Found

by Reagan Woods

  Lyon’s instincts said they were down to the wire. Ssszit’s next words confirmed it.

  “I feel him. This one is patient, he knows we’re running out of places to hide. The Cengemi Belt is the last cover we’ll have for several days,” Ssszit’s mental voice sounded weary.

  “We daren’t slow.” Even in the low light, Zocan’s handsome face bore evidence of the stress of the past weeks. Zocan’s normally glowing skin was pale, frown lines perpetually marring his aristocratic brow. In times like this, Lyon was keenly aware of the lack of female energy, the nurturing kind, in their mating bond.

  Lyon wished he could comfort his exhausted mate with soft touches and flowery words, but that wasn’t how he was wired; he was more the type to present his love with the heads of enemies.

  Matter-of-factly, Lyon said, “No, we can’t do that. It would give us more time to scramble, to maybe cobble better shields together, but the fact remains we’ll pull apart or burn up if we try to take the Nom’magata through a wormhole.” He was strong enough to admit when his ideas were wrong, at least.

  The simulated models Zocan ran were clear; the ship wouldn’t make it through a wormhole. So, if they survived the Dead Zone, they could sell the wormhole generator that Bram had repaired for a tidy sum, or they could transfer it to a new ship, one with better shields and a working interface. However, using it now was out.

  “Now we must put our contingency plans into action,” Ssszit urged, shifting forward into the circle of soft light given off by Lyon’s work station. The Tixerian had never appeared more bug-like. He’d abandoned human clothing altogether, his scales covering him like black armor from head to toe.

  What would become of Ssszit? The pirates of the Nom’magata had a good run, but, if they were to work together after escaping the CORANOS hunter, it would be far in the future. Assassins hailing from the CGA Warrior ranks were known for tenacity, so, even though they might – would – must - escape him in the Dead Zone, it was smart to scatter, to make him work at tracking them individually. If by some miracle they defeated him, there was no doubt the Council would send another in his stead.

  It went without saying that Lyon would not be separated from Zocan for any length of time. He wouldn’t be able to rest knowing his mate was in danger and he was unable to protect him. Zocan was his love, certainly, but it went deeper than that; his mate was his reason for drawing breath. For Lyon, it had always been that way. He’d known from a young age they were destined to be together. They’d not been separated for more than a few days since embarking on their relationship.

  As if reading his thoughts, Zocan placed a long-fingered hand over his. “Don’t worry, it will only be for a little while. You and I will reunite and continue wreaking havoc.” Though the thin ribbons of his lips twisted into an encouraging smile, Lyon saw the worry he tried to hide.

  “The coming weeks will change each of you, but, in the end, your pact will be stronger,” Ssszit intoned. Lara had called Ssszit’s prophetic tendencies ‘fortune-cookie-speak’. After she explained the concept to him, Lyon was forced to agree that Ssszit’s revelations were often murky.

  Goddess, he missed Lara, the sister of his heart. They all did. Her disappearance hung like a pall over the whole ship. One day soon, Lyon planned to track Vank D’Corian down and make him very sorry for his part in Lara’s kidnapping. The Commander had better pray she was alive and unmolested, living a happy life by that time. Otherwise, Lyon was going to mount the Corian prince’s head on his trophy wall. That was something he and Zocan were in complete agreement on.

  “What about you, Ssszit?” Zocan asked, squaring his lean body to address the Tixerian. “Where will you go?”

  Ssszit’s shoulders hunched in defeat. “Back to the planet of my birth, perhaps.” He crossed his arms over his broad chest protectively.

  “There aren’t a lot of other places you can hide, I guess.” Lyon scraped his fingers over his scalp as he considered Ssszit’s predicament.

  A return to Opu didn’t bode well for their comrade. The planet was overrun with Novink Warlords. The Novink, a four-armed, blue-skinned species, were aggressive, space-faring fighters that served the VENTIX Emperor Hash-Han. Rumor had it they were genetically engineered by Hash-Han to enforce his will by any means necessary. One side effect of the rampant testosterone was a constant need for sex. Since the emperor’s scientists grew the Novink in bio chambers, or so it was rumored, there were no females of the species. The deep-seated aggression of the Warlords made Opu, already a harsh natural environment, incredibly dangerous. Compounding the hostile situation, none of the Warlords were particularly bright. Warlord Kiev, their sometimes-ally, being the only exception to that rule Lyon was aware of.

  “No. My kind draw too much attention outside the VENTIX System,” Ssszit stated. “I’ll have to sneak back to Opu, rejoin the ranks as a slave to avoid notice anywhere else.” He idly tapped one claw on his muscled bicep. “I could go to one of the other planets in the system, but I’d prefer to be with my familial pod if I have to hide.”

  “Plus, you’ve escaped once,” Zocan pointed out, his obviously forced optimism not quite masking his anxiety. “You can do it again when the time is right.” Ssszit and Zocan had been companions since Zocan’s childhood. The Tixerian had befriended one of Zocan’s fathers on a rare trip away from Lyara. They rarely spoke of Ssszit’s life before the unorthodox migration from one system to another.

  Ssszit could pull his scales into his skin for short periods enabling him to pass as something like human, so most people he encountered wouldn’t know he was Tixerian. However, maintaining a ruse like that indefinitely wasn’t possible. Returning to VENTIX Space was, indeed, his best option, but it was gutsy to hide in plain sight like that.

  “You know where I’ll be,” Ssszit nodded for emphasis. “But I don’t want to know your plans. I’ll find your mental signature and check in when I can.” The less contact between the fugitives, the better, was the first rule of survival in a situation where they were prey.

  “You must be safe,” Zocan’s well-modulated voice cracked when he reached out to hug his friend. It made Lyon’s heart roar with frustration to see his mate in pain.

  “Always,” Ssszit affirmed gently. “Let’s plot a course to Xani and get this done.”

  Chapter 10

  Lacy woke to the soft buzz of the healing device as Bram gently waved it over the soles of her feet. He moved slowly, obviously trying not to disturb her. Honestly, it felt like heaven, but she needed to start taking care of herself. From what she’d seen at the camp, the Doranos had misogynistic attitudes toward women. She didn’t want him getting any weird ideas about payment for playing nurse in his alien man-brain.

  No matter how handsome he was (and he was quite possibly the most handsome man she’d ever seen up close and personal, pale skin and all), she wouldn’t willingly give power to one of these aliens. The ones in the camp had flitted in and out of women’s beds, playing favorites and encouraging petty rivalries for their own amusement. Lacy had kept clear of that by rejecting all advances. In tight quarters, he might not give her a choice if she didn’t hold her boundaries.

  “I can do that.” Sitting up with the silky black quilt clutched to her chest, she held out a hand for the slender wand.

  He looked up from his ministrations with a scowl. Raising his brawny hand, index finger pointed in the air, Lacy thought he looked ready to launch into an offended speech. Instead, he deliberately poked her in the forehead, exerting subtle force until she reclined again. “No.”

  Popping right back up, Lacy widened her eyes in warning and shook her own pointer finger at him. “You can’t tell me no!”

  His smirk said, “I just did.” Though he remained silent.

  “Don’t you start with me,” she blustered, wagging her finger again for emphasis. Last night, she’d been tired, beaten down in body and spirit. Things were different this morning. Yes, her body still ached, but if he thought she would meekly
submit to his every command, he had another thing coming.

  Baring his teeth, Bram leaned into her personal space, his nose mashing right up against her own when she refused to back down. “You don’t start with me,” he parroted her words and tone, adding a growling flourish that communicated his displeasure.

  Intimidation wasn’t going to work on her again. “Um, no,” Matching his demented grin, Lacy mushed her nose harder against his, tilting her head down until their foreheads kissed. “I’m not afraid of you, dude. If you wanted to hurt me, you wouldn’t have spent all this time healing me, so back off and give me the doohickey.”

  Eyes boring into hers, he smiled with genuine amusement. The offensive finger whispered in the air next to her face. “This, I like.” He indicated her smile, with a tap to her lower lip before moving away.

  “You must heal. Soon.” His unhappy frown told her he wished to say more, and, for a moment, Lacy felt a little guilty for not speaking Doranese with him. She wanted answers. However, every single CORANOS she’d encountered spoke English fluently. It puzzled her that Bram was so bad at it. Was it an act? Perhaps she should consider cutting him a little slack, but men often underestimated her; that illusion of ineptitude might yet come in handy.

  “So, let me have the thingamabob. That will help me heal quickly.” She pursed her lips, biting back any further sarcasm.

  “No.” He cradled the wand against his heavily muscled chest like a kid refusing to share a favorite toy.

  “Oh, for the love of…,” she trailed off, making a half-hearted swipe at him. The gashes she’d clawed into his arm yesterday caught her eye. The red blood had dried to thick black trails that stood out sharply against his skin. “Why don’t you heal those?”

  Eyes narrowed, he studied her face for long seconds. With a great show of reluctance, he slowly passed the slender tool to her and held out his arm for her to do the honors. That wasn’t quite what she was after, but at least the wand was in her possession now.

  Fiddling with the end of the stick as she’d seen him do the night before, Lacy was pleasantly surprised when the device turned on. She cocked a challenging brow at him and touched the wand gently to his skin.

  Bram hissed and jumped away as the smell of charred flesh met her nostrils. “Ohmigod, I’m so sorry,” Lacy gasped, free hand shooting up to cover her mouth. She held the wand at arm’s length, eyeing it with panic and distrust.

  He quickly gripped her extended wrist, using delicate pressure to guide it in slow passes over his injuries – without actually touching the wand to his skin. Nothing amazing happened; there weren’t magical rays of healing goodness – though a light on the stock did glow with a yellowish tinge - and his skin didn’t immediately start absorbing the claw marks in front of her eyes. As she watched, though, the bloody trails seemed to age, to appear older than they really were. By the time she was done, Lacy almost believed she saw pieces of the dried blood flaking off his arm.

  “Take time,” he admonished, seeming to read the direction of her thoughts as he demonstrated how to deactivate the device.

  Lacy frowned at him, “How long have you been treating me?”

  Bram held up four fingers, thought for a beat, and flicked out his thumb as well. “Five? Days.”

  “You’re kidding!” She eyeballed the nearly flawless skin of her bare arm.

  Bringing his fist to his chest, Bram told her, “You hurt…inside.”

  She nodded in understanding. “Your wounds are superficial, and they take time to heal. Mine will take much longer.”

  “Yes.” He held out his hand for the wand. “More fast I do.”

  Lacy saw the practicality of his words. It would go much quicker if he did the treatments. He could reach places, like her aching back, that she couldn’t. Plus, he had more experience with the medical equipment. Silently, she relinquished the wand.

  He grasped her hand when she would have pulled away, waiting until she flicked her eyes to his. When he leaned forward, his face was a study in sincerity. “I say do. Do. Please. No want bad for you.”

  Basically, he was saying she could trust him, that he had her best interests at heart, but she didn’t know him. What she’d seen of his behavior on Earth was completely different than the way he acted now. Which was the real Bram? “I like to think for myself,” she replied stiffly, tugging free of his grip.

  Part of her felt like an ungrateful shrew, but so what if he’d spent the better part of a week nursing her? She owed him nothing more than gratitude for that. It wasn’t as though she asked to be trapped away from home, hurt and defenseless.

  “Good.” He nodded, his affirmation draining some of the anger flooding her. “Normal. This – here,” he waved his hands around to indicate their situation, “not normal.”

  Again, he made a solid point; this wasn’t an everyday situation. He was being unexpectedly kind and compassionate with his limited explanation, and he’d willingly allowed her to cause him pain to prove his case. In fact, now that she thought about it, he hadn’t forced compliance once she began resisting in earnest, nor did he refuse to teach her how to use the device.

  Lacy’s stomach was hollow with hunger and something that felt a little like guilt. Bram, if she could believe him (and she didn’t see where she had a choice), was stuck in this predicament, too, but he had the added burden of caring for her. Perhaps now wasn’t the time to exert her independence.

  While she debated her options, Bram went to the dispensary unit. He returned to press a bowl of the nasty, thick soup into her hands. “Eat.”

  Idly, she watched the play of his muscles beneath his tight black shirt while she sipped at the warm liquid. The cabin they occupied was tiny, barely enough room for a basic chair and this bed. He didn’t let that deter him as he busily fashioned a poncho out of the foil wrap she’d worn yesterday.

  His movements as he worked in the tight space were economical; he never hesitated, seeming to know exactly what he was doing as he went about puncturing the fabric with a sharp tool and tearing off a strip for a belt. The carefully considered way he went about his task seemed to be a part of his character.

  Whatever his deal was, he was looking out for her. Even though she preferred to take care of herself, she would cooperate instead of fighting him. Until it no longer suited her.

  Chapter 11

  Bram could practically hear Lacy thinking. Her fascinating alien face displayed an expression he’d seen time and again on Cuva, his home world. At the ragged edge, where dubious civilization met untamed jungle, he’d killed males for looking at him like that. On her dainty features, the narrow eyes and thin lips of cold calculation didn’t offend him. But he wondered what part of their situation had her chewing the inside of her cheeks and clutching her bowl in a white-knuckled grip.

  “Pirates come soon,” Bram warned, holding up the garment he’d improvised. It wasn’t much, but it would serve.

  Handing over the bowl, she slid off the side of the sleep surface. His gut clenched as she stood there, naked and unashamed. She was beautiful, but he already knew that. The tightness in his bowels was terror, he recognized it from his many hunts through the dangerous jungle of his home.

  The fear wasn’t for himself. No, he was scared for her, this delicate slip of a female whose head barely cleared his chest. She reached tentatively for the blanket he’d cut down, and he handed it over, spinning to dispose of the empty container.

  If he were someone else, someone with a House behind him, Bram would insist on fitting the clothing on her himself. That would be within his purview as the male who provided for her. And maybe she would want him if he were someone. Too bad he wasn’t.

  Zocan had tried to tell him that he could have Lacy as his own, but things didn’t work that way in Doranos space. While his DNA was part Corian, presumably from the father he never met, he’d been raised Doranos. The commonality in both Systems was a hatred of his mixed heritage. Females, even his own mother, reviled him.

  “Eh
hm,” Lacy cleared her throat, and Bram realized he’d been staring at the disposal unit. When he turned, she was cinching the silver fabric around her waist.

  “Thank you,” she said when she saw him staring. “For everything.” Dropping her arms to her sides, she played absently with the open seam of the material. “Why have you? Done all this, I mean? The nursing,” a slender hand trailed down the front of her body, “the clothes.”

  Not for the first time, Bram wished he could speak with her, could tell her of his plan to get them both out of this mess. Although, telling her he intended to slaughter anyone and everyone who made a hostile move might frighten her. From what he’d seen in the few weeks he spent on her planet, Earthers were a sheltered lot.

  He scratched his earlobe, considered what to say. Finally, he settled on, “Learn more words, tell.”

  Her pink lower lip pushed out before she sucked it in, biting down with small white teeth. For a few moments, they stared at one another. “Fine,” she nodded once, sharply. “I’m holding you to that. In the meantime, what are we doing?”

  Bram wanted to head out into the ship and see if he’d overlooked any possible weapons. Without clothing, Lacy couldn’t accompany him, and he was reluctant to leave her.

  “Maybe you could show me how all this stuff works?” She gestured to the food dispensary and the sonishower.

  Nodding his willingness, Bram set about demonstrating how to request nutribroth from the dispensary unit. The unit was so old and touchy he feared he might not be able to teach her to use it.

  Most everything on the ship was outdated CORANOS Galactic Alliance technology. That wasn’t surprising since the CGA had led the universe in technological advancement for millennia.

  Lacy claimed no knowledge of Corian Standard, so he was pleasantly surprised when it only took her a few tries to slide her fingers over the correct sequence of glyphs. The smile that lit her face when the hot liquid cascaded out of the spout had his heart skipping a beat in his chest.