, where heroes were in great demand.

Abruptly, Sara kicked the railing that enclosed the lookout. Let Tarne fight their own war. What help would a thousand extra soldiers be, let alone the single one who was supposed to be hers? The silicate Alphs—glassy-sheened outside, glassy-cold inside—out-numbered humanity ten to one; the government could empty the entire planet to Tarne to aid in the war effort and it wouldn't faze the invaders in the slightest.

Ash gathered her in his arms, wordless as another launch shattered Sara's composure just a little more. She pressed her face against his shoulder, swallowing hard to ease the ache in her throat, her chest, her eyes. She wouldn't cry, she wouldn't. This was his last night on Earth, likely for the rest of his life and, dammit, it would be a good one. "Let's go," she said against his ear.

"Where?" he said loudly, smoothing her hair from both their faces.

"Anywhere. Away. I don't want to watch them anymore."

He nodded and took her hand, squeezing it as he led her to their car.

***

On the other side of town, the rocket launches still shook the world like bombs. Sara climbed out of the air-con of the car and felt her shirt plaster against her skin in the humidity. She didn't care. They'd pulled up at the Hotel Grande, the only hotel in town, but grand enough for all of that.

Sara plucked at her shirt, but gave it up for a bad job when she realised how soaked it was. The wind on the hilltop had masked some of the humidity, but here in the low-lying suburbs, the air was still and heavy. And anyway, she thought, glancing down again, at least it gave the illusion of cleavage.

Ash wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "Come on," he muttered.

Sara eyed the sparkling stars and wondered what she would do when her entire future was swept away to one of them. She shrugged to clear her head, and they entered the hotel.

"One night," Ash said curtly at the desk, handing over their ID cards.

The desk clerk looked at them knowingly as he picked up Ash's military ID, sympathy warming his hazel eyes. "Room 106," he said, handing them the door card. "On the house. Lifts are over there."

Clutching Ash's hand like he might change his mind, Sara strode towards the lifts and swiped the card. The doors shushed open and she hurried in, closing her eyes and listening as the doors shut and the lift whirred into motion. Nothing. No rockets to break the drone of electric and mechanical noises, no wind to buffet her self-control.

Ash slipped his arms around her waist from behind and nuzzled against her ear. "Quiet in here."

Sara smiled tautly. "Perfect then." She twisted around to face him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him exactly like this was his last night on Earth.

The lift dinged as the door opened. Over Ash's shoulder, Sara caught a glimpse of an elderly lady with her mouth set in a disapproving line. Ash noticed and flushed red, but Sara tucked her arm in his and gave the woman a smile that could crack diamonds. "Military," she said. She didn't wait to see if the woman's expression softened. Pity could be a sledgehammer sometimes.

Their room was only a few doors down, and as she clicked the card into the door and turned the handle, Ash leaned warm against her. "I like you like this," he murmured.

"Like what?" Sara said stiffly, drawing him into the room.

He smirked at her, eyes sparkling. "Decisive."

"Good," she said, pressing him against the wall. "Then you won't complain if I do this."

***

An hour or so later, Sara wrapped herself in the hotel's white bath robe, turning up the collar and rubbing the stiff fabric against her cheeks. If she closed her eyes and imagined really hard, it almost felt like Ash's stubble. She'd have to remember that.

She glanced at him, sprawled out on the bed in nothing but his coffee skin; eyes closed, chest rising and falling softly. It was almost impossible to imagine him as a soldier when she saw him like this. With the light just right, he might have been nothing more than a boy—a child playing at being a grownup, playing at being a soldier. She twirled the ring on her left hand and bit the inside of her lip. Goosebumps rose on her arms and she rubbed at them, annoyed. Why did hotels always overcompensate with the air conditioning? Didn't these realise that at least half the hotel population was likely to be naked at any given time?

The blinds tapped the cracked-open window in a sudden breeze, and Sara crossed to them. She raised them all the way up and flung the window wide, welcoming the fresh, warm air. It still smelled like the beach, all hot stone and salt, and Sara thought of all the plans Ash and she had made for their perfect beach wedding. Her lips tightened and her eyes pricked. Scrunching up her face, Sara redirected her gaze skyward. Brilliant points of light; a net full of cockle-shells as deep in their ocean as planets far away; glow worms, luring in their prey. Yes, that was it: alluring little pretties designed to tempt humanity away from where it belonged. If man had never gone to the stars, none of this would be happening—the war, the evacuations, her cancelled future.

"Let's get married," she said suddenly.

Ash shifted in the sheets. "What?"

"Tonight. Before you go. There must be someplace open that can do it." She paced the windows, tugging on the belt of the robe.

Ash propped himself on an elbow and eyed her thoughtfully. "But I thought... I mean, we decided..." He shook his head and started again. "We assumed, didn't we. _I_ assumed. No one goes to Tarne if they have a choice." He ran his hand over his head, tense, before glancing back at her, gaze so sharp it took her breath away. "You really want to come?"

A sad smile played at the corner of Sara's mouth as she exhaled. "We _both_ assumed." Almost no one who had their fiancé consigned away to the stars went through with the wedding, mostly because of the newest instalment in a long line of ridiculous government regulations. The population of Tarne had been decimated in the early days of the war; nurses were in short supply, but so too were mothers, and in what was set to be a decades-long war of attrition, the team with the highest birth-rate was the likely victor. The Alphs had started with the obvious advantage—far superior numbers and infinitely more sophisticated tech—but humans held a trump card: a reproductive cycle thirty times shorter than that of the Alph females, whose cycles were tied to the three-year cycle of their dual-star home planet. If the colony could just hold on in the meantime, twenty or thirty years might be long enough to reverse the numbers. But it was the twenty-second century; not many women could stand being told their most important role in life was to reproduce, and the government was starting to make noises about pulling women from active duty to stay home and have babies.

Visions of her planned life flashed through Sara's head: her wedding on the beach, a house in the Adelaide hills with a picket fence and two Cocker Spaniels. A baby's nursery, decorated in pastel shades of blue and pink and yellow. Her mother, hair greyed—though skin strangely unwrinkled in Sara's imaginings—holding a tiny grandbaby. A studio out the back of the house where Sara made her world-famous art.

The beach wedding was gone, that much was certain. Even if she found another man to love, she could never marry him on a beach, not now, not after Ash. The rest she still might have, if she was lucky—and if the war did not steal another husband from her. But really, was it worth it? She closed her eyes, picturing herself between the sheets with another man—a stranger. It made her stomach sick.

Face crumpling as she fought back tears, Sara crossed the room and sat next to Ash. He didn't reach for her, watching her carefully instead, wary, like a 'roo deciding whether or not to flee. Sara searched his face, tracing the curve of his cheek, the straight, proper line of his nose, the clear, high forehead, and finally alighting on his golden-brown eyes. If she married him, if she went with him—

well, she might still have the house and the studio and the dogs. (They had dogs on Tarne, didn't they?) The babies were a foregone conclusion, at least, if she did decide to go; the government mandated three as the bare minimum for any new female immigrants.

And Tarne was bound to be full of exotic plants, wasn't it? Strange and wondrous new species to inspire her art? Sara's chest swelled with warring emotions. Would the people there reject her art as frippery in a war-bound world? She clenched her jaw and exhaled. No. Wartime was when people needed art most, something to remind them of the goodness of the human spirit, of the great things humanity could aspire to. She could be a mother _and_ an artist.

"Do you want me to?" she said at last.

Ash stiffened, his gaze so intense Sara had to look away. "Of course I do," he said quietly. "You know I do."

She shrugged. "You never asked me to." It had been expected that they would cancel the wedding when Ash received his orders, that's just what everyone did. And as no one, not even Ash, had ever suggested otherwise, Sara had never let herself consider anything else. There had been little point mentioning a hope Ash obviously didn't share, and her life was here, after all.

But then, so had his been.

Ash took up her hand, holding it like a bird between cupped fingers. "I could never ask that of anyone I loved," he said, low and fervent, sending shivers up her spine. "You've seen the pictures. You know what it will be like."

She had, and she did. There would be no white picket fence; the studio would probably be more of a shack. Did that matter? Her gaze fluttered up to his again, and she inhaled sharply. "I won't force myself on you. I _do_ know what it will be like, and you'll have enough to deal with without a brand-new naïve wife in tow. Though it can't be _much_ worse than Woomera," she said, grinning weakly. Ash didn't react, and she swallowed, throat suddenly dry. "Ask me," she whispered, her pulse racing. "Ask me, and I'll go."

"I love you, Sara," Ash said, reaching out to run his thumb over her cheek. "Don't leave me."

"You're the one who's leaving," she whispered, pressing her eyes closed.

"Come with me." His breath was warm and wet on her cheek.

Adrenalin and longing surged through her. "Yes." she breathed.

He kissed her, long and slow, exactly like they had the rest of their lives to spend together, and as they fell back against the sheets, limbs and lives entangled, another rocket rumbled skyward, sparkling in the dark.

### AMY LAURENS

About the Author

The name my parents bestowed upon me is Amy, which is kind of nice, since it means 'beloved' and all. The name I inadvertently bestowed upon myself is Inkblot, Inky for short. Feel free to call me whichever you prefer. I hail from the sunshiny land of Australia, where mammals mostly have pouches and occasionally lay eggs, and where 90% of the wildlife can injure you. So it's no surprise I'm a little quirky.

During work hours, I'm an English teacher at an all-girls school. After hours, I'm addicted to my laptop – hence the dog's self-taught trick of bashing the keyboard with her schnoz to get attention. I like to think this is a sign that she's a Creative Spirit, and is really just trying to help me improve my novels, mostly by turning off the wireless.

In contrast, my husband is very good about letting me be the one to pound away on my keyboard, and is incredibly supportive of my writing dream. Yes, he's the most wonderful husband on the planet, and sorry, his brother is also married. Ha.

Story Inspiration

"Allure" grew out of an exercise Liana Brooks and I did in December 2012. I hadn't been writing for a while, what with having a then-ten-month-old son, and we decided that daily prompts were the way to go, just to restart the writing habit. The prompt for December 2 was "sparkles in the sky"—and so "Allure" was born. I wrote the story in a single sitting, words pouring out like they hadn't in years, and was amazed by the quality of the final result. Pippa Jay and Liana Brooks lured me to the SFR Brigade just in time for me to submit "Allure" to the anthology, and the rest... well, you know the cliché.

Other Works by This Author:

**The 33 Worst Mistakes Writers Make About Dogs** \- http://www.amylaurens.com/books/dog-book/

**Out of Time** \- http://www.amylaurens.com/books/out-of-time/

Web Site

Inkfever

www.amylaurens.com

Blog

Inkfever, www.amylaurens.com/blog

Author Contact

Email amyllaurens@gmail.com

Twitter @inkylaurens

Pinterest Amy Laurens

## Nobody's Present

by Marcella Burnard

"Ms. Selkirk?" A young man poked his head through the doorway. Though he looked in my general direction, he never quite met my gaze.

I put the science brief I'd been pretending to read back in my case and rose.

The damned guy's eyes went straight to my legs. My one-time sorority sister, Jill, had insisted I wear a skirt for the interview. I'd let her talk me into it when every instinct had screamed 'pants.' It isn't that they aren't nice legs. They are. I work for them to be nice legs. But it was late December, barely a week before Christmas, and I wasn't interviewing for pole-dancer.

It was a shot at a private space program. I'd researched them, and I wanted in, even if it meant settling for being their public relations shill.

"Ma'am, the comman—" he broke off and flushed. "Mr. Carrollus will see you now."

"Thank you," I said, giving no outward sign that I'd noticed his slip. I catalogued it and felt the first tingle of warning drip down my spine.

'Commander,' he'd almost said. Interesting. Not in a good way, since a good portion of my research had centered on whether or not the military had sticky tendrils in this space program's pockets.

The young man pulled the door open, hiding behind it as if I might start shooting at any moment. I hesitated on the threshold, trying to sense what I might be walking into.

Office. Immaculate. Big. Bright. Typical, unidentifiable color of commercial carpet.

The smell of fresh coffee lingered in the room, but I caught no hint of any other odor as I drew a bracing, deep breath. Not even of furniture polish or carpet glue.

In one corner, a fake Christmas tree glittered with multi-colored lights and ornaments. Fancy baskets filled with poinsettias and other plants dotted the room. They were lush, well cared for. Gleaming books and art pieces adorned the built-in white display cases.

Below the cases, a brown leather love seat and a matching arm chair were fronted by a glass coffee table set with a polished silver coffee service. Steam curled from the spout of the pot.

Almost as an afterthought, a rich, cherry wood desk sat tucked behind an exuberant ficus near the window.

At the wet bar stood a man pouring an iced seltzer with a twist of lime that sent a burst of spicy citrus across my olfactory receptors. Commander Carrollus, I presumed. Tall, dark, and out of uniform, unless Armani was building its own, well-dressed, pinstriped army.

"Sir," the young man hiding behind the door said, "Ms. Finlay Selkirk."

Carrollus turned.

I had to combat the effect of gravity on my jaw. Tall. I'd said that. But, really. I'm five foot ten in my cute little 'Rocket scientist to my toes' socks. In my sensible, but passably sexy pumps, I pushed six feet. I'd still have to tilt my chin up to look him in the eye. Broad shoulders, strong arms, narrow waist, all of the classic descriptors of male beauty present and accounted for. Cheek bones and nose carved by a master sculptor, check. Lips that instantly reminded me I hadn't entertained an unclothed man in over a year, check.

None of those good looks mattered to me. Much.

It was the grave weight of responsibility in those midnight blue eyes, the sense of power. He had command presence. And that scared the crap out of me.

So I smiled, strode into the office, and extended a hand.

His gaze swept me, lingered on the damned legs, but rose again quickly enough that I might not have noticed had I not been studying him. I thought I detected a flicker of appreciation in his gaze and in the quirk of his faint smile. He shook my hand and squeezed gently.

Warmth zinged across each nerve fiber in my body, putting every single biological system on high alert. As if I hadn't already processed the fact that he was far too attractive for my peace of mind.

His eyes widened, and he glanced at our clasped hands.

I took marginal comfort in knowing I wasn't the only one affected.

"Unexpected," he murmured.

"No kidding," I said.

His gaze flicked to my face and he frowned. "Explain."

I awarded him the same bland look I turned on my high school students when they gave me the 'what assignment?' line. "I don't imagine I can. I teach physics. Not chemistry."

The corners of his eyes crinkled in amusement.

My face heated. What the hell was wrong with me? Okay. I'd been caught off guard. Who expected a stunning interviewer and a surge of palpable electricity?

"Ms. Selkirk," he said in a smooth, rich voice with just a hint of an accent. The sound shot another burst of 'hey, stupid, he's sexy' hormones into my already overly-aware body.

_Stop it_.

"Won't you have a seat?" He nodded at the sofa. "May I offer you something to drink?"

Needing both the distraction and the fortification, I asked, "Is there real cream to go with that coffee?"

He stepped in beside me, and tucked my hand— the one he'd never released— into the crook of his elbow to escort me across the room. "I believe so," he said with the air of someone who knew precisely that no one would dare bring coffee into his office without real cream in the frosty creamer.

He released me.

Mr. Carrollus sat in the armchair and poured coffee for both of us.

I sank to the edge of the sofa, and settled my briefcase against the coffee table.

He filled a cup with steaming coffee and offered it to me. "Thank you for taking the time to meet. We hadn't expected to interview during the holidays, but our timeline has been unexpectedly foreshortened. I appreciate your flexibility."

"Thank you," I said as I accepted the dainty china cup and saucer.

"Ms. Selkirk, you're a physicist. What made you apply for a position in public relations?"

"I didn't think you'd hire a high school physics teacher to be an astronaut," I said, pouring the cream.

His coffee cup clanked.

I glanced at him.

He peered at me, a pucker between his brows. Was that discomfort? "You want to go into space?"

"Doesn't every little kid grow up wanting to be an astronaut? I want to see the dark side of the moon," I said, "and walk on Mars."

"That's pushing our time line even harder," he noted, the corners of his eyes crinkling again.

The amusement in his tone surprised a smile from me. "Sorry."

"Ambition and a physics resume," he said. "I still don't understand why you've applied for public relations."

"No advanced degree."

"You began your PhD," he noted, consulting the tablet he'd picked up from the coffee table.

I nodded, resisting the urge to close my eyes on the inevitable next question.

"What made you leave the program?"

"My parents were killed," I managed, my chest tight. My voice cracked. Damn it. Way to score a job. Break down in an interview.

He sat bold upright, a crease between his brows. A hint of pain shown in the lines at the corners. "I'm sorry."

Sincerity rang in his words.

His discomfort broke my paralysis. I picked up the coffee I no longer wanted to drink. Since my folks had died in a car crash three years ago, I'd felt as if most of me had shriveled and died, too. I could go on pretending to be dead—or I could climb out of their graves and back into life.

I squared my shoulders and met Mr. Carrollus's eye. "My father taught me to love science and to believe that I could do anything. My mother was my trigonometry mentor. When I lost them, I lost me."

His lips parted and he drew an audible breath as if in recognition. He fixed his gaze on the cup and saucer in his hand.

We sat in stilted silence for several seconds.

My heart sank.

Shaking his head, he finally said, "Typically, we don't mention it, but you deserve to know that we require background checks on all candidates as a prerequisite to the interview process. Why interview candidates who can't meet our clearance requirements?"

"You knew."

"I had a data point," he said. "Nothing more. I'm sorry. Of course losing your family changed your life."

"Yes." I shifted as a cold lump slid down the center of my chest. "You're checking clearance eligibility? This sounds more and more like a military project."

That brought his assessing gaze to my face. "'More?'"

I hesitated beneath that prying look. How ironclad was my determination not to work for the military? "Your assistant tripped over himself to not call you 'Commander'."

"You object to working with the military?"

I shook my head. "Working _with_ is fine. Working _for_ isn't. I prefer to not apply to government agencies at all. Have I made a mistake, Mr. Carrollus?"

His brow creased. "You're applying elsewhere?"

I blinked. Now why did he look so nonplussed by the notion? "JPL wasn't interested."

Understatement.

He lifted an eyebrow. "Based on what you've told me, you wouldn't have liked JPL."

"A Department of Defense agency," I finished for him, nodding. "Yes. I came to my moral resolve regarding working for military agencies shortly after I'd applied."

"Why? Your father was a civilian contractor to the DoD, wasn't he?'

"He was." I focused on my coffee, hoping he wouldn't catch any hint of the burn behind my eyes. "When I applied to JPL, the DoD didn't bother to differentiate between my father and me. They sent me a letter addressed to my dad saying he wasn't eligible to work for JPL because his security credentials had been revoked. Which was true. Because he'd taken his clearance with him to his grave."

He choked on a sip of coffee and clanked his cup and saucer onto the coffee table as he coughed.

Blinking back bitter memory, I glanced at him and straightened.

His face reddened.

"Mr. Carrollus? Are you all right?"

Swearing, he lifted a hand. As the coughing fit subsided, he wheezed, "Trygg, please."

"If you're going to make me perform CPR, first names seem appropriate," I said, putting my coffee down in case first aid did become necessary. "Finlay. Would a glass of water help?"

His cough resolved into a chuckle. "I'm fine. Thank you." He sobered and cleared his throat. "The kind of incompetence that mistook you for your father makes your distaste for governmental agencies completely understandable. I assure you. We are not affiliated with any government entity. Vran," he nodded at the door, making me believe he referred to his assistant, "called me 'commander' because we're both active reserve. This program is independent of that. I refuse to have this venture flown into the ground by political wrangling and financial mismanagement. It's too vital."

Intensity pulsed behind his words. "What is your draw, Mr.—"

"Trygg."

"What makes this matter to you, Trygg? Science? Walking on Mars?"

His gaze slid away from mine and he sat back, the muscles in his jaw flexing.

I had to unclench my intertwined, white knuckled fingers.

"Survival," he said.

That single, grim word pierced my chest. I started. "What?"

He met my gaze and smiled. The twist of his lips didn't reach his eyes. "Humans cannot escape Earth. There's nowhere to go and no technology yet capable of supporting the species off planet."

Studying him, I frowned. 'Humans'. As if he didn't count himself among the rest of us. "You're thinking of extinction level events? Asteroid impacts? Global warming crises?"

"Yes."

"And your time line recently accelerated. Should I be pushing to be an astronaut after all?"

The tension ran out of him and he laughed. "No. At least, not because of any imminent danger that I know of."

Maybe it was a byproduct of working with teenagers, but while Trygg Carrollus's words sounded good, how he said them left me feeling as if he read from a script.

What would it take to knock him off that script and what might I find out if I succeeded?

"I take it the company's ultimate goals are colonization and terra-forming?" I asked.

"Finlay, I'm sorry," he said, regret in the slope of his shoulders. "I can't answer that question. You've cemented my opinion that you're over-qualified for a public relations position."

I gaped at him. My breath went out of my chest. And under-qualified for anything else went without saying.

"Look," I rasped. I forced air past the boulder lodged behind my breastbone. "You want to know why I applied for that job? It's because my father told me that if I couldn't have my dream, I should get as close to it as possible. I can't go to space. I don't yet have the degree I need to be taken seriously in astrophysics..."

Trygg's brow crinkled as he stared at me. "You believe this PR job is the closest you can come to the far side of the moon?"

I sighed. "I realize I'm making a hell of an impression. I mean, so far, I've gotten emotional over my parents, made declarations about what I wouldn't do, and made it clear I want more than the job I applied for."

He'd made it clear he didn't want me for the job I'd applied for.

I had nothing to lose.

"The fact remains. Teaching high school physics requires that I make science accessible and compelling to a group of people who think anyone over twenty-five is a waste of air."

He grinned. The corners of his eyes crinkled.

My heart skipped a beat.

"You are determined, aren't you?" he murmured, smile dying. "Would you give up your life to go into space?"

"What's to give up?"

He pressed his lips tight. Combined with the way his gaze slid away from mine, it looked like uneasiness.

For a moment, fear burned a path straight down my throat to my stomach. But what were we talking about really? My chances of landing the job were as remote as Mars. Never mind ever seeing Earth from orbit.

Old, familiar longing tugged at my sternum.

"I can't hire you for the PR position," he said.

Nodding, swallowing sour disappointment, I reached for my briefcase. "I appreciate your time, Mr. Carrollus."

He leaned in and touched the back of my hand, forestalling me.

Awareness rippled through me from that simple contact.

Whoa.

"I like your drive and your devotion to something you think is out of reach," he said. He drew in an audible breath.

Bracing himself?

"Would you be willing to meet a few of my people?"

Startled, I stared into those blue eyes. "Wait. You said—"

"Wouldn't you rather be doing science than PR?"

"Outreach is part of science, but yes."

He awarded me a flash of that breath-taking grin. "I want you on my team, not someone else's. Come on upstairs. Let's see if we can't come up with something mutually beneficial."

"Sure." I sounded like an infatuated teenager.

He rose and offered me a hand.

Off balance because I'd expected to be slinking out of the interview with failure hounding my steps, I accepted. I stood and reclaimed my hand. I needed distance. I wanted to at least pretend I was a cool professional.

He ushered me out of the office, and across the pink granite-tiled hallway to the elevator.

The doors opened.

We stepped in.

The elevator had buttons for parking, and for floors one and two. It also had another, unlabeled button with a cardkey reader next to it. Carrollus waved a hand in front of the reader. It beeped. The unnamed button lit. He pressed it.

"We take security seriously," he said and nodded at the grab rail. "You might want to hang on."

The elevator moved without a sound.

A wave of dizziness slammed me. I held my breath and frowned, willing it to pass. A buzz filled my ears and I noticed two things at once.

One, Carrollus watched me far too intently, an odd, avid gleam in his eyes. Two, as the noise in my head increased, my eyesight blurred.

I swayed.

An arm went around my waist, supporting me. Just in time. My knees gave up trying to negotiate keeping me upright.

"Easy," Carrollus said. "Close your eyes. It'll help."

Good idea.

He pressed cool lips to my brow.

Surprise and a tendril of pleasure pushed back dizziness for a split second.

"My everlasting regret is that I can't have you myself," he said in a voice that led me to believe I wasn't supposed to hear him.

Then the buzzing in my ears rose to a deafening shriek and it occurred to me it sounded curiously like my own voice.

***

I woke in a bed not my own. It was exquisitely comfortable, cradling my body in a way my bed never had. Which was nice, because I felt like an entire tank squadron had plowed through my head. From the rumble in my brain, I gathered they might be circling for another pass.

I hadn't had a hangover since the single ill-fated experiment with alcohol I'd undertaken at my first and last party at nineteen. What on earth had possessed me this time?

Ah, that's right. Commander Trygg Carrollus. Not literally. At least, I didn't think so.

What had he done? Drugged the coffee? Couldn't have. He'd had some of it. Hadn't he?

I half hoped he had. Some astronaut I'd make if I passed out in a simple elevator. Speaking of which, shouldn't I be afraid? Wondering whether I was ill or in a hospital somewhere? Were hospital beds this comfortable?

I frowned.

Someone shifted.

"Finlay?"

Carrollus.

My eyes snapped open and I gasped at the searing array of fabrics and colors surrounding me. "Dear God. I'm in hell."

I was tucked into an enormous Gothic horror of a canopy bed hung with sheer, gauzy fabrics that vibrated with combinations of saffron, teal, crimson and violet. The nightmare curtains had been drawn back on one side to show me the rest of the room, decorated with the same Marquis de Sade flair. Padded leather hand cuffs dangled from a chain attached to the ceiling. A bitter tendril of fear slithered into my chest.

I had no idea where I was or how long I'd been out. _Why_ kept rolling around the inside my skull, accompanied by an unsettling feeling of helplessness. I'd be damned before I'd let that _why_ escape and expose the tremor of fear skating my nerves. _Stop it, Finlay_.

This had to be a military set up. Never mind Carrollus had sworn it wasn't. It was the only thing that made sense. Being drugged and allowed to awaken outside of any kind of normal context bore all the hallmarks of the kind of psychological tests certain secretive government agencies liked to subject recruits to. I'd heard my folks talking about it in hushed tones some evenings. I'd been a child, drawn by the allure of hearing what I knew I wasn't meant to.

It had taken years for me to comprehend what I'd overheard. And I still wondered just how deeply enmeshed in secrets my parents had been. I'd always told myself I'd work up the courage to confess so I could ask them point blank who, exactly, they'd worked for.

I'd never satisfy that curiosity now, but maybe my parents could still help me.

What had Dad said? First rule of running a psychological battery: put the subject off guard by any means possible.

Commander Carrollus had succeeded.

I suppressed a shudder.

He appeared to be sitting vigil at my bedside. Sweet, in that 'the jerk who'd gotten me into this situation gives a shit whether I live or die' kind of way. He'd deserted Armani's army. Even though I didn't recognize the black uniform he wore, that's exactly what it was, and it fit far too well for my comfort.

"Finlay?" Carrollus, again. "Are you all right?"

"No, I am not all right. Could you turn down the melodrama in the room? My eyes are about to bleed."

His lips twitched like someone who wanted to smile, but knew he wasn't supposed to. "You're feeling better."

He'd won this round. I'd be damned if I'd let him win another.

I remembered Mom saying 'Never let them see you sweat.'

Check. Swallow the tremor of nerves. Cue the bravado.

"I'm better enough that you can start explaining," I grumbled as I struggled to free myself from the bed.

"There are explanations to be had. It is not my place to give them to you. If you're able to dress, I'll escort you to my C.O."

I knew it. God damned military op. I rolled out of the bed, stood, and swore. I was clear that my government wouldn't have spent the cash on a military op that dealt in negligees like the one I was wearing. My hair swung down my back, free of the French twist I'd so carefully put it into.

A low, inarticulate sound came from Carrollus. "Finlay, you are beautiful." He sounded grudging, as if he thought he ought to explain his growl of appreciation, but didn't like the fact that he'd reacted at all.

Heat suffused my skin. I glanced down at the lace and pink silk barely covering me, then met his gaze. Irritation put lines in his forehead. Why? The fact that I was still standing there half naked? Or was it the desire clouding his blue eyes that troubled him? For that matter, shouldn't it bother me rather than make me tingly all over?

I lifted an eyebrow.

He had the grace to flush. His gaze slid away. "The doctor insisted you'd be more comfortable."

"Well, I'm sure the doctor didn't see anything he—"

"She," he corrected.

"Fine," I said. "Where are my clothes?"

"You'll find clothing—"

" _My_ clothes," I growled. I sounded like I meant business. I wished all over again I'd worn slacks, but the stupid skirt, blouse and jacket were the closest thing to a power suit I had at the moment. And something told me I'd need a bit of power to get out of ... whatever it was I'd gotten myself into. Trying to face a military psychological test while dressed in a pink nightie didn't bear thinking about.

"Your clothes are around the corner," he said.

I marched past him and into the alcove he'd indicated. A curtain of the same colorful fabric covered the wall in front of me. I spotted my clothes neatly folded on a vanity, my shoes on the floor as if waiting for me to step into them.

I felt his gaze follow my every move, the weight of his regard like a caress against my bare limbs. My body heated and I gritted my teeth against the sensation. Biology apparently didn't believe I was heartless and cold. The fact remained; I reminded myself that no matter how solicitous and gorgeous my captor, I was a prisoner until we'd played through whatever psychological scenario Carrollus and his people had designed.

Where did that leave me? To my horror, hot prickles ran up the backs of my eyes.

_That_ pissed me off.

Hoping for a clue as to my location, I glanced at my surroundings. To my right, an arched doorway opened onto a bathroom tiled in deep blue and green and gold. It reminded me of a stained glass window I'd once seen in one of Europe's oldest cathedrals. To my left, another archway led into a closet.

I could be anywhere. I slid my skirt on over the insubstantial silk negligee. No help for it. I'd have to strip before I could put on my bra, shirt and jacket. At least I had my back to Carrollus.

I yanked the nightie off over my head and hurriedly fastened on my bra, then put on and buttoned my white silk blouse.

"You're taking your situation very well, Finlay," Carrollus commented.

Meaning what? That he'd expected me to weep and gnash my teeth? The thought made me shudder. I should find something heavy and knock him flat. I'd fail the assessment, but maybe I'd give Carrollus reason to think twice about claiming his space start up was a wholly civilian company.

"If by 'my situation'," I sneered, turning to face him, "you mean 'waking up not knowing what happened, much less where I am'; I assure you I am not taking it well at all."

He quirked an eyebrow.

"You are bigger than I am and I don't have a gun," I clarified.

Amusement sparked in his eyes a moment. "You'd need a gun to even the odds?"

My smile in response felt tight. "No, Commander, but a gun would make a satisfying mess, and I'd get to hear you scream when I shot you in the kneecaps."

He grinned.

My breath caught.

What was he playing at?

Officers administering psychological batteries weren't supposed to be sympathetic. Were they? How was I supposed to respond? Especially when he smiled at me as if I'd surprised him into enjoying himself?

"You're a disciplined woman, aren't you?" he said.

I blinked. "Disciplined? Have we met?"

The grin deepened. "Barely. You must be bursting with questions, yet you haven't asked any of them."

Steeling myself against the physical impact of that smile, I propped a hand on one hip and glared at him. "Stop the test. I'm not interested."

His smile dimmed, and he closed the distance to stand before me. His frame blocked out the rest of the room and I had to look up to meet his eye. "What test?"

"Psychological assessment," I said, refusing to be cowed by the rumble he'd made of the question. "You know. Immerse your subject in a controlled scenario designed to expose ..."

He shook his head.

My hand slid from my hip, my fist clenched to hide the shaking.

"I see I need a closer look at your background," he said, straightening. His shoulders rode high, as if he braced himself for a physical blow. "This isn't a test, Finlay."

I stared at him. "You'd rather I believe you kidnapped me?"

His gaze left mine and he grimaced.

How did so simple an expression expose such a depth of discomfort?

The bottom dropped out of my stomach.

Sudden rage drowned out rational thought. Shoving off the surface at my back, I punched Carrollus in the stomach. Hard.

His breath went out in an audible rush. He didn't quite double over, but I wasn't looking up at him anymore and that felt _good_.

Temper stoked, I hauled back for another blow.

Gasping for air, Carrollus rushed me. His shoulder took me in the ribs, driving me back.

I hit the curtain-shrouded wall. One foot twisted beneath me. Fabric tore, and I slid to the floor.

Carrollus followed me down.

When my butt hit the floor, I found I had enough leverage to shove him off of me. It felt like trying to shove a freight train.

"You son of a bitch," I wheezed. My voice wavered. "What the hell... "

"Finlay, listen. I can't explain everything to your satisfaction, not without being relieved of command."

"Couldn't happen to a nicer guy," I gritted.

He backed away until he crouched in front of me, posture wary. Curiously, I saw no anger in his face or body.

"Our world was at war with the Orseggans," he said.

The sentence should have registered as nonsense. Instead, it cut straight through my sternum. "Your world?"

"I'm not human, Finlay."

"Of course you are."

"No. We're from Temmya."

I stared at him waiting for my brain to parse the unfamiliar word into something that made sense. It didn't. "Temmya. Country? Continent?"

"Star system."

"Sure it is."

"Why is it hard to believe?"

"Because just like no one hires high school physics teachers to be astronauts," I said, the sting behind my eyes intensifying. "We aren't generally sought after to play out 'take me to your leader' scenarios."

"Hear me out," he said. "The Orseggans hit us with a biological weapon. The bio-agent enhanced sex drive."

I frowned. "Enhanced sex drive? What are we talking about? Weaponized Viagra?"

"It was a genocide weapon," he countered. The muscles of his face tightened, pressing lines of pain into the corners of his eyes. "Our population was being decimated until we worked out the disease mechanism."

"When sexual partners are infected with the bio-agent, it activates, killing both partners. Yet, if an infected person doesn't have sex often enough, the agent activates."

I sucked in a horrified breath. "But...condoms?"

He shook his head. "Whenever two infected people are intimate, regardless of barriers to sexual fluids, the bio-agent activates. It's as if their immune systems cancel one another out."

"You're telling me that you're an alien species that's infected with a sexually transmitted disease and you're using people from Earth to assuage the symptoms?"

"Your species cannot be infected," he said in a rush, as if to stave off my renewed surge of anger. "Our medical staff made very certain before we began recruiting from your world. We could not ethically sacrifice another species to save our own."

_My species._ The burn behind my eyes spilled over. He had to be lying. Didn't he? "This has to be the cheesiest line I've ever heard."

"Finlay." As if he couldn't help himself, Carrollus rose to his knees and reached for me. One warm hand on my hip set my nerves alight, the other cupped my damp cheek. He opened his mouth to say one thing, closed it, and finally said, "You don't hit like a girl."

"Sorry." I sounded sullen. The waterworks evaporated, but I disliked him editing what he said to me even more than I disliked what I'd already heard.

"I earned it," he said, smoothing tear tracks from my skin. "If it's of any comfort, we mean you no harm."

I twisted out of his too-soothing grasp and barked a laugh. It sounded vaguely unhinged. Scrubbing tears from my face, I climbed to my feet. "Too damned late for that, isn't it?"

"Finlay."

The weight of that single word turned me back to face him.

I noticed the porthole in the wall. It had been revealed when we'd ripped the curtain while we fought.

I don't remember how I got there, but suddenly, I found my fingers gripping the chilly frame of the porthole hard enough that my knuckles went white.

I stared out into the starry expanse of dark night sky, empty, except for the big, blue, gleaming jewel of a planet hanging in the lower third of the porthole arc.

My breath froze in my chest.

Earth.

I was looking at my planet from such a distance that I could barely make out any of the land mass beneath the cloud cover.

Dizziness swept me. Carrollus gritted out something that sounded like a curse. It wasn't one I knew. Or in any language I recognized.

He surged upright, took hold of my upper arms, and turned me gently away from the view.

It didn't matter. The vista had been seared into my memory. I'd heard astronauts say that happened. That in the instant you look down from space on the world that gave you life, you _changed_. You were marked in a way that means you'll never be the same. The only way you'll forget what you've seen, what you've experienced, is to close your eyes in death.

I managed to order my eyes shut, but still saw my home hanging miles and miles below my feet. Disorientation rushed from my feet to my head. Or maybe it had gone the other way, but suddenly, my feet _knew_ they no longer had ground beneath them.

Only the warmth of Carrollus's body heat merging with my own kept me anchored.

I'd started the day interviewing for a space program and ended it on an actual spaceship. Kidnapped by aliens. Assuming I bought Carrollus's story.

I cracked one eye open. My head and my feet seemed to have agreed that the floor made a fine substitute for ground. Dizziness faded and I risked opening the other eye, too.

I turned back for another look.

"No," he said, preventing me.

"Let go," I turned away from him. "I've dreamed of seeing Earth from space. Even if this just a state of the art simulator, I want a better look."

"It isn't," he said, standing close enough that his heat warmed my back.

"Then you must get a terrific view of the Northern Lights."

He chuckled. "One of the many charms of your little blue world. When we first arrived, we thought your civilization was more advanced than it was because of the electrical interference at the poles as a result of solar events."

I felt as if the floor had lurched out from under me. _When we first arrived_? Blowing out a steadying breath, I faced him and forced myself to focus on his statement. "Electrical interference? You mean your instruments— do you call them sensors— couldn't penetrate the excited particles in the aurora?"

He met my gaze, his own searching. "You've seen too many Star Trek episodes."

"Undoubtedly," I replied.

The smolder of desire in Carrollus's hooded gaze rushed heat through my body.

A self-satisfied smile touched his gorgeous lips. He traced his right hand down my arm to claim my hand in his. Bringing it to his lips, he pressed a heated kiss to my palm.

Pleasure zinged through my blood. I stifled a gasp.

"You are remarkably resilient," he noted, releasing me. "Come with me. You'll be able to ask your questions of my commanding officer."

_His_ commanding officer. Interesting distinction. One of the only things I felt I could process in this morass of quicksand— or airless vacuum— beneath my feet.

I eased out of his grasp and turned back for my shoes. The doctor who'd undressed me had been so careful that I could account for every single hairpin I'd used earlier in the day. She'd even left a comb, which I applied to my tangled hair.

Trying to think, I nudged my brain into gear. A quiver deep inside, I refused to call it fear, believed the 'beleaguered aliens' story. But what else could be true?

"Which military?" I asked, stepping into my sensible brown pumps. My attempt at a casual tone didn't even fool me.

"Tremmyan," he replied.

Of course. Who, on Earth, had the kind of technology that could put me on a spaceship hundreds of miles above the planet without a spacesuit? For that matter, why weren't we floating in zero g? Since we _weren't_ floating, did I know for a fact that no one on Earth had the special effects budget to mock up something like this?

I didn't. But I couldn't imagine anyone going to the effort and expense. It wouldn't make sense. Again, my thoughts circled back to _why_.

Impatient with the disorderly whirl of conjecture in my brain, I slapped down the comb and coiled my hair into another French twist.

Light and heat thrummed through my blood. Carrollus tangled his fingers with mine before I could reach for the pins to secure the coil.

"Leave it," he commanded, pulling my hands away as if I wasn't resisting.

Hair spilled down my back.

He had strength in spades, and he had me trapped between him and the dressing table.

A split second of fright trailed ice down my spine.

"Your hair is beautiful," he said, folding my arms around my middle so that I stood, confined within his embrace.

Every piece of my biology arced to life at his contact. The reaction shook me. I'd never known that I could feel so much, so strongly.

"Mousy," I corrected. My voice sounded small. Scared.

"I've yet to see a mouse with strawberry blond hair," he countered, humor deepening his accent. "It's beautiful."

I shook my head.

"Leave it down," he urged.

I shivered at the caress of his warm breath against my ear. Goosebumps erupted over my skin.

"Fine. Yes," I choked. Anything to get my body back under my control.

He chuckled, released me, and walked away.

The note of triumph in his laugh made me clench my teeth. Stiffening my spine, I tugged my jacket straight, turned on my heel, and marched to the door.

Assuming I wasn't locked in, I'd walk out the door, and wander around until I found someone else and demand to be taken to their leader.

I left the bedroom and walked into a tiny, spartan compartment, little more than a glorified closet, really. It had a kitchenette on one side and a scarred desk on the other. Odd. So much space devoted to a bedroom and so little devoted to the rest of off-duty life.

The door opened at my approach. I expected a _whoosh_ sound effect, but the doors opened and closed silently.

I wasn't locked in. Fine. It didn't change the fact that until I learned interplanetary flight and navigation, I was more effectively a prisoner than any Earthly lockup could have made me.

"This way," Carrollus said from behind me.

He led me through a maze of corridors, any of which could have been found inside military facilities the world over. Except that this one was _over_ the world. By miles.

I was on a _spaceship_! Or was I? Could I be on a base? Or a station? Did it matter? I'd left my planet, something I'd never dreamed would be possible, much less likely. I had to fight to keep a giddy grin from my face.

We paused at a junction where several corridors met at what looked like a central elevator shaft. I felt his gaze on me.

"If I were going to hide a space ship, which I assume you're doing since I haven't heard about UFOs outside of the regular conspiracy theory circles, I'd put myself in orbit inside the asteroid belt. Just another space rock," I noted, slanting him what I hoped was an innocent look. "I assume, given the view, that for kidnapping jobs, you hide among all the space junk we humans have flung into high orbit?"

A shadow passed over his perfect face. It looked like uneasiness.

Score one for me. If his expression was any indicator, I'd nailed that.

"To stay hidden, you'd have to dodge the craft that get lobbed out past lunar orbit," I went on.

The uneasiness drained out of him. He waved a hand. The elevator door opened and Carrollus gestured me inside.

Either he'd gained control of his poker face or I'd gotten that last bit wrong. I entered the compartment and propped one hip against the wall.

He said something. It wasn't English. Again.

The elevator started up.

If they weren't avoiding spacecraft, they'd have to find another way to conceal their presence, which suggested tampering with the signals in some way.

"You're tapping the data streams of everything that could see you and scrubbing your ship's image?" I marveled, forming the hypothesis as I spoke it. Of course. It made sense. With the technology I'd seen so far just the fact that I wasn't floating through the corridors— it might be a trivial matter to splice in...

Carrollus crossed the tiny space in a single stride, slapped his hands against the wall on either side of my head. An odd combination of anger and regret sparked in his eyes. "Stop. No more synthesizing observations. Your hope of returning home diminishes the more that you know."

My fleeting sense of satisfaction at having hit so close to home evaporated. I clenched my fists.

He spun away from me.

The rigid set of his shoulders warned me to watch my mouth. I took the caution to heart. Studying him, it hit me.

He looked human. I'd naturally assumed he was human. At first. How far had they come? From which star system? Why? Was it a quirk of genetics that allowed them to pass as human? Or had they modified...The elevator stopped and the door opened.

He led me through another short maze of corridors to a set of double doors. He muttered another incomprehensible command.

The doors opened. Bright lights blinded me. I squinted against the glare.

Our footfalls disappeared into the quiet. I smelled... Did expectation have a scent? I drew in a breath and knew that other people filled the room.

As my eyes adjusted, I caught several things at once. Uniformed young men and women stood at attention in front of instrument panels. The oval room was terraced, with personnel and equipment arranged in descending concentric horseshoes down to a central floor. An enormous table of what looked like black glass dominated the lowest point.

Definitely not an office. A command center? Or a coliseum?

Carrollus and I paused on the top tier where the horseshoes opened into a broad aisle up the steps.

A thin, brittle-looking man with white hair, a hawk nose and rheumy, pale blue eyes watched us. A blue uniform hung on his frame. No visible rank insignia. On any of them. Including Commander Trygg Carrollus.

"Ms. Finlay Selkirk," Carrollus said, "may I present Orlan Grisham. Sir, Ms. Selkirk."

'Captain', he didn't say. But it was obvious.

We sized one another up.

In the deep frown lines around his mouth and eyes, I believed I saw a despot.

"Ms. Selkirk." His tone dripped with misgiving.

"Captain Grisham."

Frozen silence.

Crap. First words out of my mouth, I'd messed up, as if Carrollus hadn't warned me to guard my tongue. I attempted an innocent smile. I don't think any of us bought it.

"Did I guess the rank system incorrectly?" I inquired. "Or is it that I pegged the military thing?"

"Finlay..." Carrollus growled.

I quelled and slid my gaze away from the older man.

"Perhaps we should refrain from interviewing academics," the old man said to Carrollus, his tone flat.

"You'll want to broaden that to anyone with an IQ over fifty," I muttered. How should a captive address her kidnappers? With bravado? Caution? Diffidence? Did I know how to pretend that last one?

"My apologies if I've offended protocol in some fashion," I offered. "Am I to understand that I might be permitted to ask a few questions pursuant to my presence here?"

He narrowed his eyes at me, then glared at Carrollus. "Definitely no more academics."

The asperity in his voice made me bite back a grin.

"We require your assistance, Ms. Selkirk." Grisham said. He'd thrown his shoulders back and straightened as if trying to assume a more commanding presence.

He had the act down pat. I pasted a neutral expression on my face and nodded.

"We have need of men and women with good hearts and quick minds," he said.

Irritation flashed through me. _Quick minds_ , _my foot_. "You're capable of interstellar travel. Yet you've come to a world that hasn't managed to land manned craft on its nearest planetary neighbor and shanghaied a high school physics teacher. You're blowing sunshine up my ass."

The at-attention onlookers gasped.

I swallowed a curse. _Mistake number two, Finlay_.

The old man blinked. His upraised palms fell.

"Interstellar?" he repeated.

I shrugged. "It's plain you aren't from around here."

Grisham tipped his head and eyed me as if sizing me up for a vivisection table. "What makes you say that?"

Throwing my arms wide, I snapped, "The fact that I'm standing a couple thousand miles above the surface of my planet."

The old man spun on Carrollus and jabbed a finger at him. "You let her—"

"There was no 'let' to it!" I yelled.

"Ms. Selkirk discovered our orbital position on her own," Carrollus said. He looked troubled when I tossed him a glance. "Sir, I think we'd be best served—"

"You've been overruled," the captain snapped. "As you were, Commander."

Fury leaked past Carrollus's glacial mask. It made my blood run cold.

Grisham turned his rheumy gaze upon me and attempted a paternal smile. "May we beg a single boon of you?"

Alarms rang in my head at the captain's antiquated phrasing.

Wary, I said, "You want to trade for information? What coin?"

"No coin, Ms. Selkirk. We aren't mercenaries. Choose a man," he directed, waving a hand in a wide sweep to indicate the soldiers lining the tiers, "or as many as you want to sample, from amongst those assembled."

"About that," I said. "If you kidnapped me for sex, we are all going to be disappointed."

The old man blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Put me back," I said.

"You're inhibited?"

"What? No! Yes! Who the hell cares?" I squawked.

"We care. You're a physicist," Grisham said, his entire demeanor overtaken by sudden concern and compassion. The old faker. "Let us teach—"

"Oh, I don't need any demonstrations on the sexual applications of friction," I snapped.

One of the onlookers tittered.

"Put me back."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Put me back," I repeated.

"Ms. Selkirk," Grisham urged. "These people want to fulfill your every desire."

My every desire? Did I have any?

"Not interested in being a sex slave, thanks."

The captain jerked upright, glaring. "That, madam, is a grave insult. We have never and will never force anyone—"

"You put back the people who refuse? Excellent news."

"No one has ever refused. Pick a partner," he coaxed. "Give us thirty days, then we'll talk again."

I stifled the urge to put my spike heel through his foot. Even _I_ knew that would negatively impact my captivity.

"We'll talk? Oh, no. Swear you'll put me back when the time is up, and then I'll pick someone. Otherwise, we're at an impasse. You've been kind enough to say no one will force me. I'd like to return the courtesy. I do not want to have to force your hand."

Everyone in the room stared at me. _That's right_. _Long legs_ , _short skirt_ , _cute_ _pumps_. _Harmless_.

"You have no means to carry out that threat," the captain scoffed.

"Look up Gandhi," I said, pressing my voice flat. "Then look up hunger strike."

"You would destroy yourself?"

"You've destroyed my freedom," I said, "my career, and now, you're threatening to destroy my life. I have little interest in dying, but I'm less interested in being kept for nothing but sex. So many willing, young, fertile women in the world would volunteer for this if you asked. Why me?"

His breath hissed in between his clenched teeth.

"Thirty days," he snapped. "If at the end of that time you still wish to return, I swear we'll find a way."

"Deal." I noticed that he hadn't answered my question, but I had a possible road home. If the old man could be trusted to keep his word. "Tell me the rules."

"Choose one or as many partners as you please from those assembled within the limits of the oval, then enjoy yourself."

Enjoy? Could I?

" _My everlasting regret is that I can't have you myself_." Carrollus had said that when he'd thought I couldn't hear.

He'd kidnapped me.

If I had anyone to blame for this mess, it was he. I could use him. I straightened and smiled.

"You've chosen?"

"Sure," I said. I spun and jabbed a finger at Trygg's. "Him."

The room held its collective breath while Carrollus rocked back on his heels, shock in the widening of his midnight blue eyes.

I grinned, a careless, I-dare-you— and maybe slightly vengeful— grin at him.

Protest erupted from the lineup. Carrollus thundered for quiet, got it, then turned a baleful glare upon me.

"I am disqualified. You may not select me."

"I just did."

He shook his head. "No."

"Your captain laid out the rules," I said. "I followed them and now you refuse to abide by them? You're already taken, is that it?"

"Yes."

The way he pounced on the out I'd offered him made it obvious. He was lying.

I nodded. "I believe this invalidates our thirty-day agreement. I'm ready to go home, now."

His expression shifted and my heart skidded into uneasy thudding.

He looked intrigued.

"He was not a part—" Grisham growled.

"'Choose one or as many partners as I please from those assembled within the limits of the oval,' " I quoted back to him. "Your rules. He's in the oval."

The old man scowled. "Then keep him. The agreement stands, with the caveat that you leave me no choice but—"

The lights dimmed.

Carrollus swore in his language. I thought I heard an audible alarm somewhere in the distance.

Crew scrambled for stations.

The alarm died.

"Sir!" one of the women called. "Enemy ships entering the solar system!"

"Enemy ships?" I echoed. "I thought you were hiding from Earth."

"We are," Carrollus said, cold rage coloring his voice. "We _were_. Until now."

I froze, awful awareness tripping my pulse into high gear. "You're refugees, aren't you? You thought you'd escaped. But you drew your enemy after you."

Carrollus gripped my arms and pulled me around to face him. I shivered at the chemistry that bubbled through my system at the contact.

"They want us," he said. "Your world should be in no danger."

"' _Should be'_?" I echoed. "That's my home you're so casually dismissing."

Not to mention that by simple virtue of being onboard their ship, I was in danger. I wanted to slug him again. "How did I get here? A shuttle? Teleportation of some kind?"

Carrollus nodded at the last one.

"Is it working?"

"No time," Grisham barked. "There are too many of you. Commander!"

Carrollus accessed a panel, studying the data that answered his summons.

_Too many of us_? What did Grisham mean? Too many people to evacuate, presumably.

"The sensor embedded in the New Horizons probe indicates a pair of Orseggan unmanned drones inbound to our position." Grisham thundered. "Get me options!"

"Weapons?" I asked.

Carrollus shook his head.

My heart bumped against my ribs.

"Shields? Engines?"

"We were badly damaged, Finlay," Carrollus said. "Your world lacks the technology that would allow us to make needed repairs."

"What do you have?"

"Navigation thrusters."

I pressed shaking fingers against my temples. "The ship is defenseless?"

Carrollus glanced up from his panel to pin me with a grim stare. "We have a little time. They do not yet know we're here."

I frowned. "Time to magically repair weapons and shields?"

"No."

Of course not.

"The Orseggans saw this ship escape," he said, "but they clearly didn't know where we'd gone."

"They've been hunting for you since and you're banking everyone's lives that this is just a fishing expedition," I finished for him. Any question of who was the good guy and who was the bad guy vanished from my head. My allegiance was dictated by the fact that I stood on the defenseless ship.

"Yes," he said, looking back at the illegible data. "We need options, not distractions."

Anger and shame burned me, but he was right. What did a high school teacher have to offer aliens who'd mastered physics to the point that their space travel broke all the rules as I knew them?

Unless.

Data I'd picked up from the morning's internet space weather blog to present to my students flashed into my head. They would know this stuff already, right? Or was it too much to hope that space aliens would keep up on internet blogs?

"Do your enemy's sensors work the way yours do?" I demanded, meeting Carrollus's hard look. "You told me you thought Earth was more technologically advanced than it is because of the electrical interference at the poles."

"Yes," he said.

"Would the energized thermosphere obscure their sensors, too?"

A light went on in his face. "It would."

Grisham was already shaking his head. "It does us no good—"

"Solar flare activity spiked a day and a half ago," I said as if the old man hadn't spoken. "The aurora should be lighting up the northern half of the planet as we speak. Take the ship down under the Northern Lights. Blind the Orseggans with glowing charged particles."

"Do you think we haven't already considered and discarded the option as unworkable? Exposing us to the people of your planet will _not_ get you sent home," Grisham snarled at me.

"You're smarter than I am. You have interstellar space travel. But this is _my_ planet. Maybe you've studied it, but it's clear you don't understand it or the people who live on it." I turned to Carrollus. "Can you land this thing?"

"We can," he rumbled, striding down the stairs to the center of the oval. He gestured at me to join him and brought up a three dimensional hologram of Earth. "It isn't a trivial task, and if I read you right, you mean to complicate it further. Give me details."

As I descended to the pit floor, nerves fluttered in my stomach. "You'll be seen. The US military doesn't like being blindsided. The phased array systems are going to spot us. I know of a few in Alaska, but if this solar storm packs the punch the data suggests it does, their communications systems will be useless. The danger will come from spotting stations south of the storm."

"Beale?" Carrollus guessed, naming an Air Force Base in California. "They'll scramble fighters."

"F-15s out of Elmendorf if they can get a call through," I agreed. "If they can't, they'll move south until someone hears them. The fighters will get coordinates for first point of contact and a vector for our trajectory. Then they'll fly into the Alaskan wilderness in the dead of night, in the middle of one of the hottest solar storms to hit in two decades."

Carrollus flashed a grin at me that nearly stopped my heart.

"Meaning they'll be deaf and blind."

"Their navigation systems will go Tango Uniform," I agreed.

Amusement and anticipation lit Trygg's blue eyes. Okay. So he not only knew the names and locations of military bases, he understood my reference to T.U. Clearly, he'd spent time inside the US military.

"Their communications will be dead, too," I said. "Without radar or GCI to talk them in, they'll have no hope of vectoring on the ship."

"We'll have to leave the planet surface before the atmospheric disturbance dissipates," he said.

"The minute we're on the ground," I added, "you'll have to power down ship's systems."

"Are you mad?" Grisham barked, stomping down the stairs. "We'll have no oxygen generators!"

"We have hours of air without them," Carrollus answered before he glanced at me. "You propose we run silent?

"To hide the ship from ground observation, we have to look like part of the landscape. That means no heat signature and no engine vibration," I said. "Come into atmosphere mimicking a meteor. Leave behind some space rocks for the government types to find after the fact. You'll get written up in a document so classified not even the president will see it. The official news story will say 'meteorite'. To avoid casual observation, we'll look for a wind storm. Preferably, a strong one with blowing snow to cool and coat the surface of the ship."

"Physical camouflage?" Trygg said, his tone dubious.

"We call it hiding in plain sight."

"It's a recipe for genocide," Grisham huffed.

Carrollus spun on his captain and snapped, "We have no shields, no weapons, and no other ideas. Ms. Selkirk is trying to offer us the opportunity to survive."

Is that what I was doing?

"As Ms. Selkirk has so charmingly reminded us," Grisham retorted, "we kidnapped her. What makes you think she's remotely interested in helping us?"

I stared at him. "One: do you really think I blame every man, woman and child on this ship? Two: I can't help but notice that if I sit on my ass doing nothing, I get vaporized, too!"

"Finlay, what else?" Carrollus prompted.

I turned my attention to him. "Do you have a topographical map?"

The young man who'd shown me into my ill-fated interview manned the table's controls. "Lieutenant Vran, ma'am. And yes. We do."

The map appeared.

"Can you make this section bigger?" I asked.

Carrollus reached past me and expanded the map where I'd indicated.

I hoped no one detected the tremor in my hand as I gestured at the image suspended above the black table. "This is an aerial topography map of the region where I propose you put down."

Captain and Commander came closer, peering at the lines and colors hovering in the air before them.

"Alaska," Carrollus said.

Pointing out a broad swathe of the interior of the state, I said, "We'd aim for this region. Low population density, violent winter storms, intractable wilderness. There's one added element in our favor. Lieutenant? Do you have access to magnetic anomaly data? I'll also need current weather conditions for this region."

"Yes, ma'am."

The map lit up with color.

"Alaska aligns low population density with high intensity magnetic fields in the mountainous regions best able to hide the ship. It makes landing trickier, because the magnetic disturbance will wreak havoc with shipboard instruments."

"Our technology doesn't rely on magnetic fields," Carrollus replied.

"Good," I said. "Earth-based technology _does_. Our navigational instruments are impacted by both magnetic anomalies and by the electrical noise produced by a strong aurora event."

He nodded.

I pointed to a mountain range on the map. "Right here, we have both things going on at once. That's going to make life tough for anyone trying to navigate there, except us. Weather reports indicate winds in the region blowing snow and ice in excess of twenty-five miles per hour. That's not as strong as I would like, but given the snow pack reports, we should find the blowing snow adequate to our needs."

The captain peered over my shoulder at the map.

"If anyone sees us coming in, they'll think we're a meteor coming down in the wilderness. No one will wander into the worst of the magnetic vortices at night. Something about intense magnetic fields induces dizziness, nausea and skewed perception. I may be affected, even aboard this ship. Once the ship is on the ground, chances we'll be seen are low."

"Vortices?" Grisham echoed, disdain in his tone.

"You've seen some of the New Age claims regarding them, I take it," I said. "Whether magnetic phenomena are at the root of the New Age vortex mythos, I cannot say, but I can say that magnetic phenomena were of significant interest to the US military at one time."

The captain studied me, calculation in the narrowing of his eyes. "How do you know?"

"My father was a physicist with the Air Force. He specialized in magnetic fields. He used non-classified data to spark my interest in science."

"The military wanted magnetic weapons?"

"Shielding," I countered. "Magnetic fields can make something close look far away, distort an object's true size, thus throwing off targeting. I'm suggesting using naturally occurring magnetic fields to our advantage."

Grisham looked skeptical, but he nodded.

"When you take off all hell will break loose," I went on. "The military will acquire the ship and they will scramble jets again. You'll want out of atmosphere as quickly as possible and you may need to take up position behind something of size to avoid having all of Earth's telescopes pointed at you. Assuming you choose to remain in this solar system."

"If this works," Carrollus said, "this solar system will be the safest place for us."

"Not for much longer," I replied. "With the current speed of scientific advancement on Earth, you won't be able to hide indefinitely. When our measurements become accurate enough to detect your mass influencing the orbit of nearby bodies, you'll have real problems."

"We have to survive the Orseggans first," Carrollus said.

"Agreed," Grisham weighed in. "Analysis."

"Without shields or weapons," Carrollus said, "our options are run or hide. If we leave the solar system, the Orseggans have a shot at picking up an exhaust trail. We'd abandon hundreds of our people planet-side, not to mention destroying years of intelligence work spent infiltrating native governments."

Interesting. They'd put agents on Earth? I could use that as a bargaining chip. Somehow.

Carrollus shook his head. "Hiding is our best option."

"What if the Orseggans decide to investigate the aurora, see if they can punch through?" I prompted, wanting all the contingencies on the table.

Lieutenant Vran answered. "If we go dark, as you're suggesting, and if the hull has cooled in the wind and snow, we will look like part of the landscape at best. At worst, we'll resemble one of the military installations dotting the region. Most drones are reconnaissance only. They'll note the planet is inhabited, but shouldn't enter atmosphere. It would certainly stir up a hornets nest if they do. Your people will detect and destroy them."

"Destroy?" I echoed.

"An F-15's payload would penetrate the drone's hull," Carrollus explained.

Uneasiness gnawed at the inside of my breastbone. Making my species aware of aliens in the solar system could be a disaster. Chaos and panic would result. We'd made and distributed too many science fiction movies in the past several decades to hope humankind would welcome men and women from Mars with open arms.

"Sir?" Carrollus turned on the captain.

Grisham sighed. "If we fail, it will mean the end of our kind. And the deaths of people we've taken into our protection."

Reaction rippled around the command center. Even I felt it.

I began to understand. They'd already lost. Big time. 'Genocide', Grisham had said. Was this single ship their ark? Were they the last surviving members of their kind?

I could see the cost of everything they'd given up in order to survive defined by the lines of sorrow carved into their faces. Sadness surged within me as if in answer. I'd buried my folks. These people had likely lost wives, husbands and children. I looked around and saw my wounds mirrored in the tense faces and shadowed eyes.

"Commander," Grisham said. "Take us in."

"Yes, sir!"

Carrollus issued orders in the language I didn't recognize. The lieutenant at the table bent over the console, sending all pertinent data to the rest of the command crew.

Grisham mounted the steps to his post where he sat and keyed in commands on his panel. "Ms. Selkirk, join me. We don't have the time to secure you in quarters before we hit atmosphere."

He nodded at a seat beside his. I strode up the steps and sat down.

He pressed a colorless button on the arm of my chair. Webbing that seemed to have a life of its own snaked up over my lap and around my torso. Trepidation shot through me, but when the animate seatbelt stopped moving, I wasn't pinned. I could still move and I could still breathe. I noted he wore one just like it. That was vaguely comforting.

From the vibration rattling up my spine, I gathered the engines were already firing to break orbit.

From the center of the floor, Carrollus called, "Permission to institute tactical alert?"

"Granted."

The bright lights illuminating the command center died.

I gasped and dug my fingers into the arms of my chair. The floor vanished. I was sitting in space. From what I could deduce, the entire command center projected from the main body of the ship. The hull, so opaque in bright light, disappeared entirely in the dark. It looked as if every single station hovered in the vacuum.

My heart thundered in my chest. I'd never imagined a front row, first-person view of my return to Earth. We'd barely begun moving and I was giddy with anticipation.

The ship edged away from the far side of Earth's moon. Did they only come in close when they were kidnapping people?

Carrollus paced the central floor, flinging commands and acknowledgements to the staff manning the stations lining the now-invisible tiers. Tension stood out in the rigid set of his shoulders and in the fire I caught burning behind his eyes when his gaze caught mine for a split second.

The ship arced, altering trajectory, turning us toward Earth. Stars blurred and turned to streaks of light. I slid sideways in my seat before the webbing caught me.

Carrollus steadied himself with a hand on the table.

The tug to the right eased, but I pressed back into my seat.

The ship hurled us at Earth, directly above the North Pole. As the planet loomed swiftly larger and grew to dominate the field of view, a flowing, multi-colored sea of light danced the upper atmosphere. In places, the light curled out into space as if beckoning us.

I caught in an enchanted breath and leaned as far as my restraints allowed so I could watch the play of light and color. Sure, I knew the display was the result of photons emitted by ionized nitrogen or by nitrogen and oxygen atoms in an excited state returning to ground. It didn't change my sense of awe and wonder in the slightest.

As we plummeted nearer, the ship shuddered. First contact with the exosphere. Or was it entry into the thermosphere?

I glanced at Carrollus to find him watching me. Rippling green, red, blue, and violet light illuminated the faint smile on his face. My cheeks flushed.

"We haven't seen a show this intense and vivid in a very long time."

"If ever," Grisham agreed with his commander.

The ship bucked.

I glanced back at Trygg.

His feet left the floor. Or maybe the floor left his feet. I couldn't be sure which. My stomach turned over. Fear spread a bitter chill through me.

He caught hold of a rail. It saved him from being thrown over the tier one stations.

"Commander!" Grisham thundered. "Station and secure!"

Carrollus, hand going from one rail to the next up the tiers, climbed to our position and took the chair on the other side of me.

Once he'd activated his restraints, his thigh rested against mine. Little curls of heat reached from his body to mine as if our individual electromagnetic fields exchanged secrets while we sat strapped to our chairs.

Electricity jolted me. My awareness narrowed to the Trygg Carrollus, despite the turbulence rattling the ship.

I forced myself to wonder how the ship would handle the heat of re-entry. As far as I knew, spacecraft didn't enter atmosphere at anything approaching the speed of meteors. On purpose.

In the blink of an eye, we were in the midst of the aurora and even though I knew the supercharged particles couldn't penetrate the hull of the ship, pressure built inside my sternum. Was the red glow cresting in front of us the Northern Lights or the atmosphere heating the hull?

Voices rose as crew members called out information in their own language over the creaking and groaning of the craft. Anxiety and tension edged high in the clipped phrases.

It surprised me to find how much I could get message content from the tone of the speaker's voice. While I didn't actually know what was going on, I had to give Grisham points for affording me a front row seat for the Northern Lights and the subsequent landing.

Our descent slowed and the pile up of red in front of us dissipated even as the jolts rocking the ship intensified. What layer was this? Mesosphere? Stratosphere? I clutched the arms of my chair tighter, as if my grip alone could hold the ship together as we hurtled through the sky of my home world.

We'd hit weather in the troposphere, the final, thickest layer of Earth's atmosphere. Did they know? Surely Carrollus did. Could their instruments tell them when wind would present an additional challenge to navigation?

Vran shouted something above the clatter of the ship.

"English!" Carrollus flung back.

For my benefit?

"Entering stratosphere. Eight miles above the Arctic Ocean!"

I started.

"Commercial aircraft fly this level!" I hollered.

"Negative contact on sensors, ma'am!" a young woman replied.

"Leveling off," another young officer yelled, "for glide to designated landing zone!"

"Ground station communications outages confirmed," someone else called. "Comm silence on all channels used by native technology."

My interest piqued. They had communications tech that would cut through the geomagnetic storm? Good. It might be the only way to know what the Orseggans were doing.

"Tropopause and the North Slope!"

"Engines to minimum. Stand by braking thrusters," Carrollus called.

I didn't know how he did that, speaking so that everyone heard him, yet without sounding as if he'd bothered to raise his voice.

"Engines at minimum. Braking thrusters, standing by."

To my surprise, the ride smoothed out as we descended. I shot a glance at Carrollus, who concentrated on a holographic panel readout projected in front of his seat.

"Fire braking thrusters," he ordered.

"Firing braking thrusters."

I fell forward into my seatbelt.

The ship slid sideways in the sky, leaving my stomach far behind. Wind shear. Looked like my twenty-five mile an hour winds had increased over the mountains.

"Get us on the ground!" Grisham bellowed.

"Yes, sir!" several voices answered in unison.

We slowed. Vran counted down the distance to touchdown. At zero, we hit with a jarring crunch. The nose of the ship tipped down and we slid and spun ninety degrees.

Heart in my throat, I gasped. A few people screamed. The ship slid to a halt.

I think we'd all stopped breathing, as if afraid the slightest twitch on our part would send the ship plunging into a crevasse.

"Hull temperature?" Lieutenant Vran said.

Even though the answer was ostensibly in English, the number and temperature measurement were meaningless to me and I had no idea whether or not we'd cool fast enough to hide.

"Permission to power down?" Carrollus requested.

"Granted, save for planet side monitoring," Grisham said. "Get me a feed from the ISS chip."

Naturally, they had a sensor on the International Space Station.

"On your screen, sir!"

A piece at a time, with every system that powered down, the ship drifted into slumber. Stillness settled over the vessel.

For no good reason, adrenaline flooded my system.

"Sir?" a young woman said into the silence. "The drones are on approach."

I glanced outside. We'd set down on a slope, and it appeared that we'd triggered at least a partial avalanche. In the brilliant glow of the aurora overhead, I could see where snow had cascaded past the nose of the ship. I hoped we were too big to be buried.

"They're coming in fast," Grisham said, his voice hushed. "Crossing Saturn's orbit."

"They'll be seen by ground stations," Carrollus replied. "They may afford us some distraction."

Even the enchantment of the Northern Lights faded as I waited for the crafts' arrival. If they weren't fooled by our ruse, we were sitting ducks.

Grisham marked the approach by each planetary orbit they passed. Jupiter. The asteroid belt.

As the Orseggans approached the orbit of Mars, my breath stumbled in my chest. The aurora had dimmed. Without the particle activity in the atmosphere, our last defense was gone. The scout would see us.

Then it hit me. The aurora wasn't dying out. It was snow. The hull had cooled and blowing snow had begun accumulating as I'd hoped. I relaxed.

"They're approaching Earth from behind the moon," Grisham said. "Damned sloppy. I'm surprised they haven't been detected by ground personnel."

"Monitor the Twitter feeds of the conspiracy theorists," I offered. "They break all the UFO reports first."

"Here we go," Grisham said, ignoring me, but leading me to believe he had a line on Earth-based communications, even from within the aurora field. "First query away."

"I hope they don't set up camp when they detect life," I muttered.

"They won't," the captain replied. "Your world isn't considered desirable."

"We like it," I protested. "And you certainly seem to have found a use for it."

"We like the world, Ms. Selkirk, but your species is notoriously crazy. It's why we don't ask for volunteers. We'd be overrun."

I bit back a laugh.

"Second query from civilian telescopes. The Orseggan sighting is being escalated to military channels." The old man leaned back in his chair.

"Ms. Selkirk," he said, "I can scarcely believe it, but it appears your scheme has worked. The drones are reversing course to the asteroid field. I expect they intend to use it as cover to round the sun and have a sensor scan of each planet on their way out of the solar system. They clearly didn't expect us to be in system. They aren't looking that hard."

I grinned at the muted cheer that went up. Something sharp lodged in my heart, making the backs of my eyes burn. Was that happiness?

"Merry Christmas," I said. I met Trygg's gaze and played my trump card. "Now, open a door and let me walk away."

Carrollus scowled and tensed beside me. "No."

I bridled.

"The cold and the terrain would kill you within minutes, Ms. Selkirk," Grisham said.

Desperation shot through me. "Teleport me home!"

"Ms. Selkirk!" Grisham snapped. "Our orbital position is no impediment to returning you!"

"No time like the present," I shot.

I didn't realize I'd dug my fingers into the arm of the chair until Carrollus covered them with his warm hand. "Returning you is power intensive. If we send you home, we can't lift off for hours."

Recognizing that the danger to the ship now came from my own planet, I slumped. The unhappiness in Trygg's voice convinced me he was telling the truth.

"Was this a setup?" I blurted out.

He frowned. "A setup?"

"To make me feel— I don't know— like I'd contributed?"

"Humans are still arrogant," Grisham muttered. "At least some things never change."

I flushed.

"I wish it had been a setup, Finlay," Carrollus said. "Then we wouldn't have had to risk exposing ourselves to your world. A risk we're still taking."

"Lift," I said, defeated by my own moral code that insisted my concerns take a backseat to their survival.

"You heard the lady. The ISS sensor has lost the Orseggan drones behind the sun. Wake us up in preparation for departure," the captain commanded.

"Yes, sir."

Systems woke slower than they'd gone to sleep. Grisham estimated the drones had passed Neptune's orbit by the time Carrollus issued the command to fire the engines and take us out of atmosphere.

Acceleration hit, pressing me into my chair. I gathered that some property of the ship buffered us from the worst of the g-forces. I could still breathe.

We were pointed right at the rippling river of light twisting like a living thing above us. The ship shook, squeaking and protesting the mistreatment.

"We've been spotted," Vran said. "But it doesn't look like the fighters will overtake."

Despite the assurance, I waited, nerves tingling in anticipation of a missile strike. The Northern Lights would shield us again, if we could get to the other side before the F-15s closed.

It seemed like hours before Vran yelled, "Exiting atmosphere!"

"Get us under cover!" Grisham ordered. "Keep us out of sight!"

"Yes, sir!" several voices answered.

We leveled off and the ride smoothed out.

Grisham released his restraints and rose.

Carrollus unfastened his, and then leaned across me to press a series of buttons on the arm of my chair.

The web released me.

"Ms. Selkirk," Grisham said, "you've saved our lives. I doubt you'll ever know what that means to us."

Registering the regret in his voice, I levered myself to my feet. The icy pulse of fear in my gut made me waver.

Trygg closed a hand around my upper arm to support me.

The resulting shower of internal fireworks annoyed me.

"Don't you dare tell me I've seen too much and that you can no longer afford to send me home."

"That _is_ the problem," Grisham said.

"It isn't," I countered. "Do an internet search on UFO abductions. Have a look at how the people who report them are treated. No. Wait. I'll demonstrate."

I stuck my hand in my jacket pocket. My cellphone was still there. Why?

Commander Carrollus didn't strike me as careless. He'd have searched me. Why leave me my phone? Had he assumed it was useless on the far side of the moon?

We weren't out that far— yet.

I yanked the phone out of my pocket and lit the screen. One bar. Must be a satellite in range. Lucky me. I hit quick dial for Jill, and then punched the 'speaker' button. The line clicked twice, and then began ringing.

I caught the concern in the old man's face and, shaking off Carrollus's hold, I put distance between us.

Jill picked up mid-ring.

"Fin!" she said, her voice carrying through the room. "How'd the interview go?"

"You're on speaker," I said.

"So I hear. The interview. Spill."

"About that," I said. "Turns out the interview was a front for a bunch of aliens who've kidnapped me for sex. I'm not going to make your Christmas party."

Alarm spiked in Grisham's face. It warmed my heart.

"Ha, ha, very funny," Jill grumbled.

I turned the phone and an I-told-you-so glare on the old man.

Carrollus, trying not to smile, seemed to abruptly find the toes of his boots fascinating.

"I really won't make the party," I said.

"It went that well?" she prodded, her tone riding high on excitement.

"That remains to be seen. I can't say much."

Jill gasped. "You're under NDA already?"

"I suppose a nondisclosure agreement is one way to look at it," I said. "Look. Jill, you aren't going to see me for a while."

"This isn't you trying to get out of the holidays, is it?" she said. "You aced the interview and now you're holed up in some secret lab? That had better be some damned fun research."

Carrollus stared at me.

"I can't answer that," I said. "And this will be the only call I'm allowed. I'll have to give up the phone in a minute."

"How long will you be gone?" she demanded.

I pinned a meaningful look on Grisham. "Unknown."

"You have to be back in time for Christmas," she protested.

"I'm nobody's present, Jill."

"Because you're afraid to care for anyone, again. That's your Christmas gift from me to you, my professional, psychiatric evaluation. No charge. Finlay. What do I tell the school?"

"Nothing."

"Your students will think—"

The phone went dead.

I rubbed my forehead and tried not to see the sudden concern crinkling Carrollus's brow. I handed him the phone.

"You misled your friend about us," he noted as he took the cell, pulled the battery, and pocketed both, one on either hip.

"A demonstration. You can put me back without fear because no one will believe me if I say I was abducted by aliens."

"The demonstration is not lost on me," the captain said, his tone grave. "You ceded us thirty days. Allow us to use that time to thank you properly for your assistance. Commander? Escort Ms. Selkirk to her quarters."

All the words were right. He insinuated that he'd send me home, but something in Grisham's tone told me he didn't intend to ever let me go. I swallowed a huge, jagged lump of fear.

"Finlay," Carrollus said. He took my hand and placed it in the crook of his arm.

My heart nearly tripped over itself.

He ushered me through the doors of the command center, back to the elevators, waved one open, and escorted me inside.

When I attempted to draw away from him, he tightened his grip on my hand. He gave a verbal command I assumed equated to a floor number.

"You've put me in a difficult position," he noted as the elevator began moving.

Guilt lurched through my chest, but I mentally strangled the emotion. I turned to face him.

"Funny," I said when I could assure my tone would remain neutral. "I could say the same of you."

He met my eye with a direct gaze that unnerved me. "Yes."

"Especially since your captain doesn't intend to ever let me go home." I refused to back down, even as my body heated.

His gaze shifted to my lips.

"I've been ordered to assure that when your thirty days are up, you won't want to leave."

Liquid fire dumped straight to my lower belly. I clenched my teeth to keep from telling him that his job wouldn't be so hard.

"I get the impression you'd put me back, if it were up to you," I persisted, my breath suddenly in short supply.

As if unaware of what he did, he smoothed a strand of my hair where it fell over the collar of my jacket. He wound the curl around his finger.

I held my breath. The subtle electricity of his touch smashed into my senses.

Desire darkened his eyes, even as he frowned. "Yes."

"So put me back," I forced myself to rasp. "You could pick any number of women who'd be less trouble than I am."

He smiled, but lines that looked like pain creased his forehead. With a gentle tug, he freed himself from my hair. "Not possible. Not now."

"Why not?"

The elevator stopped. The doors opened. He led me out.

"What you said to your friend on the phone," he said, glancing at me. "'I'm nobody's present.' What does that mean?"

"You heard her assessment," I said, pressing my voice flat.

"You're afraid to care? You have no one?"

I detected no sympathy or pity in his tone, just straightforward curiosity. "No."

The look he ran over me felt like a caress, and I had to suppress a shiver despite the hurt gripping me. "Look. I buried my heart a long time ago. I'm no use to you."

"Heartless? Is that what you think you are?" Carrollus murmured.

Hot blood flooded my face.

"You aren't. I'll prove it," he said, disengaging his hand from mine. "I'll be right back."

He ducked into a door that closed behind him.

Beneath my feet, the vibration of the engines eased to the point that they became undetectable. Orbit achieved, I gathered.

When Carrollus emerged, he carried a rumpled package in one hand. He held out his hand to me. "Fewer than thirty humans have seen the far side of the moon. If you can keep it a secret, I'll make you one of them."

I gasped at the unexpected thrill. I think I bounced as I tucked my hand into his. "Yes!"

Chuckling, he led me through a maze of corridors to a point low on the ship. He unlocked a door. It opened on what looked like a glass bubble.

The pockmarked lunar surface spread out before me, shadowed and mysterious. It looked close enough to touch. For a split second, I hesitated, overwhelmed by the sheer wonder of seeing something only a handful of humans in the history of my world had seen.

Then, like a kid at the zoo, I plastered myself to whatever substance made up the see-thru hull and stared. My breath didn't even fog the surface of the window.

The door closed. I heard Carrollus lock it. He pressed in close behind me, trapping me between his heat and the cool hull.

I sucked in a sharp breath at the want twisting my gut. I'd met him not twenty-four hours ago. How could I want him so urgently?

"What I told you about the bio-agent?" His voice vibrated through his chest into mine. The sound and the warmth of his presence curled around the cold, dead space where my heart should have been. "There's more." He threaded one arm around me, as if he needed something to hold. "My parents were among the first to die."

"Which one of them was your captain's child?" I asked.

Carrollus stopped breathing for a moment, then his diaphragm kicked in a laugh I couldn't hear. "How did you guess?"

"When you're angry, you and Captain Grisham look remarkably alike."

"My mother."

"I'm sorry." I felt awkward and inadequate saying the words, but they were all I had to offer.

He tugged my shirttails out of my waistband, and threaded his hands under the fabric to caress my stomach.

The muscles jumped. I gasped at the firestorm his touch ignited in my body. Leaning into him, I breathed, "What are you doing?"

"Something I shouldn't," he murmured at my ear. "I need the touch of your skin on mine. Do you mind?"

Sensation shot heat and moisture through me. I dropped my head back against his shoulder. It dawned on me that I could no more avoid him than the moon could escape Earth's gravity.

"I don't mind." I had no idea how I got the words out.

His hand splayed against my ribs just below one breast. The other hand followed the contour of my hip bone.

I felt the hitch in his breathing as my own. With his touch as catalyst, want gathered like a storm in my blood. I'd never felt anything so overwhelming.

It sat right on the edge of scaring the life out of me. My heart couldn't decide whether to tremble with longing or with terror.

"I..." he began, and then cleared his throat. "I had a wife."

"A wife?" I echoed, dread and horror freezing my blood.

"She was pregnant with our first child."

I closed my eyes as if I could shut out the rest. My heart slid to my toes.

"Ikkari's only wish was to save the baby. We tried. Nothing worked. I lost them both."

He fell silent for a minute.

I opened damnably watery eyes.

"I'm sorry," I choked again. "Why did you tell me this?"

"You deserve to know," he said against my ear. "Most of this crew has been taught that everyone on board is their family. They were young enough to internalize the change."

"You weren't?"

"No."

"I'm sorry."

"Thank you. You prove my point," he prodded. "You care about the people on this ship, and even about a woman and baby you never even met."

Yes. I did care. And I didn't comprehend how that could have happened. My crumbling defenses scrambled to close the gaps against Trygg Carrollus. I didn't know what to say.

"I'm not so selfish that I imagine I'm the only one who's lost someone," I said finally.

"Perhaps you haven't lost as much as you think." He offered me the package he'd brought with him into the room.

I stared at the clumsy wrapping job and knew he'd done it himself. That warmed me.

When I glanced at him, he looked...lost.

A tendril of fear touched me. Hand trembling, I took the gift.

"Thank you," I said. I tore paper.

It was a picture in a frame.

I felt as if I'd been kicked in the gut. The breath left me. My mouth opened, but I couldn't force air past the painful constriction in my throat. Tears burned my eyes. A sore place in the center of my chest tore open.

A picture from my parents' wedding. I hadn't seen the photo since before the flood that had destroyed the house we'd rented in rural Louisiana when I'd been ten years old.

"I'd forgotten," I whispered because I couldn't force my voice past the lump of unshed tears choking me.

Warm fingers touched my cheek. "They look so happy." The wistful note in his voice raked my raw emotions. "Your mother is beautiful. You look very much like her. And your father looks so proud."

I breathed a ghost of a laugh. "When he saw her walking down the aisle toward him, he was so overwhelmed, he nearly passed out."

"He has my complete sympathy."

"My God, Trygg," I choked. "Thank you for the picture. Where did you get it?"

"Newspaper archives from the town where they were married," he said. "I'd had you under surveillance for several months before we brought you in. I contacted the paper and explained you'd lost both the pictures and your parents. They were happy to pull the negatives."

I threw myself at him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders, aware I didn't care where, when or how. I only cared that a lost part of my family had been restored. My tears spilled over. Embarrassed, I realized he hadn't returned the embrace. I ducked my head and tried to back away.

He caught me, eased the picture from my hands, and pulled me tight against his chest. He tucked my head beneath his chin and held me until the emotional storm passed. He didn't try to quiet me with false assurances that everything would be all right. He simply held me and accepted my sadness. That felt oddly like another gift— one I'd never before been offered.

I'd gone from slugging my kidnapper in the stomach to taking comfort in his arms all within a twenty-four hour time frame.

When I finally straightened, he wiped moisture from my cheeks with shaking fingers. I registered the pressure of his erection, hot against me. Intrigued by the notion of stripping Trygg Carrollus out of his austere uniform, I flexed my fingers on his hard thighs, seeking to slide a hand between us to stroke him through the fabric.

"No," he rasped. He caught my wrist. A sharp sliver of hurt lodged in my chest.

"Don't," he ordered, when he looked at me. "If I have you, I won't be able to do what I know is right."

"And what is that?"

"Take you home," he said. "Isn't that what you want?"

Pain expanded inside my chest. I could barely breathe around it. Confusion rocked me. "I...Yes. No."

The skin between his brows puckered. "I don't understand."

"If you send me home, you're disobeying a direct order," I said.

"Yes."

"What happens to you then?"

He shook his head. "I don't care."

"I do. Come with me," I said. Where the hell had _that_ come from? "You were right. I care what happens to you. All of you. But you, specifically. When you look at me, I feel so much it's..."

He drew closer with each breathless confession until I couldn't eke any more words past my lips.

"I want you," he said. "But I won't rob you of your freedom."

"I don't want to lose... whatever this is." The words stumbled out. I hated that I sounded like a love-struck teenager and I loathed the waver in my voice.

He nodded.

I recognized the twist of pain in his eyes. Part of my heart tore.

"Why does this have to be an either/or proposition?" I demanded. "You come to Earth. You know too much about the US military to not be involved regularly. Why couldn't I commute from here while I finish my PhD? Then I can research ways Earth can help you."

"Until today, I'd have said the state of your science couldn't help us," he said. "You've changed all our minds."

"Good. I'll keep my apartment and you can stay with me when you're on assignment infiltrating governments."

He chuckled. "You don't forget anything, do you?"

"Not if I can use it to get what I want."

Hope lit in his eyes until it hurt to meet his gaze. "You'd do that? Live here and work on Earth?"

"You do. Why shouldn't I?"

He picked up my parents' wedding picture to run his fingers over the glass. "Before she died, Ikkari urged me to be happy."

"You haven't been?"

"I hadn't given it much thought," he confessed. "It didn't seem possible."

His observation touched off a sense of recognition within me. I'd felt something similar after my family had been killed.

"You've driven me mad with wanting from the moment I met you," he said. "I think that was my grandfather's plan all along when he sent me your file and ordered me to take up surveillance. He hasn't given up hope that he'll hold another Grisham descendant before he dies."

Longing arced hot and sharp through my body. He'd planted the image of a dark-haired, blue-eyed infant in my brain and in my heart.

"I want what your parents had. I want _you_ , Finlay Selkirk.

"Then help me get my things," I ordered, grinning. "You can come with me to Jill's party three days from now. Then we can take turns playing Santa."

Interest sparked in his eyes as he looked me up and down. "I can hardly wait to unwrap my present. Are you going to make me wait for Christmas morning?"

"Of course," I replied, thoroughly enjoying the buzz of arousal bolstering the easy teasing.

"Not if I have my way," he promised, taking my hand and pressing a kiss to my palm. He chuckled when I gasped and squirmed.

"Ms. Finlay Selkirk," he said, mischief in his tone. "You've aced the interview. I'd like to offer you the job. Effective immediately."

"Reporting to you?"

"Only to me."

"When do we talk compensation?" I teased.

His sexy smile turned my insides to water. He brushed his lips over mine.

Every nerve fiber in my body lit up in delight.

"When we've completed transport to your apartment. We'll discuss it. In detail."

"I'll be your Christmas present, if you'll be mine," I whispered, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling his lips down to mine.

### MARCELLA BURNARD

About the Author

Marcella Burnard graduated from Cornish College of the Arts with a degree in acting. She writes science fiction romance for Berkley Sensation. Her first book, _Enemy Within_ came out in November of 2010. The second book in the series, _Enemy Games_ , released on May 3, 2011. An erotica novella, _Enemy Mine_ , set in the same world as the novels was released as an e-special edition by Berkley in April 2012. "Emissary," a sword and sorcery short story is slated for release in the two-volume _Thunder on the Battlefield Anthology_ in the second half of 2013.

Awards or Special Recognition

Marcella's first book, _Enemy Within_ won the Romantic Times Reviewer's Choice award for Best Futuristic of 2010 and was a RITA finalist that same year.

Story Inspiration

This story started life as a fatally flawed erotica that, thankfully, was rejected by the anthology it went to originally. The story underwent an overhaul and was first published (my appalling science errors and all) by the _Mammoth Book of Futuristic Romance_ , but even after in that form, the story hadn't quite come to life. Another serious round of work finally reminded me why I'd liked these characters in the first place. The story is not related (yet) to any of my other Science Fiction Romance. However, it is possible that a few more aliens aboard this particular space craft need heroines of their own. . .

**Other Works by This Author:** http://www.marcellaburnard.com/books.html

Enemy Within

Enemy Games

Enemy Mine

Web Site

Marcella's Website: http://www.marcellaburnard.com/

Blog

Marcella Burnard's Blog: http://www.marcellaburnard.wordpress.com/

Author Contact

Email – marcellaburnard@gmail.com

Twitter - @marcellaburnard

Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/pages/Marcella-Burnard/312302197270?ref=hl

## The Stranger

by Kyndra Hatch

Nolyra stood, silent and still, in the cave outside her stolen ship. Explosions rocked the surface above, sounds of destruction reverberating throughout the massive cavern. Tendrils of stalactites reached down to form twisting columns, as if to support the rocky, vaulted ceiling above.

"Do you think they found us?" Erra, her first officer, comm'd her from the cockpit.

"No, it's got to be something else," Nolyra said. "Get ready to—"

The sound of sliding and scraping was Nolyra's only warning before a bipedal figure came crashing down into the cave from a vent at the surface.

"Erra. Power down. Now!"

The ship's powerful floodlights winked out in an instant. Nolyra's heart raced as the cave was thrown into darkness. The infra-red sensors of her battle helmet registered the new arrival as human, but Nolyra knew Skellyds could disguise their heat signatures. She moved away from her ship as she activated a lightstick and threw it towards the figure, hoping to determine what she was dealing with while keeping the ship hidden in the shadows. She whipped up her rifle, activated the targeting system. The laser beam pierced the darkness, landing a red target lock right on the stranger's chest.

"Don't move." Her voice filtered through her battle helmet, the sound an electronic monotone. Seeing the red target lock, the figure did exactly what it was told.

Nolyra took a cautious step. She noted battle armor similar to her own. But, there were those damned drones the Skellyds built to exact human dimensions. This could be one. However, this armor hadn't been maintained; large scrapes and dents scoured the chest plating. Both arm plates were hanging on by slivers, apparently cut from the leg armor. Something glinted in the glow of the lightstick.

Blood.

Definitely human _._ But not necessarily a friendly. There were plenty of human operatives on the side of the invaders. With so few humans left, every life was precious.

_Stag._ There really wasn't enough light to see how badly this person was wounded. Nolyra reached into her right pocket for another lightstick. In the split second it took her to ignite it, the stranger established his own target lock. Nolyra grimaced in disgust at her mistake, glancing down at the red laser beam now beading on her chest armor.

"Could say the same to you." The stranger's filtered monotone was the same as her own.

"State your allegiance," Nolyra demanded, her mind running through a few worst case scenarios.

"I will state an oath," the stranger said. "I swear if you pull that trigger, I'm taking you with me."

_Great. A human with a death wish._ She shrugged. "Looks like we've gotten ourselves in a pickle."

The stranger started, then lowered his weapon slightly. _Strange thing to do._ Was it because of his wound or her remark? She studied the armor more closely. This soldier was either a male or the biggest female she'd ever seen. Could be a suit modification, like the one she had, but she doubted it, especially with the shoddy repairs.

"You appear to be wounded," Nolyra said, risking a step forward. "I have medical training."

He raised his weapon higher. "State _your_ allegiance."

His arms were trembling. Did he still have enough strength to kill her?

"My concern is for a wounded soldier. Let's leave it at that. Or you can lay there and bleed to death."

The stranger dropped his weapon, then lay back against the cave wall, staring at her with his arms lax at his sides. Nolyra approached and quickly kicked his weapon out of the way, never losing her target lock in the process. She allowed the pent-up energy to drain from her body. Blood had begun to pool under his right thigh. She lowered her weapon, then set it aside, hearing his sigh of relief. It was a small step in the direction of gaining his trust.

She knelt down beside him and pressed a button on the abdominal control center that came with the suit modifications. Several layers morphed back into the forearm armor, revealing her small, rough hands. With that maneuver, he would know she was human. He would also realize that her armor had made her look much larger than she actually was. She smiled in spite of herself. She liked to keep them guessing.

Nolyra shifted towards him, her hands hovering over his chest plating.

"I'm going to remove this part of your armor so that I can see how bad your wound is."

The stranger nodded once and she began helping him out of the chest piece. He grunted in pain, but the armor latches released despite the damage. Ah, so it _was_ a man; no breasts. Whatever protective layering he used to wear under his armor must have been discarded long ago. An old scar puckered across his bare chest, but there were no fresh wounds.

"I need to remove more armor." She pulled back on the abdominal plate, revealing a puncture wound just below his rib cage. As she tugged to remove the entire plate, it snagged on the man's right arm, pulling that armor away as well. She snorted. It was a wonder his suit stayed on at all.

Nolyra's heart skipped several beats as she caught a glimpse of his right forearm. The man quickly covered the intricate bond tattoo before she could get a good look at it. No wonder his suit was in such a state. He was one of a bonded pair—and the Skellyds would hunt him to the death.

Nolyra sighed, remembering her own bond mate; lost in a raid so long ago she had stopped keeping track of the time. She pulled some bandages from her left pocket and pressed a dressing against his wound. The blood was already beginning to clot. If she could convince him to board her ship, she could run a full diagnostic in the medical bay.

Nolyra glanced at the piece of armor covering his bond mark. She didn't blame him for trying to keep it covered. It was dangerous for anyone to know which humans were bonded, especially with the Skellyd ban on human reproduction and their attempts to eliminate bonded couples. But, she knew several people who were still looking for their mates.

She began to bandage his abdomen, deliberately pushing aside the armor that covered his arm. Nolyra suddenly couldn't breathe, throat constricting, her muscles frozen in place, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end.

The bond mark on this stranger, a tattoo unique to each couple, was exactly the same as the one on her own arm.

The stranger grunted and Nolyra started to breathe again, her heart singing, her mind a whirlwind.

How long had he looked for her? Did he even try? Nolyra tried to clear her mind. It was unthinkable that he wouldn't try. Of course he'd tried. Hadn't he? _She_ had tried. She'd gone through hell to search for him. The pain of not knowing his fate had consumed her until she'd come to terms with their separation by finally accepting that he must be dead.

She finished dressing his wound and stared into his battle helmet, trying to catch a glimpse of his face. She reached out to remove the visor, but he jerked his head back.

She switched off the internal comm of her helmet; what she had to say was not for Erra to hear. "You stopped looking." Nolyra couldn't keep the accusatory tone from her voice.

He stilled. "Looking for what?"

"You know what I'm talking about." She grabbed his forearm. He tried to pull it away, but she tightened her grip. "I stopped looking, too. I had to. I was driving myself crazy."

His helmeted head snapped up. "You're bonded too?"

"The only way to stand the pain was to start looking for other bonded couples. I find them. Help them relocate."

"Relocate where? How? The Skells can find us more easily when we're grouped together."

"There is a planet at the edge of the galaxy. It's just like Earth. The inhabitants named it Arylon, after the one who saved them." She watched him, her stomach doing somersaults. "You and your bonded would have free passage. When you find her. _If_ you find her."

He bowed his head. "Thanks for the offer, but it wouldn't matter. She's most likely dead. I've searched everywhere except the Deadlands."

Nolyra shuddered. Any human bodies the enemy didn't vaporize were dumped in the Deadlands. It was full of corpses with bond tattoos.

"I've been to The Deadlands," Nolyra said. "I didn't find who I was looking for." She hadn't found him there, nor anywhere else; she'd convinced herself that he'd been vaporized.

"I've never stopped looking, though," he said. "I've avoided the Deadlands. I couldn't bear to think she might be there, but now I have to go. I'll find her, one way or the other. It's the only thing I have left that matters."

Nolyra's soul soared at his words. So he _had_ looked for her; he'd never stopped. He was searching still.

Bright lights illuminated the cave, and her bond mate jumped. Nolyra switched her internal comm back on.

"Sorry, Captain," Erra's voice cut through the earpiece of the helmet. "I had to confirm you weren't dead. You weren't answering my calls."

"You can read my heat signatures. No further contact until I say so." Nolyra switched the comm off again.

Her mate was now sitting forward, his helmeted head moving from side to side, up and down. He leaned to the right to get a better view of the ship behind her.

"That's..." He pointed, his monotone voice low. "That's a ship."

"Yes, it is." Nolyra smirked. "I stole it from the Skells."

"You move bonded people off world." He looked back at the ship. "On that."

She shrugged. "Anyone with no Skellyd allegiance."

He shook his head, mumbling. "This is incredible. I had no idea."

"The offer still stands. I can get you safely to Arylon right now."

"No. I can't stop looking. I have to find her. I'll die before I stop."

Nolyra's heart felt heavy at the thought of him searching until death. "You won't have to do that."

Nolyra tucked her thumbs under the rim of her helmet and lifted it from her head. "It looks like you finally found me, Jack."

He jerked backwards, then froze as she reached out and removed his battle helmet. She took in the face she hadn't seen in so long; his strong jaw was slack, his green eyes startled, his face so pale. She reached out a trembling hand to the scar on his left cheek, but didn't touch him.

"Nolyra." Her name rolled off his tongue in a whisper. He reached out to touch her face, stopping short as if he feared it might make her disappear. "I don't believe it." He closed his eyes and then opened them again, a tear trickling down his right cheek.

Nolyra sat back, tears rolling down her own face, her heart erupting with joy at hearing his voice again. "Believe it, soldier. I'm as real as the bond mark I gave you."

She removed the bulky armor from her right forearm, showing him the tattoo he'd given her. He brushed it with his fingers, frowning.

"I died, didn't I?" Jack said. "This isn't real."

She cupped his face between her hands. "You're alive, Jack. We're both alive."

He pulled her closer, then his mouth covered hers in a kiss that sent fire through her lower abdomen. She wrapped her arms around him and he fell to the side, taking her with him. He kissed her forehead, her cheek, her ear, and then buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply, whispering her name over and over. He grappled with her armor's control center, smiling in satisfaction when the armor over her left leg morphed away. He pushed more buttons, clearly hoping for the same effect with more of her suit.

"Jack," she murmured against his neck. "The ship."

"About that..." He inhaled the scent of her hair again. "Yes."

His mouth covered hers once more and she lost herself for a moment, parting her lips to allow his tongue to move against hers. She tasted him, drawing him in as she breathed in the air he exhaled. She pulled away. "Yes, what?"

"Now that I've found my bonded, we'll take that passage to Arylon."

Nolyra, with no reason to laugh in such a long time, laughed now, free and genuine. Jack joined in, the sounds of their happiness echoing off the cave walls.

### KYNDRA HATCH

About the Author

Kyndra Hatch grew up with a fascination for science fiction movies and a deep interest in ancient civilizations, a combination which fuels her active imagination. She can often be found jotting her thoughts down on anything available.

After twelve exciting years as an Archaeologist, Kyndra has decided to take a break from her career to have more time with her husband of eleven years. She pursues a passion for writing and has discovered her works have a decidedly science fiction romantic flair. After stumbling upon science fiction romance books and soaking up every word, she began creating her own worlds, which lead her to the SFR Brigade. With the amazing energy and support of her husband and the Brigade, Kyndra gained the courage she needed to start submitting her own SFR adventures. "The Stranger" is her science fiction romance debut.

When she isn't writing, Kyndra can be found dabbling in photography, drawing, crafting, toy collecting, or volunteering for disaster relief efforts.

Story Inspiration

My inspiration to write 'The Stranger' was the submission call for this anthology. I thought, _I can do this_. I wanted to submit something so bad that I spent weeks going through my ideas and brainstorming until 'The Stranger' started taking shape. Then it demanded to be written!

'The Stranger" is related to my work in progress. It wasn't at first, but then it began to fit into the greater plot of that work, which I'm calling "Fracture" for now. At first, I was calling the aliens in "The Stranger" simply The Invadors. But, that was getting confusing and my editor, the dynamic Diane Dooley, suggested I give them a name. That was when I decided the story does fit with my other work in progress and changed The Invadors to Skellyds. There are some snippets on my blog that give a little more idea of these beings. "The Stranger" is set in the future of "Fracture."

I hope you all enjoyed my debut story! Thanks for reading!

Blog

Kyndra Hatch http://www.kyndrahatch.blogspot.com/

Author Contact

Twitter @kyndrahatch

## MISSION: Nam Selan

By Linnea Sinclair

Author's Note:

This short story is a continuation of the Alliance Command universe and characters originally found in GAMES OF COMMAND (Bantam Spectra, 2007) and continued in SEVEN MONTHS OF FOREVER (The Mammoth Book of Futuristic Romance, Running Press, 2013.)

***

READY ROOM: UNITED COALITION HUNTERSHIP REGALIA

In the three and a half months since Admiral Branden Kel-Paten had doffed his infamous black uniform and defected to the United Coalition, he'd never once regretted his decision.

Until now.

"I repeat, Ace. I strongly object to your barring me from this mission." Kel-Paten used Admiral Cayla Edmonds's nickname deliberately. After all they were equals. Or they had been up until twenty minutes ago, when it had become very clear how much the four stars on his dark tan uniform were a courtesy gesture. To wit: Edmonds's image on the ready room's comm screen, complete with the same four stars over the left pocket, was smiling tightly and nodding without agreeing. He didn't need to access his programming—that is, use his _ability_ to correctly interpret over one-hundred forty human facial expressions—to know that she wasn't giving credence to one iota of his opinions.

Oh, to be back in the Triad again and wielding real power. Except the Triad he remembered no longer existed.

Hence, this ill-advised mission. And its attendant problem that went by the name of Dag Zanorian.

Tasha Sebastian, in her usual place on his left, let out a low sigh and tapped his arm. Both were warnings. After three and a half months of sharing his bed with the _Regalia_ 's captain, he knew those signals well. "There's nothing dangerous about getting an agreement signed," she said. "It's a simple mission, really."

"But Zanorian—"

"Has to be there," she put in quickly. "Mekkie—Governor Mekhailvish—won't deal with us without him."

"Understood." He did. He didn't like it but he understood. Zanorian and Mekhailvish were two of a kind: bastard pirates. "All the more reason I should be going—"

"You can't." Her green eyes narrowed. "With all due respect, Admiral. You know why."

He did. And didn't like it either. It had nothing to do with the fact that he was supposed to be on Varlow right now, setting up the science team for the next phase of his critical vortex flux generator project. No, it was that Mekhailvish wasn't the kind to forgive and forget what Kel-Paten and the former Triad fleet had done to his pirate enterprise over the years. Mekkie had made it abundantly clear when he'd agreed to the meeting that Kel-Paten wasn't welcome. According to the report Kel-Paten had read, Mekkie had made Edmonds promise that not only would Kel-Paten not be on station, he wouldn't even be in the sector. Hence his upcoming assignment on Varlow.

Without waiting for Kel-Paten's next objection, Tasha turned back to the dark-haired older woman on the screen. "We're on schedule to make meetpoint with Zanorian's ship within thirty minutes."

"Good," Ace Edmonds replied. "Captain Sebastian, I look forward to your report stating we can start construction on our base on the Nam Selan station. With all the delays we had in negotiations, we need to push this mission forward quickly. And Admiral Kel-Paten, advise me as soon as you can of your departure for Varlow. I had to lie to the governor and assure him you were already there. Don't make me regret my words. Edmonds out."

The screen filled with the official United Coalition emblem, then blanked.

In direct contrast, Kel-Paten's mega-million-credit cybernetically-enhanced mind filled with dozens of images, schematics, and plans. Better to let the U-Cees think he was just going to sit by while this upcoming mission reunited Tasha—his "Sass", the woman he loved more than his own life—with Zanorian, her former pirate lover. Better to let them think he was occupied with preparations to head to Varlow and wouldn't attempt—as Edmonds had succinctly forbade him—to somehow be part of the team sent to Nam Selan. Better to let them think—

A small fist cuffed his left shoulder. Hard.

"Whatever you're thinking, flyboy, stop it." She glared at him. "Now."

He smiled, not unlike the way Edmonds had minutes before.

"Kel-Paten..." She paused, the warning tone clear in her voice.

He let the pause hang for a few more seconds. The way they said each other's name was a ritual of theirs that went back decades, to the years he'd loved her in secret, and it never failed to humor—and hearten—him.

"Sebastian," he said finally, letting his voice drop to a deep rumble.

The intraship comm chimed, halting whatever warning Tasha was going to add. Which was just as well, because whatever she was thinking, he didn't want to hear. Not yet. And if what he suspected was fact, maybe not ever.

She glanced away from him and tapped open the comm. "Captain here."

"Confirming contact with Captain Zanorian's ship," a male voice said. "Slotting him to docking port three. ETA ten minutes."

"Acknowledged. Have someone get Tank's safety-kennel and my duffel—"

"Already done, Captain."

"Thank you. On my way." Tasha pushed herself up out of her chair.

"On _our_ way," Kel-Paten corrected, shoving himself to his feet. Edmonds might have banned him from the mission, but there was no way anyone was going to keep him from being at Tasha's side when that bastard pirate set foot on the _Regalia_.

Kel-Paten had to be there, if for no other reason than that there continued to be chunks of time he couldn't remember. It had only been six weeks since the Triad Faction had executed a well-planned and insidious cyber attack that had left gaping holes in Kel-Paten's data storage—memories. He—okay, his restore firmware—had recovered most of them. But there were moments, like now, where images flashed in his mind and he couldn't definitively place them. All he knew was that whenever he heard Zanorian's name, a visual surfaced of the blond-haired pirate drawing Tasha into his arms. But when and why he'd witnessed that—if he had at all—he didn't know. And that only made the hollow empty feeling in the pit of his stomach grow more hollow and empty as he followed Tasha toward the ship's main lift banks.

Because he wasn't sure if what he saw was the romantic paranoia of new lovers, a skewed memory based on surveillance vids he'd compiled on Tasha decades ago, or a something that scared him even more: a premonition.

He wasn't going to trouble Tasha with his concerns, and not just because admitting that he might be jealous was, well, juvenile and damned embarrassing. His restore firmware had revealed something else after his accident: the rumors that the Triad had attempted to add prescient telepathy to their line of lethal cyber-soldiers just might have some basis in fact.

And he had been, to the best of his knowledge, the Triad's latest, greatest and most advanced cyber-soldier.

He had to know if what he glimpsed of Tasha and Zanorian was, in fact, the future. Even if it meant going against Edmonds's orders. Even if it meant delaying the vortex project and risking the Nam Selan mission.

The lift doors opened, and a gray-haired nav chief and two of her techies saluted as they exited.

"I'm not any happier about my going with Zanorian than you are," Tasha said as the doors closed, and he realized she'd correctly interpreted his silence since they'd left the ready room. The ugly specter of telepathy raised its head again. Was she hearing his thoughts the way he knew some furzels, like Tank, could? He was getting used to the way Tank's mind linked his and Tasha's, but had felt fairly certain that unless the chubby black and white fidget was around, purring or pouncing or, more likely, snacking on something, his musings were private.

Now...

"Are you even listening to me?" She glanced up at him, her lips curving slightly even as she put a stern note in her voice. "Pouting is unprofessional."

No, she wasn't hearing his thoughts. Pouting was the last thing he was doing. He cleared his throat with a half-rumbling sigh. "By your own admission, Mekhailvish will only deal with us if Zanorian is part of the team and I'm not. That means this entire mission rests on two unreliable, untrustworthy, and possibly even unstable individuals. Who may have their own agendas."

"In other circumstances I might agree with you. But it sounds like Mekkie's scared, really scared, since the Ved took over three of his security team. It was a stroke of luck that a docked freighter had a pair of trained furzels on board who sensed the Ved presence." She shook her head. "I'm still amazed how many people fail to give credence to the Ved threat."

He wasn't. The Ved'eskhar were granted an almost mythical status due to their mind-control talents. He hadn't believed that psi-vampires existed until an encounter almost eight months ago with the Ved in McClellan's Void—a Ved-constructed region of space—had almost killed him and Sass. Most others who'd dealt with the Ved weren't that lucky: they succumbed—as the Triad had—or they died.

"We only have Mekhailvish's word for this attempted Ved attack," he pointed out.

"We have the vid report from the freighter," Tasha said. "Which, yes, we're working on corroborating. But in the meantime, the station is finally willing to ally with us. We lose this opportunity to put an operational military base there and you know damned well what will happen."

He did, but he could handle any physical threat, any political upheaval. It was the personal emotional issues that scared him: Tasha in a volatile situation with Zanorian, and without him. But he wasn't about to admit that. "There are other ways to stop the Triad from reclaiming that sector. We could place patrol outposts—"

"Branden." She touched his arm, then slid her fingers down to curl into his. "I've spent years working missions in places like Nam Selan. Hell, you know I grew up in a place that makes Mekkie's station look like paradise." She squeezed his fingers. "I'll miss you too, lover. But I'll be back before you leave for Varlow. You spend too much time worrying."

Perhaps, he silently agreed as the lift doors opened. But he spent even more time planning.

***

DOCKING PORT THREE AIRLOCK

Dag Zanorian oozed charm.

Sass loved Branden Kel-Paten, and in the past eight and a half months had learned that in her life and heart there was no equal, but damn— she wasn't dead. Zanorian pretty much fit most women's—and many men's—definition of sexy: tall, square-jawed, with artfully messy shoulder-length blond hair, and a well-muscled body advertising all its charms in skin-tight dark brown leathers. Zanorian didn't just walk, he swaggered powerfully and gracefully in expensive studded boots. He didn't just talk, he cajoled and seduced with a deep voice vid actors trained for years to obtain. If he hadn't been a mercenary, he'd have made one mullytrocking dangerous politician.

She supposed the galaxy should be grateful he chose the less damaging of the two careers.

"Captain Zanorian," she said as he sauntered through the open airlock. She hadn't seen him—well, not the real Dag Zanorian—in over five years, unless she included the Ved-created copy she'd encountered in McClellan's Void.

She gave the man coming towards her another once-over just to make sure this was the real thing: two scars on the side of his face (which only added to his rakish charm), check. The fake Zanorian in the Void had had only one. She tallied other things that her status as Zanorian's former lover had taught her; things she'd missed in McClellan's Void because she didn't know how well the Ved could emulate a person. The way he flexed his left forefinger when he walked, check. The way his gaze flicked left, right, overhead, and back again, analyzing the three crew in U-Cee tan uniforms in the airlock corridor, check. The way his mouth tightened when that same gaze came to rest on Kel-Paten in his trademark black gloves standing beside her. Check.

And she tallied the way the black and white furzel was now hunkered down into a bored and furry lump perched on top of the canvas duffel at her feet. No long whiskers twitched in concern, no plumy tail thrashed in agitation. No small voice blared in her mind with a warning that a Ved'eskhar was in range. Big check.

If Zanorian was a Ved construct or Ved-controlled, Tank would know.

Zanorian's tight mouth curved quickly into a smile. "My lady Sass." His voice was a caress.

Kel-Paten's rigidity as he stood next to her was a warning, and not just because Zanorian had used her nickname with obvious familiarity. She knew what he was like when he dropped his human side and went full 'cybe: his stance would tighten, his eyes would shift to an eerie blue glow, and if he was really, _really_ pissed, the black gloves would be stripped off to reveal his hands' deadly implants.

Someone would die—or wish he was dead.

She quickly sought that familiar light presence in her mind. _Tank, tell Brandenfriend to power down. There's no—_

_I hear you_. A deep male voice sounded in her mind at the same time as Tank's soft, _Oooh, jealous!_

_I am not_ , Kel-Paten lied, none too expertly.

_Not Brandenfriend. Silly_. Tank's voice was its usual sing-song. _New friend. Zanfriend jealous!_

The tightness in Kel-Paten's stance lessened. Impending threat averted.

"Ready when you are," Zanorian continued in a drawl as Tank hopped off the duffel then stretched, golden eyes closing to mere slits.

Sass reached for the duffel's straps, but a black-gloved hand got there first. Kel-Paten hefted the duffel and Tank's kennel easily. "I'll stow it on board for you."

"I'll try to make sure my crew doesn't shoot you," Zanorian said as Sass bundled Tank into her arms. "But no guarantees, Tin Soldier."

Sass wanted to smack Zanorian. Kel-Paten hated that nickname and Zanorian knew it. She switched a hard glance from one to the other. Not easy to do when they both towered over her, and when the fat furzel snuggled into her arms kept rubbing his head against her shoulder, purring. In contrast, her voice held a distinct growl. "Behave, boys."

Zanorian shrugged. "Just make sure the only thing he stows on board is your gear. Not himself." He turned then stepped toward the airlock.

Kel-Paten was right behind him. "Your security system's that easy to compromise, Zanorian?"

"I said behave." Sass hurried to catch up. "We're all on the same side here." She hoped. Because while the animosity between the two men was yesterday's newsvid, the truth was that Branden's objections had merit: Dag Zanorian was rarely without his own agenda. And Mekhailvish elevated scheming to a fine art. Granted, the threat of becoming a slave to a race of psi-vampires tended to realign anyone's priorities. But that didn't mean these two wouldn't also be looking for some kind of bonus on the side.

Kel-Paten clasped her shoulder lightly with his free hand—an innocent enough gesture, but one that wasn't lost on Zanorian. One narrow-eyed glance clashed with another.

So much for "behave".

Which was why she'd opted against having Kel-Paten be part of the mission in spite of the increased security he could provide. It would have meant one more damned thing she'd have to deal with.

Zanorian and Mekkie were more than enough, thank you. At least with those two she could be sure they wouldn't try to kill each other. She couldn't say the same for Zanorian and Kel-Paten, especially on a ship as small as the _Windblade_ , Zanorian's Strafter-class cruiser, clearly rigged for speed and function, not comfort. The sniping comments continued as they passed through the ship's yellow-striped airlock, onto the harshly-lit lower cargo deck, and finally up the metal ladderway to the crew cabins.

It was a relief when the door of her assigned cabin closed on Zanorian's retreating form. She put Tank down and he immediately headed for the food bowls secured to a frame bolted to an inner bulkhead. She took a quick survey of her surroundings—gray metal walls matched the plain metal chair deck-locked in front of a square metal workstation jutting out from the bulkhead. Opposite that was a narrow bunk with—surprise!—a red blanket, the only bit of color in the otherwise stark cabin. Kel-Paten tossed her duffel on the bunk, tucked Tank's kennel in the space between the chair and the bulkhead, then drew Sass against his chest in a hard embrace.

She responded with the kind of kiss they both needed in order to survive the next few days.

"I'll be back before you've had a chance to miss me," she said breathlessly, when they finally pulled apart.

"Lubashit," he growled, using one of her favorite expressions. "I miss you already." He cupped her face. "Trust no one and keep your laser pistol primed."

"It's my motto. Now you go get everything packed that you'll need for the vortex project and let me go do my job."

He saluted. "By your command."

She waited until her cabin door closed behind him, then plopped down on her bunk and let out a hard sigh. Tank jumped up beside her, turned in a circle, then settled down, his furry bulk against her thigh

Damn Kel-Paten. He was up to something. She could feel it. And whatever he was up to worried her, more so than when they'd been enemies on opposite sides of the zone. Back then, she'd thought she'd understood him and what he wanted—victory for the Triad over the U-Cees. Except he'd actually wanted something more, something she'd never realized, something that was supposed to be impossible for a bio-cybe. He'd wanted her, Tasha "Sass" Sebastian, a human woman. He was in love with her. And it had taken a shaky peace agreement, an even shakier alliance, and some highly illegal data hacking on her part for her to stumble over that fact.

And it had taken the threat of death to make her realize she'd loved him too.

But now the stellar sectors they'd called home for the past eight months were a vastly different place. The collapse of the Triad into a Ved-controlled empire may have brought her and Kel-Paten together, but she was never really sure if the reward of her love was enough to compensate him for all he'd lost: his rank, his fleet, his officers, his crew...his power and command. Especially his power and command.

In the Triad, Kel-Paten had given orders. Now he was taking them from herself, from Ace Edmonds, and even in a way from Zanorian: _Just make sure the only thing he stows on board is your gear. Not himself._

Ace had warned her weeks ago that at some point the infamous former-Triad officer was going to rebel against his diminished authority and autonomy in the U-Cee fleet. Sass stroked Tank's soft head and prayed that wouldn't happen, not with a mission as critical as this one, and not with a heart as vulnerable as hers now was.

***

GALLEY, THE WINDBLADE

The sound of boots slapping against the hard metal-decking of the corridor had Sass turning away from the beverage panel, hot coffee in hand, in time to see Zanorian stride through the open galley doors. The galley also functioned as a ready room, and was designed for function not comfort, just like the rest of the ship. It was aft of the ship's cramped cockpit where she'd spent fifteen minutes during undocking and initial departure, mostly as an observer, letting Zanorian and his nav-tech, Aliya Kel-Moro, handle their ship.

But there were still ten or so hours travel until they reached Nam Selan. She'd known Zanorian would seek her out at some point. She'd wanted to make sure the encounter was in some neutral location like the galley, though, not her cabin. Or his.

She'd figured she'd get through at least one cup of coffee before he came a-hunting.

Wrong.

She leaned against the bulkhead and cradled the mug in both hands.

Zanorian crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't trust him."

Given that the _Blade_ 's crew was all female——and given that Tank was nowhere to be seen— Sass had no doubt who the "him" in question was.

"Because of his relationship with me or because of who he was?"

"Who he _is_ , Sass. _What_ he is. What he's always been. Damned near the official symbol of the Triad."

"Which no longer exists—"

"Something exists. Hell, so it changed its name. Triad or Triad Faction." He shrugged, but there was a tension in the languid movement. "What it does, what it wants? That hasn't changed."

"Kel-Paten's not part of that anymore."

He stepped forward, then leaned his hands on the back of a nearby chair and looked at her, his eyes narrowing. "They were able to reprogram him easily enough when they dangled that damaged Triad fighter under his nose."

Shock momentarily jolted her but she kept still. The Triad's attempted, and near-successful, sabotage of Kel-Paten only weeks before was high-priority classified top secret. There was no way Zanorian—

Gund'jalar. Her old mentor, long-time deep cover agent for the U-Cees, one of Ace Edmonds' closest buddies— and a smuggler. Like Zanorian. She knew Gund'jalar had advised Ace on this mission. He'd evidently informed Zanorian of a few things as well.

"That's been fixed." Kel-Paten had voluntarily submitted to several deep scans by U-Cees techs since the incident.

"You can never really know that." He straightened. "Ever."

"Just like I can never really know what side _you're_ on or what _your_ agenda is, Zanorian. Ever," she shot back.

"But you do," he countered smoothly. "I'm always for profit and against the Triad. And that's all you need to know."

Except that the definition of profit to the likes of Dag Zanorian could be vast and varied.

_Trust no one and keep your laser pistol primed_ echoed in her mind as the smuggler turned on his heels, then strode out into the corridor.

She sipped her coffee. It was cold and bitter.

This very simple mission of welcoming Nam Selan as a U-Cee ally was suddenly getting more complicated.

***

Zanorian made no more mention of his distrust of Kel-Paten for the next nine and a half hours. He was his usual light-hearted and flirtatious self when she shared dinner in the galley with him, Aliya, and Suki. He even presented Tank with a special bowl of treats.

If Aliya or Suki knew of Zanorian's opinions, they gave no hint. Their chatter too was amiable—it had been years since Sass had seen her friends. There was a lot of catch up on.

Naps were next—in shifts—as they had to reorient their body clocks to what would be Nam Selan time upon arrival.

Aliya's soft drawl came over Sass's cabin's intercom, interrupting her perusal of a recent Nam Selan newsvid. They'd been in-system for two hours and Sass used the _Blade_ 's comm to snag some recent feeds. "We've been cleared to dock, Sass. Captain says grab your gear and your fur ball and meet him at the lower airlock in fifteen minutes."

Sass smiled. Tank had thoroughly charmed Aliya and Suki. "Fur ball" was said with obvious affection.

"Acknowledged." She nudged the snoozing fur ball sprawled on her bunk.

Tank stretched, his tail curling in a furry plume. _New place soon? More new friends?_

"Lots of new friends. Just don't you go off exploring without me."

Food first?

She considered his request. She didn't know how long the initial meeting with Mekkie would be, and had no idea what accommodations, if any, would be made for her furzel. And Tank, barely out of fidgethood, was still ruled by his stomach. A hungry Tank could be an annoying interruption.

"One pouch." She emptied the gooey fishy mess into his bowl and then, while he ate, rechecked her laser pistol.

Trust no one.

***

DOCKING FACILITY, NAM SELAN

Nam Selan, like a lot of stations built at various rim points, was an ungainly conglomeration that revealed the whims of its many masters over the past century. Initially a scientific outpost, it was then acquired by a trading corporation that sold part of it to a university—or a monastery, the stories varied—which expanded the residential facilities. Financial difficulties landed it under the ownership of a mining conglomerate, which added a large manufacturing raft. In-fighting dissolved the conglomerate and Nam Selan changed ownership a few more times—mostly shipping or mining or some combination thereof—before it became the thinly disguised den of thieves, as Ace Edmonds often referred to it, that had been its current incarnation for almost three decades.

Mekkie was the den of thieves' second "governor", the first having abdicated her position when her initial attempts at negotiating an unpopular treaty with the U-Cees resulted in the denizens of Nam Selan showing her how difficult it was to breathe in the vacuum of deep space.

Which is why—the recent incursion by Ved agents notwithstanding—Sass didn't expect a warm welcome.

She followed Zanorian out the _Blade_ 's airlock, a well-fed and somewhat lethargic Tank plodding a few feet behind.

"Zanorian, you ungodly bastard." A short stocky man ambled toward them, one hand out, fisted, the other on the grip of a large laser pistol secured at his side. Being governor evidently wasn't much of a strain on him. Mekkie hadn't aged at all since she'd last seen him, his face still smooth and fleshy, his dark hair pulled back in a severe braid. His trademark silver hoops dangled from his ear lobes. Silver bracelets—okay, maybe he'd added a few more of those—ringed his wrists.

Zanorian banged the outside of his fist against the shorter man's in a typical smuggler's greeting. Never smart to let anyone get a firm grip on your gun hand.

"As ugly as ever, Mekkie."

"You or me?"

"You, of—" Zanorian stopped, eyes narrowing, lips thinning. Something had caught his attention on the left. Sass stood on tiptoe, trying to see over the heads of Mekkie's tall security team.

"Son of a mullytrocking bitch!" Zanorian spat out. "I knew it." Suddenly he plunged down the corridor, boots hard on the decking.

"What's the—?" Mekkie swung in Zanorian's direction.

Sass surged forward. Something was wrong, very wrong. Hand on her pistol, she moved quickly in front of a sputtering Mekkie and pushed past his team. Zanorian was now strides ahead of her. He—

And she froze.

No mullingtrocking way. It was impossible. Wasn't it?

Zanorian slowed in his stride just long enough to glance back at her, suspicion in his eyes. "You set this whole thing up, didn't you?" Then he charged, full speed, toward where Branden Kel-Paten and a squad of black-uniformed soldiers were positioned at the curve in the corridor.

Fuck. Kel-Paten, in command of a squad of Triad soldiers. Just like old times. Ace had warned her. Zanorian had predicted it. The reward of her love hadn't been enough.

Chest tight, Sass tore after Zanorian just as Tank's plaintive _No, Mommy, no!_ sounded in her mind.

The tell-tale low hum of weapons discharging filled her ears. Instinctively she dropped and rolled left toward the bulkhead, her pistol tucked into her chest. She aimed, fired. A tall Triad soldier jerked sideways. Singed him or near miss. Then Zanorian was falling, dropping to his knees with an anguished groan.

She rolled out of the way of more incoming fire, took aim—

"Fire and he's dead," said a familiar deep voice.

She looked up into the eerily-glowing eyes of Branden Kel-Paten. The soldiers behind him had their weapons trained on Zanorian.

Kel-Paten had his trained on her. Her throat closed up and her heart pounded, hard. Not in fear. But in failure. Loving him hadn't been enough.

_Bad Thing! Bad Thing!_ Tank cried in her mind.

Bad Thing. The furzel's name for the Ved'eskhar. The psi-creatures who could pull images from minds and construct duplicates. Or near duplicates because memories were never exact, never complete. Not always accurate.

Not... She studied Kel-Paten striding toward her and immediately noticed something different about his hair. It was military short, a style he hadn't worn in months. Granted, in the past few hours the man she loved could have shaved his head but he couldn't have erased ten years, and this Kel-Paten was, yes, younger than the one she'd kissed goodbye in the _Blade_ 's cabin.

Younger. Like Mekkie, who hadn't aged.

And this Kel-Paten moved differently, as if he was someone's idea of how a 'cybe should move—stiffly, uncomfortably—not with the fluid grace she knew oh-so-well.

She remembered Tank's warning sounding in her mind. She mentally reached for the furzel as Kel-Paten's double lined up the muzzle of his weapon with her head.

Tank?

_Protect Mommy! Tank come. Protect_ —

_Tank, no! Hide. Hide! Be safe. Later. Protect later_.

But...

Hide, Tank. Now!

The hum of a weapon's discharge was much louder this time. Stinging pain laced through her. But at least her heart no longer shattered into a thousand pieces.

The world went dark.

***

SOMEWHERE ON NAM SELAN STATION

A pounding headache woke her. That, and something poking painfully hard in her side.

She forced her eyelids open. Zanorian glared at her. Zanorian, ass on the decking, back against the bulkhead, wrists tether-cuffed to his belt. His boot prodding her ribs.

She was flat on her back, hands immobilized, in a small gray room.

_Holding cell_ , her mind told her as her mouth said, "What in hell are you doing?" Her voice sounded dry. She'd been hit— _they'd_ been hit—with stunners. She recognized the after-effects. Pounding headache. Nausea. Dry mouth.

The boot in her ribs was an add-on.

"You set me up, Sass."

She swallowed. "Yeah, that's why I'm reclining here in total comfort."

"Rewards for being a double-crosser. Did you really think the Tin Soldier would ever turn his back on the Triad?" Zanorian made a sound of disgust. "You're a good lay, but not _that_ good."

She ignored his insult and examined her surroundings as best she could. Just because she couldn't spot the glint of a camera lens didn't mean their captors weren't watching or at least listening. How much could she say without giving away their only chance of rescue or escape?

She rolled to one side, then struggled into a sitting position. Her hands, like Zanorian's, were tethered to her belt and able to move only inches forward or back. "Where's your friend Mekkie?"

Something flashed across Zanorian's features. She'd made him think.

He shrugged. "Don't know. Another cell. Or maybe dead."

"Or riding an equinnard in hell?" she asked as she clumsily scooched on her ass until she was next to him.

"No." But he didn't sound convinced. Amazing how easy it was for Zanorian to believe she'd sold him out to the Triad, but that his friend Mekkie hadn't. Her use of their old code phrase—equinnard in hell—would at least force him to reconsider.

She raised her face and this time very obviously studied the overhead and bulkheads. Who was listening? Who was watching?

His answering sigh was barely audible. "Don't know," he repeated but his answer, she knew, had nothing to do with Mekkie.

Sometimes it took a while for Zanorian to put his temper in stasis and figure things out.

"But I can check," he added, through tight lips. Then: "God damned bitch!" he shouted and jerked sideways, as if to put distance between himself and Sass. He awkwardly swung his legs around and to one side, his boots almost at her hip. His ornately studded boots were as much Zanorian's trademark as Mekkie's earrings and bracelets were his.

As a smuggler, Zanorian was well-known for his vanity. He was less well-known for his technology. Deliberately.

If memory served her, two inner studs at his ankle activated an audio scrambler when pressed. She wriggled her fingers as unobtrusively as she could. It took three tries before she felt the studs click. A third stud showed a faint pinprick of green light.

"Itchy ears?" she asked.

He swung his legs around, glanced at his boots, then back at her.

"Very itchy. But we're cured. For now."

They were being listened to, but their listeners would hear only reworked and re-worded conversations. She hoped.

"How's your eyesight?"

"I haven't had the pleasure of these particular accommodations before. My guess is yes."

She prayed no one watching was a lip reader.

He angled his face toward her. "Explain how you know Mekkie's behind this."

"I don't know that he is. I do know the Tin Soldier you saw out there isn't Kel-Paten. And Tank—" _Gods blessed rumps! Where was Tank?_ "—warned me Ved were on station at the same time you charged that Triad squad."

As Zanorian considered her words, she reached out mentally. _Tank?_

Mommy?

Relief washed over her. _Stay safe. Stay hidden._

Tank come! Protect Mommy!

Not yet. Wait.

She felt his unwilling acquiescence.

"How do you know that's not the Tin Soldier?"

"Because Tank didn't recognize him, for starters." She went on to explain the physical differences she'd noted, not just in Kel-Paten, but also in Mekkie. And that Kel-Paten was not only under full 'cybe power—the pale glow of his eyes signaled that—but was carrying a weapon in his hand. Which told her that the 'cybe power was a sham. Under full power, Kel-Paten didn't need a weapon in hand. His body and especially his power-charged hands were all weapons.

Zanorian nodded slowly. "I've never faced a Ved construct before. At least, not that I know of."

"They reconstructed you from my memory a few months ago."

The widening of his eyes told her he hadn't heard about that. She related the incident, briefly. She didn't know how much time they had before someone came for them and they had a lot more things to cover.

Like the fact that the whole story of the failed Ved attack and rescue by the freighter was bogus. Like the fact that Mekkie was probably dead.

Like the fact they needed to get out of this cell and off Nam Selan alive.

"What in hell do they want with us?" Zanorian asked.

The grinding sound of their cell door opening told Sass they were about to get that question answered.

Zanorian swung his legs around again and she tapped off the scrambler. If guards were listening, best they hear what they expected to.

The Kel-Paten construct, eyes luminous and weapon in black-gloved hand, stepped through the doorway flanked by two guards. One of the guards, a tall muscular woman, held a vidcam in one hand, a small vidscreen in the other.

"Captain Zanorian, you will do exactly as I tell you." Her voice had that flat note of someone under a Ved's telepathic control. "Or your crew will die."

Zanorian went still and silent. Then: "What do you want?" His voice was a hard growl.

"You will record a message to the _Regalia_. Commander Rembert is the ranking senior officer on board and in command. You will tell him Captain Sebastian is seriously ill. You will make him bring the _Regalia_ to Nam Selan."

Rembert? Remy wasn't ranking senior, Kel-Paten was. But they were directing Zanorian to contact Rembert. Which meant they didn't know Kel-Paten was on board and—

"Fuck you," Zanorian said.

The female guard jerked the vidscreen toward them. It showed an image of Aliya and Suki sprawled on the decking of a holding cell. "Do it. Or they die."

***

Sass listened to the hard footsteps recede outside the cell door and, from the angle of Zanorian's head, knew he was too. Neither said anything for about ten minutes. Then he arched his back and rolled his shoulders— as best he could with his hands locked to his sides—acting like someone whose body had cramped up from sitting too long in one position. Which was probably the truth, but it also gave Sass the chance to activate the scrambler in his boot when he briefly pretended to kick her away.

"Sorry," he said, his voice again low.

"Don't be. I think we can work with this."

"Bringing the _Regalia_ here? But you damned near chewed my ass off—"

"If I hadn't, they'd have been suspicious." She'd laced into him pretty badly, including stating that the lives of the two women weren't worth the lives of everyone on board her ship.

"You think they're going to let you land a full U-Cee security contingent on station? They probably have a dozen or more combat units here. Your people will never make it through the airlock alive."

"I only need one person to make it through." She smiled thinly. "Kel-Paten. The real one. Didn't you catch that they had you send the message to Remy? If they'd known Kel-Paten was on board, they'd have directed it to him. He was supposed to leave for Varlow a few days ago but delayed at the last minute because, um, you were coming in to get me."

Which told her something else: Someone in the Triad knew that Kel-Paten had been ordered to Varlow. Not that Kel-Paten's movements were Top Secret but how that information was leaked was something she would definitely look in to when she got back.

If she got back.

"He knows about us, then?" Zanorian's smile was wolfish.

"He knows you're part of my past." She pinned him with a stern look.

"And they have no idea he's still on board and in command."

"Sounds that way to me."

He nodded, thoughtful. Then: "Same deal, though. They'll move to immobilize him when he comes through the airlock. They built him. We have to assume they know how to do that."

They did. But she shook her head. "He won't have to use the airlock. Tank can Blink him on station."

"Blink?"

Well, well. So Gund'jalar hadn't told Zanorian everything. "Essentially furzel-assisted teleportation."

He stared at her. "Then get him here now."

"Can't. There are range limits."

"Which are?"

She sighed. "You're asking me to interpret how a furzel thinks. Best I can figure is visual distance."

"Can your fur ball get us out of here?" He raised his face to indicate the holding cell.

"Me, yes. You, no. You're not bonded to him like Branden and I are."

"So why not do that right—"

"Because, one, I don't know if we're being watched. Two, because I don't know if they're going to come back and check on us. I assume at some point they'll feed us." Or not. That had occurred to her too. "Three, because I'm the bait, evidently, and you're the mouthpiece. Without me here, they don't need you. They might kill you, Dag."

Emotions flickered briefly over his face. "Thank you. And, uh, sorry about earlier." He mimed poking her in the side with his boot.

She shrugged. "Not an issue. You don't have the experience with the Ved that I do."

"You know," he said after a long moment, "if they turn off the lights for a sleep period, they might not notice you're not here."

She'd been thinking about that too. "It could give me a head start on what Kel-Paten would do: tinkering with station's systems, cause electronic failures, diversions. Providing of course, I can get these damned cuffs off."

"Your fur ball can't help with that?"

"Only if they were edible."

***

A guard did bring food, some kind of protein drink in a tall capped mug topped with a straw that was just the right length to hit their mouths with their tethered hands' limited movement and range. No one turned off the lights.

So she and Zanorian performed a little charade, struggling to their feet, kicking at bulkheads, peering at the overhead—the kinds of things frustrated captives would do.

But their actions weren't totally feigned. If there was another way out, they needed to take it. Unfortunately, they couldn't find one.

"Just go," Zanorian urged her a few hours later. "When they figure you're missing, well, I'll deal with that."

"Negative that, captain. Now go back to sleep. The ship should be here in three hours or so." Assuming Kel-Paten reacted immediately. Unless he suspected something was wrong—something other than her fake illness—and was planning his own maneuvers. She hoped not. She had things worked out very clearly with Tank. The Triad might expect some kind of aggressive reaction from her crew. They wouldn't suspect what she and Tank—and eventually Kel-Paten—could do.

She needed that element of surprise if they were all to survive and take back control of Nam Selan.

Please, Branden, analyze Zanorian's message sent to Remy. To Remy, not you. And, gods' blessed rumps, think before you act! Or you could be leading everyone into a trap.

A deadly one.

***

ADMIRAL'S OFFICE: REGALIA

Branden Kel-Paten had been created by the Triad to be, as was often quoted, one six-foot, three-inch emotionless son of a bitch.

Right now, every part of that six-foot three was taut with a torrent of conflicting emotions. If Sass was truly ill, she needed him. If she wasn't, and this was some kind of ruse, she still needed him. Had she been the one in the recorded message, he could have discerned the truth. His programmed ability to read facial expressions be damned—he _knew_ her. Plus, they had established code words and phrases for just this kind of situation.

Whoever was with her on Nam Selan likely knew that. Which might be why, if this was a trap, Zanorian had been chosen to deliver the message, not Sass.

The bastard pirate might even be part of the set-up.

The only thing Kel-Paten could accurately read from Zanorian's face was that the man was under stress.

He understood the feeling.

The stress of incomplete data seared him, the station's purported communication grid malfunction preventing him from learning anything else. Should he prepare for a full-out assault on the station, only to endanger her life if she was comatose in sick bay? Should he assume the medical emergency was genuine and arrive on station with only Dr. Monterro's best med techs in tow?

He should have gone with her or, at the very least, acted on his plan to follow the _Windblade_ in one of the _Regalia_ 's fighters. But almost as if she had divined his intentions, Ace Edmonds had peppered him with a series of messages that didn't let him leave his office or the ship's science lab for more than forty-minutes at a time.

He'd lost that window of opportunity to shadow Sass.

If, as a result, he lost her...

He shoved himself out of his chair and, fists clenched, headed for the bridge. Two hours to Nam Selan's outer beacons. Three hours to docking—and to finding out if Sass was dead or alive.

***

HOLDING CELL, NAM SELAN

Where is Brandenfriend, Tank? Do you see him yet?

Protect Mommy! Bad Things here. Ugly smelly light. Protect!

Hours of forced inactivity had Tank in an emotional upheaval. Sass could almost feel him pacing in the air duct overhead. She tried to send him a sense of calm except she wasn't feeling particularly calm herself. _Tank, sweet baby. Listen, please. Important. Listen for Brandenfriend. Look for Brandenfriend._

Not here. Only Bad Thing. Smelly!

She never had figured out why furzels deemed the Ved to be smelly light. But the unique description left no doubt as to what they were dealing with, and why Tank was so upset.

_I know he's not here yet. He's on our Big Ship._ Well, she hoped he was. What if Ace Edmonds had demanded he leave for Varlow already? Then there would be no one Tank could reach on the _Regalia_. That would pretty much destroy any chance they had of escaping this alive.

_Big Ship, Tank. Big Ship comes. I need you to listen for Brandenfriend's thoughts, just like you did a few months ago when he was on the other Big Ship. The broken Big Ship._ Did Tank even remember how he'd Blinked from the _Regalia_ to the crumbling hulk of Kel-Paten's _Vaxxar_? She had no clear idea of a furzel's concept of time.

Plus, when the _Regalia_ had encountered the _Vax_ , Tank had been able to see Kel-Paten's image on the main viewscreen. Could she be wrong about what Tank could do? Did he have to actually see Branden in order to Blink to him?

If he did, they were in big trouble.

_You need to find a viewport, Tank. Big window here on station. Look out the windows for our Big Ship._ But damn, what vector would the Regalia be coming in on? She could be coming in from one direction and Tank could be watching another. The furzel could run himself ragged going from viewport to viewport all around the station's outer hull.

"Anything?" Zanorian's low question cut into her worried thoughts.

She shook her head. "I may not have sufficiently thought through the logistics of this." She explained her concerns.

"There are only three airlocks here that can accommodate a huntership that size," Zanorian told her. "That's the good news. The bad news is they're in three separate locations, and only two are on the main hub.

"But if I were attempting to commandeer your ship," he continued quietly as her spirits sank, "I wouldn't let it dock, wouldn't give any security teams access to the main station. I'd make you sit out at the inner beacon and send a tender or tug to transport in your key personnel. Who would then become additional hostages. Or target practice."

Lubashit on a lemon. Even if Tank could Blink Kel-Paten to her, there was no way the five of them—assuming Aliya and Suki were mobile—could take over the entire station. She needed the _Regalia_ to dock. She needed her security and ground-combat teams.

Without them, they were screwed.

She sucked in a hard breath. "Okay, Zanorian. We need a Plan B."

***

BRIDGE, REGALIA

"Commander Rembert." The communications officer half-turned at her station. "I have a Mella Sankar, a security tug operator, standing by on vidscreen four, asking to speak to you."

"Admiral?" Remy looked over at where Kel-Paten waited in the shadows of the hatchway to the corridor.

Kel-Paten shook his head. "Play it per our discussion, Mr. Rembert. I'm not here. You're in charge." He didn't know quite why he'd settled on that course of action except for the damning sixth sense that was cropping up again and again—unsettling when your brain was hard-wired for logic and factual data. Or maybe it was logic, an analysis of the facts that stated there was a very good reason why Nam Selan Station had sent Zanorian's recorded emergency message about Sass's illness to Rembert and not himself. If the message was, one, from Sass, and, two, genuine, it would have come to Kel-Paten. Therefore, it was either not from Sass, not genuine, or both.

If nothing else, _if_ the message was genuine, there was no way Zanorian would have missed a chance to refer to Kel-Paten as "Tin Soldier."

Yet he didn't refer to Kel-Paten at all in the message. And he _knew_ Kel-Paten was on the _Regalia_.

The face of a harried-looking gray-haired woman appeared on screen four. She couldn't see Kel-Paten, but he could see her. She wore a rumpled freighter standard-issue uniform. Basic cockpit electronics behind her.

"Yah, right, Rembert, is it? Yah. Tug Oppie Sankar. Troubles on station, you know this? Explosion, crazy bad. Knocked out comm, you name it. So I'm it, you know? I deliver messages. Here's yours: station can't take you at dock. Yah? So we be sending security shuttle, like, half an hour. You gots med team? Seats six. You come, though, yah? Mekkie, he talks at you. Important."

Kel-Paten listened closely. The woman's accent and jargon was typical rim, especially this close to Danvarral. But there was something odd, something flat in her cadence. He couldn't quite place it.

"Thank you, Operator Sankar," Rembert replied, leaning forward in the command sling. "Do you have any update on Captain Sebastian's condition?"

The woman stared blankly at him, then: "What I said is all I knows. Mekkie, he gots all the info. So you come talk to him." Her faced creased for a moment in a frown. "Oh, yah. Last thing. None of them furzels. We gots, ah, we gots this kind of virus thing. Makes 'em real sick."

Kel-Paten stiffened as a warning prickled the back of his neck.

"Not good for them, yah?" The woman continued. "Got air-scrubbers working but..." She shrugged. "Crazy bad explosion. All I knows. Sankar out."

The screen blanked.

Rembert swung around, his face tight with concern. "You heard."

Kel-Paten nodded slowly. "No furzels." He couldn't let himself think about what might have happened to the one who had accompanied Sass. He slapped at his comm badge as he turned toward the corridor. "Dr. Monterro, Kel-Paten. I'm on my way down to sick bay. Find a med-tech uniform that fits me."

***

HOLDING CELL, NAM SELAN

"Look, Sass, I'm sorry. But it's not going to work." Zanorian sounded tired, and not just from pacing the small cell in annoyance, and, she suspected, desperation.

Sass knew the feeling. She was exhausted. So was Tank. She'd been feeling the furzel straining, reaching mentally for Kel-Paten for over an hour. Nothing. "But—"

"No, damn you, listen to me. Get that fur ball of yours to get you out of here, now. There's got to be a machine shop or something nearby. Get the tethers off. Do whatever you have to do, kill whoever you have to kill, but get some weapons. Come back and get me out of here if you can, but if you can't..." He glared down at her. "Hell, I've had a good life, lasted longer than I probably should have."

"I am not leaving you behind."

"You are, Lady Sass. You are. That fur ball gets you out of here, he can get you into an outbound freighter. Hijack it. That's something I know you know how to do."

"I need you, and Aliya and Suki. Especially if the _Regalia_ 's been compromised."

"Would be six-shades-of-stupid to head to your ship. Head insystem to Danvarral. Gund'jalar's people will help you."

She sat in stony silence, heart pounding, teeth clenched. She knew he was right. Tactically, logically, that was their best option. But she'd never in her entire career—not as a mercenary, not as a military officer—abandoned a friend. Or abandoned her crew or her ship. Or...Kel-Paten.

Gods.

She closed her eyes and swallowed the lump in her throat. The Triad knew how to kill him. And they'd do exactly that on sight.

But she had no choice. She arched her back against the bulkhead and pushed herself awkwardly to her feet.

"I will come back for you," she told Zanorian fiercely. "I—" She stopped, and started listening, feeling, sensing. Reaching.

"I'm not going anywhere," she said, her voice suddenly a flat whisper, her skin cold. "Tank's not answering me. I can't feel him. He's gone."

***

SICK BAY, REGALIA

Brandenfriend!

Kel-Paten spun around, almost knocking over Cal Monterro. "Tank?" _Tank?_ He scanned sick bay's large main room, seeing nothing but Remy and four security officers struggling into hastily-assembled blue med-tech uniforms.

Brandenfriend?

There. In the corner by some diagnostic equipment. A small bedraggled black and white form, sides heaving, legs buckling, red blood matting his muzzle and down his neck...

"Tank!" He shoved past Remy. "Cal, over here, now!"

"Got him! Code red!" Dr. Monterro's voice boomed through the sick bay intercoms. "Stat!"

Two med-techs charged in.

_Bad Thing. Bad Thing._ Tank's voice was weak in Kel-Paten's mind as Dr. Monterro carefully lifted the furzel onto a nearby diag bed. _Mommy Sass... Sorry. So sorry._

Kel-Paten's gut clenched. His heart stopped. The pain emanating from the furzel was almost unbearable. He gently stroked one finger down the only clean patch he could find on the furzel's head. The rest of Tank's body was either matted with blood or being covered with med-brooches and probes.

"Talk to me, Cal."

"He's very weak, admiral. The blood seems to be coming from a vicious nose bleed."

A side effect of Blinking here, across such a distance, perhaps? He prayed that's all it was. "Will he...live?"

"Given his small size...we're doing all we can, sir," Monterro replied without looking up. "Is he telling you anything?"

"He said... Bad Thing. Ved'eskhar." The term chilled him further. "And... Sass. Mommy Sass he calls her. Tank said that..." He had to stop to clear the lump from his throat. "He said he's sorry."

That brought Cal's face up to his. The man's expression was bleak.

A security officer behind him swore under her breath.

The chill inside Kel-Paten turned into a thick sheet of ice. He slapped at his comm badge. "Bridge! Kel-Paten here. Red alert, full shields, weapons hot. Get the rest of the patrol group moving to our coordinates. Now! We're taking that station. Obliterate anything that gets in our way."

No, Brandenfriend, no!

What? "Tank?"

The furzel struggled against Monterro's hands. _No!_

"Admiral, what is it?" Monterro was glancing from Tank to Kel-Paten and back to Tank again.

"He's telling me no."

No Big Ship!

"No big...he's saying don't bring this ship in."

Mommy Sass said... No. Big. Ship. Brandenfriend Blink. Blink with Tank.

"He wants to Blink, to teleport me somewhere. To the station, I think."

Monterro shook his head. "Sir, he's very weak from loss of blood."

"Tank, do you understand?" He stroked the furzel's head again. "You're sick. You need to rest. You could be very sick if you try to Blink somewhere now. And that won't help Sass."

_Protect Mommy Sass. Bring Brandenfriend. No Big Ship._ A golden-eyed gaze bore into his.

"This ship will bring me to Sass. Me and everyone here." He swung one arm out to indicate the security contingent in the room. "More. As many as we need to protect her."

No. Big. Ship.

Then an image, hazy and distorted, flashed into Kel-Paten's mind: armed black-clad humans standing at every airlock, every access way, in every corridor.

With chilling clarity, he understood. It was a trap. The Triad had control of Nam Selan. And they intended to slaughter anyone coming in through an airlock or docking port.

He quickly activated his comm badge again. "Rembert, send a flash priority-encrypted message to Admiral Edmonds at U-Cee central command. Nam Selan in hands of the Triad. We are engaging. Will advise."

Then Tank flashed him something else: Sass, hands tethered to her waist, head bowed over her knees.

She was alive. She had to be.

He yanked off his now-useless blue lab coat and looked at Cal Monterro. "Patch him up, give him a stim, do whatever you can in the next thirty minutes to get him functional. Tank and I are going in. Alone."

***

HOLDING CELL, NAM SELAN

A low rumble. Sass and Zanorian exchanged glances, confirming that he was feeling what she was through the decking under the asses. Rescue? Or—

Then, a faint high-pitched whine.

"Station's powering up defense shields," Zanorian said, leaning toward her.

She nodded, recognizing the signs and what they meant: _Regalia_ was coming in, either in a direct-on attack or lured into a trap. Either way, it meant Tank hadn't been able to reach Kel-Paten. Her chest felt tight. She hadn't heard from Tank either.

_Please be safe_ , she prayed in desperation for Tank, for Branden... The ache she felt inside was large enough to encompass them both.

"Have any idea of what the defenses are?" she asked him, because she didn't want to think further about Tank or Kel-Paten, or what the next hour might bring.

"Negative. I haven't been here in, oh, five or so years. This whole deal with the U-Cees and Mekkie, that was all done through transmits up to this point."

She knew that. It hadn't seemed odd at the time, given the station's remote location and reputation of its inhabitants. She'd figured Mekkie didn't want any visitors—especially not U-Cee—until he was sure of what he was getting into.

She'd figured wrong. It was the U-Cees who had no idea what they were getting into. Or why Nam Selan's new owners really wanted the _Regalia_.

"But last I remember," Zanorian continued, "station's defenses could do some serious damage if an unauthorized ship got close enough."

"They won't destroy the _Regalia_ ," she mused, even though initially she'd been sure that was the enemy's goal. But then she remembered those delays in the negotiations with Nam Selan and paired that with the fact that their captors thought Rembert was senior on board. Things clicked into place. "At least not completely destroyed. They want my personnel neutralized, yes. But the ship?" She shook her head. " _That's_ their prize."

"A huntership? No offense but she's hardly unique."

"She's the only huntership in the U-Cee fleet with Kel-Paten's complete plans for the vortex generator. But the Triad couldn't attack the ship while he was on board, because with his cybernetic capacity, he could erase everything with a few thoughts. No one else on board has the clearance _and_ the ability to do that."

Zanorian studied her for a few long seconds as her theory, and, no doubt, its dire ramifications, sunk in. Finally he nodded, then let his head drop back against the bulkhead. He stared at the overhead, his features blank, his mouth grim. She guessed he was figuring their odds of staying alive. Not good at this point.

"Once the Triad has my ship, they won't need us as hostages anymore."

His bleak gaze met hers in silent agreement. With a sigh, she arched her shoulders. Her back ached, her arms cramped, her wrists were raw from the tethers, and her ass hurt like hell. All reminders she was still alive. "We need to get out of here."

"Mind reader."

"Any ideas?"

He pursed his mouth. "Only one. Brute force. I'm big. You're mean as hell for a little shit. Next time that door opens, we go for whoever comes through it. Make a run for it."

"They'll shoot us."

"They'll do that eventually anyway, Sass."

The finality in his tone made her gut clench. "I know."

"I'm not going to die sitting on my ass."

"Damn right." She pushed against the wall, bringing her feet under her. "We could," she said, shoving herself upright, "be standing a long time."

"Negative." Zanorian was copying her movements. "We're about due for our next gourmet meal."

That could be good. A guard with his hands full of the tall mugs would need a few seconds to reach for his weapon. They needed those few seconds, desperately.

"I'll take point," she said. "I'm visually less threatening."

Zanorian snorted. "Only visually."

"You take the left." She paced as she talked, careful not to get too far away from the metal door. They had to be ready to move the moment they heard the click of the locks. "I'll go low, for the guard's mid-section. You'll need to counter for his backward motion."

"And for anyone behind him."

They both knew the drill. They'd done it before, several times, when she was a raft rat and mercenary-in-training infatuated with the tall flamboyant smuggler. They were both street fighters. Sometimes, when up against someone with only military training, that kind of pedigree could give an edge.

"We get through, break immediately right," Zanorian said. "Then hard left. There should be a cross corridor a dozen feet or so away."

"Got it."

"I think we're fairly close to station's core here, and the vertical maintenance accessways. You know what those hatches look like."

She flapped her tethered hands. "Opening one could be a problem."

"Yeah, well, we'll deal with that when—"

The cell door locks clicked. Sass's heart rate spiked but her vision, her concentration, focused. She dropped into kill-or-be-kill mode.

Zanorian sprang into position. "Here we go," he ground out through tight lips.

The door slid open. Black uniform. Big. Sass lunged, slammed into a hard chest. Zanorian rammed into the guard from the side. She stumbled, pushed forward again. Then Zanorian flew backward, and arms like metal bands went around her, lifting her up. She heard Zanorian hit the decking, heard him swear—

—and she stared into a pair of eerily glowing pale blue eyes.

_Fuck_. Her heart plummeted like a dying freighter caught in a star's gravity well. Not the meal-time guard. The Kel-Paten construct.

They were dead.

The Ved-controlled creature swung her back inside the cell, the door clicking closed behind him. In a kind of crazed desperation, she kicked at his shins, trying to wrench out of his grasp, but he shoved her against the bulkhead, pinning her, immobilizing her as he—

—kissed her, hard. And in an undeniably familiar way. _Looove Mommy Sass! Looove Brandenfriend!_ sounded in her mind.

"Branden?" she squeaked when he broke the kiss. She was breathing hard. So was he. She was also still pinned against the bulkhead, boots dangling in the air. She tried to look over his shoulder. "Tank?"

The fat furzel was standing on Zanorian's chest, licking the blond man's face. Relief flooded her as tears stung the backs of her eyes. Tank! He was okay, safe. Kel-Paten was—

—carefully lowering her to the decking. "Sass." His voice held the raspy note it did when he struggled with his feelings. "You okay?"

She had to swallow hard before she could answer. "Yeah." Relatively speaking. There wasn't an inch of her that didn't ache. She studied him carefully as he examined the tether cuffs on her wrists, her blood still racing in her ears from the surge of adrenalin. His hair was the right length; his face showed the right amount of years. And Tank was here.

Kel-Paten glanced briefly at her as if he felt her scrutiny, and she saw now that familiar and contradictory mix of stoicism and emotion that always tugged at her heart and told her that, yes, he was the real Branden.

He dropped his gaze back to her cuffs. He ran gloved fingers over their surface as if reading their construction, then, shaking his head, snapped the tether lines. "Best I can do for now. We don't have a lot of time."

Oh, gods, her hands were free! Muscles spasmed, but it was a joyous sensation. "That's good for now," she breathed out. Tank trotted over to her and she bundled him into her arms, nuzzling him gently because she saw the med brooches on his shoulder and chest. Something had happened.

_Tank okay!_ The furzel reassured her. _Tank strong again. Calfriend fix!_

Kel-Paten glanced at where Zanorian had pulled himself into a sitting position. "Sorry about that, Zanorian." He didn't sound sorry.

"The pleasure was all mine, Tin Soldier." He indicated his cuffed hands with a jerk of his chin. "Me next?"

As Kel-Paten knelt next to Zanorian, Sass said, "We might be on camera."

"Took care of that," Kel-Paten replied, snapping Zanorian's lines. Both men rose. Zanorian shook out his arms with obvious relief.

"Status?" she asked Kel-Paten, as he palmed a small laser pistol from his weapons belt. He held it out to her. She lowered Tank to the decking, then holstered the weapon.

Kel-Paten handed a second pistol to Zanorian. "Rembert's keeping station defenses busy while staying just out of range. Rest of our patrol group is engaged with a Triad battle squadron that thought it was hiding out by the jump gate. Based on the images Tank was able to give me of what was happening here on station, I figured they'd be there."

Kel-Paten was back in full 'cybe mode. Sass knew he had to be.

"Next up is disabling station's defense grid," he continued. "I probably should have done that first but I had to find you, _needed_ to find you." His voice rasped again.

Okay, so not completely in full 'cybe mode.

"Disabling the defense grid, eh? Think I can help with that." Zanorian laced his hands together and cracked his knuckles. "Gods, that feels good." He motioned toward the corridor. "What's out there that we need to worry about?"

"Nothing in this section between the two blast doors. At least, not anymore." Kel-Paten sounded distinctly pleased. "Direct access to the station's core is also clear on this level."

"We in level Able One-Seven?"

"We are."

"Twenty minutes at most then. But we have something to do first." At Kel-Paten's arched eyebrow, Zanorian continued. "They've got Aliya and Suki in lockup. I want my crew back, Kel-Paten. Then we'll go kick some woo-woo-controlled Triad ass.

The arched eyebrow lowered into a frown. "The security monitors didn't show them in this section."

Sass hunkered down in front of her furzel. "Tank, can you sense Liyafriend and Sukifriend?"

Below. Below. Angry. Hungry.

"Tank says—"

Kel-Paten grasped her elbow as she stood. "Heard him. Probably a secondary holding cell section on the next deck down."

"Ballast One-Seven," Zanorian confirmed.

Kel-Paten slanted a glance in his direction. "Pretty familiar with various detention facilities, are you, Zanorian?"

"Thought you might need a recommendation."

"Gentlemen, not now." Sass put her best 'the captain is at the end of her patience' tone in her voice. "Branden, do we have time to get to them?"

"Depends on how long it takes us to neutralize the guards and any alarms," he answered as he opened the cell door.

Zanorian followed them out into the corridor. "I'm not leaving them."

"We won't," Sass assured him. "But disabling the defense grid takes priority."

"They can help. Suki worked a tech position here when Mekkie first took over. For all I know, half the programs are all her code work."

"We'd need to get them out of there in no more than twelve minutes and without setting off any alarms. This," and Kel-Paten motioned to the now-empty guard console, "going off line for thirty minutes is one thing. A secondary failure could put the station in a high security lock down."

"Too difficult for you to handle, Tin Soldier?"

Kel-Paten's eyes narrowed. "Zanorian."

"I just figured out how to get them out," Sass cut in, hope blossoming. "We need to change clothes. That one over there," she told Zanorian, pointing to a male guard facedown on the decking by the security console, "looks about your size."

Zanorian flipped the unconscious guard over, then unzipped his black uniform jacket. "And what guarantee do we have that we won't run into the Tin Soldier's evil twin?"

"Because we've met," Kel-Paten smiled grimly. "And it wasn't pleasant for him."

"Shame. He was the better-looking—"

"Zanorian." Sass pulled on another guard's black jacket. "Get dressed. Shut up. And not necessarily in that order. We have eleven minutes."

***

DOCKING PORT THREE, REGALIA

In the ten ship days since the U-Cees had taken control of Nam Selan station, Admiral Branden Kel-Paten had tolerated—barely—Dag Zanorian's annoying presence in the wardroom, the ready room, Sass's office, and even in the _Regalia's_ gym. But finally, _finally_ the bastard pirate was heading home—or wherever it was Zanorian went when he wasn't aggravating decent people.

The fact that he'd been helpful in ferreting out the latent worm program, installed when that damaged Triad fighter had come aboard weeks before, and which had been sending information from the _Regalia_ to the Ved-controlled Triad, didn't change that fact that Kel-Paten would be very happy if he never saw the man again.

"Supplies loaded, all refueled," Zanorian announced as Kel-Paten strode up with Sass and Tank by his side.

"You're welcome," Kel-Paten told him.

Zanorian snorted, then rocked back on his heels a moment. He looked at the decking, then back up. He sighed. "Yeah, well. I probably should have said this before. Days ago. But, well, you know how it is." He shrugged. Then: "Ah, hell." Zanorian lunged forward, drawing Sass into an embrace. "Thanks. I owe you, Lady Sass. And you..."

He released Sass and clumsily threw one arm around a very surprised Kel-Paten, thumping him on the back. "You saved my life, my crew. Thanks." He paused. "Admiral."

Then just as quickly, and almost as awkwardly, Zanorian stepped back and saluted.

Sass burst out laughing. "You're welcome, Zanorian. Now get your sorry ass off my ship. We have work to do."

"By your leave. Captain. Admiral." He looked down at the furzel by Sass's side. "Fur ball." He chuckled softly. "Excuse me. Honor where honor is due. _Commander_ Fur ball. Thank you as well."

Then he was gone, the airlock clanking shut behind him.

Kel-Paten stared at the closed airlock hatch and then down at Sass, his mind trying to process what had just happened.

"It looks like Zanorian is capable of showing respect. He deemed Tank a commander. And he called you admiral," she said. "That's a first from him. No more Tin Solider. You should be pleased."

He was. But it had less to do with Zanorian's new-found respect, and everything to do with what he'd just seen: the blond-haired pirate drawing Sass into his arms. Not a premonition of a lover's embrace, as he'd feared. But of a friend's gratitude. And yes, of a friend's respect.

But wait. Gods' blessed rumps! This was not good, not good at all. Branden Kel-Paten was now stuck with Zanorian as a friend.

A small fist playfully punched his arm. "I know that frown. Whatever you're thinking, stop it."

He grabbed that same small fist, and then the other, and drew her into his arms. "Then give me something else to think about," he said in a low voice.

"How about calculating the time it will take us to get from here to our cabin?"

"Nine minutes, twenty-two seconds."

She gave a soft laugh. "Okay, flyboy. Let's see if we can make it in eight."

They did.

LINNEA SINCLAIR

About the Author

Winner of the prestigious national book award, the RITA®, science fiction romance author **Linnea Sinclair** is a name synonymous with high-action, emotionally intense, character-driven novels. Reviewers note that Sinclair's novels "have the wow-factor in spades," earning her accolades from both the science fiction and romance communities. Her books have claimed spots in the _Locus_ Top Ten and received starred reviews in _Publisher's Weekly._ _Romantic Times BOOKreviews_ magazine consistently gives Sinclair's books 4-1/2 stars (their highest rating). _Starlog_ magazine calls Sinclair "one of the reigning queens of science fiction romance." _The Down Home Zombie Blues_ , her 2007 release, was optioned for movie production in 2010 and began principle photography _as The Down Home Alien Blues_ in February 2011. Release date TBA.

Sinclair, a former news reporter and retired private detective, resides in Naples, Florida (winters) and Columbus, Ohio (summers) with her husband, Robert Bernadino, and their thoroughly spoiled cats. Readers can find her perched on the third barstool from the left in her Intergalactic Bar and Grille at www.linneasinclair.com.

Awards or Special Recognition

RWA RITA® award winner

RWA Triple RITA® award finalist

EPPIE award winner

PRISM award winner

PEARL award winner

SAPPHIRE award winner

_Romantic Times_ Reviewer's Choice Award winner

Story Inspiration

This is my second "Sass and Kel-Paten" novella. The characters are from GAMES OF COMMAND, my 2007 release from Bantam Books (http://www.linneasinclair.com/books.html). It's funny—or maybe not so funny—that the book has generated two novellas because the book was "born" from a series of email adventures to a good friend. And here it is in "short form" again.

For those who've not read GAMES OF COMMAND, I hope the story still works for you. But honestly, it will make more sense if you read the book first—or else you also venture into spoiler land with the short stories.

Here's some BSP on GAMES:

"Games of Command is a wonderful book. Linnea Sinclair has written a unique and utterly intriguing hero in Kel-Paten. Sexy, complex and devoted, he's a man to fall in love with." - Nalini Singh, author of Visions Of Heat

"Games of Command... features not one but two sexy, dangerous heroes, along with two strong, capable women and two fabulous furry furzels. Sinclair whips her characters through a story that is as exciting and action packed as it is passionate. Games of Command is not to be missed." - Mary Jo Putney, author of Stolen Magic

**Other Works by This Author:** http://www.linneasinclair.com/books.html

Stand-Alones include:

FINDERS KEEPERS

AN ACCIDENTAL GODDESS

GAMES OF COMMAND

THE DOWN HOME ZOMBIE BLUES

Dock Five Universe Series:

GABRIEL'S GHOST

SHADES OF DARK

HOPE'S FOLLY

REBELS AND LOVERS

Anthologies include:

**THE MAMMOTH BOOK OF FUTURISTIC ROMANCE** , Trisha Telep, ed.

"Seven Months of Forever," "Macawley's List"

**SONGS OF LOVE & DEATH**. George R R Martin, ed.

"Courting Trouble"

Web Site

www.linneasinclair.com

Linnea Sinclair – Interstellar Adventure Infused with Romance

Author Contact

Email – linnea@linneasinclair.com

Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/pages/Linnea-Sinclair/75135631090

## Prime Sensations

by Liana Brooks

"Unidentified vessel, we are Waste Hauler 133 out of Darrian 6. We carry no trade or crew," the ship's AI droned in a bored monotone.

Lana dropped into the waste hauler's modified control booth and took over. "Unidentified vessel, be advised. I steer like a drunken moose, alter your course." The reverb over the frequently patched comm lines made her sound like an old man with a lifelong bitter-root habit.

Sweat dripped down her nose. The waste hauler had a hull thirty years older than she was, and an environmental system older than that. It had survived two major system wars by being too worthless to target. And Lana was well aware that, as a debtor working off her ransom to the Iloni nation, she was slightly less valuable than the ship.

The comm crackled and she thought she heard the word "boarding."

"Unidentified vessel, I am deaf and blind. I give you no authorization to come near this vessel. If you keep to your projected course I will have no choice but to heartlessly smash your hull because of physics."

The other ship tried to respond.

Lana grimaced and tried to compensate for the ancient communications array. "Mass times acceleration, unidentified vessel. I can't slow down in time."

"Waste Hauler 133, this is the _Marsail_ out of Port Tael, flying the flag of the Exaner Confederation. Prepare to be boarded."

Black holes and dark nights! Port Tael was a pirate station, taken by the outer rim unification during the Apex War, and currently under stars only knew which warlord.

She leaned against the rough metal of the control booth. They probably wanted to pick over the hauler for parts. Stars knew there was enough wreckage welded in to rebuild a fleet. She should probably get dressed.

Lana sniffed her armpit. Maybe a shower was in order. And clothes. And snacks. The _Marsail_ wouldn't cross paths with her hauler for a few more hours, and it was the most exciting thing to happen since she'd been taken as a prisoner of war three years ago.

The _Marsail_ managed to land on the bulky waste hauler with a finesse Lana would have envied a few years ago, back when she'd thought her rift rat piloting skills would be enough to win the attention she craved. It never had.

She tossed a boiled nut into her mouth and watched the pirate crew's slow progress through the hull. If there'd been someone to bet against, she would have wagered they'd go for the hard metals compartment, maybe grab some radiated shielding or a new engine converter. Her second bet was the food waste department, where they might try panning for seeds. Not that it would do them any good—the Iloni poisoned the food waste to ensure the vegetation of Darrian 6 wasn't sold on the black market—but they were welcome to try.

The enemy ship latched on like a leech and sliced through her hull. The crew moved methodically toward the control deck. If she'd had a weapon, she would have gone out to meet them. The only gear worth having was the bits she'd salvaged. Not enough to build a shuttle, not yet, but in another year or three she'd have a means of escape. If they took that...

Lana eyed the console and considered the maneuvers she'd need to shake the smaller ship off. Scrapping them against the mine corridor that kept her from diverting off course sounded promising. She was running over the possible course corrections needed when someone banged on the door of the control booth.

"Pilot?" The person hammered on the door again. "Waste Hauler Pilot, open this door."

She raised an eyebrow and grabbed another boiled nut. Telling the intruder she'd survived far worse than they could dish out was a waste of oxygen. Right now, she was breathing. If that changed in the next few minutes, no one was going to care, least of all her.

"Open this door or we will open it for you."

"Be my guest."

"Stand back."

She looked around at the cramped booth, a cylinder of buttons, viewing screens, and control panels. Given enough time and the right tools, she could rip out the main radar and stuff herself into the box, but that would take at least an hour. The door in front of her radiated heat.

Lana lifted the chair that had long ago rusted loose just in time to prevent hot metal shrapnel from hitting her face. "Hi." She set the chair down so she could look into the black faceplate of her attacker. With a smile, she slapped the panic button that sent the waste hauler into a death spiral, alarm beacons screaming. "Iloni forces will be here within the hour. Do you want to shoot me now, or later?" The increased gravity of the spiral pulled at her. For a moment it looked like her attacker planned on retreating. She winked at the black face mask. "Pretty girl got your tongue?"

The invader pushed past her, boots scrapping along the floor, and fumbled to hit the bypass code with large hands. "You think I don't know that trick?"

"Do you think I care what you know?"

The faceplate cleared as he turned to her. And Lana found herself staring into the shocked eyes of Kaleb Hath—the man who'd left her for dead.

Lana's nails bit into her palms as her fists clenched. "Commander Hath, if I'd known it was you, I would have vented my oxygen an hour ago."

***

Kaleb swore behind his faceplate. "Our information said Rear Commander Daniels was on this vessel." He'd been expecting a craggy octogenarian with a tactical mind second to none, not the woman who haunted his dreams. His eyes flicked to the oxygen stats on his body armor. Everything was operating under normal parameters, so why did he feel like his head was about to float out the space lock?

Dark eyes narrowed. "Leave, before I start the decompression sequence."

"I'm wearing armor, Lana. You can't kill me with decompression." His fingers twitched as he fought the urge to strip his armor off and run his hands across her body to assure himself it really was her. Stars, it had been so long. She looked so thin, so...beaten.

"But I _can_ kill myself, which would mean never seeing you again. We'd both be happy."

He stiffened. "I would never hurt you."

"Really? Dropping my team into the middle of a training ground to pick up your weapons wasn't a suicide mission? The fact that you could only make one pass and only picked up _your_ soldiers wasn't accidental at all?"

"That was your call, not mine." He'd gone over it again and again in his mind. Reliving the drop, the fire fight, and that single pass when he'd tried to pull everyone out. But they'd only had one dropship left, and Lana was team leader. "You opted to stay behind so everyone else could get out."

Lana turned away from him. "I thought you'd come back, but I guess I didn't mean enough to you." She dropped into the pilot's seat. "Take what you want, then get out. Run back to your pretty little farm, and your fawning little lieutenant. I'm not fighting your war anymore."

Kaleb's throat went dry. The soft feedback of his breathing was the only sound. "The war's over, Lana."

"Congratulations. I don't care what you did to the Iloni. I won't work with Quintus again."

"The war was over before we hit that supply depot. By the time we broke out of there, the Iloni had won."

She looked back at him, large brown eyes wide with confusion "What? How's that even possible?"

"Do you remember the rockets they had? The ELE Terrorizers?"

"Extinction Level Event..." He saw her thoughts catching up with his words. "They wouldn't dare. They couldn't!"

"They did. Every single outer planet sent into nuclear winter. Over ninety percent of the population wiped out. We're all pirates now, stealing what we can, and starving when we can't grab enough."

Lana gave him a withering look. "And you thought the Rear Commander would somehow provide a miracle? I haven't seen another living human being in three years and I'm already regretting this encounter. Can't you and the rest of the species go die without me?"

"I have the miracle. I just need a strategy to steal it." Kaleb smiled. "What do you say, Lana? One more heist, for old time's sake?"

***

A gray shirt, too large to be flattering, and olive drab pants that were too short for the name replaced Lana's yellow coveralls. No one alive could make the combination look flattering, but after years of wearing the same rough fabric, the clothes from the _Marsail_ felt like butter against her skin.

Squeezing the last of the water from her freshly washed hair, Lana took a deep breath. _Clean air._ Clean, cool, recycled, and properly recharged air. It smelled like Kaleb, black holes and darkest night take him. Seeing him again made the memories of their raid on the Prenta Compound of Darrian 5 resurface like toxic gas bubbling up from a swamp. There had been times when she'd screamed herself awake, shouting for someone to take cover. But it was the memories of the nights spent with Kaleb on the planet Quintus that stole her breath and turned her blood to ice.

She'd been a gunner on the pirate ship _Teela's Revenge_. Their captain had led a successful raid on one of the Iloni agro ships that orbited near the third planet; plants, seeds, three holds full of food ready to be shipped to the Iloni home world. Captain Fidela traded regularly with the Quintus government, and the haul had been worth a celebration. Kaleb had been there, handsome in his dress white uniform, and strikingly different.

Lana forced herself to check her image in the small mirror of her berth. The woman in the reflection was a gaunt wraith compared to the woman she'd once been. With a glare, she reminded herself that appearance didn't matter. Looks had gotten her into this mess.

_That party._ Kaleb watching her across a crowded room; she feeling self-conscious because she'd run out of the bleach needed to dye her hair Outer Planets Pale. Her dark hair and eyes tattled on her. Everyone knew she was an Iloni bastard. Some wanted to take her as an exotic conquest. Most avoided her. Kaleb had caught her eye and winked.

He had the same dark hair and eyes as she, but _his_ personality turned him from pariah into exotic godling. Everyone loved Kaleb. He was charming, he was witty, he was smart, he was carved out of muscles, and tasted like Melinian spiced wine. She, the rift rat without polish or charm who stumbled through every conversation, had gotten drunk on his attentions. Within weeks, she'd invited him to bed.

They'd become lovers, and then partners in war when the _Revenge_ signed onto the pact. She'd voted for that. The Iloni needed to be stopped, the Outer Planets needed to retain their sovereignty. And joining the Apex War meant spending more time with Kaleb.

Darkest night, but there were days she wanted to slap her younger self silly.

She stepped into the corridor and looked around. The _Marsail_ was an old Radial-style ship. _Teela's Revenge_ had been a Radial-238, with holds and berths on the outer circle, engines and common areas in the center, and a control level and guns sandwiched between the two ends. More hours than she could recall had been spent running laps around the central engine core.

The _Marsail,_ though _,_ looked like a Radial-Dima model. Instead of a control level there was an elongated core running through the axis of the ship. Walking into the common room, she didn't see the core access. But Kaleb was there.

He stood, smiling. She turned away, shutting him out. Feigning interest in the computers, Lana pulled up information on the war. She'd guessed there was an end in sight when the ransom notice came, but to use the ELE bombs? The pictures on file were horrific. Entire planets' ecosystems reduced to ash. Starving survivors and frozen victims.

People began shuffling in. They walked past her, muttering. "Iloni," as in times past, was a favorite word. The accents were from all over the outer rim of the solar system. She even caught a few phrases delivered in rift rat cant.

And through it all she could feel Kaleb watching her. His stare heated the back of her neck. Lana rubbed it, and flipped him an obscene gesture. Her reward was a soft baritone chuckle.

Three years ago it would have led to him coming over to whisper in her ear. Whispers would have turned to flirting, then flirting to kissing—and she would have woken up the next morning naked in his arms.

Lana glanced at the dark monitor beside her. Kaleb's reflection still watched her, his eyes filled with the same combination of desire, regret, and loss that she knew too well. How many times had he looked at her like that before a mission? How many times had he kissed her good-bye and begged her to come back safe? It hurt to know that look so well, to know exactly what he was feeling with nothing more than a glance. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from smiling at him. He'd left her for dead. He hadn't even tried to save her. Whatever had been between them had been fun, but three years as an Iloni prisoner had confirmed all her worst fears. No matter what Kaleb might have said, he had never truly loved her.

"That's not Daniels," a nasal female voice said, just in case someone had mistaken Lana for the ancient general.

She turned in surprise. "Geana?"

The Melinian mercenary draped herself over Kaleb's shoulder, fine golden hair all but glowing. "I thought you were dead." Her smug tone suggested that since Lana was now inconveniently alive, death could be arranged.

Kaleb tried to shrink away from Geana, but it didn't work. She clung to him.

Lana shot back. "I guess being a mercenary wasn't enough. You've taken up whoring while I was away?" Melinians didn't usually sail with mixed race crews for merc work, but Geana might have signed on as Ship's Counselor, as they liked to call the captain's prosti.

Geana shrugged, a graceful movement any goddess would envy. "You know me. I'd do anything for cash."

"Or anyone," Lana muttered, shooting a dark look at Kaleb. She'd read him wrong after all. That hadn't been loss and desire in his eyes; it had probably been Geana-induced fatigue. With a toss of her head, Lana turned back to the computer console, her braid slapping the back of her chair with a wet thwack. Score one for the mercenary. Rift rats weren't pretty, just functional.

Kaleb cleared his throat. "Now that we're all here, we need to discuss what we're doing."

"We're going home!" someone shouted from the far side of the room. "Daniels was the key to this. We can't pull it off without him."

"Rear Commander Daniels would have been an asset. The information on where he was imprisoned was outdated. The good news is we found Lana instead. She was a gunner and combat team leader on _Teela's Revenge_. You know the _Revenge's_ reputation. Some of you have fought with Captain Fidela's pirates, so you know this isn't a bad trade."

_Not a bad trade._ She snorted and focused furiously on catching herself up on the news, tuning Kaleb out and filling herself in on the current political situation. Leaving the waste hauler was beginning to look like a huge mistake.

"We don't need Daniels for this," Kaleb continued. "The original plan still holds." The lights in the room dimmed as he turned on the holograms, but she refused to look. "The Iloni High Command has traditionally kept the Nova Crystals at an undisclosed location on Darrian 6. Even during the height of the war, our intelligence network could never pinpoint their location. Six weeks ago, they were moved to a display for the Imperator's birthday celebration."

There were gasps around the room.

Lana snuck a glance at the hologram of Darrian 6. A string of brightly-colored terraforming gems stretched from Prime orbital space station down to the Iloni capital city. Each Nova Crystal was a different color, and some were larger than the asteroid fragments she'd collected as a miner. Even in the muted light of the holo-projection, the crystals glowed like a summer rainbow, full of hope and promise. A single Nova Crystal could terraform a planet in under a decade. It was the technology that had allowed humanity to settle the Outer Planets. The crystals hadn't been on display in centuries. Stars above! The Imperator might have spelled out an obscene message with solar flares with less trouble. The Outer Planets weren't dead yet, and she hoped she'd have a chance to ram that fact down the Imperator's throat one day.

"Prime Orbital is too well guarded for our team to enter. It's the primary control point for the nexus web that holds the Nova Crystals on display, and only full-blooded Iloni from ruling families are allowed there."

Someone nearby muttered, "Pleasure dome."

"Exactly. The Iloni might not be very empathetic but they like their vices as much as anyone," Kaleb said. "We can't get in there. Below is the secondary entry point." The light flickered as the holo-projection changed to an image of a dull-looking green building on Darrian 6. "The tethers are here, and this is where the cleaning crews enter. The nexus web needs regular cleaning, and the crews change out daily. We'll put a team in as a cleaning crew, grab one of the patrol ships tethered there, and swoop out with the Nova Crystals."

"It won't work," said a business-like voice. Lana was surprised to find it was hers.

***

Kaleb looked across the room at Lana's back. Geana squeezed his hand in a bid for his attention, but he ignored her. "What do you mean, it won't work? It's simple. It gets us to the objective. We have the element of surprise in our favor. What could go wrong?"

Lana swiveled her chair around. "Everything?" Light from the computer played over her face, accenting the sharp angles. "If you do a smash and grab, nothing is going to stop the Iloni from pursuing you. And what about the primary power source for the nexus web? You think you can wish it away?"

"The nexus web cycles through sequences on a timer. They all do. There's always a reset when the secondary power source is holding up the web. We can get to the secondary power source, so that's the one we target. We get in, take down the power source, and snatch the Nova Crystals during a reset."

Lana shook her head. "You think no one will notice that?"

"Do you have a better idea?"

He couldn't see her well in the dark, but he knew Lana like he knew his own heartbeat—she was rolling her eyes.

"Don't I always?"

Kaleb smiled, too ready to pounce on her familiar offer to hide his pleasure at the way she fell into the well-worn roles they'd established years ago. When they'd worked as an insertion team on raids it had always been like this. He'd find an idea, she'd perfect it. And when they were done plotting their raids, they put their skills to use in the bedroom. Or the shower. Or...a shiver crawled down his spine as Lana stepped into the light of the holo-projector. From the scowl on her face, he knew her thoughts weren't aligned with his. He took a step back, inhaling the cold ship air and refocusing himself. "What would you suggest?"

Lana's finger trailed through the light of the holo-projector, changing the view so they could see Prime Orbital, the gems, and the capital of Darrian 6. "We need three teams. A small team hits Prime. The primary power source can't be altered by computer, but it _can_ be physically disconnected. Unless the Iloni have changed in the past three years, it's going to be a connection that's easily reachable for fast repairs. They like to keep things simple."

"It'll be guarded," Geana predicted. She leaned against Kaleb. He crossed his arms.

Lana's gaze flickered to them and then turned back to the layout. "Prime is the only guard they need. No one gets up there unless they have the name, rank, and cash. You'd never get in," she added with a catty smile aimed at Geana. "Your pale hair would mark you right away."

"I could be a sex worker," Geana said.

Lana shook her head. "You've never tried to crash Prime. We looked at it. It's a treasure trove—a pirate's wet dream—but we didn't have enough Iloni bastards on the _Revenge_ to make it work. Genetic contracts in the upper levels of the Iloni are arranged by the Imperator himself. Prime is where people go with their high-bred lovers when they want to avoid their legal spouses. The only people allowed up there are Iloni. Even the workers are Iloni purebreds."

"It's not legally adultery if it happens on Prime," Kaleb translated for the rest of the crew. Most of them were Outer Planets born or rift rats, and of the crew, he was certain Geana, Lana, and himself were the only ones who'd ever worked the inner system.

Geana looked at him. "Who cares if they have an affair if they have an arranged marriage for kids? You can have sex without getting knocked up."

"It's considered treason." He shrugged. "Don't look at me like that, I didn't make the rule."

Lana tapped her finger on the console. "With a fake or stolen ID, I can get in. I've passed for true Iloni on other raids." She flicked the layout to focus on the crystals and the patrol ships tethered around there. "Stealing an Iloni ship to grab the Nova Crystals is a good idea. There's no way we can get another ship past the perimeter, but we need the _Marsail_ in position near the rift. Team two is going to handle the actual grab. You'll need to get in as workers, get in position, and move in unison to untether or destroy the ships while the main ship grabs the crystals."

"What about the nexus web?" someone asked.

"I'll shut off the primary power, and the second team will turn the secondary power to forty percent. The alarm cutoff is around thirty or thirty-five, but forty is low enough that the power levels won't trigger an alarm, and that the nexus web will fail within minutes of the primary source getting cut."

"Where's the third team?" Geana asked.

Lana switched the display to show the Outer Planets. "Here. Do you think the Iloni will let you stroll away with the Nova Crystals and offer no retribution? Do you think they'll let you terraform the Outer Planets? The Iloni will destroy you, every last one of you. The Imperator won't care how many ships he loses. All that will matter will be reducing the Outer Planets to atoms, and you along with it. There'll be nothing left to terraform. We need every available ship in the outer system to reduce the Iloni long-range capacity to ash."

Kaleb sucked his breath in between his teeth. "You're talking about war. A second Apex War."

The light from the console flickered as Lana moved. "Do you want your farm or not, Hath?"

***

Lana retreated from the common room, hands shaking. Darkest night take Kaleb, she hadn't meant to say anything. She was just along for the ride. But that was their thing. He made an offer, she countered with something better, and then he was supposed to polish it off. Not turn it on her and make her accountable for dragging the Outer Planets back to war.

The door to her berth slid closed behind her and she collapsed onto the cold bed. Even her pillow smelled like Kaleb. She pushed herself up and then picked it up to sniff it again. It was in her imagination. Everything here reminded her that he was on the ship.

She lay back down, trying to remember the last time she'd been so nervous in front of a man. _Right._ When she'd first met Kaleb. He wasn't ashamed of what he looked like. He'd told her fellow gunner Ambris that he liked his dark hair, because it made him unique. The night she'd gone after him, she'd spent over an hour primping in the mirror, hoping he'd find her beautiful instead of freakishly abhorrent.

And now they were back at square one, planning to go to war.

She replayed the scene from the common room in her mind. Was there a better plan? A better way? She couldn't see one.

The Outer Planets needed those crystals, and if they wanted to rebuild without the Iloni destroying their worlds again, they had to eliminate the fleet's long range capabilities. No one had ever tried to take the inner system; no one wanted to overthrow the Imperator, except maybe the lower class Iloni. But the Outer Planets, with hundreds of years of individual sovereignty? It made sense they'd want it back.

There was a knock at her door. Kaleb, no doubt, come to apologize or beg or whatever it was old lovers did when they didn't want to get shot in the back because they'd abandoned you and left you to die.

"Go away."

The door slid open. Geana leaned against the doorframe. "Am I interrupting your beauty sleep?"

Lana pulled the pillow over her face. "Space yourself, Geana."

"He mourned for you, did you know that?"

"Do you need a hand written card to get the message? I don't want to talk to you. At all." Lana lifted the pillow and glared. "Can you even read? I don't want to waste my time writing a note if you can't read."

"He spent a year in mourning when you were lost," Geana repeated.

"We lost a lot of people on that mission. I wasn't the only one he was mourning." _He wasn't mourning me at all, the rat bastard._

"He hasn't taken another woman to his bed since. I know. I like to scout out my competition, but I was fighting a ghost."

"Kaleb doesn't ever take women to bed. He likes to be chased. Try seducing him. You'll get a better reaction."

Geana chuckled. "You think I didn't try that? Me? Come on, Lana, that was my move before you even had your first orgasm."

Lana sat up. "What do you want?"

"Kaleb."

She shrugged. "Hooray? What do you want me to say here? He's not mine. I don't want him. If you have a murder fetish and want a lover who will dump you at the first sign of trouble, more power to you. Personally, I think you could find starfish that make better lovers, but that's just my opinion."

"Kaleb would have been in my bed within the week, except you're back and instead of pining for a ghost, he's daydreaming of you. He's up on the command deck right now. He wants to talk to you, and what do you want to bet that he's going to offer to come climbing right back into your bed?"

Lana looked around. "A pillow?" She held it out for Geana to take.

"What?"

"I bet you a pillow that Kaleb won't be my lover ever again." She shrugged. "Sorry, it's all I have." She shook the pillow. "I'm betting everything I own that I will never be stupid enough to trust Kaleb Hath again. Does that satisfy you? Will you go strip him down and knock tumblies together now?"

Geana sneered. "Tell _him_ that. Because until he hears it from you, he's going to keep feeding his fantasy and I'm not going to get a tumble at all." She raised an eyebrow. "He _is_ waiting in the control room, by the way. As soon as your beauty rest is over, you should get up there and polish up this master plan of yours."

Lana growled. "Fine. I'll go tell him, then he can go hop on over to you while I do the work. Does that suit you?"

"Sounds fabulous." Geana gestured for her to move. "Ladies first."

Lana rolled her eyes and stalked toward the common room before remembering that this wasn't a Radial-238 and she had no idea how to access the control room.

"It's a Revolve-9," Geana called after her. "The access ladder is down the recline hall."

The ship designer must have been on drugs to put an access hatch in the recline hall, but that's where it was, half way down the slanted corridor that could unfold as a ramp if large equipment on this level needed to be replaced. She climbed the ladder, cursing silently, and stepped into the dimly lit control room. Kaleb sat hunched over the central screen.

***

Adrian Hatheron di Vera—the name glowed in yellow letters on Kaleb's screen. He touched the screen, pulling up a picture of an Iloni nobleman dressed in the uniform of the Imperator's elite personal guard. Beneath di Vera's pedigree, the pilfered documents listed his education, accomplishments, and the subsequent disgrace that had resulted in a life sentence of servitude. A lesser born Iloni would have found himself mining asteroids or burning to death on the farms of Darrian I, but not di Vera. No. The Imperator had outdone himself on that one. Di Vera was serving as a gladiator in the pleasure domes of Prime Orbital.

Rear Commander Daniels would have understood; he had been the only one who'd listened when Kaleb suggested exploiting the growing rift between the Imperator and the wealthy families of Darrian 6. For some reason he couldn't picture his Outworld crew understanding why Adrian was important.

Behind him the door shushed open and closed. He turned to see Lana stepping into the blue glow of the safety lights.

Kaleb licked his lips as a thousand thoughts flew through his mind. "I'm sorry." The words tumbled past his lips. "I told Geana to let you sleep."

She shrugged, looking at Adrian rather than him. "The sooner we finish this, the sooner I'm rid of you." Lana glared at him. "I don't want you."

"Lights." He tried not to frown as the room brightened. Amid the lush red couches and gold trim of the stolen luxury yacht, Lana looked like a whipped slave. Still, as she glowered at him in defiance, he couldn't help but remember all the reasons he'd fallen in love with her.

"You don't want me to what?"

"I don't want to be lovers again. I don't trust you."

Kaleb's eyebrows went up in surprise, then he schooled his face into a more neutral reaction. He hadn't expected her to jump back in bed with him today, or tomorrow, or ever...if he was honest. No matter how much he wished it otherwise. "Fine." He turned back to the screen. "Are you going to help me with this?"

She walked over to the plush seat opposite him. "Geana said you were pining for me."

"Try to remember that Geana comes from a planet where mind games are after-dinner entertainment. Don't let her mess with your head." He pulled up a map of the inner system.

"After everything we had, that's all you have to say?"

He could see her biting her lip in the reflection in the screen next to him. He wanted to pull her close, promise her anything, but... She didn't want him? Fine. He swallowed the emotions and put on his commander's face. "What do you want me to say? You've said you don't want to be my lover. Fine. You've said you don't trust me. Fine. It's all crystal clear, but it doesn't change anything that's happening over the next eight days. Believe it or not, I wasn't sitting up here lusting after your body. I'm trying to save the only place in the universe where I'm welcome." He took a deep breath. "Maybe you don't care about us. We have no reason to ask anything of you, least of all me, but please? I need your help, even if you don't want anything to do with me."

Her cheeks flushed. "Sorry. I should have..." She waved her hand to clear the air. "Never mind. Let's pretend we've never met and just...work."

"Work is good." He sent a timetable for the raid to her screen.

She made alterations and sent it back.

They worked quietly, changing the main holo-projection so they could see the angles, and making their plans in silence. Slowly the plan to take Prime Orbital formed. Teams were set for the ground assault, transport, and a skeleton crew that would proceed to the Outer Planets to call up help. Lana placed herself on the Orbital insertion team.

The thought of her going alone into Iloni territory made his blood run cold. "You do need me."

"What?" Lana jerked back as if slapped.

"The team on Prime Orbital needs at least two people. I'm the only other person who can pass for true blooded Iloni. You may not want me, but you do need me."

***

Green safety lights illuminated the narrow path that separated the cargo hold from the engine core. Kaleb swore, and pushed himself to complete another lap. Running down here, where the ship's gravity was strongest, was a habit he'd picked up from Lana. She'd run on the _Revenge_ , and when they'd become lovers he'd joined her for morning jogs.

He sagged against the wall at the halfway point, mentally kicking himself for thinking of Lana.

Unbidden, the image of the explosion that had stolen her from him bloomed in his mind's eye. The shuttle was overloaded, smoke from the battle jammed his sensors, and she'd told him to go...

" _Get out of here, Kaleb."_

" _I can't leave you."_

" _You can't take me with you."_

" _I'll come back."_

" _I love you..."_

They hadn't even made low orbit when the ground beneath them became a chrysanthemum of fire. When the peace treaty was signed—a hollow gesture that bought a few years of freedom for the survivors—Lana's name had been listed among those killed in action.

Kaleb dropped his head back against the metal bulkhead. If he'd known... If he'd only known.

Footsteps, light and even, echoed in the darkness.

He pulled himself back into the alcove where emergency gear would have gone if they weren't running such a bare bones operation. Lana jogged into view wearing the same olive and gray combination as the rest of the crew, but on her it looked good.

More footsteps followed, heavier and out of rhythm.

Lana stopped not far from his hiding spot. In the dim light he saw fear on her face.

"Lana," he called softly.

She spun around, eyes wide as her hand dropped to her thigh. She pulled her knife from its sheath.

"Problems?" Kaleb asked as he stretched and stood up.

"Hey there." Andre Jorgenson rounded the corner with his friend Raul. He choked. "Captain."

Lana stepped closer to him, her hand white-knuckled around the hilt of her knife.

Kaleb raised an eyebrow. "I didn't know you'd taking up running, Andre. I thought the gravity down here was a little too much for you to stomach."

Andre coughed again and looked at Raul. "Um, no, sir. We, ah, just came down to, ah, run laps."

Kaleb stepped forward and patted Andre on the back a little harder than was friendly. "You came down here to run, not corner anyone and give them a hard time because they're an Iloni bastard?"

"No, sir," was Andre's too quick response.

"So glad to hear it. I've been looking for running partners. Lana." He saluted her and gave the boys a light push on their backs.

Six laps later, after running Andre and Raul until they puked, he was still seeing red. Lana had never, ever been scared. He'd done that to her. No one on that team knew better than he what tortures the Iloni could dish out. And he'd left her for them.

Gasping for air, Kaleb leaned against the bulkhead and plotted a way to give Lana her confidence back.

***

"I look like an idiot." Lana glared at him from under several fashionable layers of Iloni makeup.

"You're the Iloni epitome of beauty, I assure you."

"The Iloni are idiots."

Kaleb ran a hand over the flounced lime green skirt that was currently the height of masculine fashion on Darrian 6. "I'm not arguing with you on that one."

Lana glowered at him, but her eyes were smiling.

"Do I look utterly ridiculous?"

She laughed. "Yes." She tried to sit down on the courtesy shuttle bench, but gave up. The bright red dress she wore obscured half her face with a high neckline and stabbed down into a sharp, starched hem along her leg. "I don't even know how to sit in this. We're going to be arrested because someone will ask me to sit and I won't know how."

He chuckled. "Don't worry, the IDs are flawless." Authentic too, but since Lana had trusted him with the details of getting them into Prime while she organized the rest of the crews, he didn't feel the need to weigh her down with the nitty gritty details. If the Imperator knew Kaleb Hatheron di Vera was walking the halls of Prime, the man would have a heart attack.

The shuttle glided into the launch space and docked with a click.

"Show time." Kaleb fanned their IDs and then tucked them in his shirt pocket. Lana tossed her hair. Haughty as the Imperator's daughter, she glided toward the gene scanner and stretched out her hand. The small pad lit up blue.

"Welcome, Lana si Vera," a computerized voice said as the doors to the station slid open.

"Who is Lana si Vera?"

Kaleb scanned his hand. "The new wife of Kaleb Hatheron di Vera," he said over the computer's welcome.

"We've come to Prime as newlyweds? You don't think someone will find it off?"

He brushed the hair out of her face as the lock cycled shut behind them. "Newlyweds come to Prime. Besides, if we were here as established lovers people would expect certain behaviors. An arranged marriage is the perfect excuse for our less than..." He fumbled for a word.

"For the fact that you can't look me in the eye?" Lana supplied tartly. The lock to Prime station opened. Lana marched ahead, commanding attention as she stepped into the bustle of the main atrium.

Kaleb lingered, watching her and wondering if her acidic reply was an invitation or a warning.

***

When the crew of _Teela's Revenge_ had discussed Prime, it had been with wild speculation based on a pirate's ideas of a good time. Kaleb stepped up beside her to view the atrium where low lights illuminated a warm jungle scene.

"Somehow, I expected more nudity."

Kaleb switched their luggage to his other hand. "This is the entry level where we check in. Note how the shrubbery conveniently hides all the other docking bays."

"I thought the plants were here to filter the air."

"Nope, they're here so spouses aren't embarrassed by seeing each other when they visit with someone else." He held out his hand. "Can you do this for a few hours?"

Hesitantly, she touched him, letting her fingers weave between his. "I can do anything for a few hours."

He leaned closer. "I remember."

She gave him a side-eyed frown, but the menace wasn't there. Adrenaline raised her heart rate, the familiar drug coursing through her body. This was why she loved raids. The heady rush of superiority, of knowing she was in control and no one could stop her. After three years in a cage, she was free.

Kaleb's eyes gleamed with a devilish light. He winked at her.

Oh, yes, he felt it too. They had three hours to burn before they needed to break into the bowels of the station to destroy the primary power source for the nexus web. An Iloni couple strolled into sight and she snuggled a little closer to Kaleb, testing her acting skills to the limits. "Shall we go look around?" she asked in a syrupy sweet tone.

He grinned. "Dinner first, and then a leisurely stroll?"

"Are there any good restaurants here?"

"I know the perfect place."

***

The perfect place turned out to be Sensations, a restaurant on the lowest observatory level. They'd walked through station levels alive with music where Iloni frolicked without inhibition or clothes. But Sensations was virtually silent. Occasionally she caught the clink of fine crystal or the sound of footsteps, but otherwise the restaurant sat alone, cocooned in the sweeping vista of the stars.

A beautiful Iloni woman stood behind a podium near the entrance, while the rest of the dining area was swathed in gauzy veils, hiding the other diners from view. "Welcome to Sensations, where we feed your most sensual dreams. How many in your party?" She fluttered her lashes at Kaleb as she stepped out from behind the podium. In Lana's opinion, loose robes that looked like winding sheets shouldn't be allowed to be so sexy, but the woman's dress of ash-silver ribbons perfectly accented her hourglass body and wavy chocolate brown hair.

"Two," Kaleb said.

"Would you like any additions tonight?" The heated emotion in the woman's eyes said she was a breath away from stripping Kaleb down.

"No, thank you."

To Lana's surprise, the woman's smile widened. "Your room will be ready in a moment, sir." As she walked back to her podium Lana saw a thin strip of silver running up her forearm.

"Slave band," Kaleb whispered in her ear. "It's used on Iloni who have openly defied the Imperator or his rule." He lifted her hand to his lips. "It's in our future if we get caught."

A hot shiver of lust crawled up her arm as he kissed her hand. "That's the stick. What's my carrot?"

"Your own ship," Kaleb whispered.

A very good carrot. She almost asked if he came with the ship, but she killed that fantasy fast. They'd tried that once. This time she was sticking to her plan. She'd help Kaleb, get the crystals, and then get as far away from the rest of humanity as a good engine could take her.

"This way," the woman said. She led them through the flowing white silk veils to blue glass double doors that glowed like light under water. "Sir, your changing room is on the left. Sirra, your changing room is on the right. All of your clothing will be locked in the room during your dining experience."

"We're eating naked?" She shot Kaleb a look promising him a painful death.

"No, sirra, there are appropriate dining clothes in your changing room. Something more comfortable than the current fashion."

Lana nodded slowly. The red slash of a dress she was wearing certainly wasn't suitable for dining, but Kaleb's knowing grin made the whole thing suspect. She stepped into the changing room and watched doubtfully as the door clicked behind her. The room was a muted gray with no obvious edges, no sound, and no smell. If nothing else, Prime had excellent air controls.

She stripped out of her dress and unfolded the pile of gauze, a little puff of pearlescent white that lay on the stone bench. The cloth shimmered in the soft light like the nacre of an abalone shell, not truly gray or white, but catching all the colors of the rainbow while remaining true to none. The pants were simple enough, loose and uncomplicated. After several tries she decided the top was meant to be a halter. It came with a thin matching sweater.

The outfit was comfortable, and about as sexy as the olive drab she'd worn shipside. At least that would get Kaleb to cool his engines. Checking to make sure her knife was well hidden in her boot heel, she left her own dress artfully rumpled on the bench, and stepped into the next room.

Kaleb was waiting for her in the egg-shaped room, seated on colorful cushions around a low black table. Cold air blew over her from an unseen vent.

Lana rubbed her covered arms. "If I'd known it was going to be this chilly, I would have brought my skirt in as a blanket."

"It'll get warmer," Kaleb said. "Sensations is all about contrast: hot and cold, smooth and rough. The meal is designed to appeal to each of your senses. It's supposed to be a very sensual experience."

She sank to her knees on the plush cushions across from him. "You've been here before?" Green-eyed jealousy roared like a rift dragon in the back of her mind. They'd been lovers, she reminded herself, not a bonded couple. They'd never talked of marriage or commitment. Less than a year together didn't make him hers.

"I've never been here," Kaleb said as the table made a soft whirring sound. "But I always wanted to come."

Two holes opened at the right side of the table and white mugs on saucers appeared. Steam rose from the cups with the scent of apple and cinnamon. Lana cupped her freezing hands around the welcome warmth.

Kaleb inhaled the steam before cautiously sipping the drink.

"Drugged?"

He shook his head. "Just hot. Sensations prides itself on not using any chemical supplements."

"Hmmm." She sipped the drink, crisp with the taste of apples, sultry cinnamon, and something sweet, maybe honey. The cider warmed her, pushing away the chill. For the first time all day, Lana smiled.

"Melithian cider." Kaleb lifted his glass again. "The apples grow only on a few peaks in the Melitine mountain range on Darrian 6, and the trees only bloom in frost. Blue blossoms over white snow, it's beautiful."

"You've seen it?"

"Only pictures." Kaleb shrugged, veering the conversation away from his past.

The table whirred again. This time a small red bowl appeared with a savory broth. Lana tasted her soup as silence stretched between them. History piled up in the wintry room with its blue-tinged walls. Everything she'd meant to say, everything they hadn't said, every dream of Kaleb dashing to her rescue.

She laughed humorlessly as she pushed the empty bowl away.

"What's so funny?"

"Those first few months as an Iloni prisoner, I kept waiting for you to rescue me. I imagined you running in with a raiding party to steal me away from there. The prison was pure hell. No light. No sound. Just endless darkness broken by irregular ration drops. After a few days you start hallucinating. I don't even know how long I was in there. It seemed like eternity, and then there was a bright light and someone talking at me. I barely understood it all, only that no one wanted to ransom me." Lana watched dispassionately as a plate of citrus-scented cookies appeared. "I blamed you. I wanted you to come and you didn't, so every day I cursed you. Because you weren't there." Tears threatened to roll down her cheeks, but she bit them back.

Kaleb reached across the table for her hand. "I thought you were dead. If I'd known, I would have come for you."

"I know. Geana showed me the recording of my funeral service while we were in transit. I think she was trying to apologize or something. She made me sit through all the footage of the bombings, the vid of my memorial. It was all a little...too much." She squeezed his hand once and dropped it. "I'm sorry I hated you all these years. I thought you'd abandoned me, that everyone had forgotten about me. The rest of the universe was spinning on happy and serene while I suffered. I never thought that maybe I was one of the lucky ones."

She turned away. The Iloni had tossed her in a lightless cell still wearing her ripped uniform. Bleeding, concussed, confused, they'd left her in a place where every sound echoed and there was no way to get warm. Sometimes, she'd thought she heard voices. After what seemed like years, the words turned to laughter. They were mocking her, and she'd heard Kaleb's mocking laughter with theirs.

The ordeal had become a blurry nightmare of shivering silence punctuated by the gnawing of her empty stomach. There was never enough food in prison. Apparently the Iloni saved all the excess for their own pleasures.

A vent blew warm air with a hint of wood smoke as the featureless floor turned into a wooden porch overlooking a vista of rolling hills and autumn forest. A single golden leaf fell beside her as tears welled in her eyes. She shook her head. It was over now. She was free. The Iloni weren't going to ruin any more of her life.

***

The main course was followed by a smaller course of shellfish and melted cheese with bread, and it seemed to Lana that as the meals got hotter, so did the room. It had been so cold when she'd entered, but now the steam from their dinner was turning the room into a sauna. She shucked her sweater, tossing it to the side, and Kaleb choked on something.

"Are you all right?" She glanced up from her plate, and froze. The humid air made his shirt stick to the sculpted muscles of his body. She took a deep breath, looking away as her imagination replayed the nights she'd spent worshipping his body, running her hands down his back as they made love.

Kaleb coughed again. She forced herself to look back. His eyes were riveted on her chest. She flushed with satisfaction and not a small amount of need. The past several weeks dancing around each other on the _Marsail_ had only served to remind her of why she'd loved him in the first place.

She sighed, and he echoed it with one of his own. Undoubtedly he was remembering their time together, and what had ultimately driven them apart. Even if the Iloni hadn't captured her, their relationship was going to end. Kaleb had wanted to live dirtside; she'd wanted to be free to roam between the planets. The Apex War had forced him to live on a ship and her to go down into the gravity wells. In the end, the war was the only thing they had in common.

His gaze roamed over her body, lingering here and there, as his pupils widening with a hunger that food would never satisfy. "You're beautiful."

Her blood burned for his touch. For a moment, it was just the two of them in the universe. No expectations or responsibilities. No future or past. And she wanted him to touch her, to remind her how it felt to be truly alive. What it felt like to meld with another person until they were one.

A soft hum shook her out of her reverie. The cushions shuffled as the floor vibrated, and a small white tray appeared with six rows of small bowls, and two strips of black silk. "What is this?"

"Sight," Kaleb whispered in her ear, his hot breath tickling her neck. "Humans are visual creatures. We rely on what we see to influence our judgments. When we lose our vision, other senses are enhanced. We hear more, taste better, and our sense of touch is heightened." He brushed a kiss over the back of her neck. "You're supposed to blindfold your partner, and feed them. I'm told the element of surprise is very, very alluring."

She shivered in anticipation.

"Do you want to go first?"

She took a deep breath, feeling her nipples strain against the satiny fabric that clung to her body. "Yes."

***

For perhaps the second time in his life Kaleb wished he had some deity to curse. Lana sat in front of him—her body quivering, lips wet, and breasts highlighted by shimmering fabric that only accented her beautiful curves—and he was supposed to keep his pants on.

He finished tying the black blindfold around her eyes, fighting the urge to lean down and kiss her. She tilted her head back, a wanton invitation to taste her skin.

"What am I trying first?" Lana asked in a breathy whisper.

Kaleb shuddered with need. Stars above, he'd dreamt of that voice. In his dreams she'd found him in the darkness and made love to him. He leaned close, his lips almost caressing her ear. "It's a surprise."

Her lips curved in a tempting smile.

_Patience_. They had time. Maybe. If everything went right. He frowned down at the food and picked up one of the few he recognized: a luscious vanilla crème brûlée with a beautiful golden crust of caramelized sugar. Breaking the crust with a spoon, Kaleb scooped up a bite. "Open your mouth."

She giggled, and luscious pink lips parted.

Kaleb fed her the sweet custard. The lusty moan that escaped her lips fired his blood.

"Ooh. That's so good." She leaned forward. "More?"

He couldn't even find words. He fed her another bite. A smidgen of the crème brûlée remained on the corner of Lana's lip. Helpless to refuse, Kaleb leaned in and licked it away.

Lana's tongue darted out, brushing his lip.

The spoon dropped as he pulled Lana to him. He felt the heat of her palms as she grabbed his arm, then tangled her fingers in his hair. Their kiss turned desperate, as if a few moments could erase the years of pain and loss.

Kaleb fell backwards into the cushions. Lana followed, straddling him and brushing kisses down his neck. She pulled her blindfold off and grinned down at him. "I have a better idea for dessert."

"I love how you think." There was a small vibration by his knee, and Kaleb lifted his head in confusion. "What was that?"

Lana checked her ankle. "It's go time."

His head fell back into the soft pillows. They were the only thing soft at the moment. "Can we wait five more minutes?" He meant it as a joke, a way to get his mind back on the job, but blast the universe and his own inability to stop time. Once the Nova Crystals were in place he was going to find an excuse to spend every minute with Lana.

"Five?" Lana said coolly. "What are you going to accomplish in five minutes?"

"I could maybe get your shirt off," he muttered as she stood up. The thin material of her outfit clung to her curves in the steamy room and he wanted to touch everything he saw. "Or my shirt off." Her eyes dropped to his chest and her tempting pink tongue darted out.

"You remember my weaknesses." She shook her head. "But we need to save the solar system, remember? This all runs on perfect timing. Let's just worry about surviving the next four hours, okay?"

***

The stealth suits Kaleb had smuggled in made it possible for them to slip out of Sensations without triggering any of the motion sensors, but did little to keep her warm in the narrow service passages meant for the slaves. Lana had to twist sideways to get past a row of pipes that protruded out into the passage. If Sensations had been the womb, the slave corridors were a crypt, cold and lifeless. Their footsteps echoed. If there was anyone in the halls, they were dead.

She turned to ask Kaleb where she should go, but the look of naked hunger on his face quelled her curiosity. They'd left dessert unfinished, much to her regret. A kiss was all it took to erase years of hate and fear. One perfect moment of happiness to treasure in the quiet years ahead.

"Next left," Kaleb said in a whisper that carried further than she wanted.

Lana wanted to look to Kaleb for reassurance, but she couldn't. Not now. Not knowing she had to give him up when they were done. If the buzzer on the clock hadn't gone off, there was no doubt in Lana's mind they would both be naked right now. A rush of heat and longing filled her, threatening her focus.

It had never been like this before. The raids they'd run together had been easy. They'd worked together, anticipating each other, moving in unison. But they'd also been enjoying hot sex every moment they weren't fighting the Iloni.

_Move on. When this is over he's going back to the Quintus fleet, and you're getting on a ship headed for the big black. Kiss him good-bye and let go_.

"Quick, this is the hub we need." He dropped to one knee and pried up the deck plate. Twenty meters below, the primary energy source for the nexus web glittered like a diamond. They stared at it for a few silent heartbeats. "Are you sure about this? If there's an energy backlash—"

"I've done it before," Lana said. "Give me the toolkit. If you're worried about getting fried you can stay up top."

Kaleb held out the bag but he didn't let go.

"Give it to me. I know what I'm doing, Kaleb." She tugged at the tools. "We don't have time for this."

Dark eyes searched her face. "I love you, Lana. I don't want to lose you again."

She pulled the tools out of his hand. "Tell me that after we're past the rift." Lana dropped into the hole and shimmied down the ladder. Blue light cast alien shadows along the mercurial wall around her. She could almost imagine voices—whispers of the dead. Nexus webs were strange things, nets of energy beams that defied every law of physics as she understood it, but they worked because of the energy source. A primary source on one end—always blue—and the secondary source on the far end glowing orange. In between the two batteries, a rainbow of light created an unbreakable cage. The Nova Crystals hung in that cage, all their life-giving energy trapped in an unimaginably long necklace of light.

With a final eight foot drop, Lana landed on the narrow platform beside the energy source.

"Trouble?" Kaleb's voice echoed from above.

"Not yet." She took a deep breath. Either she was missing something, or the Iloni were truly as arrogant as the outworlders always said. She couldn't see any security locks. No palm reader, not even a number pad beside the locks.

"Lana?"

"Where's the security?"

"On the door." The exasperation in his voice was clear.

Lana looked behind the power source at the catwalk that stretched across the chamber to a door. "But there's a ladder by the door. It isn't secure."

"This ladder is for the slaves, who have implants to prevent them from doing what we're doing. On the other side of that door is a ceremonial room with very live guards who will kill us very dead if they see us. Do you want me to open the door for you?" Kaleb asked.

She shook her head no.

"Thought not. Let's just get this done. Geana's team will be moving the ship in three minutes, if they aren't dead."

A shiver of terror ran up her spine. For a moment, she was alone again, trapped in the vast blackness of space with no back up and no hope. The panic swelled, threatening to drown her.

Kaleb dropped down beside her.

She shook the panic attack away. "You're supposed to be standing guard."

"I am."

Lana rolled her eyes. "If someone comes down that hall I'd like to know about it before they lock us in and vent the oxygen."

"We'll hear anyone coming long before they get close. You could hear a flea breathe the way those tunnels echo."

"I'll take your word for it. The rift is blissfully parasite free. Except for the Iloni." She pulled the cover off the power box and eyed the thick wires. "A T-64, you think? Let's try that." Digging through the bag of adaptors for every occasion—including a hideously outdated M-mod which must have been thrown in out of desperation—she found the adaptor. A folded piece of paper clung to a sticky edge.

"Um..." Kaleb bent to retrieve the paper.

Lana snatched it away and unfolded it with a snap of her wrist. Delicate calligraphy curled across the page forming elegant "wherefores" and "by thy leaves" that ended with Kaleb's assumed name and signature next to her name and a blank. "You brought the fake marriage certificate but didn't have me sign it?"

"I was going to ask—"

"Never mind." She crumpled the paper and stuffed it in her pocket. "We'll talk about it later. Honestly, you used to be better with planning details." She took out the energy reader and carefully connected it to the white wire. "Stand back. If I start screaming, don't do what I did." A flick of her thumb, and the power reader showed two charges, one for the power leech and one for the primary energy source. Shipboard, power surges were life-threatening. Lightning between the clouds of the rift was common enough, and one hit could leave a ship tumbling blind through the asteroid belt that divided the inner and outer worlds.

She plugged the leech into the reader and turned the control on. Green lights danced across the screen. "Primary energy source at ninety-seven percent. Ninety-four. Ninety."

"Too fast," Kaleb said. "You'll set off an alarm if you aren't careful."

"Eighty-four." She turned the leech down. "Eighty-three. Time?"

"Ninety seconds until Geana is scheduled to break from the dock."

"I wish we knew if the secondary source was leeched already. Seventy-eight."

Kaleb moved closer, the heat of his body warming her. "We'll know as soon as all hell breaks loose. If there aren't sirens going off within the next five minutes, something's wrong."

"Did we make a fall back plan? Seventy-five."

She felt his hand on the small of her back as he tried to peek over her shoulder at the read out. "Shoot everyone?"

"Why do your back-up plans always involve killing everyone?"

"It's effective?"

"Fifty-nine. Forty. Thirty. Ten percent drain, it's switching to the back-up and recharging." She turned the leech off. "If the secondary source is at forty, we have seven minutes before the nexus web collapses and the Nova Crystals plummet to the planet's surface."

"And six minutes to get to the shuttle pads. Up the ladder."

Lana rolled the tools up and climbed back to the slave passages as the blue light below her began to fade. "I really hope Geana picked up that shuttle in time. I am going to hate myself if those crystals smash somewhere other than the outer planets."

"But think of all the fun the Iloni would have trying to live on a terraforming planet! I bet they'd make new Nova Crystals."

"Bet you they wouldn't since the likelihood of surviving that kind of terraforming is...yeah, I don't think you can. We may have just killed everyone."

"Geana's a pirate. You can trust a pirate. Two rights, and the third left. Run." Every stray sound echoed, including Kaleb's harsh curse as they heard boot steps behind them. "Keep going."

"Whatever happens," Kaleb whispered. "Don't stop. Whatever happens to me, get out."

Boot steps clattered up behind them. "Stop! This is a privileged area. Identify yourselves."

Kaleb halted, pushing Lana behind him as he turned.

The guard stopped a few feet away. He was dressed in utilitarian gray worker's clothes. Iloni, like everyone else on Prime, but with something familiar about him. _I know him from somewhere._

"Hello, Adrian."

Lana nearly tripped over her feet. "Adrian?" she asked in a whisper. "You know someone here?"

The man scowled and raised a gun. "Kaleb. I didn't realize you were back in the Imperator's good graces."

Kaleb caught her hand and squeezed it once. "His whims and favors change with the wind, Adrian. Everyone knows that."

"You know the Imperator?" Lana muttered in his ear.

"I met him once," Kaleb admitted, just as quietly. Louder he said, "I didn't think I'd get a chance to see you this visit."

"Did you come to kill me? That was the Imperator's requirement if you wanted to remain on Darrian 6, wasn't it?" Adrian asked.

Kaleb shrugged.

Adrian turned his gun on Lana. "Who is she?"

"Lana, my love, meet Adrian. Adrian, say hello to Lana si Vera."

The muscle under Adrian's eye twitched. Lana shrunk behind Kaleb's shoulder. "You are far too calm, Kaleb. We need to run from the guy with the gun. And then you're going to explain all of this. In detail."

Kaleb squeezed her hand. "He won't shoot his brother."

"You have a brother?" Lana asked. "An Iloni brother?"

"It's not that surprising," Kaleb said. "I am Iloni, after all."

Adrian growled. "Did you come here to finish it? A trip to Prime with your wife as a reward for killing me? Is that all it took to bribe you?" He eyed Lana. "Which family is she from anyway?"

Kaleb gripped her hand tighter.

"I'm from the rift," Lana said.

Adrian's eyebrows went up. "That's what rift rats look like? I expected something shriveled and pale, like a dead albino rat."

Alarms screamed. The lights dimmed to a cold white as the station tried to repower the dead energy source for the nexus web.

Lana tugged on Kaleb's arm. "We need to go."

"Adrian, come with us." Kaleb held out his hand. "Come with me."

"To where?" Adrian looked between them in confusion. "What is going on, little brother?"

"We're rebuilding the outworlds."

"Impossible."

"Not once we take the Nova Crystals." Kaleb nodded at the gun. "Are you going to shoot us, or come with us?"

Adrian shifted, and a long silver bar on his forearm caught the light. "No matter my choice, I am the Imperator's. I can't leave my assigned area without dying." Silence stretched between them as the alarms gargled to a halt. "Go. Go!" Adrian waved at them. "The shuttle in dock 3C is our long range scout, take her."

Without warning Kaleb stepped forward and hugged his brother. "I'll come back for you. I'll find a way!" He took Lana's hand again. "Our ship's waiting."

***

Lana watched a tendril of rift smoke as it curled past the window of the shuttle. Her head hurt. Sixteen hours of piloting the shuttle and running interference for Geana's ship while Kaleb manned the guns had left her desperate for sleep "Rift cleared," she announced over the comms.

"We're as safe as we're going to get." On the radar she could see the line of outworlds ships arranged to defend the _Marsail_ and the Nova Crystals against the Iloni pursuit. The first Apex War had left few long range vessels on either side, but even one Iloni long range cruiser on this side of the rift was one too many. "Fifteen? So few? And what's that, the _Apollo_? She's not a war cruiser!" The outworlders had brought a hospital ship to their defense. It's only option for battle was to ram the enemy vessel, but she knew they would. To protect the Nova Crystals they would do anything.

She heard Kaleb coming into the cockpit behind her.

"So, you're pure blood Iloni?" she asked nonchalantly. She sent a burst message, announcing their arrival to the waiting ships.

He sat down in the co-pilot's seat. "Does it matter?"

She wasn't sure. "Who else knows?"

"No one," he said. "At first no one cared. I was someone with military experience and I was on their side. And then there never seemed to be the right moment to tell anyone."

"Before we met your brother would have been a good time," she said.

"I didn't think we'd run into him." Kaleb winced. "I'd meant to explain it to you eventually. I was going to tell you, I just didn't know how." He fell silent, watching her.

Lana set the shuttle on auto-pilot. "We should reach Quintus territory in three days. If the third team did their job, our pick up will be waiting." She stood, stretching, and avoiding Kaleb's eyes. "I'm going to sleep."

"Do you hate me?"

She rounded on him. "You lied to me. You lied to everyone. You're not an outworlder at all. You aren't one of us." Tears welled in her eyes. "Was anything you ever said true?"

"I was born the second son of the di Vera family. Adrian went to the military academy. There were riots, and he refused to fire at a pregnant woman. The Imperator called him in front of the entire court and dragged the woman in as well. Adrian had to choose between killing her or forfeiting his life. He wouldn't shoot her."

Lana crossed her arms. "That's Adrian. What did _you_ do?"

"The Imperator called on my family to redeem our name. I was the heir. In front of the court I was told to murder my brother or be erased from the Iloni records of life. I walked out. I took the first shuttle I could find to the rift and worked my way as a ship hand until I arrived on Quintus. I had military experience and information about Iloni troops. No one asked how."

"Why didn't you tell me? Everyone else, I can understand. But I thought we had something more. In all that time together, every time I asked about your past, why didn't you say something?"

He shook his head. "I was scared that you'd leave me."

"You were right. I _am_ leaving you. We want different things. We come from different worlds. All I've ever wanted was to have someone who was always going to be there for me. I want a ship, a crew I can trust, and someone to come with me. You... I don't even know what you want. I thought I knew you, and now you're making me question everything." She glared at him.

Kaleb shrunk in on himself, crossed arms becoming a protective huddle. "I didn't lie to you. I just left a few things out of the conversation."

Lana pointed an accusing finger at him. "When you arrived at Prime, you used your real name. Not Kaleb Hath, but an Iloni name. That's still you. And you never told me." She shook her head. "You're great in bed, Kaleb. I missed that. If we'd had more time at Prime I would have enjoyed having you again. But let's be honest, what we had was a lie. And now it's over."

He looked away. "This isn't what I wanted our reunion to be."

"Then maybe you should have told me the truth." She walked away. The door to her berth didn't slam when she shut it, but once inside she hit her hand against the unforgiving metal. "Damn you, Kaleb. Why do you do this to me?" Why did he have to be Iloni, the bastard. And why did it hurt so much to walk away?

***

Three awkward days of avoided conversation and eight weeks of Quintus hospitality had worn Lana's patience to the bone. Quintus, the fifth planet from the sun and the closet to the rift, was nothing like she remembered. The great clouds that had held the flying cities aloft had been blown away by Iloni warships in the last months of the war. There was little more than a heavy core of molten metal at the bottom of a crushing gravity well, and a decimated fleet orbiting the wreckage.

Every ship she'd been on was packed with refugees. They lined the halls, slept in the galleys, crowded the cargo bays. She'd wondered how Kaleb was going to make good on his promise to give her a ship, or if he'd even try. But he'd left a message for her the night before. Nothing elaborate, just the docking bay number of the giant _Titan_ -class vessel _Solace_.

Lana shoved her stealth suit into the duffel with more force than necessary. Damn thing wouldn't fit. It wasn't like she'd expected Kaleb to beg her forgiveness; she'd made it clear he wouldn't get it. But that was Kaleb's MO, always coming back, forever at the back of her mind, even on the days she hated him. She pulled the suit back out and smoothed it flat. Her fingers ran over a bump, and she pulled a crumpled document out of the pocket. The marriage certificate. She snorted. Now, there was an idea. She could sign it and make it legally binding. Wouldn't Kaleb just die? The idiot hadn't even managed to write the correct date on it.

Of course, he'd have to leave Quintus, and even before her capture that had been a sticking point. _He_ wanted to stay and the thought of tying herself to a gravity well had made _her_ ill. Bad idea. She folded the document and tucked it in her pocket.

With a sigh, she trudged down the hall to docking bay four, a monstrous hangar large enough to house a small armada, and with room enough to swallow the mining station she'd been born on. Lana wound through the maze of mismatched shuttles and merchant vessels until she saw Kaleb standing by a deep space scout.

"Lana." He held out a sheaf of papers and unlocked the ramp so it slowly extended. " _Spiral_ -class vessel 11-A12. She needs a name, but she's yours."

She followed him up into the ship. Dust swirled around their feet as they walked through the stale air. "Does the environmental system work?"

"It does, I checked it this morning. The previous captain docked her here prior to running a raid with the Quintus military before the end of the war. He didn't make it back, and until now no one had an interest in taking this vessel out." He pointed down the corridor to a red door. "The secondary cargo bay is equipped for mine hauling in the rifts, and the guns are over-sized Taxons. If you can't outrun it, you can out shoot anything short of an Iloni warship. She's registered out of Quintus, but flagged for welcome anywhere on the Outer Planets. I added Iloni registration as well; Darrian 3. I hope you'll never need it, but if you decide to run raids the patrols shouldn't give you any trouble."

She stepped onto the small bridge, checked the control boards, then turned her attention to the papers Kaleb had handed her. "There's an order in for new computers? Why?"

"The ship used to have a full crew. Max capacity is eight, unless you double bunk, but she needs a minimum of two to run right now. The _Solace_ isn't exactly overflowing with supplies, so I put in the work order. As soon as one of the raids nets the components you need, you'll be supplied with the upgrade to turn her into a one-man ship."

Lana frowned, but nodded. The Quintians were giving her more than she felt comfortable asking for already. "Right."

"Everyone in the outworlds is very grateful for what you did. The first Nova Crystals have dropped, and we're seeing the first signs of organic growth on Quintus and Triell. You'll be a hero everywhere you go."

Lana ignored the second-hand praise. "Am I stuck here until the computer parts come in?" Everything else appeared to be up to spec; better than she'd hoped for really. With a ship like this she could do anything. Her heart raced with fear. That's what she'd wanted, right? She'd planned on building a ship in the waste hauler, and now Kaleb was just handing her one, and that was good... Very good, she told herself as she locked her fears away. .There was nothing wrong with being alone.

"No, you won't be stuck here. We've arranged a copilot for you."

"A co-pilot?" Her heart skipped a beat.

"Someone who won't be missed if you decide to space him." Kaleb's serious tone made her look up.

She raised an eyebrow. "That's not a funny joke."

"It's not a joke at all." His expression dared her to doubt him.

A co-pilot would expand her options. With a ship, she could open some new trade routes or run some raids. The possibilities unfolded in her mind until she quashed it with a heavy dose of reality. Kaleb wasn't giving her a crew; he was giving her someone the rest of the station hoped would die in vacuum. Hard reality killed her daydreams. "How bad _is_ this guy?"

Kaleb shrugged, and looked at the floor.

She growled at his reticence, and flipped through the rest of the paperwork. "It looks good. She's fueled up?"

"Yes."

_One word answers now?_ Lana scanned another page, pursing her lips as she wrangled in her temper. "My gear's loaded?"

"Yes, it's in the captain's berth, waiting for you."

Suspicion bit her, hard. Kaleb wasn't stupid enough to let a stranger wander the ship to load gear. "Who is this co-pilot?"

"No one important," Kaleb said, in a perfectly bland voice. She knew that one. That was Kaleb trying to play innocent.

She narrowed her eyes. " _You're_ my co-pilot?"

Kaleb shrugged.

"Stars above." Lana rubbed her eyes. "Are you out of your ever-lovin' mind?"

"My name is Kaleb Hatheron di Vera, second born and heir to the di Vera family of Darrian 6. Twenty-sixth in line for the throne of the Imperator from my mother's side. I'm a qualified deep space pilot, engineer, and gunner. I have a decade of military experience, and six months of mining experience."

"Mining?" Lana asked in disbelief. "What were you doing mining? You could have got yourself killed!"

Another shrug. "Mining the rift was the only way to bring in enough water for the refugees."

She couldn't stop her eyes from rolling. "Kaleb, you're not a co-pilot, you're a hero missing his quest! Go find your beautiful damsel in distress and your happily ever after already." She slammed the papers down on the command consul.

"I did. I found you. I lost you. And I won't lose you again, not without a fight, not without you telling me that I'm not who you want."

Lana shot him a look, but the glare that had once made soldiers quiver in terror bounced right off Kaleb.

"Give me three months"

"And then?" She raised an eyebrow.

"If you want, you can shove me out the airlock."

"Fine. But I will shove you out the airlock if you annoy me. This is my ship now." She glared at him a moment longer.

"Any time, Captain."

She pulled the marriage certificate out of her pocket. "Do you remember this?"

Kaleb eyed it with suspicion. "I do."

"You got the date wrong, you know."

"No. I didn't. It was the date I had it written."

Lana held the paper at arm's length. "You had this written up before I was captured?"

"Before the Battle of Prenta. I had it all planned out, an elaborate meal, I think I had a speech worked out. There might have been poetry. And then the alarms went off, we were caught in an ambush, and I barely saw you between that and...and when I lost you."

Lana hesitated, she wasn't sure she would have agreed to marriage three years ago, back when staying with him would have seemed like the perfect path to a broken heart. Having lived without Kaleb once, though, she knew what to do: she signed the paper. "There now. All official. If I throw you out the airlock I also get your death gratuity from the Quintian military."

"Whatever you say, Captain."

Her lips softened into a smile. "We'll see if you're still saying that after you've spent a week with me in command."

Kaleb's hand slipped around her waist. "Have I ever told you how sexy you look when you're giving me orders, Captain?"

She snuggled closer. "So, if I ordered you to the captain's cabin and told you to strip, would that work for you?"

"I could make it work for both of us." Kaleb brushed his lips against her forehead.

"Oh?" Her question turned into a mewl of half-hearted protest as Kaleb continued his exploration down the side of her neck.

"Does my captain still..."

She gasped with pleasure as he nuzzled the sensitive skin of her shoulder.

Kaleb chuckled. "You _do_ still like that." He scooped her up and carried her down the hall to the captain's cabin. "Permission to strip the captain, Captain?"

"Permission granted."

### LIANA BROOKS

About the Author

Liana Brooks is probably human. At least she claims to be human. There's a rumor going around that she's part shark, and she has an uncanny understanding of spaceship engines. Still, we'll allow that she's probably human and the tracking device we attached indicates she's still in North America. For now. She has a tendency to wander, the poor dear.

Story Inspiration

Where do story ideas come from anyway? I think they're made of starlight and moonbeams. You walk out on the front porch on a crisp autumn night and see the Milky Way shimmering in the heavens full of promise...and the next thing you know there's a story rambling through your head. Lana was born on such a night, when shooting stars lit up bright red autumn leaves. Kaleb followed, as he always does, because where would the prince be without his rift rat?

Other Works by This Author:

 Even Villains Fall In Love (Contemporary superhero romance - Breathless Press)

Fey Lights (SFR - Inkprint Press)

Seventy (Sci-fi - M-Brane #5)

Web Site

www.lianabrooks.com

Author Contact

Liana.brooks1@gmail.com

Twitter @LianaBrooks

Liana Brooks on FaceBook

## Envy's Revenge

by Berinn Rae

He was the third scuffer this month. It could mean only one thing: Mech City could no longer support its aging population. Scuffers—homeless beggars and brigands—were pouring into the surrounding areas. Times were getting desperate.

I watched the poor excuse for a man tumble out of a rusty clunker and hobble into my swamp. His legs were obviously off-the-shelf models, his left at least an inch shorter than his right. No different from the other scuffers who scoured the land for anything that could be eaten or sold. And, like the others, this scuffer had no idea that something far more valuable than gold was right under his nose. _Me._

I let out a sigh before pulling a lever hidden in the trunk of the old tree. He was barely worth the effort. Sure, I could've used the rifle to finish him off. It was faster, cleaner, and easier, but it was loud. I couldn't risk drawing attention from the ever-present scanners patrolling overhead, searching for new slaves to bring to Mech City. Besides, gunpowder was hard to come by these days. Everything I owned came off the bodies of those I'd killed, and the pickings had grown slim. The slicer, albeit messier, got the job done.

The poor scuffer didn't stand a chance.

Gears grinded to life and a whir floated through the air, the sound muffled by the swamp's dense foliage. Bullfrogs quieted as though in anticipation. The scuffer fidgeted with his goggles as he scanned the swamp. His eyes settled on the tree I peeked out from behind, and a sneer formed across his half-rotted mug. He thought it was his lucky day. He was wrong.

The scuffer stumbled toward me, the muddy water making his progress pitifully slow. With a bit of fumbling, he managed to pull out a gun with a short, wide barrel. A netter _._

I drew my machete as he closed the distance, but there was no need. He wouldn't get close enough to fire. The near-silent whirring of the quickly speeding blades warned me it was nearly time.

Three. Two. One.

Giant blades slashed out from the trees, quartering the scuffer before he realized what was happening. Sharp metal cut through his mech limbs with a screech, spraying blood and oil as the scuffer collapsed in pieces.

I slid the machete back into my belt and nodded.

Killing was my talent.

Killing was why I existed.

I was born after the final Great War, after the Mistake. Some military scientist modified sarin gas to replicate itself like a virus. No one thought it could mutate. But it did. All it took was a girl with a head cold for the virus to evolve into a genocidal plague that wiped nearly ninety percent of all women off the planet and much of the remaining male population. The plague was particularly devastating to the female gender, putting humanity on the brink of extinction and making every surviving female a priceless commodity.

As countries fell into chaos, the Mistake brought on an even bloodier After War. The entire world was dragged into its massive yaw and left the planet and its survivors scarred. My mother fled with me during the After War, when I was not yet a teenager, from the desperation the world had become. Violent city states had sprung up where countries had fallen. Human rights collapsed, and anything that couldn't be automated required slaves: construction, maintenance, even sex.

It was during my mother's and my time together in the swamps I learned why I was named Envy. She'd said envy was a desire to deprive others of what was important to them. It wasn't until the day my mother was taken by a hunter that I understood.

I existed to deprive others of their lives.

A hoot owl made its first call in the distance, signaling the beginning of twilight. At night, the alligators owned the swamp. My place was indoors.

It didn't take long to grab everything I could use off the dead scuffer and from his piece-of-shit clunker. Besides the heat-goggles, he had little to offer: a few dull blades, a barely-charged blaster, and a bolt of cloth in need of a good wash. Until I pried opened the warped toolbox and found the faded red dress folded neatly inside. It was old and threadbare and precious.

I squealed in delight and spent a moment hugging my newfound treasure. I carefully wrapped the dress in the cloth before moving back to the task at hand. After dumping the scuffer's body parts in a deep part of the swamp and hiding his rusty skiff, I reset the slicer's blades and did one final sweep to make sure no other scuffer would suspect someone lived here.

Just like the swamps I'd see in picture books, the large trees and ferns hid me from the scanners. The thick mud and black water swallowed footprints and blood and bodies as if it were starved for such things. I took in a deep breath of the stale damp air that smelled of earth and rot, smiling. The swamp took care of me, and in return, I kept scuffers from thieving its plants and wildlife.

I headed toward a home that, like me, no one knew existed. The small, oblong door to my underground bunker was nearly underwater and camouflaged by a particularly thick stand of ferns. Carrying an armful of tools and cloth, I opened the door and stepped into the darkness, ever careful to lock the door behind me.

I'd earned my bunker the old fashioned way.

I'd killed for it.

While on the lam, my mother and I had come across a scuffer living in this swamp. The man offered us safety in exchange for my mother's complete surrender. I would've run, but my mother had always been practical. She gave up what remained of her soul by surrendering her body to him in exchange for food and shelter.

But Gaian was a cruel, sadistic bastard, dumping his every torment on my mother. Rage, lust; it didn't matter. And she took it because she knew that he'd turn to me if she fought back.

The only good thing about Gaian was that he'd kept his word. He opened his bunker to us, and the swamp provided us enough food to keep from starving. Though that food came from our own hard work. My mother and I spent most of our waking hours foraging, while Gaian sat on his ass and ate over half of what we found.

My mother had disappeared while foraging only a couple years later. I'd been working on our new rice paddy. It wasn't until sunset that I'd begun to worry.

I'd scoured the swamp until the next morning. All I'd found was a handful of turnips scattered on the ground and my mother's lace handkerchief. It was the first time in my life I felt hopelessness.

When I made it back to the bunker, Gaian hadn't seemed bothered. He had a new shirt and a shiny machete, a gleaming contrast to his rotted-tooth sneer. I knew, just _knew_ , that the rat bastard had sold my mother to a hunter.

He'd simply sat there, lounging in the shade. He hadn't even given me a day to grieve. He gave me the licentious look he'd given my mother and then made the same offer to me as he had to her two years earlier.

Gaian had always been stupid and overly-confident. He'd thought I approached him to accept his offer. His grin hadn't faded until I gutted him with his brand new machete. He'd been my first kill. There'd been so many more after that.

Down the dark steps I went, into the belly of the earth, into the old forgotten bunker that I called home.

Later that night, I jerked awake with the ominous feeling of no longer being alone. My brow furrowed, and I leaned back, telling myself that it was just a dream, that I was safely hidden from the world. No scuffer could find my bunker. And even if one did, there was no way he could get through the reinforced steel door. Shoving my doubts aside, I rolled over and tried to fall asleep. After an hour of restlessness, I couldn't ignore the tingling at the base of my neck, the feeling that I was no longer alone in my swamp.

With a silent mutter, I rolled out of bed, then pulled on a clean pair of well-worn cargoes and strapped Gaian's machete around my waist. Throwing the rifle over my shoulder, I grabbed the newly acquired heat-goggles and headed up the steps. With a crank of a wheel, the door opened with a tinny creak. Muggy air enveloped me, and goose bumps rose across my skin.

An unnatural silence blanketed the swamp. Frogs and crickets and owls alike were silent. It could've been a nearby alligator that spooked them. Or something far more dangerous. Adjusting the goggle's lenses, I scanned the landscape. The ground danced with the heat signatures of small creatures walking, crawling and slithering. Raising my gaze to the tree line, I did another sweep and froze on a large Cyprus tree.

Without the heat goggles, he would've been impossible to see. I refocused on the heat signature, seeing a scuffer crouching on a large branch at least five meters above the ground. His heat outline was incomplete—missing an arm and a leg. Definitely mech-limbs. My muscles tensed. The malnourished scuffer from earlier today couldn't have climbed a tree. Only a hunter had the strength and agility to pull that off.

I took my eyes off the man in the shadows to find the stones I'd placed across the swamp so I could walk without getting caught by the murky mud. I hopped deftly and silently towards the safety of the slicer. With a hand on the lever, I looked back up. No heat signature registered when my eyes jerked across tree limbs trying to locate the hunter. When I finally found him, he stood on the ground, no more than twenty meters from me.

I jerked back to hide behind the tree. Letting my breath out slowly, I stole a look around the trunk. He stood there, not coming any closer, holding out his open hands as though in parlay, a slight smile on his face.

I knew better.

With a scowl, I pulled the lever.

His brows furrowed as if he could hear the nearly silent blades winding up, but even as the slicer whirred quietly to life, he casually strolled toward me and straight into danger, the thick mud not slowing him in the least. It was as if the swamp refused to hold him back.

With the smoothness of his stride, it was clear his upgrades were custom jobs. My prey was no common hunter. He stood tall, solid with muscle that showed no signs of starvation. Dark glasses wrapped around his face, and I suspected he had enhanced mech-vision as well. The moonlight caught a shimmer on his shoulder, and I narrowed my eyes on the emblem with the goddess Kali's silver outline.

No.

He was _the_ hunter. Known only as Hunter, he was the one I'd overheard about from others when they passed through my swamp, talking about him with fear and jealousy. It was said that he was more machine than man, that he worked for the goddess herself. The only thing known to be a fact was that he never failed.

And he'd seen me.

He came to a stop a couple meters from me. Our eyes locked as if in a duel, and my stomach twisted in knots. I struggled to keep the countdown in my mind.

Three.

I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. Killing a man who'd showed no aggression against me struck a tiny chord of remorse, but I told myself that his actions were part of a ploy to get me to lower my defenses.

Two

The moment I made a mistake, he'd capture me and present me to whichever master he served. It didn't matter who his master was. They were all the same; merciless men with too few women and too much power.

One.

"Good bye, Hunter." The giant blades came slicing down. Hunter jumped, twisted, and then vaulted through the death weapon I'd spent years perfecting. When the blades finally stilled and the night regained its silence, he brought himself to full height in front of me.

_No one_ had ever survived the slicer. Yet, this man stood unwavering before me, the only change in him being his previous smile had become a thin, hard line.

He took a step closer, a slight limp marring an otherwise perfect stride. His injury was a small victory to me, but not severe enough to give me an advantage. Blood hardened in my veins. I had gone from predator to prey in the blink of the eye. Swinging the rifle off my shoulder, I clicked off the safety and pointed it at him. He paused, tilted his head to the side. I aimed carefully, and then pulled the trigger.

He didn't flinch as the bullet whizzed past him, into the target I'd finished less than a month earlier. The sound of the bullet hitting metal reverberated through the night air, and he jerked before being brought down by a weighted net that sunk him into the peaty mud.

The net bought me the seconds I needed to make my escape. Knowing I'd never be able to take Hunter in a fair fight, not without more powerful weapons, I bolted to my bunker, twisted open the door, and jumped inside. I yanked the steel door closed, locked the latch and collapsed on the steps and shivered, sucking in breaths. All I could think was that I'd just pissed off the biggest, baddest killer out there.

I paced my bunker the rest of the night and through the following day until I couldn't take it anymore. Armed to the teeth and muscles shaking with unease, I went to finish what we'd started the night before. The humid air did nothing to tamp down the rush burning through my limbs. I've killed hunters before. I could do this.

A movement in the shadows caught my eye. I spun to see Hunter step out from behind a tree. Covered in dried mud and sporting a slash through the thigh of his leather pants, he looked more disheveled than the man who came into my swamp last night. I would have been pleased, except his look of determination chilled the blood within my heart. Not that I expected anything less from this particular mech-man.

I swallowed. _Stay strong, stay strong_.

I took a step forward, glancing around for any sign of a trap. Took another step. When I was within range, I stopped. I put my feet shoulder-width apart and stood firm. "This will get messy. Why don't you make this easy for both of us and bugger off?"

He crossed his arms over his chest and stood there resolute, his lips curling upward.

My lips tightened. "So be it." I pulled out a grenade. His eyes narrowed. Ignoring the knot in my stomach, I pulled the pin and threw it at him. He lunged into the mud. A boom rocked the swamp, the impact slamming me against a tree.

I cursed as pine needles rained down on me. Looking to the sky, I prayed a scanner hadn't picked up my indiscretion. Guilt prickled my conscience. It was different to kill a man who'd not yet shown any hostility toward me. But I knew better; I had no choice. If I hadn't taken him down, he'd have taken me.

And I refused to lose my soul.

I remembered the hollow look my mother had in her eyes. As a slave, she'd been nothing but a vessel to bear the children of the ruling class. I don't know how many sons she'd bore before me. She'd refused to talk about it. All I knew was that she'd reached her breaking point when I was born. Her only daughter, doomed to live the same life.

It took her years to plan our escape. She gave herself for my freedom, and I wouldn't let her sacrifice be in vain. I would live free— or not at all.

Once my ears quit ringing, I came to my feet, expecting to find minced mech-man. Instead, Hunter stood there, covered with cuts and scrapes but otherwise unharmed—and looking downright pissed.

My jaw dropped. _Oh, shit._

I backed up. For each step I took, he took one forward in a lethal waltz. When my back collided with a tree, my breath froze in my lungs. No retreat.

I pulled out my machete and took a warrior stance, just like my mother had taught me. I clenched the handle, feeling nothing like a warrior and everything like the girl half his size. I'd fought scuffers before, but never a hunter, and never the best of the hunters.

He continued toward me. As soon he was within arms' distance, I swung, but he blocked my blow, knocking the blade effortlessly out of my hand.

Before I could pull away, he grabbed my wrist.

"No!" I kneed him in the groin. He crumpled, and I dove for the bunker door just like I had the night before, tumbling through and locking it from the inside before he could get to me. I sat against the door, feeling every bit the coward for running.

Hours later, when my stomach started to growl, I forced myself down the steep steps and into the darkness.

After dinner, I lay in bed, playing the scenes over and over in my mind. It didn't make any sense. He could've easily captured me before I'd even seen him last night. Yet, he'd remained out in the open, as though he _wanted_ me to see him. Even today, I sensed that he went down too easily, that he wanted me to feel like I had the upper hand.

"Why?" I called out into the darkness.

Of course there was no answer.

At some point in the night, I passed out from exhaustion, shivering with the cold realization that I'd met my match.

With morning, came a new plan. As I opened the door, I found Hunter leaning against a tree, watching me. For a mech-man, he cleaned up nice.

His arms were crossed over a broad chest, putting his muscled biceps on display. His ankles were crossed as he casually leaned against a tree. He was compelling in the way he stood, confident that he would win this battle. If I fought him on his terms, I had no doubt, either. He would win.

So I initiated my new plan. I wouldn't try to kill him. Not today, anyway. Instead, I would play his game. Figure out his plan. I'd wait until he let down his guard. Then I'd finish the job.

I locked the door on the way out and kept a wide berth as I moved toward the slicer, stopping when I saw the blades had already been reset. Same with the net. I nodded toward my swamp's defenses. "You do this?"

A slight nod.

I sighed in exasperation, and my shoulders slumped. "What do you want?" Though I already knew the answer. A man could retire off the money he'd make from selling me.

Without a response, I eyed him warily as I hopped from stone to stone toward my hidden garden. I'd never gathered more food than I needed to get me through the day and was ill-prepared for a siege. No previous hunter had lasted more than a few hours in my swamp. The slicer had never failed me before. With this being the second day in, I needed food to keep my strength up. I took my eyes off my unwanted visitor just long enough to empty the eel-trap and grab several green stalks. With enough food for another day, I cautiously made my way back to my underground bunker.

***

It continued like that for eighteen days. Hunter didn't try to capture me, but, strangely, I never found the right time to kill him. Instead, I focused my energy on trying to figure him out. He kept the swamp clear of scuffers, and I found myself growing comfortable with his quiet presence, even looked forward to seeing him every day. Some days, I'd find a bundle of food waiting for me outside my bunker. When I looked at Hunter, he'd simply nod, his way of saying, "you're welcome."

Were his gifts a peace offering or a ploy? I'd yet to figure that out.

As the days went by, I'd sit on a Cyprus trunk and talk while he listened. Even with dark sunglasses, I knew he watched me as though he were entranced. Since my mother's disappearance, I'd had no one to talk to, and I found myself anticipating seeing him every morning. It was as though he filled a chasm in my spirit.

Each day, Hunter grew closer, to the point of being nearly within arm's reach. Yet he never made a sudden move, never reached out to touch me. The dangerous proximity should've terrified me, but I'd started to dream of being wrapped in his protective embrace. I'd almost touched him once, when I'd gotten carried away with a story, but I'd caught myself in time.

With every passing day, I betrayed my mother's rule. _Never trust men._ But I couldn't bring myself to hurt him. On the nineteenth day, Hunter was already lounging on the Cyprus trunk, holding a bundle of colorful flowers, by the time I returned from my garden.

As I approached, I was so busy admiring the way his leather armor molded to his chiseled chest, I didn't notice that one of my stepping stones had sunk. I slipped and fell into a shallow pool of muck, sending my freshly-picked blueberries flying.

Still on my knees, I turned to find he was chuckling at me, even though no sound passed through those lips. I threw a large blueberry at him, which he caught, wiped off, and popped into his mouth with a smirk. I couldn't help but smile. After pulling myself up as gracefully as I could, being covered in mud, I tossed a mud pie his way. He ducked, his grin widening as I prepared my next strike.

The sound of grinding gears decimated the silence and jerked my attention toward the belly of the swamp. A large plume of smoke signaled a skiff too large for a lone scuffer.

My eyes widened, and I glanced at Hunter. "Pirates!"

His lips pursed, then he disappeared behind a tree, leaving me alone to fend for myself.

I gritted my teeth and turned my attention back to the cloud of smoke clawing through my swamp. Desperate slaves and the vilest of scuffers fled cities to join pirate crews. Pirates would do anything or kill anyone to meet their needs.

I left my food and jumped toward the slicer. My machine couldn't stop their skiff, but they would have to leave the ship to get what they wanted. Rumors of my presence in these swamps must have been spreading. Things had been getting too crowded around here.

A horn sounded, and the skiff grinded to a halt where the trees stood as walls for my section of the swamp. At least a dozen mech-modified pirates with nets stood on its deck. A man stepped forward with a wide smile full of rotten teeth. "See, boys? I told you the rumors were true." He motioned me to the ship with a grimy hand. "Come here, sweets. Anything you want, it's yours. I swear you'll be treated like a queen. _My_ queen."

My skin crawled. I knew better. Being shared among a dozen sex-starved pirates sounded as tempting as having my insides ripped out by a pack of ravenous dingoes. "Bugger off!" I yelled, before stepping behind the protection of a tree.

The pirate's face reddened and his hands curled around the railing. Evidently he'd imagined this playing out differently. "Come here. Now."

I reached for a grenade, stepped out, pulled the pin off the grenade, and lobbed it at the skiff. It landed on the deck with a clang and a second later, pirates jumped overboard, landing in the thick mud. A _kaboom_ rocked the air, followed by a second louder explosion when the fire reached the engine.

I hated using the grenade. It had been my last one, taken off a hunter a year ago, and one of my most prized weapons. But I'd also never faced more than two trespassers at once before. Solo scuffers and hunters were one thing. Pirates, I hid from.

The surviving pirates emerged from the smog and came at me with unnatural speed. They were seriously meched up, as much as any hunter. I hit the lever on the slicer and began the countdown, already nervous that they'd be through the kill zone before the blades sprung.

A movement to the left caught my eye. Hunter stood at my side, now with a scabbard across his back and raising a blaster.

"You came back," I said breathlessly.

He gave me a confused look as though _I_ were the crazy one.

I shrugged and pulled the rifle off my back. Together, we began shooting at the pirates as they weaved between the trees, all too quickly closing the distance.

When the countdown ran out, the slicer chopped four pirates. Their blood splattered the trees. The blades moved too fast. There were no screams from the instantly dead, only gore and limbs.

With a shout of fury, the captain aimed his blaster at Hunter who stood at my side, but then lowered it with a curse, no doubt because he couldn't risk hitting me by mistake. Even if he didn't decide to keep me for his own pleasure, I could bring a king's ransom, but only if I remained alive.

I'd already run out of bullets, and I was lousy at hand-to-hand combat. A moment later Hunter's blaster made a recharge hum. I pulled out my machete and he unsheathed a large, curved sword. "Nice," I whispered, before moving to stand back-to-back with him, his comforting heat infusing me with confidence.

I scowled at the remaining pirates—seven in all—who encircled us.

The captain lurched toward me. Hunter blocked him, but was held back when six swords leveled on him. He grimaced, and I laid a hand on his arm. _It's okay._

Then, I spun around and swung the machete. The captain easily parried. I'd no training with swordplay and it showed. The sounds of a scuffle behind me meant that Hunter wasn't standing idly by.

The captain laughed before lunging under my next swing and grabbing my wrist. He squeezed. Agony shot through me, and the machete dropped from my grip. _No!_

He yanked me into his arms, his breath reeking of smoke and whiskey and rotted teeth. I punched him with my free hand. He wiped blood from his split lip and his eyes narrowed. I struggled harder, but he pulled me against him so that I couldn't get in another proper swing. His hot breath tickled my lips. "You're a feisty wench. I like that."

Dread doused my strength. I brought my gaze to Hunter. One of the pirates had stepped behind him, holding his blade to Hunter's throat so that he couldn't move without having his jugular sliced. His cheek was cut, and blood flowed from his nose. His sunglasses had been knocked off and I stared into his silver mech-eyes. I had never seen mech-vision before, and my breath caught at the tender gray gaze looking back at me. He watched me like there was no one else here. And he was absolutely furious.

His fury infused me. "Bastards!" I shoved away from the captain with all my strength, punching him again, then kicking his shin. He swung back. I was too slow. Bright pain exploded on the left side of my face, the force sending me to the ground. Vertigo kept me on the ground as I fought to regain my vision.

Noise and shouting erupted around me. When I could see straight, Hunter stood between the pirate and me. The pirate's bloody hands were wrapped around a sword impaled in his chest. Blood trickling from his mouth, he collapsed to the ground. A thin line of red marred Hunter's throat, and I held a hand out to him.

He reached down, but then spun around to block a sword from going through his back. As the remaining pirates attacked, my hunter fought them in a bloody ballet of swords and machetes. I grabbed my machete, stepped behind the first pirate I came to and skewered him through the kidneys. A large pirate lunged at me only to have Hunter slash his Achilles tendon, then decapitate another with the same swing.

I jumped back and swung at the pirate now down on one knee, but still he fended me off. Wild swings of my machete kept the pirate at bay, but then a hot, white pain shot through my head. I fell to the ground, trying to hold on to my blade, as my world sank into darkness.

***

It was twilight when consciousness found me. Gently touching the goose egg on my head, I looked around. Every pirate lay bloodied and motionless in the mud. Wincing, I came to my feet, and, lifting my machete, I decapitated each man, making sure their mech upgrades could never heal them.

Then I saw him. The blade fell from my hand, landing with a quiet _plop_ in the mud. I dropped to my knees by Hunter who sat on thick root, propped against a tree. Blood from a gouge in his shoulder mixed with oil as it ran down his mech-arm, which made a small spasm with every spurt of oil.

I pulled out the delicate handkerchief that had belonged to my mother. Folding it, I pressed the soft cotton against his skin, and then pulled off my belt. He winced as I tied my belt around his shoulder to hold the makeshift bandage in place.

"It'll be okay," I murmured, raising my hand to cup his cheek.

Hunter's hand covered mine. He gazed at me, as though trying to convey something through those two metallic orbs. For the first time, he looked mortal, and it rocked me to my core. Tentatively, I leaned forward and laid a gentle kiss on his forehead.

As I pulled away, he tugged me back. This time, my lips met his. They were warmer and softer than I would have guessed...and gentler. He didn't deepen the kiss, but he also didn't break the kiss while I took in the new sensation. Wanting to taste him, my tongue flicked over his lips; he opened his mouth slightly, and I slid my tongue inside for one delicious moment.

I pulled away. "Let's get you inside," I said abruptly.

He sighed. Wrapping his other arm around me, I helped him to his feet. Even using every ounce of strength, I could barely support his weight as we made our slow way toward the bunker door. Reaching for the lever, I paused with sudden trepidation. Biting my lip, I looked at the hunter bleeding in my arms. Then, with renewed purpose I opened the door, and brought a man into my home for the first time.

***

Three days later, I stood over my bed where Hunter slept, his breath a calming whisper. Like the mornings and nights that had passed before, I watched him, asking myself the same questions over and over. Why had I helped him instead of leaving him to die in the swamp? Why had I taken him in my home, my sanctuary? Why had I _kissed_ him?

Still no rational answer came.

The next day, I filled a small cup with root soup. When I turned around, Hunter stood, watching me, a sheet tied around his waist, his mech-arm still in a sling. His other arm was braced against the wall, making the muscles on his bare chest stand out even more.

I swallowed, my breath coming faster, as if I'd just ran a mile. The heat he stirred in me sent goose bumps across my skin. Even asleep, he made me edgy, _changed_. Awake, it was a hundred times worse. My heart thrummed like a percussive symphony. Swallowing, I stood tall and carried the soup to him. "Drink this."

He mouthed the words "thank you" before taking the cup and downing the soup faster than I thought possible for a man who had been on his death bed a day earlier. I collected the empty cup from him, took a couple steps to the sink and rinsed it. I turned to find him close behind me, still watching with those sensual silvery eyes.

Suddenly my tiny underground bunker felt even smaller and warmer than usual. I backed myself against the sink. "What do you want?" I asked, my voice breathless.

He gave a small smile, brushed a hair from my face, then turned and sat down at my work bench. I stood cautiously at his back, heat dulling into fascination as I watched his expert use of my tools as he repaired his arm and leg.

Finished, he quickly rose to his feet, startling me. He simply smiled, then turned, heading to the curtainless shower in the corner.

My eyes widened when I realized his intent. "Hold on," I said in a rush, before hastening to the ancient steamer trunk and pulling out a towel. At the sound of water, I looked up to see the sheet fall to the floor. Heat flooded my cheeks.

Minutes felt like hours as I held the towel and fidgeted, biting my lower lip. My betraying eyes snuck glimpses to where the naked hunter stood under the spray. Even with all the mech-work, he was a glorious specimen. No man had ever caused these new sensations zipping through my blood, and I had to prevent myself from stepping closer to take in every inch of him.

Instead, I stood frozen, staring, until he lifted his hand and turned off the spray.

Suddenly nervous, I refused to make eye contact as I stepped toward him, holding the towel out as far as I could. When the fabric was tugged from my hand, I turned away, and stood without knowing what to do. Every muscle in my body was tense, screaming at my brain to face him.

A soft touch on my shoulder made me shudder and turn. Hunter stood before me, a towel wrapped around his waist, beads of water still running down his chest. I nervously licked my dry lips as I eyed the contrast of the cold metal against warm muscle, my body beginning to escalate beyond my control.

He stepped closer and I brought a palm up against his chest, where a strong heart beat under hot, damp skin. I tried to keep him at a distance, but instead, my hand moved with a mind of its own. I've never touched a man this way before, and though his muscles tensed, he didn't stop me as my fingers traced the planes of his stomach. A large hand cupped my chin, tugging my face upward. He bent down, backing me up until my legs hit something soft. I collapsed onto the mattress.

He came down next to me. Warm lips pressed against mine, softly, hesitantly. My eyes widened then closed, as his kiss took possession of my senses. Infused with heat, I pressed closer. Not knowing what to do, I let him guide me. His tongue brushed my lips and I opened to accept him, soon needing and demanding more. My nails dug into his back as his kiss became fierce, possessive.

A moan escaped me when a rough hand rubbed over my nipple. Nothing had ever felt this good. Nothing. The many times I'd given myself pleasure didn't measure up to a tenth of the passion he called forth from me.

His heat permeated me; his hardness ground against me, and my thighs moved around him in response. He ran his fingers over my breast, down to my stomach, then lower still, where his calloused hand brushed against my thigh before pushing my homemade skirt up over my hips. His fingers traced up my inner thigh until they came to my clitoris, and I gasped as he gently flicked it. "Gods, yes," I cried out, clutching his hair.

My hips began to move against him. I stared at him, the wild need on his face making me desire him all the more. Suddenly impatient, I pulled his head to meet mine and kissed him. It was hard and wet and demanding.

It was perfect.

He responded by thrusting a finger inside me, and I whimpered. Then two fingers. I gasped, coming almost instantly. He breathed heavily as his fingers began to move in and nearly all the way out before pushing back in again.

Just when I could feel the waves of climax building, his hand stopped and he pulled away. I frantically pulled at his towel. I wanted to feel him—all of him. I craved him inside me. "I need you," I whispered.

He rose up above me, and I knew it was so he could watch me, to gauge my reaction as he slid the large tip in, and I sucked in a breath and then cried out in pleasure. For one long second, he didn't move.

"Please," I whimpered and brought my hips up, pulling him in deeper. He pulled back slowly, and I clutched at him, raking my nails over his back. He drove himself deep inside, filling all of me, harder and faster, the intense pleasure far beyond anything I'd ever experienced. A climax grew inside me until I screamed, and he responded with an explosive burst of release.

He stayed inside me until the last tremor of my orgasm subsided. Then, with the gentlest of kisses, he rolled onto his side, panting and sweaty, and pulled me in a tender embrace. I should've been afraid. I should've scolded myself for betraying my mother's commands. But I couldn't bring myself to do either. It was the first time I'd ever felt...happiness.

We lay there entangled until my world slipped away into beautiful dreams.

***

Some hours later I awoke, still wrapped in the hunter's arms, and already yearning for him again. I rubbed against him, and he nipped my shoulder. I playfully slapped him, but he pulled away. The weight gone from the bed, I turned to see him rummaging through his pockets. He returned to me, looking down with concern, and handed me a letter. The thick parchment weighed heavily in my hand. I brought myself up on an elbow and turned it over. I ran my fingers over the wax seal, touching and seeing the unmistakable form of Kali. A chill ran through me.

Breaking the seal, I opened the parchment. The words were art, written in calligraphy by a delicate hand. I read it three times before the impact of the words sunk in.

On behalf of my people, I cordially invite you to join us in the safety of a free city founded for the preservation of humankind. Our city is located on an island in the center of the ocean, protected by the myth of the kraken. We cannot share the location lest this letter fall into the wrong hands. This hunter will provide you safe passage if you choose to make Kali your home. Dearest regards, Lady Alexandra of Kali

The letter dropped to the mattress. I sat up and faced the man in my bed. "You came to invite me to Kali?"

He gave me a nod.

"And if I don't want to go, you won't force me?"

He shook his head.

I jumped from the bed and paced, oblivious to my nakedness. _A free city!_ What that letter suggested was...impossible. After several laps in the cramped quarters, I stopped and watched him helplessly. When I spoke, the words came difficult.

"So this," I waved a hand between us. "Was to get me to go with you to Kali?"

His eyes widened and he shook his head fervently from side to side. He grabbed my hand and pulled it to his heart. It beat strong and warm under my palm. Holding it there with one hand, he reached for a piece of chalk lying on the work bench, and wrote on the wall:

Yours.

I stared at that single word, all the while feeling his heart beat under my palm. Feeling traitorous tears burn my eyes, I yanked out of his grasp.

"But once we're there..." I thought for a moment. "You'll leave again. Your job—"

He shook his head again.

"But that's your job, right? Leaving Kali, hunting women?"

He pointed to the word on the wall.

I turned back toward the bed and collapsed on the mattress, holding myself still when I felt the weight behind me. Nor did I move when he wrapped an arm around me in a protective embrace—exactly as I'd imagined in my dreams.

I don't know how long he held me. I fell asleep sometime in the night, still wrapped in Hunter's safe arms. When I awoke, I was alone, a quilt pulled over me. I scanned the empty bunker, and my eyes fell on the wall and the single word written there.

If I went with him, everything would change.

In the weeks he'd stood guard outside my bunker, I'd felt safe. I had no clue how tomorrow would turn out. But the truth was I had been kidding myself all along. I wasn't living in this swamp. I was hiding from life. Just as I was now hiding from this man and what he offered.

Throwing on a pair of cargoes and a tank, I stepped outside to find him in the garden. When he saw me, he stood quickly and watched me come to him. I searched his face, sighed, and then rested my cheek against his beating heart. "When do we leave?"

He grabbed my shoulders and looked at me. His lips curved up as he pulled me to him and kissed me with an intensity even bolder than our first kiss.

And we made love.

Later that day, we walked through the swamp to his modern skiff, perfectly camouflaged under the trees. Everything I wanted to bring to my new life fit in two bags. A dark shadow passed by overhead. "Ah, hell. We've got trouble," I said, looking up to the sky.

Hunter set down the bag he'd been carrying, nonchalantly opened a side panel, and pulled out a hand cannon. My eyes widened, as he loaded it and held it out to me. With a grin, I dropped my bag, grabbed the arm cannon, then aimed it. I pulled the trigger and watched the grenade-like bomb shoot toward the scanner. An instant later, the scanner became a fireball hurtling toward the ground.

I handed the smoking cannon back to my hunter. Taking my hand into his, he helped me climb onto the skiff, where we danced to the music of the swamp.

And for the first time in my life — I laughed.

### BERINN RAE

About the Author

BERINN RAE writes sci-fi romance and paranormal romance, and as Rachel Aukes, she writes sci-fi and horror. Berinn was raised on a farm in Iowa where she boasted the small town's largest (and only) comic book collection. An obsessive reader and compulsive daydreamer, it was only a matter of time before she fell in love with writing stories starring women with kickassitude.

Berinn received an undergraduate degree from the University of Northern Iowa and master's degree from Drake University. After college, she dove into the field of technology, from programming to process improvement, and finally to strategic management, where she served as Vice President of a Fortune 100 bank.

When not writing, Berinn can be found flying old airplanes, watching Sci-Fi movies, and playing RPGs. She currently lives in the Midwest United States with her awesomely supportive husband and an incredibly spoiled sixty-pound lap dog.

Awards or Special Recognition

2013 RWA Silken Sands Star Award for best short story (Stealing Fate)

Selected as one of the top ten books of 2012 by Step Into Fiction blog (Collision)

2012 EPIC Finalist for best fantasy romance (Knightfall)

Story Inspiration

Envy's Revenge is a standalone short story about what happens _after_ the end of the world. This scenario could take place on earth, in today's times, or on another planet deep into the future (or past). I intentionally left the setting ambiguous so that the reader could envision her/his own picture of Envy's world.

Envy's Revenge came about after I read a news story of a new virus that evolved from relatively innocuous bacteria. But that story wasn't unique. Every year, we hear of frightening, new deadly diseases that mutate and evolve, some even jumping species. I realized how precarious our health can be in an ever-changing world. I thought about what could happen if a devastating virus targeted the human race...and so Envy was born.

**Other Works by This Author** http://www.rachelaukes.com/books.html

  * Collision: Part 1 of the Colliding Worlds Trilogy

  * Implosion: Part 2 of the Colliding Worlds Trilogy

  * Explosion: Part 3 of the Colliding Worlds Trilogy

  * **Stealing Fate** \- FREE SHORT STORY!

Web Site

Official Site http://www.RachelAukes.com

Author Contact

Email Rachel@RachelAukes.com

Twitter http://twitter.com/berinnrae

Facebook <http://www.facebook.com/Rachel.Aukes>

## Whiskey and Starshine

by Erica Hayes

He didn't kick open the batwing doors and burst into the saloon bristling with lasers and attitude. Didn't saunter up to her green neonglass bar, tip his hat and growl, "Whiskey, ma'am," in his rough and rusty badlands drawl.

But Allie Fivestars knew he was the one.

The way he strode in, lean and tight like a snake. His dusty metal armor with flashscars burned deep, the worn grips of his old-fashioned photon pistols. The hard set of his mouth, his unshaven chin, the tension in his thighs as he sat on a tall barstool. How he catalogued everyone in the crowded saloon—drunken barflies, card sharks, whores—with one sweep of his hard eyes.

No electric enhancements in those space-dark depths. No glint of laser-sharpened accusight.

Just shadows, and death.

Woodenly, Allie polished another glass and added it to her stack. At the bar, a dirty space-mad hustler puffed acrid smoke from a plastic stim cigarillo, squinting at her with a single metal eye. In the corner, old Sheb banged out some long-forgotten tune on the piano, his artificial hand clanking on the keys. A couple danced a drunken tango. Some were already passed out under the cracked plastic tables, and by the open-shuttered window, a black-shelled Arctinian gurgled contentedly and waved its antennae, sucking whiskey into its bristly mouth through a straw. Arcies drank here, and smoked stim. Anything else—those vile alien appetites the girls whispered about—was illegal.

Like that mattered a damn around here.

In the centre, a trio of dusty freight jockeys played cards. Halfway up the stairs, another one fumbled with a whore's ruffled blue skirts. The girl—her friend Susie Threeways, sixteen years old and already half-mad from cheap stim—swigged Arctinian moonshine from the bottle, her eyes dull and bloodshot. The feathers in her fascinator hung limp, her synthetic blue corset crumbling.

Just another night at the Starshine Saloon.

The stranger's gaze locked with Allie's. Dark. Knowing.

Her pulse quickened, the laces on her red velvet bodice suddenly too tight.

Automatically, the chipset in her brain activated, and her blood cooled. The chip didn't permit excitement of any kind. No arousal. No violence. It was how the Syndicate punished her, made sure memories of her past were erased. How they controlled her, like they controlled everything else on Retribution Station, from slavers to gunrunners to the lucrative stim trade.

They'd made her no good for anything but bartending and whoring, and precious little good for that last. Oh, she had her regulars; enough to keep her fed, vaccinated against disease, her threadbare velvet skirts laundered. Dirtbags all. Syndicate, for the most. Johnny Lee Cade, for one, pirate, slave trader, dead-eye gunslinger, with his cold hands and bitter mouth. He passed for the law in these parts and claimed her exclusively whenever his ship docked. Lately, Johnny Lee's patience with her had grown brittle. She wasn't making him enough money. Hell, they didn't call her Allie Fivestars as a compliment.

She couldn't feel pleasure, or passion. Faked it, like every other five-credit fuck on the station. Couldn't even get drunk or high to wash the shame away, if she'd felt any, which she didn't. Just disgust, and a tarnished ache in her heart.

But this long, lean stranger's glance did things to her insides she thought she'd forgotten forever. Warm, secret, womanly things.

Definitely the one.

"What'll it be?" Eyes down, she wiped the bar with a wet rag. She kept her voice neutral, but urgency tightened her throat. _Do something, Allie._ _Before he walks out. Before Johnny Lee comes back. Please, let him not ask for a whore._

The stranger's stare—so close now—warmed her skin all over again. Even through the tart stimsmoke she could smell him, warm steel and fire, and her mouth watered. A fine smell for a man.

A muscle jumped along his jaw. A single sweat drop glistened on his temple. At last, he reached up two fingers and tipped his hat. A stray lock of chestnut hair escaped, and fell to his chin. "Whiskey, ma'am."

Allie stared, the need for breath forgotten. That rough badlands drawl... In her mind, distant firecrackers popped, flames licking the torn edges of her memory like burning paper. Blindly, she fumbled for the bottle, and splashed whiskey into a glass. The stranger reached for it with his big flashscarred hand. _Scars, the shape of sickles, smooth and warm on her tongue..._

Impulsively, she folded her fingers over his, stopping his retreat.

Whiskey spilled. His dark eyes flashed, and he tensed, watchful, only a snap of reflex from... what? Hitting her? Drawing down and melting her brains?

Kissing her?

Allie's pulse danced, and she fought to keep control, to thwart the chip for just a few moments more. She knew him. She didn't know him. It didn't matter.

"I don't know who you are, mister," she whispered, "and I don't care. Just get me out of here."

***

Allie's fingers crushed his, desperation shining from her face. Her ripe bottom lip trembled, and for a moment, Raine Jericho couldn't breathe.

So beautiful. From the moment he'd first spied her, dancing alone in the starlit palace gardens at Meridian. In those days, he'd taken what he wanted, and that old possessive urge burned in his blood now, compelling him to take her, hold her, make her his own.

But no memory flickered in her chip-dulled eyes. Only desperation, and fear.

Allie didn't remember him. Didn't remember loving him. And—this much was crystal, from her ruffled red skirts to the creamy flesh swelling over the top of her corset to the faded finger marks on her throat—the Syndicate son of a bitch who'd stolen her had made her a whore.

His Allie. A whore.

Jericho's guts boiled, pain and dark fury mixing like toxic Arctinian moonshine. How could he ever heal that? Ever make her smile again?

Evil Syndicate motherfuckers. His gun fingers jerked, itching. Damn, he had a hard-on just thinking about squeezing that trigger. He'd thought his days of hatred and vengeance were ended.

Nuh-uh. No, sir.

Allie squeezed his hand tighter, painful. Her gaze darted left and right. "Mister," she whispered fiercely, "didn't you hear me?"

Jericho swallowed, dry. He wanted that whiskey shot. He wanted to howl. Courage, hell. He'd take a gunfight over facing her any day. "Allie," he said slowly, "don't you recall? It's me. Jericho."

She stared, confused. Her fingers slipped from his, lost. "I'm sorry, Mr. Jericho, I... I ain't got much time. I'll pay you if I can. Please, for the love of heaven, help a troubled woman."

Her blond curls tumbled over one smooth shoulder. So pretty. He wanted to sink his hands in, like he had in Meridian, with that swirling blue aurora reflecting in her eyes. _Damn, woman, you're an angel,_ he'd growled, and she'd laughed breathlessly into his kiss and chided him for cursing. In a few short weeks, she'd opened his eyes, poured light on his heart like a sunburst. But if anyone knew the facts of life by rote, it was Raine Jericho: you didn't mess with the Syndicate.

The Syndicate messed with you.

And Allie—or whoever his angel was now—had been messed with enough. Time later for reminiscing. She needed him.

He sank the shot, his throat afire. Clinked the glass onto the green-lit bar. Tipped his hat to her again. "At your service, ma'am."

***

Lost sunshine warmed Allie's heart. He was so familiar. So compelling. He knew her name. Maybe what he claimed was true, maybe she did know this Jericho from her previous life, whoever and wherever she'd been.

But no time to figure it now. Any hour, Johnny Lee would return. Last time, they'd fought. She hadn't pleased him, and he'd hurt her, his chilly temper igniting. Allie's neck still carried the bruises, and she knew you only disappointed Johnny Lee Cade once. After that...

She lifted the hinge on the bar, quietly glancing around. No one in the noisy saloon paid her no mind, but Jericho's heated gaze tracked her. Her guts clenched. She'd promised to pay, and she only had one thing to pay with. But she preferred ugly, vile-tempered customers with no heart. Mr. Dark-and-stormy, Smolder-me-weak-at-the-knees Jericho... well, he was just the type she avoided. She wasn't so broken she didn't notice when a man was fine-looking, and a clean, handsome man using a whore only sickened her more. Made her wonder what was wrong with him that he had to pay for a woman's attention.

Close as she dared, in range of his memory-rich scent. Unwilled, her hands clutched over her velvet corset's laces. Her palms sweated. Damn. That wasn't supposed to happen. Where was that chip when you wanted it?

"I need passage off the station. No questions, no trouble. I'll pay," she added again, firmly. "I ain't begging your charity."

His mouth twisted, a swift spasm of pain. "Ma'am, you don't owe me nothing—"

"Oh, sweet Jesus," she whispered, her attention unglued. The batwing doors had creaked open, spilling in a lean starlit silhouette. A hush spread over the Starshine Saloon.

Swiftly, she flung her arm around Jericho's neck. Yanked her skirt up, slid one leg over his lap on the stool. Grabbed his scarred hand, and planted it firmly on her stockinged thigh.

His fingers flexed, hot even through the stocking. "Ma'am—"

"Hush," she hissed into his ear. If she looked busy, maybe Johnny would leave her alone. "You wanna help? Act like you're paying for it. Just don't let that son of a bitch take me away."

He tensed, muscles taut, but he didn't shake her off. His armor was tactile yet smooth under her palm, and beneath it his body was hard, unforgiving. The clunk of boot heels came closer. She fluttered her lips over his throat, and giggled, like a good whore should. Unexpectedly, her mouth tingled. Damn, the man tasted fine. She wanted to slide her tongue over his skin. Feel his pulse throb on her lips, taste the heat of his kiss...

Her mind swayed, uneasy. Allie Fivestars couldn't _want_ anything. Could she?

Her head ached, the chip trying to reassert itself, keep control like it always did. But for once, its demands didn't seem important. Not in this man's arms. Not next to this rich miracle of _desire_.

A groan rumbled in his chest, and his grip tightened on her thigh. "Allie."

The way he said her name spiraled hot shivers inside her. Her thoughts splintered, a brittle spike of pain. What was happening? She'd thought to fake it, like always, the chip dulling her responses. But she could _feel_ ... His cheek brushed hers, and lingered. His fingers tilted her chin up, irresistible. Her parched lips parted. Her eyelids fluttered closed, and his lips brushed the corner of her mouth with a kiss...

"Well, now, Allie Fivestars." That smooth, hateful voice slithered like snake scales on her skin. "It appears you did not miss me."

She gasped, jerking back into the real world.

Johnny Lee Cade smiled at her, empty. Big man, blackglass armor gleaming across his chest, twin pistols ugly in his holsters. He took off his hat and set it aside, tossing back golden hair, and his empty grey eyes glinted silver with electric focusers. Handsome, if you liked enhanced Syndicate slave traders with chilly voids for hearts.

"Kissing the customers, now?" he observed, in that mild tone that led to broken furniture and blood. His frontier-planet twang made him sound gallant and harmless. Another mistake you only made once. "How entrepreneurial. I trust you're adjusting your fee accordingly."

The stranger didn't turn. Didn't let her go. But at the sound of that voice, his melting gaze hardened like starfrost.

"Johnny Lee." Allie simpered, and fluffed her curls, her heart thudding. "Me and this fine gentleman, we ain't finished, so if you don't mind—"

"Oh, I mind." Johnny Lee's steel-cored hand clamped on Jericho's shoulder and spun him around. Allie's hip glanced off the bar, her bones jarring. She stumbled, and righted herself, ready to run.

Jericho just kicked the stool aside, and faced Johnny Lee down. His stare burned dark, his fingers twitching an inch from his guns. "Touch her again and you'll eat light, you son of a bitch."

"Raine Jericho." Johnny Lee laughed, an ugly metal clang. "My, my. This place has truly gone to hell."

***

Allie stared, open-mouthed. Everyone in the saloon was suddenly fascinated by their drinks or card games. Everyone, that was, except Johnny Lee's Syndicate lackeys. Three of 'em, edging closer behind him, hands hovering over heatguns black with use.

"If hell's here, Cade," said Jericho evenly, "it rode in with you. Just let Allie go. That's all I want."

A sly smile. "I believe it is. You sorry bastard."

Four against two... which meant four against one, because Allie couldn't fight, not with the chip. Not good odds. But the danger barely seemed important.

This stranger knew Johnny Lee. And he knew _her_. His name—Raine Jericho—set her heart aflutter with half-forgotten warmth. Had he... holy Jesus, had he come to Retribution to rescue her?

"You took her," Jericho spat between clenched teeth. "It was _me_ you wanted. Why take it out on a woman?"

"Because she was _your_ woman!" Johnny Lee smirked. "And now I've had her more times than you did. No one fucks with the Syndicate. You should know that—"

Allie didn't see Jericho move.

Light flashed, twin blinding gunshots. Glass exploded, and all the saloon's lights snapped out.

Allie hit the floor, shaking. A girl—Susie Threeways?—screamed. In the dark, Johnny Lee cursed, blistering, his accusights likely either whited out or night-blind or both, and he fired blindly—at what? The sound of Jericho's breathing?—and missed by a whisker. Voltage zapped, lighting Jericho's face for an eerie instant, and purple sparks exploded on the wall.

"Mother _fucker_ ," Johnny Lee spat, and fired again. "You're a dead man, Jericho. You and your cheap nasty whore."

Jericho's warm hand gripped Allie's, and pulled. "Run," he urged.

And Allie ran.

***

Jericho sprinted, his woman's hand clutched in his. His gun burned ready in the other, three pounds of pressure on a four-pound trigger, and in the neon-lit street outside the saloon, the crowd quickly scattered in their path, then just as swiftly swallowed them. His brain functioned on autopilot, sifting sensory data, scanning for threats, tracking around people and fast-food carts and glittering silver speeders.

Just as well. Because the rest of him was still going supernova from that astonishing almost-kiss.

Damn. Her scent still tortured him, her crisp silken curls against his cheek, the lost sweetness of her lips... Pretending, hell. Seemed he weren't no gentleman these days. She remembered nothing of him, but he'd still wanted to lay her down and have his way with her.

Behind them, shots sizzled into the metal floor. Jericho swore, and together they ducked down a side alley, between piles of refuse and empty beer barrels. Through another glittering bar. Up some spiral stairs to the next level, around another corner into the crowded commerce district, where glowing virtual advertising scrolled above bright, tidy store windows.

Allie ran bravely, breathing hard, her pretty face set and determined. "Where are we going?" she panted.

"Any place he ain't." Fresh disgust for Johnny Lee stung like poison in Jericho's blood. To use a woman so... Damn, he wanted to burn his way back to the Starshine and melt the skin from the metal-cored bastard's face. If only it wouldn't kill him so quickly.

A parked speeder caught his eye. Swiftly, he tore off the ignition chip and hot-started it with a photon blast to the generator. The speeder hovered, whining in protest, heat haze rippling underneath. He held out his hand to Allie, darting his gaze around for Syndicate men. "Ma'am, if you please."

Allie didn't argue. Just hiked up her skirts, grabbed his hand, and jumped on. He vaulted on behind her—damn, that woman felt fine between his thighs—and they tore off into the labyrinthine depths of Retribution.

The speeder hummed as it accelerated. Allie's heartbeat thrummed against his chest, the scent of her trailing hair a rich reminder of what was important. What he wanted was irrelevant. Only Allie's safety mattered. He'd protect her; take her wherever she wished to go. And then...

Well, there weren't gonna be no _then_. Not if she didn't remember him. He'd not force her into anything she didn't want. Whatever Jericho was—whatever he'd been—he was still gentleman enough to promise that.

***

After what seemed like an hour of spearing through the maze of streets and tunnels, Jericho floated the speeder to a stop beside a darkened steel building. Uneasy, Allie eyed the narrow street. Empty, corroded, black with neglect. At least there was no one around.

He hopped off and lifted her down, and she couldn't help but lean in as he set her on her feet. Their gazes met, and her spine tingled with the memory—yes, that—of touching him in the saloon. Of wanting to touch him more. Of _kissing_ him, or near enough. Sweet Jesus. How long since she'd kissed a man out of wanting? Hell, since she'd kissed any man except Johnny Lee, who took special delight in things she didn't want?

Jericho's stormy gaze smoldered like coals. His hands lingered warm about her waist... but then he swallowed, and turned away.

Damn it. Who was he? And what had she been to him? Friend? Lover? Wife? Or had Johnny Lee lied, as he so often did for amusement? Questions nibbled at her nerves, but Jericho seemed in no mood to answer them. She glanced about, arranging her skirts in the damp heat. "Where are we?"

He didn't look at her. Just strode up to the door, poked at the electric lock. "I can get you away from Retribution in the morning. Until then, we hole up."

"In somebody's house?"

"Safer than a boarding house. The Syndicate won't look for us here. And I don't believe anybody's home." He flicked a patina of dust from the lock. The place _did_ look deserted.

"How are we gonna—"

The glass door glowed bright, and shattered, and he holstered his gun and waved her in. "Ma'am."

She grinned. "Stealing speeders, breaking houses. Mr. Jericho, what kind of man are you?"

His mouth twitched, half grimace, half haunted smile. Silently, he handed her inside, and followed.

Broken glass tinkled under her boot heels. She felt her way into a darkened parlor, amid furniture hulking in shadow and the poignant scent of dying roses. "Lights," she instructed, and dim orange lamps flared. Table, darkened viewscreen, a fringed sofa, and chairs cushioned in black velvet, old but comfortable. Fatigue washed her limbs weak. She longed to curl up and sleep, wrapped safe in Jericho's arms.

Efficiently, Jericho checked his guns, action and ammo. He'd removed his hat, and dark locks tumbled, dusting his jaw in shadow. "Get some rest," he said shortly. "I'll keep watch—"

"Oh, no, you don't." Swiftly, she blocked his exit, her hand on the doorframe, and raised her chin high. "Talk to me. And stop calling me 'ma'am'. My name is Allie. But you knew that, didn't you?"

He didn't edge away, but his voice roughened. "What is there to say? You don't remember me."

Her cheeks burned. "I do. I remember... something. I don't know what."

"Allie," he said slowly, "you have a chip in your head. That's what the Syndicate do with troublesome slaves. It can't be cut out. I'm sorry. You ain't never gonna be the way you were—"

"Yes, I am!" But pain sizzled sharply in her temples—the chip fighting back—and her skin rippled, horror leaching in like ice water. Surely he was right. She was broken. Lost forever. But she couldn't give up now. "Help me. Tell me who you are, Mr. Jericho. You didn't come here by accident. When I touch you, when I look into your eyes, I feel..."

A muscle twitched in his cheek. "You feel what?"

Long-lost images flashed, a bitter ache behind her eyes. _Talking, laughing, dancing in sultry blue starlight, the garden alive with summer flowers. He caresses my lips, his fingertips taste of rain,_ _his hand is scarred. The first time we kiss, for a moment my heart stops._ "Are we..." She swallowed. It seemed impossible, yet... "Are we together?"

"We were." A sigh, almost inaudible.

_Tears salty on my tongue, his hair trailing over my skin, his steel-and-fire flavor in my mouth..._ "How long for?"

"A couple months."

"Did you love me?"

A heartbeat of silence. "Allie, I love you more than life."

Not _loved_.

"And did I...?" Her heart ached, yearning for truth no words could ever prove. His haunted gaze caressed her, swallowed her, spreading heat in her most secret places.

"Kiss me," she demanded.

"What?"

"Now, Mr. Jericho. Must I show you how?" And she leaned in, her skirts pressing against his legs. She crushed his hair in her fingers. His face was warm in her palms. His eyes darkened. Her skin tingled. Then his mouth found hers, and her whole body sparked alive.

His lips were soft, his mouth strong and insistent. He tasted of whiskey and tears. He wrapped his arms around her, crushing her to him, and like magic her pulse raced, unharnessed, free from unnatural restraints. Indignant sparks stung like wasps in her head, but she didn't care. She wanted to scream with happiness. _Yes. My blood. My pleasure. He's mine._ Her breasts yearned against her tight corset. His lean body felt so good—so right—and when she opened her mouth and his tongue touched hers, something in her mind shattered, and shards of memory like diamonds pierced her heart, pain and the sweetest pleasure.

She'd loved him, all right. More than life. And she would again.

"So," she managed, breathless. "What's my name really? I know I'm Allie, but—"

"Allie Rose." He didn't stop kissing her. Maybe, he couldn't.

"Allie Rose." She tasted the name on his tongue. "Mmm. So we ain't married?"

"Nope. Are you scandalized, Miz Rose?"

She nipped his lip in retort. "And what do I call you? I mean, what did I..."

"You call me Jericho." He nudged her chin up, and kissed trails of starlight over her throat, her collarbone.

She sighed—this rare delight, to _feel_ —and tugged his head down, to the tops of her breasts. "Very well. Then make love to me, Jericho. Let me remember."

Her eyelids closed, and time and space faded into delirium. Kissing him, tasting him, his scarred skin hot under her hands, the velvet sofa soft where he laid her down. His body was hard all over, warm metal and muscle and desire. His mouth on hers, he unholstered twin weapons and put them aside. Disarmed, for her.

Deftly he unlaced her corset, freeing her breasts for his mouth. She arched, dizzy, needing more. So gentle, yet so hot and needy, as if she was the most delicious thing he'd tasted.

As if he cared for her, this stranger who haunted her dreams. God help her.

She fumbled with the clips of his armor and he helped her, shrugging off his blackmetal casing and his shirt. Underneath, his body was flashscarred, tarnished in the dim lamplight, and she traced the familiar sickle shapes of old burns with her tongue. Smooth, warm, a dark tang of iron. He groaned and covered her, igniting her body all over with kisses and love. Her skirts soon fell away, discarded, her boots unlaced. Her thighs sparkled at the touch of his lips, hot tingles that spiraled into her belly and tightened.

"Allie." He coaxed her thighs wider, and his whisper burned her there. "You taste like heaven."

Hell, he _felt_ like heaven. She wanted him inside of her. But instead he _kissed_ her, sucked her, using his tongue and lips on her in ways she'd forgotten were possible, and sweet Jesus, she was crying, moaning, curling her leg around his shoulder, gasping her way in a shuddering climax. "Why, Mr. Jericho," she breathed as the shocks faded. "You're a bad man."

He climbed her, then, and swiftly she helped him strip his lower half naked. Hot damn, he was a fine-looking man, long muscular thighs and hard butt. She opened her legs to welcome him, and when he pushed in, one slow, deep, burning thrust, tears sprang to her eyes.

She was used to uncaring men, feeble with drink most of the time and in a hurry to finish with her. But—oh, lord—there was nothing feeble or hurried about Jericho. "You make me good, angel," he whispered into her mouth as he moved inside of her. "Only you."

She luxuriated in him, molding to him, her body afire with forgotten sensation. Her nails dug into his back, new scars on old. His touch revitalized her, the pleasure of his love like being reborn. His kiss tasted of steel, spice, sweetness, every miracle she thought she'd lost forever, and together they gasped and shuddered and quickened, and found each other again.

After, she lay in his arms, her cheek on his shoulder, listening to his steady heartbeat. "Jericho."

"Mmm?" His fingertips trailed in her hair, a sweet memory.

"We can't leave." Her words surprised her. But even as she spoke, she knew it to be true.

"Excuse me?"

"The other girls. They're good to me. I can't leave them there." Guilt stung her, sharp without the chip's deadening effects. Susie Threeways, stupid with stim and fear but a sweet girl. No hero would come to save her.

"Allie—"

"Johnny Lee will sell them to the Arcies." That name dirtied her mouth, and fresh disgust fired her blood. "You know what that means. Those monsters _eat_ their whores, Jericho. Piece by piece."

"I know it ain't right." He leaned on one elbow, his expression half in shadow. "But the Starshine is one saloon. You can't change the world. You can only live in it."

"So you'll let him get away with it?"

His stormy eyes thundered. "Allie, you don't want to know what I'd like to do to that son of a bitch."

Shivers warmed her, unsettling. "What did he mean, back in the saloon? Why did he take me? How do you know him?"

Silence, stretching. Just his heartbeat, and the dark heat of his gaze. "It don't matter," he said finally.

She sat up, fearful, though she didn't know why. "I already got too many holes in my memory, Jericho. Don't hold out on me. Please."

He swung his legs around to sit on the sofa's edge, staring into the dark. "You knew," he said hoarsely. "Before. I swear. When we met, I was..."

"What? Tell me!"

A reluctant sigh. "It was in the Syndicate princes' palace on Meridian. I found you in the garden, dancing, and..." He didn't meet her gaze. Just waited.

_Meridian_. It clanged like evil bells in her head, even as her skin tingled all over again with the midnight memory of kissing him in that sultry summer garden, of lying down beneath him wreathed in flowers. "The kitchen," she said suddenly, dark fog clearing in her mind. "I cooked. The only job I could get. I used to sneak out, late at night. But why were you..."

_Oh, sweet Jesus._ Dread sucked her breath away. _Don't say it, Jericho. Don't._

But he did. Painful, rough with shame. "Because I was in the Syndicate. And Johnny Lee Cade was my partner."

***

The sparkle died in Allie's eyes, and her pain scorched Jericho's heart like flashburn.

She covered herself, wrapping her arms tight. She was shivering. Disgusted. Afraid. "You son of a bitch," she whispered.

"Yes, ma'am, I was. An angry, selfish, mean son of a bitch. But you changed me, Allie." Such useless words. He wanted to take her in his arms. He didn't dare.

"Were you a slave trader, too?" Her voice quavered. "Did you _own_ people? Buy and sell them?"

"Yes, ma'am, I did."

"People like me?"

He nodded, sick.

Tears slipped down her sweet face, and she swung back and hit him. "How could you?" she demanded.

His cheek stung. He didn't flinch, or back away. She slapped him a second time, and blood salted his tongue.

"How could you?" Louder, harsher. She wanted a reaction. Any reaction.

"I was crazy, Allie. Brainwashed. I'm a different man now."

"Don't give me your bullshit excuses—"

"I was out of my mind," he cut in harshly. She had to understand. "Like you and your chip. Only I was high on power and money and other people's fear. No one dared say no to me. I was Syndicate. I could have anything I wanted. Any prize. Any girl." The disgust poisoning her gaze nearly undid him. "Except you," he added softly. "I kissed you that night in the garden and I wanted you like hell. Part of you wanted me, too, but... well, you told me to my face what I was."

"Good," she snapped. But her mouth trembled.

"Johnny Lee laughed at me for trying to win you, and for keeping you once I did. 'You're a damn fool, Raine, she's turning you soft.' But being with you was changing me. And one day, I was trading in the slave market, and I looked at them girls and instead of seeing money? I saw _people_."

He swallowed bitterness, the memory still toxic. He'd spewed up his guts in the speeder lot, where no one could see him. Screamed, pulled his guns, nearly squeezed the fucking trigger and melted the ugly truth from his brain.

"I let the girls go free, and that night I told Johnny Lee he and I were done. He didn't take it well. I'd cost him a pretty penny, and he ain't a forgiving man. You know the rest. He owns a lot of bars in a lot of territory. It took me this half-year just to find you. I never thought he'd—"

"Well, he did." She scrambled up, hunting the floor for her clothes.

Instinctively, he took her arm. "Allie, please—"

"Don't touch me!" She snatched up one of his guns and leveled it at him, the arclight charging with a hiss. Her eyes were red. Her hands shook, but her aim looked steady enough. "Get away. I can't forgive you, Jericho. Not this time. Not ever."

And she gathered up her clothes, and ran out.

***

In the hallway, Allie struggled into her crushed velvet skirts, tears blinding her. Her stupid corset wouldn't lace right. She yanked at the strings, forcing it tight, her breath squeezing painfully. She didn't care.

Raine fucking Jericho, a slave trader.

The man who'd brought her to life. Who'd made love to her with such grace and sweetness, whose body fit with and inside of hers as if they were fashioned for each other. Her skin still tingled with the long-lost pleasure of his touch, and she squirmed, burning.

A fine-looking man, to be sure. Handsome, if you liked evil Syndicate slavers with chilly voids for hearts. Worse than Johnny Lee, who for all his vile behavior made no pretence at not being a dirtbag.

Seemed she'd forgiven Jericho once already. But not this time. Not now she'd experienced the Syndicate's filthy business first-hand. How many months had she endured? How many nights playing Johnny Lee's cruel games? Jericho was the cause of it.

And she couldn't even shoot the bastard.

Her teeth gritted. She'd tried. God, yes. She'd wanted to. Changed man, hell. No one changed that much. And certainly not for a dirty little lie called love.

But the chip in her brain had yanked her nerves tight—yes, sir, that had to be the reason—and her fingers wouldn't move. Pain had stabbed in her skull, her stomach watering sickly, and her muscles hadn't obeyed. Damn him. What use was she if she couldn't even fight for her own life? He'd robbed her of that. Him and his best pal, Johnny Lee Cade.

Viciously, she dragged her black boots on, lacing them only halfway in her haste. She wouldn't give up now, just because some lying Syndicate dickwad with come-to-bed eyes had broken her heart. She'd sampled freedom now, on the very tip of her tongue, and it tasted fine. She'd go back to the Starshine, rescue Susie before Johnny Lee fed her to the Arcies. Beg, borrow, or steal passage off the station—hell, they were whores; they had currency aplenty between their thighs—and go somewhere the Syndicate would never find them.

She stuffed the gun into her skirts and headed out, across the darkened street to a public callscreen. Swiftly, she flashed Susie. _Meet me where the moonshine don't shine, four o'clock._ It was an old joke, a stinky drinking hole called the Dead Duck. Syndicate-owned, of course—what wasn't?—but not Johnny Lee's. The Dead Duck's whiskey rotted your guts, if you didn't get shot in a bar fight first.

The callscreen beeped, transmitting her message, and she hurried away. The Starshine's whores had their own message flash, but Johnny Lee could still find out. No matter. She couldn't just leave Susie to the mercy of hungry Arcies. If Johnny Lee caught her, she'd just have to find a way to kill him, chip or no chip. She'd defeated the deadening effects once. She could do it again.

And if Jericho interfered? She'd kill him, too.

***

The street clock outside the Dead Duck buzzed four. In a stinking side alley, Allie crouched in green neon shadow, sweat slicking inside her dress. Speeders cruised along the greasy metal street, late-night customers on the prowl for drink or sex or stim. Drunken yells and moans floated from the Dead Duck, and somewhere a photon gunshot flashed, cutting off a scream.

No one had interfered with her. She hadn't spotted Jericho. She wiped damp palms, annoyed that she was still thinking about him. Bastard didn't even have the nerve to come after her...

A touch on her elbow jerked her nerves tight. She let out a breath. "Damn, Susie."

The girl hunched against the wall, blue skirts swishing. Fresh bruises gleamed on her face. "What you want? I'm still on shift. Johnny Lee got me a customer waiting."

Allie shivered, ugly black insect jaws snapping in her mind. "I'm leaving. Tonight. You gotta come with."

"Huh?" Susie's gaze drifted, dull. "Where to?"

"Anywhere." This was taking too long. They'd be discovered. Urgently, she shook Susie's thin shoulder. "Susie, wake up. You know what the Arcies do to girls. You want that to be you?"

Susie blanched. "But Johnny Lee said—"

"You stupid. Fucking. Whores. _That's_ what Johnny Lee says."

That voice, like snake scales sliding on Allie's skin.

Her guts boiled, and her muscles jerked tight to run. But he oozed from the dark and grabbed her by the throat, throwing her against the wall with a sick thud.

Susie cringed. "I just done what you told me, Johnny Lee—"

"Shut up and get your butt back to the Starshine before I lose my temper," Johnny Lee snapped, and Susie scuttled away, weeping.

His silver-sparked accusights glinted, cold with satisfaction. "Going somewhere, Allie Fivestars?"

"Fuck you." Too late for lies. She grinned, and jabbed her knee for his groin.

But he was faster—damn laser reflexes—and pinned her tight. "Oh, I think we're past that. I have a special job for you tonight. My, my." He worked a cold hand into her skirts and yanked the gun free. "Wherever are you going with this _ugly_ firearm?"

"I thought I'd shove it up your ass."

A delighted giggle. "Try it and see what happens. That chip will fry your brain like egg bread."

"A chance I'll gladly take."

"Sure. You'll start fighting me any time now." He sniffed her hair—still tangled from Jericho's hands—and smiled that empty smile. "Well, now. I'm all heartbreak. I told Raine you'd make him soft, but he wouldn't listen, and look at him now, with his goddamn principles and nothing else. Does he still call you 'angel' now you're mine? Does he still think you taste like heaven?"

You make me good, angel. Only you...

"I don't care what the hell he thinks," she snapped. But her stomach coiled cold. She'd called Jericho a liar. What if his tale of redemption was true?

"I think you taste like a fucked-out whore." Johnny Lee grabbed a fistful of her curls and dragged her kicking towards the street. "Let us hope my Arctinian friend does not agree. He's paying a pretty sum, and I'd hate to disappoint him."

***

No one in the Starshine saloon raised an eyebrow when Johnny Lee dragged Allie in by the hair. It was late. The piano lay silent, the glittering green bar deserted. A few people passed out drunk under the tables. Maybe they were dead. Upstairs, someone—a girl—screamed. The overhead lights gleamed bright, already repaired. When it came to losing potential customers? The Syndicate didn't fool around.

Allie scrabbled to keep her feet. It hurt where he held her, a bright ripping pain. Desperately, she glanced around for weapons. Nothing. Not even a broken glass.

"Sit down." Johnny Lee shoved her at a chair.

She stumbled, and sat heavily. "What the—"

"And shut up." He jammed a gun into the back of her head. The metal buzzed and heated with charge. "Come on out, Mr. Jericho," he sang. "Something I want you to see."

She laughed, bitter. "He ain't here. So sorry. You'll have to kill me without an audience."

Like a shadow, Jericho slipped from behind the bar. Gun in his left hand, trained dead on Johnny Lee. His eyes glittered black beneath the brim of his hat. "Let her go."

Allie gaped and her heart lurched, on a dangerous precipice. He'd come for her. He cared.

Beside her, Johnny Lee laughed. "I knew you was there. I heard you move when that whore yelled. You are _such_ a romantic, Raine. I miss you."

Silently, Jericho eased closer. "Allie, you okay?"

"Never better."

"Oh, she's fine." Johnny Lee poked her with his pistol. "For now. More than can be said for my three angry colleagues, I presume?"

"You presume right." Another step, unblinking. He'd killed them. Good riddance.

Johnny Lee's other hand barely twitched, but now it held a gun. Jericho's gun, from her skirts. Aimed at Jericho. Damn, the bastard was fast.

"Tell you what, Raine," he said mildly. "I have a hungry Arctinian gentleman out back who's waiting for his whore. We can have ourselves this little gunfight, after which I will piss on your corpse and let him have her—"

"You sick son of a bitch," growled Jericho.

"Or..." continued Johnny Lee with a little smile. "You can lay down your weapon, and come back to me, and she walks out of here."

Jericho's face drained white.

"That's right." Johnny Lee's soft tone was hypnotic. "I made you, Raine, and I do not like losing my things. Come back to the Syndicate, and I swear on my honor I will set her free."

Allie's mind tumbled, free-falling. Surely, he'd give her up. But Jericho's hand was shaking, his skin pale and wet. His agony was plain.

What if he truly wasn't like them anymore? If he'd truly changed...

"Don't." Her voice croaked, dry. "Jericho, he's lying. He ain't got no honor. No!"

Too late.

He'd laid his gun on the floor. Stepped back, hands lifted in front him. His gaze speared Johnny Lee, burning with hatred, promising hell. The air between them crackled. "All right. Now let her go."

Her throat swelled. He'd accepted damnation, and for what? A woman who couldn't believe in him. "Sweet Jesus, no..."

Johnny Lee laughed, mechanical. "Oh, I'm sorry. Did I say 'on my honor'? I meant _over your smoking corpse._ " And he swung both guns up to fire.

Allie didn't think. She just dived. Past Johnny Lee, knocking him off balance. He swore, a crucial instant to readjust. And she hit the floor on her back. Skidded backwards, and grabbed Jericho's gun in both hands.

If he can burn bridges? So can I.

Electric agony tore through her skull, but she didn't care. The chip crackled, red-hot, and something deep in her brain _melted_ , a bright flash of delicious sensation. And she squeezed the trigger.

Light erupted, a sizzling crack like thunder. Johnny Lee screamed and fell, the flesh melting from his face. And she slid to a halt into Jericho's arms.

She lay there, panting, gun still clutched in shaking fingers. She'd done it. The chip was gone. Dead.

Jericho eased the weapon from her grip, cool fingers on hers, and lifted her to her feet. "You okay?"

She caught her breath, and dusted grit from her skirts. The whole episode seemed distant, detached, severed from reality along with the last few horrid months. "Yeah. You?"

"Never better." Jericho pulled his second gun from Johnny Lee's twitching hand. Gazed down at him, shadows and death. Johnny Lee's mouth spilled blood, and his electric eyes, burned clean of flesh, flared golden with impotent rage.

Allie shivered, rubbing her arms. "That's creepy. Is he dead?"

Light flashed, and smoking sparks rained scarlet. Grimly, Jericho holstered his guns. "Is now."

Silence, dust motes dancing in the space between them.

Allie swallowed, dry. What now? Was she truly whole again? Was he? Could they make a life together?

"I'm sorry, Allie." He scraped dark curls back under his hat, as if he needed something to do with his hands. "I never meant to hurt you. I—"

"People can change, Jericho. I did." She rested her hands on his metal-clad chest. Inhaled his iron scent, bathed in the warmth of his gaze. "I was dead. Now I'm alive. I'm sorry I doubted you."

"No more than I deserve."

"What you deserve is a woman who believes in you," she said steadily, though her throat ached. "I'll understand if you can't trust me again."

"You did believe in me. You showed me the man I should have been. The man I want to be. And I'll spend the rest of my life living up to it, if you'll let me." He traced her waist with his fingertips. "I love you, Allie Rose. I can't stop. If you want me, I'm yours."

The truth in his eyes warmed Allie's soul, long-lost sunshine in the darkness, and she couldn't help but smile. _Shadows and death_ , she'd thought. Now, she saw only light. "Likewise."

His own smile dazzled her, brief but beautiful, igniting heady memories. "We'd better go upstairs," he said softly. "For the girls, I mean. That Arcie—"

She stopped his words with her lips. Just briefly, but warm, sweet, a new beginning. "Yes," she whispered, her heart glowing inside. "We can get them out of here. And then, you're going to take me to bed, Jericho. We have lost time to make up for."

### ERICA HAYES

About the Author

Erica Hayes is the author of the romantic sci-fi adventure _Dragonfly_ , an apocalyptic paranormal romance series called the _Seven Signs_ , and the steamy urban fantasy romance series _The Shadowfae Chronicles_. She currently lives in northern England, where she drinks too many hot chocolates and pines for her home in sunny Australia -- when she's not visiting ruined castles and skipping over to gorgeous European cities for lunch.

Awards or Special Recognition

Four of her books have been nominated for Australian Romance Readers Association Awards.

Story Inspiration

Cowboys with rayguns. What further inspiration do you need?

Other Works by This Author:

See Erica's books at her website: http://www.ericahayes.net

Author Contact

Email: ez@ericahayes.net

Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/ericahayes

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/ericahayes.author

## About The Editors:

### Laurie A. Green, Editor-at-Large:

Laurie A. Green is a three-time RWA® Golden Heart® finalist and science fiction romance enthusiast who founded the SFR Brigade, which now totals over 300 members. She is represented by agent Amanda Luedeke of MacGregor Literary. Her extended family includes her husband, David, four dogs, three cats and several horses, all who reside on a ranch in beautiful New Mexico. When she's not writing, networking, or searching out the perfect cup of Starbucks, she's usually busy exercising her left brain as a military budget director.

http://www.laurieagreen.com

### Paula Dooley, Developmental Editor:

Paula Dooley is a voracious reader in almost every genre, which served her well when she volunteered to dip a toe into the editing pool. This anthology is her first foray into editing and she sincerely thanks all the authors who allowed her to learn on them. Paula was born in the Channel Islands, raised in Scotland, and now lives in New York with her husband, sons, and critters. She is usually chained to her computer or being walked by her dogs.

She writes short stories, novellas, and novels in several genres under the pen name Diane Dooley. You can find her at the following places: Blog **** **|** Twitter **|** Facebook **** **|** Website

### JC Cassels, Editor-in-Chief:

Author of the BLACK WING CHRONICLES series, JC Cassels was born and raised in sunny Tampa, Florida. JC got her start as a stringer for the Tampa Tribune in 1991 and parlayed that into jobs as a copyeditor editor and eventually publisher of a short-lived lifestyle magazine.

When not writing in her haunted hospital, JC lives with her husband, three children, five dogs, twenty chickens, a parakeet and a cat in a century-old house in a tiny rural community, and enjoys spending her free time sewing, camping, and heckling theoretical physicists on the Science Channel.

You can catch up with JC on Twitter, Facebook, or her Website

## About The Copy Editors:

### Laurel C. Kriegler, Chief Copy Editor:

Laurel C Kriegler is a freelance editor and proofreader. An avid reader as a child, it is no wonder she has turned to writing and editing as a career. With six years experience editing academic essays, theses and journal articles, she has expanded her portfolio to novels and non-fiction books. She is passionate about supporting Indie authors, helping them to enhance their creativity and excellence. When not editing, she can be found entertaining her one-year-old daughter, managing a crazy house, or reading a novel. She can be found online at http://laurelckriegler.wordpress.com.

### Patty Hammond:

Patty Hammond is an everyday fangirl who is disguised as a mild mannered data analyst for an advertising agency in Michigan. She has over 18 years of data/asset/conent management and editing experience in several industries including Automotive, Technology and Education. In addition, she has a Master's Degree in Library and Information Science from Wayne State University. When not traveling, Patty enjoys reading novels in many genres, including sci-fi romance. You can find her online either blogging on her site, http://everydayfangirl.wordpress.com, or posting on various social media sites including Facebook and Twitter under the ID of PattyBones.

### Cary Caffrey:

Cary Caffrey studied at Concordia and the University of British Columbia, earning a BA and MFA in Creative Writing. After starting his writing career as a screenwriter and playwright, Cary moved on to music, publishing songs for movies and TV, including series like the L Word and Dawson's Creek.

Novels were never part of the writing picture, but all that changed with the eBook revolution. A die-hard Indy Artist, Cary jumped into ePublishing head first. The Girls from Alcyone is Cary's first novel. It has gone on to become a best Seller on both Amazon and iTunes Science Fiction charts.

carycaffrey.com

### Danielle Cassels:

Danielle Cassels is a graduate of the University of South Carolina. She moved to New York City days after graduating to pursue a career in the fashion industry. After serving as the executive assistant to Ronald Harivan Winston, CEO/Chairperson, Harry Winston, Inc., she found herself celebrating Christmas year-round at the Hallmark Channel where she currently serves as account executive. In her spare time, she studies creative writing at Harvard's Extension School, bikes everywhere (usually in dresses), prides herself in finding creative ways to avoid the subway and shamelessly utilizes her family connections for editing jobs.

## About The SFR Brigade:

 After the smashing success of the December 2009 SFR Holiday Blitz, a multi-blog Science Fiction Romance book giveaway organized by Heather Massey of The Galaxy Express blog, the idea of launching a dedicated SFR community was hatched.

On March 25th, 2010, the SFR Brigade was launched by Science Fiction Romance writer Laurie A. Green, and a charter group of fellow writers and authors including Sharon Lynn Fisher, Heather Massey, DL Jackson, Barbara Elsborg, Arlene Webb and Donna S. Frelick. In just over four weeks, the membership exploded to nearly 100 members!

The SFR Brigade roster now totals well over 300 members and represents a collective voice of SFR authors, writers, bloggers, fans and enthusiasts with a joint quest of promoting their favorite genre–Science Fiction Romance.

This is the SFR Brigade's first anthology.

You can find the SFR Brigade here:

Facebook Group: <https://www.facebook.com/groups/130939813657941/>

Facebook Fan Page:

 https://www.facebook.com/pages/Science-Fiction-Romance-Brigade-Fanpage/215511941819799

Main Blog: http:///www.sfrcontests.blogspot.com

Web Site: http://www.sfrbrigade.com

