A Hero for the Empire: The Dragon's Bidding, Book 1

by Christina Westcott

  Her strength exhausted, she fell back to her side, shivering as the cold of blood loss filled her. Rolling onto her back, she stared at the ceiling, watching darkness flow into the edges of her vision.

  Youngblood was suddenly there, lifting her head and turning her to face him. He drew a knife, and she flinched back, confused, but he used it the cut away her undershirt.

  “This isn’t too bad.” His fingers were warm and gentle against the gash in her side. They moved further up to her arm. She winced.

  “Bloody hell, Kimber, didn’t anyone tell you that when you get stabbed you’re not supposed to jerk the knife out?”

  “I found a better use for it.”

  “And I appreciate the thought, but you didn’t need to do that. I’ve been shot before.” He bundled up the pieces of her shirt and pressed them against the wound.

  Fitz realized Bartonelli leaned over her.

  “Keep pressure on that, Sergeant,” Youngblood ordered.

  The NCO’s teeth worried at her lower lip as she held the makeshift bandage in place.

  Youngblood pulled the sheet from the bed and cut it into strips. He began wrapping her arm tightly while he gave Bartonelli a quick but concise description of Hiruko. As the sergeant started to rise, he stopped her with a glare. “I want the chufting son of a bitch alive, understand me?” he said in a voice like frozen iron.

  “Yes, sir.” The sergeant’s smile was malevolent as she rose and hurried from the room.

  Youngblood wrapped the remainder of the sheet around Fitz, then lifted her into his arms.

  “I’ve called medical. They’re sending up a team,” said a skinny man clad only in a combat harness and a pair of undershorts. To Fitz’s drug-addled mind, he looked comical, but she didn’t have the strength to laugh. Instead she snuggled closer to Youngblood’s warmth.

  “I can get her there quicker, Major.” His words rumbled in his chest, a soothing accompaniment to the pounding of his heart.

  A soft tendril of pain slithered through her mind. “Jumper?”

  The cat lay against the wall, struggling to lift his head. The thin major knelt and ran his fingers gently over Jumper’s back and hind legs. “He’s a tough little guy. I don’t think anything important is broken, but we need to get him to medical so Dr. Chandra can take a look at him.”

  “Give him to me,” Fitz held out her good arm.

  He settled the cat on her chest. Jumper pushed his head up under her chin and purred. From Youngblood’s jolting strides, Fitz knew they were suddenly running. The rhythm of his breathing and hammering of his heart blended with the cat’s throaty rumble, inviting her to sink into a warm and vibrating oblivion.

  “Make a hole.” Youngblood yelled at the knot of soldiers exiting the elevator. They dodged out of the way as he charged into the car.

  “Emergency override. Medical.” The lift began its express drop to the hospital level half a kilometer below. He sagged against the wall and shifted the weight in his arms.

  Bloody hell, he didn’t need the kind of aggravation FitzWarren brought into his life. She argued with him, she infuriated him, she made him feel twenty-five again, alive and burning with emotions he thought he’d outlived.

  He couldn’t imagine two people being more ill-suited for each other and yet there was this inexplicable attraction between them. It had been there since that first instant he felt her body beneath his.

  She’d felt it too, he was certain. He didn’t need an empathic cat’s explanation to recognize the emotions behind those gray eyes. It was purely a physical attraction and he had a physical solution. They could give free rein to that passion for a few hours—a few nights—and then go on with their lives, keeping nothing more than pleasant memories of their time together.

  It was that simple, wasn’t it?

  Wolf had the uneasy feeling that nothing would be simple around FitzWarren.

  What was taking so long? He glanced at the lift’s control panel. The numbers blurred as the car raced downward.

  She was so pale, so still. The bandage around her arm had soaked through, staining the sleeve of his jacket. She’d lost so much blood. He lowered his face to hers, feeling the feathery caress of her breath on his cheek. His mouth brushed against her lips and she responded weakly, opening her eyes and watching him in silence. Her lips smiled beneath his, then she closed her eyes, snuggling her face against him.

  “Boss?”

  “I don’t want to hear it, Jumper.”

  “All right, I won’t say I told you so. Even if I did.”

  The lift car slid to a stop, the door opening on two surprised med-techs with a float waiting to enter. Wolf pushed past them and sprinted for the medical bay.

  Chapter Eight

  Had she really been awakened with a kiss like some fairy tale princess, or was it just a drug-fueled fantasy? As angry as Youngblood had been at her only moments ago, she suspected it had to be the latter. Since she’d arrived on his base, trouble had dogged her footsteps—trouble for him. He would no doubt be ecstatic to see her backside disappear out his front gate as soon as it could be arranged.

  Intense lighting turned the darkness behind her eyelids scarlet. Sharp medicinal smells warned she’d entered a hospital. She’d been in too many sick bays and operating suites not to recognize that odor. Her bare shoulder blades pressed against the cold surface of an examination table. Hands attempted to lift the warm weight of the cat from her chest, but she tightened her grip.

  “It’s all right, Commander,” a woman said. “Dr. Chandra is the closest thing we have to a veterinarian. He’ll take good care of Jumper.” The furry warmth disappeared.

  Scanners whirled and chirped above her, and she felt the sharp pricks of lines going in and blood being extracted for analysis.

  “She’s been drugged, Ski.” Fitz had no trouble recognizing that voice. Youngblood.

  “I figured that much out. I am a doctor, you know.”

  Ski. Fitz’s mind struggled to place the name. The doctor who thought Jumper should be on a diet. Right now, she’d be happy to allow her furry rescuer all the treats he could scarf down.

  The fog began to clear, sensation creeping back into her body. There wasn’t a spot on her that didn’t hurt. She wiggled her fingers and a ragged pain tore through her upper arm. The gash along her side burned and agony flared with each breath, so she kept her breathing shallow.

  Frigid air flowed across her skin, rising prickles of horripilation. She shivered and ground her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering. Why did they keep it so cold? Someone took pity on her and draped a warm blanket over her lower body. She reached for it, careful to use her uninjured arm, and tried to pull it up. A hand stopped her, fingers intertwining with hers. She struggled to lift her arm, but the grip tightened.

  Her gaze slide down her arm to that restraining grip, then upward, past the blood stained uniform to the face of the man standing by her bed. Youngblood didn’t notice her scrutiny, his attention on the doctor.

  Ski studied her monitors, harrumphing and muttering curses under her breath.

  “Her injuries aren’t that bad,” Youngblood said.

  “It’s not a couple of knife wounds that worry me. Her liver function is shitty, her blood isn’t clotting right, she’s anemic as hell and her inflammation level is off the chart.”

  Youngblood squeezed his eyes shut. “Late stage Tinkerman-Kasahari Syndrome.”

  “Yeah, what did you expect? She’s an augie.”

  The doctor leaned over Fitz, brushing a stray lock of hair from her forehead. “I’m going to give you something for the pain, but it’ll make you sleepy. When you wake up you’ll feel much better.”

  A promise of oblivion began to flow into Fitz’s veins, but she fought it. Her mind had dragged itself clear of one drug’s control, and she didn’t want to surrender her thoughts again, eve
n if carried with it an end to the pain. She struggled to keep her eyes open and concentrated on the conversation between the two mercenaries.

  “Any of that blood yours?” Ski indicated Youngblood’s uniform.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Yeah, you’re always fine. Don’t you have a killer or something to track down? Now get out of my way and let me get to work. And while you’re at it, get something to eat. You look like you’re about to keel over.”

  Fitz struggled to hold on to his fingers, but he released her hand, rested her arm across her stomach and pulled the blanket up to cover her.

  “I’ll check back with you in a few hours, Ski.” Youngblood’s voice faded, and Fitz knew he’d turned to leave.

  “Wait, Wolf.” The doctor stepped away from her side.

  They seemed to pitch their voices lower and the distance made it hard to follow their discussion.

  “I know what you’re going to ask, Doctor, and the answer is no.”

  “But she’s the perfect candidate…”

  “And she’s an Imperial officer. Do you have any idea what a bloody can of worms that would open?”

  “The poor kid’s only got a few years left.”

  “And I’m not going to take them away from her on the wild possibility that you’ve solved some fifty-year-old mystery that the best medical minds in the Empire couldn’t.”

  “Damn it, Wolf, you know I’ve figured it out.”

  “One case, Doctor. One. That brings the fatality rate down to ninety-six percent. Not very good odds. You forget I saw all those people die. I am not going to be responsible for another death.”

  “You can’t sit on this thing forever. It’s going to come out eventually.”

  “Major, I said no, and that is an order. Now if you’ll excuse me, we both have work to do.”

  Fitz tried to force some meaning onto their words, but couldn’t. Sleep beckoned, promising to take away the pain if she only closed her eyes. The sounds in the room receded, and her eyelids grew heavy. She let them slide shut, just for a second.

  When she opened her eyes, a warm layer of blankets covered her. In the dim light, she could make out a space was not much larger than her bed. A recovery room.

  She fought to reconstruct the past few hours. There had been a fight and…damn it, Jeferi. She remembered Jeferi. And an ugly-ass augie. A monitor began to beep, registering the spike in her vitals from the flash of anger. Jeferi had drugged her. She tried to hold on to the memories, but they fractured into shards of images and whirled around in her mind. One would surface, but before she could make sense of it, the vision would be gone, spinning off into the chaos. The interrogation drugs often left holes in the victim’s memory, but at least she still had a mind.

  She remembered slashing claws and a primal rage. Jumper taking on an augie to save her. Youngblood standing in the doorway, as cool as if he was on the firing range, while the killer bore down on him at hyperkinetic speed. Mumbled words about her. And a kiss. There had been a kiss?

  She saw the gargoyle face of the augie leering at her. No, not that kiss, but another one. One she didn’t want to end.

  “Don’t you go getting frisky on me.” Doc Ski stepped through the door and shut down the monitor’s alarm. She adjusted the bed so Fitz could sit up. “I want you to go easy on that shoulder for six or eight hours. The nanites haven’t quite finished patching it up yet. After that you should be able to get back to normal usage. Other than that, how are you feeling?”

  “I’m fine.” Fitz realized she did feel fine; better yet, she felt damn good. Her wounds didn’t hurt and even the background, everyday achiness she always endured felt distant. “You must have some mighty good pain meds.”

  “Better than that liver-rotting junk you’ve been using. While you were unconscious, I took the opportunity to flush that shit out of your pharmacopeia’s reservoir and replace it with this.” She held up a vial of a pale amber liquid.

  “Propalvanquilanon. It’s a new anti-inflammatory pain killer that shows great promise. It’s still in medical trials and hasn’t been approved for general use yet. They’re some concern over long-term usage.”

  “I don’t think that would be a problem for me.”

  “Then you’re aware you have Stage-3 TKS?”

  “Stage-2.” Fitz’s head snapped up to stare at the doctor. “That’s what they told me during my last physical just a few months ago.”

  Ski shook her head, her smile sad as she handed Fitz a package containing a clean, folded uniform. “It’s Stage-3 now. At this point things deteriorate pretty quickly.”

  Fitz’s fingers twisted the front of her gown. “When you hit Stage-3, they pull you from field work and stick you behind a desk until…until the end. Unless you volunteer to go visit Doctor Death, and I’m sure as hell not desperate enough to gamble away what little time I have left against a tiny chance of immortality.”

  The doctor stiffened. “Immortality?”

  “That’s just the rumor. DIS found this crazy doctor who claims he’s developed a way to make our bodies repair the damage our implants cause. The speculation is it would also offset the day-to-day aging process, allowing you to live forever. But since no one has survived the treatment, it’s just wild speculation…”

  “Are you telling me the Empire is experimenting with the Lazzinair Procedure again?” Ski’s voice was quiet, but held an undertone of controlled anger.

  “I have no idea what Von Drager’s calling it…”

  “Von Drager. Logan Von Drager?” Her words had the knife-sharp edge of betrayal. “That little son of a bitch. I wondered why that young stud was coming on to this old lady. Next time I see that bastard, I’m going to rip that charming smile right off his chufting…” She swallowed the rest of her curse and slammed her tablet on the counter.

  The doctor took a deep, calming breath and folded her arms across her chest. “As a physician, I do my damnedest to keep people alive and well for as long as possible. I don’t understand what motivates a kid like you to do this, knowing it’s going to cost you over half of your life span.”

  “I grew up in the Warren, Doctor. If I hadn’t taken this way out, I’d have ended up dead years ago, what with the drugs and the gangs. I think the trade-off was more than fair. I’ve accomplished something during the time I’ve served the Empire. People respect me…well, maybe it’s just fear.” She chuckled.

  “But I do know, if I’d stayed in the Warren, my life would have been short and nasty. So, no regrets. I walked into this with my eyes open.” Fitz unclenched her fingers from her gown, smoothing the fabric across her thighs again and again.

  “Before my first implant surgery, the brass sent me to a care facility to talk to an old augie. The man was on life support; his body in total systems failure, but his mind remained as sharp as ever. I asked him if he would do it all again if he had the chance.”

  Fitz looked down at her nervous fingers and forced them to quiet. “Do you know what he said to me? ‘You bet your sweet ass I would, in an uptown minute.’ I heard he died the next day.”

  She slid off the bed and eased into the shirt with Ski’s help. “That’s why Youngblood’s cooperation is so important to me. This could be my last mission, and it would be a lot easier with his help.”

  Ski started to protest, but Fitz threw up both hands. “I know, I know. The Rules. I’ve heard all about The Rules. He’s agreed to give me all the information I’ll need, but I’d stand a better chance of success if he comes with me.” She stopped talking long enough to figure out how to get her pants on with only one good arm.

  Ski folded her arms across her chest. “You said that old augie’s mind was good right up to the end, so what’s wrong with yours?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You haven’t thought this through, Commander. What is Wolf?”

  �
��Arrogant, hard headed and demanding.”

  The doctor chuckled. “That, too, but what I meant was what does he do for a living?”

  “He’s a mercenary.”

  “And what do you do with mercenaries?”

  “You hire… Oh, shit!”

  Could it be that simple? Maks Kiernan said she had carte blanche to get Youngblood’s cooperation. Would that extend to her handing him a bill for services rendered? Only one way to find out.

  “Pardon me, Doctor, but I need to go hire a mercenary. You wouldn’t know where I might find a particular one, would you?”

  “I’d start up on the admin level. If he’s not there, they’ll be able to locate him. I’ll find you an escort.”

  Fitz’s mind warmed to the prospect of having Youngblood as a contracted employee. That was every bit as good as the original plan to reinstate him as a lower ranking officer. He wouldn’t be able to tell her what to do. Better still, he’d have to take orders from her. Fitz found she liked that idea. She liked it a lot.

  Chapter Nine

  Fitz shared Youngblood’s couch with Jumper. The cat was sprawled on his back, paws in the air, much like the first time she’d seen him.

  “You sure you’re okay, Jumper? I appreciate you calling in reinforcements, but that augie nailed you pretty hard.”

  “It takes more than a clapped-out cyborg to put me out of commission, but I did break a claw on his ugly face. I hope I didn’t catch any diseases when I bit him.”

  She rose, chuckling at the cat’s bravado as she punched up a cup of coffee from the processor. After a single sip, she abandoned the mug on the counter and stomped back to the living room. Her fingers beat a restless tattoo on the side seam of her borrowed trousers.

  Youngblood and his troopers were out scouring the base, trying to locate the assassin. She knew Jeferi, knew how he thought. Her place was out there, tracking the bastard down, not hanging around here waiting and feeling as useless as a blown power cell.