Wyvern’s Angel

by Deborah Cooke

  “Ruling the realm is a practical responsibility.” He raised his brows. “Probably more practical than planning fireworks displays to entertain the masses.”

  Percipia ignored that comment. She knew that Sansor didn’t approve of her using her knowledge of chemicals for entertainment. “But ruling requires a patience, never mind a diplomacy, that I don’t possess.”

  Sansor sipped his tea, his gaze straying to Bond. He seemed inscrutable to Percipia, as he’d never been before. She’d always felt that they shared an understanding but on this night, he could have been a stranger.

  This was the price of bringing Bond to the apothecary.

  But if she hadn’t, Bond might have died, and she still had to claim the Seed.

  Surely Sansor understood? Percipia hoped so, but as she watched him—and he didn’t even glance at her—she wondered.

  “How long will he sleep?” she asked finally.

  “There’s no telling. I don’t know much of his kind and their responsiveness to our herbs.”

  “Is every kind different?”

  “To some extent. The carbon-based oxygen-breathing life forms do have significant metabolic similarities.” They sat in silence for another long moment. “Did you want me to sedate him?”

  “No, that’s not fair, not if he’s running for his life. And he asked not to be sedated. We have to respect that.”

  Sansor nodded but still didn’t look at her. “Do you want more tea?”

  “No, I’m fine, thank you.” Percipia yawned, feeling tired now that the excitement of running was over. Even the power of the Seed’s scent seemed to be a little diminished, maybe because Bond was sleeping. She smiled at her watchful friend. “Thank you for helping him, Sansor.”

  Sansor stood up. “You must know that I’ll never refuse you.”

  His implication was clear to Percipia, a reminder that she’d refused him.

  She didn’t know what to say, so she kept quiet but she felt herself flushing. His implication that he was a better friend than she was stung, although she doubted he’d meant it that way.

  “Will this change anything for us?” he asked finally.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Once you’ve claimed the Seed?” He glanced back at her, his eyes bright, and her heart squeezed at his implication.

  “You’re a good friend, Sansor,” she said gently, knowing it wasn’t enough for him but also aware that it was all she could offer.

  He forced a smile and she felt dismissed. “Of course,” he said. “You’re welcome to use the attic for as long as you like. No one will notice you there.”

  “Thank you.”

  Sansor’s gaze clung to hers. “Even if you claim the Seed there.”

  Percipia felt her blush deepen at the reminder that she should see the deed accomplished. “Thank you, Sansor.”

  Sansor drained his cup. “I should check on Father.”

  He left without a backward glance and Percipia wondered if she should try to claim the Seed in the attic room. Was that really what Sansor expected? If she did, her commitment to Bond would be completed. She could guide him to the outskirts of the city and their ways could part.

  Maybe that was what Sansor wanted.

  She glanced at Bond, but his breathing was still slow and deep. She was surprised that he’d been out for so long, but the pain had probably been extreme. Maybe he wasn’t accustomed to bearing pain. Maybe he had already been exhausted.

  She opened the message from Enigma when Sansor was gone and her eyes widened.

  Bond had been identified as the co-pilot of her sister Anguissa’s ship, the Archangel, and was wanted by the authorities in connection with that vessel’s abrupt departure from port. Her suspicion was right.

  Enigma was warning her.

  Had it been the authorities of Incendium in pursuit earlier? No, it couldn’t have been. Percipia knew they would have declared themselves if making an arrest, not tried to ambush Bond.

  Much less kill him.

  No, it had been someone else and Bond knew who.

  Which meant he knew why.

  Percipia filed the message and changed the security code on her device. She turned to look toward Bond, a thousand questions in her mind, and realized that his eyes were open. He was watching her, through the gap between the curtain and the wall, his eyes shining in the darkness.

  How long had he been awake?

  How much had he overheard?

  Bond awakened to the gentle rhythm of a woman’s voice and recognized Diverta’s low tones. Her voice was musical to him, alluring and soothing. He kept his eyes closed and listened to her discussion with her friend, telling himself that it wasn’t eavesdropping when he was gathering information about his own chances of survival.

  What he heard was astonishing.

  “Did you want me to sedate him?” Sansor asked.

  Bond was convinced then that he’d been led to this place to be ambushed, or even to ensure the failure of his mission. He almost bolted to his feet and ran at that question, but Diverta’s reply reassured him.

  “No, that’s not fair, not if he’s running for his life. And he asked not to be sedated. We have to respect that.”

  She was intent upon saving him. Why? A customary suspicion rose within Bond, then he wondered. What if she was helping him?

  What if she hadn’t imperiled him?

  It had been so long since anyone had helped him that Bond had trouble giving any merit to the idea. He’d worked alone since sacrificing his wings, and knew it was better that way.

  He stole a glance at Diverta and caught his breath. Her beauty was so radiant that he was awed once more. She was watching Sansor with an intensity that convinced Bond that they were close.

  “Do you want more tea?” There was resignation in Sansor’s tone that was at odds with Diverta’s watchfulness.

  Was he a brother? A friend? A former lover? Bond wanted to know more badly than could be healthy.

  “No, I’m fine, thank you.” Diverta’s voice dropped low, her tone turning intimate. “Thank you for helping him, Sansor.”

  The other man stood, his back to Diverta and his expression grim. “You must know that I’ll never refuse you.” There was an ache of yearning in the man’s reply, one that told Bond their relationship was more than friendly—or had once been. “Will this change anything for us?” Sansor asked, his hope almost tangible.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Once you’ve claimed the Seed?”

  The Seed? Bond didn’t understand. Diverta looked thoughtful, as if she chose her words with care to avoid injuring a man she cared about.

  Maybe she didn’t care enough to suit Sansor.

  “You’re a good friend, Sansor.” There was regret in her tone.

  Bond saw how Sansor stiffened and heard the change in his tone. “Of course. You’re welcome to use the attic for as long as you like. No one will notice you there.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Even if you claim the Seed there.”

  Diverta blushed, rosy color blossoming over her cheeks in a way that Bond found enticing. “Thank you,” she murmured.

  Sansor drained his cup. “I should check on Father.”

  He left, his footsteps echoing loudly as they faded, then sounding overhead. Bond considered what he’d heard and seen.

  Sansor loved Diverta.

  She didn’t love him.

  Yet Sansor loved her enough to let her practice her siren’s trade in his home. That was remarkable to Bond. If he’d loved a woman, he liked to believe he would have been able to accept her choices, even if they didn’t favor him, but he doubted he’d be able to facilitate her occupation if she was a siren.

  He guessed that Diverta would check on him and did his best to feign sleep. He felt as if he’d heard something he shouldn’t have known. He heard light tapping and peeked to find her checking her screen. Her consternation at what she read there was clear and her eyes flew to him so abruptly
that he had no chance to pretend to be asleep.

  Their gazes locked in the shadows and Bond felt his mouth go dry. He lay injured and exhausted, yet still he wanted this beauty with her clear gaze and her fearless manner.

  “The Archangel abruptly left port,” she whispered to him. “They think you know why.”

  It was evident that he’d been identified and Bond saw no reason to deceive her. In fact, he was more concerned that Anguissa had left with the Archangel again. No one else could have taken the vessel, yet it had been scheduled to remain at Incendium’s Star Station for a few weeks. Had his unpredictable captain made a bargain for the cargo he sought to destroy and gone to deliver it alone?

  He’d been so glad to get the starship back to Incendium without triggering the worm in the nav system, the one that would return the Archangel to the quadrant where Hellemut would destroy Anguissa and her ship. He’d been sure the Archangel was safe. But now Anguissa had left port and there was no telling where she’d gone.

  Or when the worm would activate.

  Bond’s plan was unraveling before his eyes and there was nothing he could do, not with the Archangel gone.

  Would Anguissa bring the vessel back to Incendium?

  Would she be able to?

  Or had the Gloria Furore triumphed?

  “I don’t,” he replied curtly, which was technically true. The worm in the nav system might not have been triggered yet. “It was docked with every intention of remaining for a few weeks when I disembarked.”

  “Why did you come to Incendium city?”

  “The captain gave us leave.”

  “But you could have stayed on the Star Station.”

  “I had something to do on Incendium.” He sat up carefully, uncertain of what his body would do, then nodded with relief. Sansor was a competent healer, which was a blessing. He decided then to keep his appointment with the Host, so that he could share what he knew. In the meantime, he’d hope for Anguissa’s return. He couldn’t influence it, not now.

  “Still do,” he added when Diverta didn’t reply.

  Bond got to his feet, holding the wall for a moment as he assessed his own condition. Not perfect but better than might have been expected. He would be able to run, if not as quickly as Diverta could. “Maybe you could thank your friend for me.”

  Diverta was at his side immediately. “You can’t go alone. We have a deal.”

  Had she led the attackers to him? He wasn’t sure. “Whenever someone tries to kill me, I consider all deals to be open for renegotiation, Diverta.”

  “Does it happen that often, then?” she asked, curiosity bright in her eyes. “Are people always trying to kill you?”

  Bond found himself smiling, though it was a rueful expression. “It’s not a new experience.”

  “Why?”

  “Because life is a dangerous game.” He spotted the top of his uniform on the bench and grabbed it, wincing as he shrugged it on. He fastened the front and checked the charge on both lazes, satisfied that they’d recharged more quickly than he’d expected.

  Or maybe he’d been out longer than he realized.

  He couldn’t have lost an entire day, could he?

  That possibility made him want to move quickly.

  “How long was I out?”

  She shrugged. “Moments.”

  Bond was relieved. “What other ways are there to leave this place?” he asked her, not wanting to return to the underground passage. It would have been too easy for his attackers to watch it.

  She pointed down the corridor. “Just the front door of the shop.” At his glance, she clarified. “Sansor and his father are the apothecaries.”

  Bond already knew that but she didn’t realize as much. Her words reminded him of his obligation, though. “I’ll pay,” he said, reaching for credits.

  She stopped him with a touch. “Sansor helped you for me, because I asked. I’m the one who owes him for that, not you.”

  Bond eyed her for a moment, wondering whether she realized the reason Sansor had acted as he did. He decided to tell her, because maybe it would make a difference.

  Maybe there was one thing he could accomplish before he left this realm.

  “He loves you, you know.”

  She winced and looked away. “Yes, I know.”

  “But it’s not reciprocal?”

  Diverta met his gaze, her own smile a little sad. “I am what I am and I know my own heart. I might want to change that, but I can’t.”

  Bond understood. Her trade as a siren was one she didn’t want to surrender. He supposed that it gave her some financial freedom. Maybe she had signed a contract or owed a debt, one that could only be paid by continuing with her trade. It wasn’t Bond’s concern, even if he did want to know.

  Had she led the Gloria Furore to him for credit? He couldn’t see how it could have been done, but had learned to respect the resources of that band of space pirates.

  Either way, their paths should part immediately.

  Bond nodded crisply, regretting that there wouldn’t be more between them. “Thank you and thanks to your friend, as well.”

  Her hand landed on his arm. “You can’t leave now!”

  “I must leave now.”

  She shook her head, stepping closer. Her breasts pressed against his arm and Bond felt a surge of desire that startled him with its power. He looked into her eyes and saw her concern. His need to run faded fast as temptation surged through him once more. “You’ll be noticed in the streets at this hour,” she warned. “Incendium city is quiet at night, except near the ports.” She leaned closer, backing him into the wall. “I said I’d get you out of the city safely, and I’m not done.”

  “They’ll follow us here. It’s only a matter of time.” His gaze dropped to her lips. “I should go,” he said, hearing the lack of conviction in his own voice.

  She studied him and he wondered if she knew that her fingers were stroking him. “Who are they?”

  “They want me dead. The details are unimportant.”

  “Sansor said we can use the attic. I’ll get you out of the city in the morning.”

  “So you have time to claim the Seed?” he asked, repeating what he’d overheard even though he didn’t fully understand it.

  Her smile was so brilliant that it left Bond blinking. “I’d like that,” she whispered, her voice sultry. “I’d like that a lot.” Then she eased her lips across his, kindling that need within him that he’d hoped he could forget. There was something about this woman and her touch that was irresistible, and Bond found himself accepting her rationalization.

  However many of the attackers had survived, they were seeking him in the streets. It would be best to remain hidden, and to leave the city disguised in a crowd. He would heal better if he rested.

  But then, when Diverta sealed her lips to his, the last thing Bond wanted to do was rest.

  She had helped him escape and survive.

  Paying his debt by keeping his promise was the only honorable thing to do.

  Bond slanted his mouth over Diverta’s, deepening their kiss and locking his arms around her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, responding with a passion that he found irresistible, and he realized something.

  He would forget his experiences in the mortal realm, but she might remember him. He could live on, so to speak, in this siren’s memories.

  If he gave her an experience worth remembering.

  Bond chose to take that as a challenge.

  Four

  The Seed.

  The scent discarded Percipia’s inhibitions and obliterated her doubts.

  The longer she smelled the Seed, the more it drove her crazy. She had to claim it and do so as soon as possible.

  Fortunately, Bond seemed to share her urgency. They kissed all the way up the stairs even though Percipia stumbled more than once. If she hadn’t known the way, she might have fallen. She had her eyes closed and her arms around Bond’s neck, her mouth locked on his. Or was his mouth
locked on hers? Either way, she was consumed with the feel of him and the taste of him. She wanted her hands on him, his skin against hers, and didn’t care about anything else.

  Her concerns about his scars and what they might imply about his true nature were incinerated in the heat of the need fed by the Seed. Her questions about who was following him and why, as well as what he might have done that meant someone wanted him dead, were submerged beneath the wave of her desire.

  They passed the upper floor of the house, where Percipia knew Sansor and his father lived. The door to one bedroom was closed and she recalled that his father was sleeping. She felt a twinge of guilt to be behaving so wantonly in the home where she had always been welcomed, then knew that Sansor’s father would understand the compulsion that drove her. The sight of that closed door, though, reminded her that there was more than Bond’s touch in the world.

  When she’d claimed the Seed, there wouldn’t even be that. This was a fleeting madness, one that should be made as brief as possible—even though it was wonderful. How sweet it would have been to be able to savor a courtship in the glow of the Seed’s scent, to make the experience last so that all the pleasure was wrung from it.

  But that was the stuff of fairy tales and matches meant to endure, of HeartKeepers winning their destined mates. There was nothing romantic about her match with Bond.

  He was being hunted. Would they even survive long enough for her to succeed? Again, she felt that conflict between the demand of her nature and the social expectation of being a guest.

  On some level, Percipia recognized the peril of her situation. In the aura of the Seed, she was unconcerned with her own safety, her senses attuned to Bond and greedy for every impression she could claim of him.

  This had to be resolved.

  Once she had the Seed, then Bond could leave, his attackers would follow, and Percipia could retreat to the palace to bear their child in safety and tranquility.

  They reached the attic and Bond kicked the door shut behind them, without breaking his kiss. It was a simply furnished space, with dark wooden floors polished to a gleam and sloped white ceilings on four sides. A large window faced the street in front of the shop, though there was only silence from the sleeping city. The flat roof was a massive skylight, offering a view of the star-studded night sky. Percipia had always liked that from this vantage point, it was impossible to see the shuttles ascending to and descending from the Star Station.