by Kyle, Celia
“I see. I think.” He chuckles and inches a bit closer. I can feel the heat coming off his skin, and it’s driving me crazy. “And what makes you think I might be one of them?”
“I’ve hardly ever seen you outside of engineering or your workshop and never in the open sun before.”
“Is that so?” The grin fades just a bit. “I suppose I do spend the bulk of my time in such places, but only out of necessity. These vampires you speak of, are they scary?”
“Sometimes, but usually, they’re considered to be sexy.”
His eyes widen slightly, and the grin returns.
“Am I to believe that by proxy you think I am sexy as well?”
Oh, big guy. You have no idea.
“Maybe…” I twirl my hair around my finger and lean back on the towel, which causes my barely restrained bosom to shift. I’m aware a bit of pink areola is sticking out of the side, but I don’t make any move to cover it. Montier’s eyes quickly dart to it, and then dart away, but the sweat beading on his brow between the base of his horns seems to indicate he noticed.
“I don’t know much about vampires, but if sexiness is a prerequisite for being one, I’d say you have that base covered most admirably.”
Oh god, is he flirting? I think he is. I’ve been waiting a long time for this, or at least it seems like it.
“I bet you say that to all the half-naked women.”
His smile grows wider, and he takes the liberty of seating himself next to me. Now he’s so close I can exult in his scent.
“Only to the ones worth saying it to. I will admit, your attire is most…enticing.”
“Then it’s doing its job. I picked it out because I thought you might like it.”
“Indeed?” He scoots a few inches closer, so our hips are touching. My heart is beating so fast and hard that I can barely hear the roar of the surf or the cries of the scaled avians in the azure sky. “Then I am honored.”
He reaches up and strokes a finger through my hair. My face flushes, and I turn my gaze away bashfully. Then I feel his fingers gently pressing up against my chin, softly turning my face back toward him.
God, he’s so handsome. I can feel his heat, smell his breath, and all I want is for him to kiss me.
“Don’t be afraid, Fiona.” His voice is deep, husky and thick with lust. “I’d never hurt you.”
“I’m not afraid. I’m just… a little overwhelmed.”
“Do you want me to go?”
“No.” I wince at the sudden increase in volume, and the urgency in my tone. Gee, that didn’t sound desperate at all. “I mean, I’d prefer if you’d stay.”
To his credit, he doesn’t give me a hard time for my outburst.
“Then stay I shall. You’re a brilliant and beautiful young woman, Fiona.”
“Thanks.” I’m blushing again, but then his face moves in toward my own. I arch my neck and lift my lips eagerly toward his until we’re almost kissing—
My datapad picks that exact moment to buzz with an annoying alarm. My face wrinkles up in disgust as we both turn toward it.
“Pain in the—why now?” I pick it up and stare at the screen. Decryption complete. Whatever—
Wait a minute. Decryption complete? This is what we’ve all been waiting for, deciphering the data we obtained from one of our captors’ hideouts in Cadrinda the same day Lokyer was lost.
“What is it?”
“The data. I’ve finally decrypted it.”
Annoyance and duty play out over Montier’s face. But duty wins.
“Then we must show the others immediately.”
“Yes, we should.” I heave a deep sigh of regret.
So close.
Chapter Three
Montier
If Fiona truly is my fated mate as I believe, why does the galaxy seem determined to continually interfere with our union?
Fiona has been working on the decryption of data for days—days—and it just happens to be completed right at the most inopportune moment? It’s maddening.
Yet I can’t blame Fiona one bit for her sense of urgency. After all, this could lead us to the solution to the mystery of just what the Frontier women were doing on that derelict ship to begin with.
Given that Solair is now a wanted man by the IHC, accused of aiding and abetting terrorists—one of the accused being his own mate, Varia—the need for a solution has grown ever more dire.
Indeed, Solair seems to share my opinion. He’s gathered the entire senior staff on the bridge. In addition to his first mate Grantian and our chief pilot Swipt, Zander our weapons officer is present as well. He often remains in the bowels of the ship, far preferring gamma ray emitters to the company of other sapient life.
Of course, Fiona is present, given that she’s one of the bridge crew now. At the moment she’s wearing my own discarded shirt over her skimpy swimwear, which I have to admit is both a disappointment and a relief. I feel like everyone can see the prominent dual bulges in my trousers, though most likely they’re too distracted at the moment to truly notice.
Solair allows Fiona to wire her datapad into the command console, so the results of her data crunch can be seen on the main monitor. It looks like a whole lot of text, but there’s a star chart and astro navigation coordinates as well.
“I haven’t had time to go over much of this, obviously.” Fiona punches keys on her pad until an image of an S-class planet appears. The accompanying caption marks the planet as Perseus, a term which doesn’t translate to galactic standard. “This planet has a Blue Dawn server on it. I’m certain of it.”
“Perseus?” Solair forms his mouth over the unfamiliar word. “That’s got to be of Terran origin.”
“Yes, it is.” Varia covers her mouth with her hand, brow furrowing in thought. “He was an ancient hero from Earth folklore who rode a winged horse.”
“False.” Thrase has that snide tone that grates on everyone’s nerves when she’s about to call someone out for being incorrect. “Bellerophon rode the Pegasus. Perseus had a pair of winged boots.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, who cares?” Ilya sneers at Thrase. “Do you constantly have to show off how big your brain is?”
Thrase mumbles, shooting Ilya a dark look.
“It could prove to be a significant distinction.”
“As much as I hate to admit it, Thrase might be right.” Varia sighs. “So what do we know about Perseus? Did he slay the Kraken or was that Bellerophon too?”
“No, Perseus slew the Kraken, all right, with a little help from the severed head of Medusa.”
“Medusa?” Now I’m thoroughly confused. Fiona turns to me and holds her fingers above her head, waggling the like river reeds caught in a stiff wind.
“A woman cursed by the gods to have snakes for hair and turn men to stone with her gaze.”
“So…” Solair frowns at the screen. “Given that all of the Blue Dawn subjects we’ve encountered have all been female, it stands to reason that Perseus makes sense as an outpost for their group. I mean, using a woman to slay a mighty beast, which I’m assuming the Kraken was.”
“It sure wasn’t a puppy dog.”
“So we know there’s a server.” Varia turns to Fiona and arches an eyebrow quizzically. “Can you remote hack it from here?”
“Maybe, with the power of the bridge’s computer. Let me try.”
We patiently wait while Fiona attempts to work her magic. I use the time to pine for her, thinking how much I had wanted to kiss her. The urge to carry her off to my quarters is strong, but of course I resist it. It’s not like I’m a Kraaj slaver after all.
Fiona starts mumbling ten minutes into her attempt. At thirty minutes she’s out and out cursing. At nearly an hour she slams her fist down on the console in frustration.
“God damn it. I can’t do it from here. The only way I’m going to be able to access the data hidden in that server is if I’m there to do it physically with a hard wire connection.”
“Go to a planet likel
y teeming with IHC forces? When you’re a wanted fugitive?” I shake my head. “Out of the question.”
Fiona turns a none-too-pleased look at me, and I hastily amend my statement.
“That is, I don’t advise you take such a risk, Fiona.”
Her scent is so strong, I almost can’t stand it. She’s my fated mate, all right. I’m certain of it. And now she wants to go to some god-forsaken planet and walk right into a nest of our enemies.
“I agree with Montier.” Solair shakes his head as he regards the screen, his lips pursed in consternation. “Not only is it a major risk to take, but we’re running low on both supplies and the credits needed to purchase them. Repairs have been expensive.”
Grantian steps forward, pointing at the astro nav coordinates.
“But Perseus isn’t far from Udrillon. It wouldn’t take much fuel to reach it, and I’m certain there are plenty of jobs to be had in that sector.”
“A job is what we need, no doubt about it.” Solair looks to his first mate. “Can you arrange it?”
“I can. We can send two teams, one to complete the supply run and cargo job, and the other to investigate the Blue Dawn facility.”
Solair rubs his chin and seems lost in thought. Varia comes to stand by him, resting her hand on his arm.
“It’s worth the risk, then. Two teams will allow us to be planet-side for the absolute minimum.”
I stare at the image of Perseus on the screen. Certainly, there’s nothing overtly foreboding about the planet. S class means it can support most types of sapient life, so it’s not a hell world like Jurtik.
Yet, I have an awful feeling that Perseus is a terribly dangerous place. The thought of my fated mate—even if she doesn’t know that’s what she is yet—being on that planet fills me with nameless dread.
I’m no psychic or auger, but I’ve learned when to trust my gut instinct. And my gut is telling me that the last place in the galaxy I want my fated mate Fiona to be is planet Perseus.
“Fiona, begin the superluminal jump calculations for Perseus.” Solair nods toward her, and Fiona goes to work.
I wait while she makes the calculations, hoping beyond hope that she winds up not being able to make the calculations. Of course, she winds up being successful in record time, much to my chagrin.
“Course is set, Solair.”
“Excellent. Grantian, make sure that all hands have returned to the Queen. Our twenty-four-hour beach party is officially over.”
Solair turns to Varia and grins widely, showing off his impressive teeth.
“Hopefully, the Ancestral Queen will fare better against Perseus than your snake-headed Medusa did.”
The bridge ripples with laughter, except for me, of course.
All I can think is how horrid it would be if I finally found my fated mate, despite the myriad and profound factors compiled against it, only to lose her on an alien frontier world.
Chapter Four
Montier
Travel to Perseus, even with a ship as lightweight and fast as the Queen, will take a day. With Fiona ensconced on the bridge in the nav chair and unable to continue our flirtatious banter from the beach on Udrillon, I decide to first head back down to engineering to finish examining the ship’s hardware and then to the mess to rustle up something to appease my rumbling stomach.
Despite burying myself in work, Fiona is a constant presence in my mind. I can’t get the look of her in those tiny scraps of material out of my head, nor the fact that she shamelessly admitted to wearing them just for my viewing pleasure. Clearly, she feels the pull of the mating bond toward me as strongly as I do her. By now, with three mated bonds between the human females and my Kilgari brethren upon the ship, she must be familiar with how the jalshagar principle works.
I wonder what would have happened had we kissed. I doubt I would’ve been able to control myself—most times, when the mating bond is confirmed it demands a more physical connection to be made right then and there—but with so many of our crew also out enjoying our downtime on the beach, it would have been absolutely indecent to take her in front of all of them.
Not to mention that when I think on it, I find myself wanting our first union to be a moment just between us. I have no desire to showcase her delicious form to anyone’s eyes and hands and mouth but my own.
On the way to the mess, I happen across Grantian coming from the bridge. Although I’m friendly with the former Hael Hound-turned-first mate, especially due to our shared low tolerance for bullshit, I can’t help but scowl at him as he makes his approach. He’s just gotten to spend more time with Fiona, after all, while I’ve been sweating my balls off down in the engine room wishing I could do the same.
“Monty, old friend, what’s got your skivvies in a twist? That grimace would scare away even the fiercest Odex on an off day,” he says with a teasing grin.
“Nothing for you to concern yourself over.”
I don’t mean to sound so harsh, but he’s right. My skivvies are most certainly twisted, and the only person who can help me out with untwisting them is stuck on the bridge helping fly this burnished beast.
Despite my tone, Grantian sidles up next to me in the grub line. When we arrive at the counter, Jax, our always-congenial cook, greets us with his signature beaming grin and a heaping serving of calamansi, a type of fish that was abundant in the seas of Udrillon. Ever the resourceful chef, Jax wasted no time reeling in as many as he could before we’d departed the lush planet. Paired with a loaf of bruchawan, a dense bread filled with nuts and seeds, it’s a hearty meal indeed.
“Off on another adventure, my friends? The fun never stops with this crew!” Jax’s deep voice booms.
Although Solair’s father died long ago, I always think of Jax as the old man’s replacement. Although he’s nowhere near the age of the man who gifted his son this magnificent ship, he takes care of Solair and his men—and now women—as if we were family. His buoyant ebullience softens even my gruff exterior.
“We always manage to find something to occupy ourselves with, Jax. No rest for the wicked,” I tell him with a wink.
“Well, just be safe about it. I perish the thought of another loss,” he says, voice catching on the final word.
Just when I’d stopped thinking of Lokyer, thoughts of his sacrifice temporarily replaced by the image of Fiona in that swimsuit, they come rushing back.
“It won’t happen again,” Grantian says, answering before I can.
The look on his face is so resolute I make no attempt to question him. The former mercenary has taken Lokyer’s death hard—maybe harder than the rest of us. The past few days have been difficult on all of us, but I’ve noticed Grantian’s face looks more tense than usual. I’ve only seen him smile a few times, and usually only when in the presence of his jalshagar, Lamira.
Thinking of Lamira, I realize I can both distract Grantian from dwelling on Lokyer and perhaps glean some valuable information regarding my own fated mate. As we sit down at one of the tables in the bustling mess—the Kilgari are large sapients with even larger appetites—I waste no time in attempting to press him for details regarding his own mating bond.
“So…how are things with you and Lamira?” I ask quickly, the words almost flying out of my mouth before I stuff a large chunk of the bruchawan into it.
The former Hael Hound’s eyes flick immediately up to mine and I don’t miss the slight twinkle in them, as if he knows exactly why I’m asking him.
“We’re fine.”
I know Grantian too well not to realize that he’s fucking with me. His deadpan answer is a clear giveaway. As the most stalwart members of Solair’s crew, I realize he’s trying to get a rise out of me.
I swallow the lump of bread and it barely makes its way down my gullet. In my haste to be discreet in my inquiry, I’d failed to moisten it with the rich sauce accompanying the calamansi, and now the loaf seems determined to choke me to death.
“Fine? I’d hardly call you following her around like a l
ovesick dog ‘fine.’ You’re completely lost to her,” I say.
He takes a large bite of his massive portion of the Udrillon sea creature and chews slowly—agonizing slowly, staring at me the whole time—before answering.
“Once you confirm your own mate, you’ll understand why.”
His confidence in thinking I’ve identified a woman on board as my jalshagar sets my heart racing and my blood pressure skyrocketing. I should have known better. As a former member of one of the best, most tactical mercenary outfits in the galaxy, Grantian can get a read on most people usually before they even open their mouths.
I tear off another piece of bruchawan, ensuring I first sop up some of the fruit-based sauce, and take a bite. I measure my thoughts before I speak again. I don’t have to mention who I think is my jalshagar, just that I believe I have one. As a mated male himself, surely Grantian won’t press me too much.
“Say there is a woman aboard who I believe may be my fated mate. Hypothetically, if there was such a creature, how, in your experience, should I go about confirming our bond?”
In my own head I sound like a complete idiot, my words dotted with too many stutters and long pauses, but this time Grantian smiles.
“Well, Monty, if—hypothetically—there was a member of the female persuasion whom you think might be your jalshagar, I suppose it would depend on a couple of factors. The most important is whether she suspects the same of you. With three mated pairs now on this ship, it’s now a well-known fact that there’s something going on between their race and ours. So if you’ve paid her any sort of attention and she’s not a complete idiot, I’m sure she’s well aware of your intentions,” he says, taking a long pull from the stein of ale Jax had provided to accompany our meal. “Do you suspect she shares your feelings?”
“I do,” I tell him without hesitation.
“Then you just go for it. Kiss her. Confirm the bond. Don’t waste any more time. The gods know I took too much time tiptoeing around Lamira, even when the scent of her was nearly driving me mad with lust and longing. And look at Lokyer. He saw all of us pairing off and he so badly wanted it for himself. Now he’ll never get the chance. Although I thank the Precursors it didn’t happen before he fell. The thought of a jalshagar without her mate is not one upon which I like to dwell.”
