Pirate Nemesis (Telepathic Space Pirates Book 1)

by Carysa Locke

  He raised an eyebrow.

  Oh, don’t look at me like that. I felt the connection between you and Mercy the instant Treon answered the door. Don’t worry, wanting to strangle him is perfectly natural. Dem felt the same way when I entered his life.

  Amused, Reaper gave her a faint smile. I’ve wanted to strangle Treon since childhood. Mercy has nothing to do with it.

  Sanah gave him a pitying look. As Cannon likes to say, don’t argue emotion with an empath. She gave his hand a pat, and stepped away. I’ll go rescue Mercy from Tama while you speak with Dem.

  As Sanah slipped away, Dem entered the room, dressed more casually than Reaper could remember seeing his brother. Instead of his usual suit, Dem wore slacks and a long sleeved shirt in pale blue, a simple clasp holding the collar closed at his throat. For any other pirate, this would have been formal wear. On Dem, it made Reaper stop and nearly gape. His brother ignored him, adjusting his shirt sleeve and looking faintly uncomfortable. Although he was large-framed and taller than either of his brothers, somehow Dem looked smaller than normal without his suit. Reaper wondered if he knew that, and this was part of why he wore them. His black hair was still cut ruthlessly short to his skull, dark skin gleaming beneath the lights. The shirt made his Killer’s eyes stand out even more, something Reaper would have thought he wanted to avoid.

  Sanah likes the color. A hand descended on his shoulder. Treon, his mind brushing Reaper’s before the hand touched down. More than anyone, Treon knew better than to startle him. He looks dashing, don’t you think? Almost like a real pirate.

  Smiling, Reaper folded his arm across his chest. Sanah’s influence, then.

  Oh, no. This is a concession Dem started making after Tamari was born. Apparently constantly cleaning all of those suit jackets was just too much trouble, and having a small child smear food and…other things…all over his clothing was driving Dem mad.

  Reaper could imagine it well enough. Dem’s perfectly-pressed attire was part of the control he asserted over everything around him. Having that control challenged must have been an experience.

  But then, you’d know all of that if you came around more.

  Reaper’s smile disappeared as Treon continued past him to pour them each a drink. Wine was already on the table, so he appropriated three glasses and made use of it.

  “Treon,” Dem’s voice rumbled. “Leave Reaper be. I understand why he has stayed away, even if you don't.”

  Treon handed Dem a glass. “As you wish. You are the eldest, after all.” He gave a mock bow, prompting Dem to give him one those steady stares that normally made men quake. Treon merely chuckled.

  “We were too easy on him in childhood,” Dem said. Reaper made a noise of agreement, accepting his own glass of wine.

  Without any sort of segue, Dem switched to telepathic conversation. Treon and I have each given the ship a thorough search in our own ways. There is no evidence of Willem Frain or any other Veritas agent on board.

  And I found no hint of telepathic possession, Treon added, referring to the kind of mind control the strongest of telepaths could sometimes do. A Veritas agent had come aboard Nemesis in this way once before, and Treon had taken steps to insure it never happened again. None of my traps have been triggered.

  Mercy is certain Willem and Veritas are involved. Reaper frowned down at his glass. He didn’t doubt his brothers’ abilities, but it worried him. The whole thing worried him; the bomb, the fact that another Killer had been hunting her, Veritas.

  Dem and Treon exchanged a look.

  Mercy went through an ordeal, said Dem carefully. It’s possible the stress of that is making her see shadows where none exist.

  Reaper felt a familiar chill wash through him. He set his wine glass down. A queen’s instincts are telling her something. Are you suggesting we ignore that?

  I’m saying we need to be careful and consider all possibilities.

  Treon made a subtle movement. It drew their attention to him, and Reaper knew in that instant that he’d done it on purpose. We will remain vigilant, Treon said. But thus far, there is nothing to indicate Veritas has breached this ship.

  Nothing but Mercy’s vision.

  Yes.

  Before Reaper could say anything else, the others walked back into the room, Sanah and Mercy chatting together. Tamari disappeared from beside them and reappeared next to Treon, giggling.

  “Tamari.” Dem’s voice was even. “No more teleporting.”

  “But Papa—”

  “No. It is time for dinner.”

  Treon tweaked one of her pigtails. “You can sit next to me, halla.”

  Mercy sat beside Reaper, across from Tamari and Treon. As Sanah and Dem sat at each end of the table, slots appeared in the center and steaming dishes rose up from within in serving bowls. A platter of steaks, a chilled mix of greens and vegetables, and several side dishes filled the air with savory smells.

  Tamari wrinkled her nose. I don’t want steak.

  Sanah eyed her daughter. “You don’t have to eat it, Tama. But you will eat some of the Berax tubers I fried up. You need the protein.”

  I don’t like tubers. Papa!

  Tamari. Dem’s mental voice was flat and implacable. You will choose one or the other. Steak, or tubers.

  Tama heaved a huge sigh. Fine.

  Reaper could feel Mercy’s amusement at the exchange, her body relaxed as she leaned back in her chair.

  “I never liked Berax tubers, either.” Mercy’s voice was light, conversational. “But Wolfgang used to fry them up in this special sauce that made them actually taste good. Your Mom’s smell pretty similar.” She speared a tuber and put it on her plate, cutting a generous bite and making a big show of chewing and tasting it. “Mmm.” She looked over at Sanah, narrowing her eyes. “Did the old Wolf give you his recipe?”

  Sanah gave a light shrug. “He might have mentioned you liked them cooked this way. I wanted to be sure and offer things you would enjoy.”

  “And he gave you tubers! Of course.” She shook her head, laughing. “Well they are really good. You should try them, Tama.”

  Intrigued, Tamari made no protest when her mother put one onto her plate.

  You’re good with her. Reaper kept the words private, just between himself and Mercy as he filled his own plate.

  She’s adorable. Mercy sipped her wine. So, are you going to tell me what Dem and Treon had to say? Don’t look so surprised. I know it was about the investigation.

  Reaper hesitated. They found no evidence of Willem Frain or Veritas aboard this ship.

  That’s not unexpected. She cut a piece of steak, juices flowing from the meat. You did tell Dem they have access to a teleporter, right?

  He is aware.

  I can’t explain how, but I know I’m right about this, Reaper.

  I don’t doubt you.

  Mercy went rigid beside him, dropping her fork and knife with a clatter. “What the hell was that?”

  Everyone looked around, though Reaper wasn’t too concerned. He had a suspicion of what had startled her.

  What is wrong?

  “Something just brushed against my leg! Something…” Mercy paused, struggling, and Reaper was intrigued to see a flush of embarrassment color her cheeks. “…something with fur.”

  “Oh.” Everyone relaxed again, Sanah smiling as she spoke. “That’s just Rasa. Tama’s kith. You get used to it.”

  Mercy didn’t relax. She looked under the table, then around the room. “Ah, no offense, but where I come from imaginary friends do not feel real.”

  “Rasa is not imaginary.” Dem gave a heavy sigh. “Show yourself, Rasalas. It is rude to remain camouflaged if you are going to interact with our guests.”

  Reaper had seen Rasa before, so he was prepared when the large furry shape materialized beside Mercy. She, on the other hand, leapt out of her chair swearing viciously. The great cat looked back at her, calmly blinking green-gold eyes. He’d grown since the last time Reaper saw him, standing near
ly as tall as Mercy’s chair. His white fur shimmered with a faint luminescence in the light, broken up by coppery-brown whorls that formed a striking pattern. His long tail flicked back and forth, and a faint sound rumbled in his throat.

  “Mother protect us.” Mercy put a hand to her throat. “I-I’m so sorry for my language. I don’t normally swear in front of children.”

  Tamari was giggling into her napkin.

  “That’s all right,” said Sanah. “We’ve all been given a fright once or twice by Rasa.”

  “Not all of us.” The words were a faint growl from Dem’s end of the table. Sanah gave him a look.

  “Is…is it purring?” asked Mercy, her shock fading as fascination took hold.

  “He is.” Sanah sighed, taking a drink of wine.

  “He likes you!” Tamari sounded positively joyous. “He’s never met a queen before. He says you feel different.”

  “Thanks?” Mercy cautiously retook her seat, keeping one eye on Rasa, who hadn’t moved beyond the flicking tail.

  Tamari leaned toward her mother. Rasa says he’ll have my steak, Mama.

  Sanah raised an eyebrow. “Rasa had his own steak before everyone arrived.”

  Tama’s lower lip came out as she pouted. “But he’s hungry.”

  Rasa chose that moment to yawn, displaying wicked fangs. Mercy flinched. “Maybe he could have another.”

  Sanah narrowed her eyes at the cat as his rumbling purr grew louder. “Only because the queen asks.”

  She placed a hunk of steak on a small plate and set it on the floor. Mercy tensed as the cat languidly stretched and moved closer. Reaper could tell it would take time for her to trust that Rasalas wasn’t truly a danger. It was amusing how she found the cat’s predatory nature unsettling, but was so accepting of his own.

  You don’t have fangs longer than my thumbs.

  It startled him. He hadn’t realized he’d been projecting that particular thought. Mercy turned her green eyes on him, smiling. Now you know what it feels like.

  What?

  Having someone in your head when you didn’t give them permission to be there.

  Reaper raised an eyebrow. Mercy, you gave me permission the moment you requested I teach you. I gave you access past my shields not long after. This is just the first time you’ve used it.

  Oh. Her smile widened. I still surprised you.

  He had to concede that. True enough. In more ways than one.

  “So, what are kith?” Mercy asked out loud. She looked around the table as she spoke. “Obviously they have some…abilities.”

  “They are Talented in their own way, as we are.” Dem answered her question. “On their home planet they form psychic bonds. Symbiotic pairings across species. When we colonized it – when Hunters colonized it, they found humans made excellent partners. Tamari is Rasa’s bond-mate.”

  You are an interesting species. You have strengths we do not. And weaknesses we can balance. The voice was resonant, male, and had an odd burr to it. Reaper saw Mercy’s eyes widen.

  “Did he just talk?” She stared at Rasa. “You can speak telepathically?”

  The cat inclined his head, and then began industriously rubbing at his whiskered cheeks with a paw. Mercy watched this with almost hypnotic intensity. Then again, the paws were huge. Easily bigger than the plate Sanah had used to serve his steak.

  “Like Killers,” said Treon, “Hunters have a Talent unique to them. They can track someone psychically.”

  “I know.” Mercy forced her gaze away from Rasa. She glanced down the table at Dem, then away. “I’ve been tracked by one before. Well, technically he was tracking my mother.”

  An awkward silence descended on the dinner. Dem lifted his wine glass, staring at it with a frown. “A Hunter never loses a mental signature once he has it.” He took a drink as Mercy’s head came up.

  Reaper could practically feel her tension as she vibrated in the chair next to him.

  “You mean you could still track her? Find her?”

  “No.” Dem set the glass back down. His face was so still it might have been carved from stone. But something like regret gleamed briefly in his eyes. “Pallas is gone, Mercy.” His voice was as gentle as Reaper had ever heard it, outside of when he spoke of Sanah, or Tamari.

  Mercy stared at him. The rest of the table remained silent. Tamari looked from one adult to the next, her eyes wide. Sanah brushed a hand across her daughter’s head, and Reaper saw the little girl’s lip tremble.

  Finally, Mercy released a breath that shuddered. “If she’s dead, just say that. Don’t use a euphemism. Be blunt. Be honest.”

  “When a Hunter tracks someone dead, there is nothing.” Dem spoke the words slowly, as though he was choosing each one with care. “No hint of a trail to follow. No presence in the universe that can be felt. I only met Pallas a few times, when I was a child. My sense of her was never particularly strong. But it led me to Verath 6. I felt her there.” He hesitated. “And then I felt her vanish.”

  Mercy swallowed. “You felt her die?”

  “No. Vanish. When I think of her now, when I have thought of her every time since, I don’t feel the sense of nothing I should. I feel a void.”

  Mercy’s brow furrowed in confusion. She looked at Reaper, but he had no answers for her. He could only shake his head, just as confused as she was.

  “Isn’t a void and nothing the same thing?”

  Dem looked frustrated. “It is difficult to explain. The Hunter who led me on my Hunt could not understand it either. No one has ever experienced anything like it as far as I have been able to determine. But no, the void is not nothing. It is simply…as though her trail is swallowed by emptiness.”

  “You’re saying she’s in some kind of limbo.”

  “I don’t know where she is, whether she lives, or not.” Dem paused. “And no one else can answer that question, either.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Mercy made the walk back to her own quarters lost in a mental fog. She didn’t remember much of the meal’s end, or the wonderful dessert Sanah had provided. The soft, rich cake might as well have been made from sand, instead of whatever sweet concoction it had actually been. Mercy hadn’t tasted it. Hadn’t heard even half of the conversation around her. Her mind kept turning back to what Dem had said.

  After all this time, she still had no idea if her mother lived or died. But it almost didn’t matter anymore. Because she was gone. And it was more clear than ever before that whatever had befallen Pallas, she was not coming back.

  Mercy would never find her.

  Gradually, she became aware that Reaper was still with her. When they reached her quarters, one of his dogs stood outside. She couldn’t remember his name. The one with the shaggy hair.

  It didn’t matter. She said good night, opened the door and walked inside mechanically, expecting Reaper to leave. He didn’t.

  “Mercy.” He said her name out loud. She realized he’d already said it mentally more than once, but it had sounded distant. Separate from her thoughts. She turned and looked at him as he stood in the doorway. It felt like she was moving under heavy gravity, each movement painfully slow and ponderous.

  “What?”

  “I’m not leaving you like this.” He walked into her quarters without waiting for permission, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. He crossed to the bottle of whiskey she’d left sitting out from Wolfgang’s visit, and poured some into a glass.

  Mercy just stood in the middle of the room, feeling at a loss until Reaper grabbed her hand and forced her fingers around the glass.

  “Drink this. I think you might be in shock.”

  She almost laughed. But it bubbled up her throat and then faded to nothing. “I can’t be. Mom’s been missing for fifteen years. It’s hardly a surprise anymore.”

  Reaper frowned at her. He looked really grim, but his eyes were still bright blue, not the pale winter color that would have been a warning. Because it seemed like he was going to loom over her unt
il she drank, she lifted the glass to her lips and swallowed. Fire burned its way from the back of her mouth, down her throat. It burned away the numbness, flooding her with warmth. She inhaled sharply, and promptly choked on the lingering fumes. After a short coughing fit, she took another long swallow.

  The burn gave her something to focus on that wasn’t her mother.

  “All of that is true.” Reaper watched her closely. “But I think you’ve been holding on to the possibility of finding her for all these years.”

  Mercy turned sharply away from him, unable to bear seeing herself reflected in his eyes. She raised the glass to her lips and drank it dry, gulping down the whiskey like it was water, welcoming the burn that brought tears to her eyes and closed her throat, making speech impossible.

  But Reaper was relentless. That is no terrible thing, Mercy. His mental voice was soft, but still inescapable.

  She closed her eyes. Isn’t it?

  Then tell me why. Explain this response you’re having. I don’t understand.

  She shook her head. The whiskey had accomplished one thing. It had steadied her. She was able to cross the room easily, without feeling that heavy weight. She moved to the bottle and poured more into her glass.

  I’m not going to leave until you talk to me.

  “Then I guess you’re in for a long night.”

  You’re angry.

  “Guess again.”

  He cocked his head, considering her. She did her best to ignore him, looking anywhere else, pacing the room as she sipped the whiskey more slowly this time. Getting drunk sounded like a great idea.

  “You are. You’re angry. But also sad.”

  Sad was too tame a word for what she was feeling. Reaper stood silent for a few minutes, long enough that Mercy began to hope he would leave her alone. She stopped her pacing and rested her head against the wall, her eyes closed. Please, just leave me alone.

  “No. But I can leave. I’ll ask Wolfgang to come—”

  Mercy’s eyes flew open. “No!” She pushed away from the wall, alarm making her voice rise. “Not the Wolf. I can’t—I can’t face him right now.”