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

by Christina Westcott

  As she crossed the sitting room of their suite, a wave of misery and grief washed over her. The emotions emanated from a chair where a rumpled ball of black fur huddled, front paws covering his face.

  Fitz knelt and stroked the cat. “You okay, big guy?”

  “No. They’re gone, they’re all gone. All my friends. Maybe even my entire family. The clowder wasn’t that far from Ishtok. They could have been within the blast radius.”

  “You’ve still got Wolf.” She caressed Jumper’s ears. “And me.” It wasn’t easy to comfort the cat when she felt every bit as desolate. “I know what’ll help. I’m getting some hot chocolate. How about a dish of beef au jus?”

  “No, I’m not hungry.”

  That remark worried her. As she rose, Fitz noticed the door to Wolf’s bedroom stood open, only darkness beyond. “Hasn’t Wolf come back? He went running hours ago.” She checked her inhead chrono. Three hours ago. It couldn’t have taken that long.

  Jumper lifted his head and cocked it to one side as if listening. “He’s at Paddy’s.”

  “That’s pretty precise for cat who can’t read minds. Or did he tell you where he was going?”

  “Deductive reasoning. He’s in a maudlin mood, which means he’s trying to get drunk. So he’s at Paddy’s because it’s the only bar on the station that keeps vilaprim in stock for him.”

  “I don’t need him getting blasted on that green slime. Drinking too much of that stuff will turn your brain to mush. Where is this Paddy’s?”

  “Don’t worry about him. He can take care of himself.”

  “I guess I’ll just have to find this dive by myself.” Fitz headed for the door.

  “Wait. You can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Wolf told me not to let you leave the suite.”

  “And why is it any of his business where I go?”

  “With all the hatred for the Empire now, he was afraid someone might try to take it out on you. He didn’t want to see you get hurt.”

  “If some idiot thinks he can take me on, I say let him try. I’ll show him there’s only one thing worse than crossing an augie.”

  The cat jumped from the chair and followed her to the door. “And what would that be, Boss Lady?”

  “That’s crossing a really pissed off one.”

  The last drop of vilaprim didn’t quite fill the third glass. Wolf hadn’t toasted his way through all of his officers, and the bottle was empty. By his count, he had a couple thousand drinks to go. He tossed back the three shots, and briefly felt a comfortable buzz build behind his eyes, but it dissipated. His body metabolized the sugars and burned off the alcohol in the liqueur almost instantly. He couldn’t drink fast enough to develop a really good drunk. There were times—like now—when he would have loved to get blind staggering shit-faced.

  He had decided to pack it in for the night, go back to the room and get some sleep, when the spacers at the next table made their move. Wolf wondered if it took them that long to screw up their courage, or if they waited until they thought he was sufficiently drunk. If it was the latter, they were in for a surprise. As the six approached his table, Wolf studied them, looking for telltale bulges in their pockets, under their jackets or at their ankles that would betray the presence of weapons. Pushing cargo between the stars was a dangerous business, and spacers rarely went unarmed, even in the Midworlds where it was illegal for private citizens to carry guns. Knives were spacers’ weapon of choice.

  The de facto leader, a big man, both tall and overweight, with senior captain’s stars on his uniform, approached the table. The other five fanned out in a semicircle.

  “You, dragon fucker, we heard there was a wirehead on station. Would that be you?”

  They thought he was an augie. That explained why it took them so long to challenge him.

  “The augie who’s here now is a woman. I haven’t had a sex change, so no, it isn’t me.”

  “You’ve got a smart mouth, snake.”

  “Damn straight. The rest of me isn’t stupid either. For instance, you wouldn’t find me trying to piss off what I thought was an augmented Imperial agent unless I had an entire regiment to back me up.”

  “All I see now is you, snake. And there’s six of us.”

  Wolf stood, pushed his jacket back to expose his weapons. “I’ve got a couple of friends to help me out.”

  “Make that two against six.” Fitz’s voice came from behind the spacers.

  “And three if you count the cat.” Jumper cast his thoughts so that everyone in the bar heard him.

  There was a blur of movement, and suddenly Fitz stood next to him. Several of the spacers backed away. Wolf shifted position, placing himself between Fitz and the now dissolving rabble.

  Jumper leaped on the table, hissing and arching his back. “I’ve already ripped an augie’s face off and massacred a hundred and twenty-seven frainies, so a bunch of drunk spacers ain’t going to be a problem. Bring it on, assholes.”

  The captain looked around and realized his friends were deserting him. He jabbed a finger at Wolf. “If I catch you alone, snake, without your wirehead bitch to protect you, I’ll kick the shit out of you.”

  “You can try.” Wolf smiled at the man as he followed his shipmates out of the bar.

  Fitz crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. “Damn it, Wolf. Will you quit that?”

  He arched an eyebrow at her. “Quit what, picking fights in bars?”

  “No. Trying to protect me. You stepped in front of me like I was some helpless damsel in distress. I’m an augie, for Yig’s sake. I can take care of myself. In fact, I should be protecting you.”

  “I don’t need a babysitter, Fitz.” He rubbed his forehead. “What I could use is something to eat. I know I promised you a romantic dinner. Paddy’s isn’t that, but they do serve a passible shepherd’s pie, if you’d care to join me.”

  Wolf turned to the barkeep. “Royan, how about a couple of your specials…”

  “Me too, Boss.”

  “Make that three specials and a couple of beers.”

  Kenryk glared at Fitz like he expected her to leap over the bar and strangle him. “I don’t serve wireheads.”

  Wolf sighed. “Then I guess I’ll take my bleeding business elsewhere. Startide serves excellent Acinonex finger food.” He tucked Fitz’s hand in the crook of his elbow and led her out of Paddy’s. “Good luck finding someone to buy the rest of that case of vilaprim, Mr. Kenryk. Because it sure as hell won’t be me.”

  You bloody well learned who your friends were when you hung around with an augie.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Two hours later, Fitz picked at the remains of her schoschritti, the bite of its exotic spices tingling on her tongue. She washed it down with the last of her kahami beer. Beyond the privacy field that fronted the tiny alcove she shared with Wolf, Startide’s nonstop party pulsed and writhed to a heavy driving beat. The bass note of the music seeped through the walls and floors, setting up a low thumping even the suppression field couldn’t keep out.

  Across the room, Jumper sat at a gametable facing a one-eyed gray tom, a pile of kibble between them. The black cat tapped the screen for another card, deliberated a few seconds, then anted up a few more pieces. One-eye matched his bet and swept his paw across the screen to display his cards. Jumper snarled, ears flattening against his head as the other cat pawed the pot to his side of the table, adding to his swiftly growing hoard.

  A handful of female Acinonix moved through the crowd of humans, some in the ubiquitous gray coveralls of freelance freighters, but most wore the colorful sarong that marked them as prostitutes—and in that lay the reason for the chilly relationship between humanity and the male population of the Acinon Principalities.

  Sex among the Acinonix was quick, brutal and always resulted in pregnancy. Fitz couldn’
t blame the women for wanting to escape the role that biology had cast for them. During the first contact with the non-human species, some adventuresome diplomat had discovered that sex with one of their females was extremely gratifying for both parties. That resulted in a flood of immigrants into the Human Sector—all female. Some worked on ships and stations, but primarily, they fueled a burgeoning sex trade.

  Their waitress arrived with another round of beers, the suppression field dropping as she stepped into the alcove. The wall of noise crashed against Fitz like an explosion’s shock wave. The non-human woman’s slightly muzzled face, prominent incisors and large golden eyes marked her race’s prehistoric ancestor as a nocturnal predator. Her pointed ears were pierced with dozens of hoops and jeweled studs. A welter of cheap necklaces hung around her neck and draped down the front of her multicolored wrap.

  The Acinonix placed the bottles on the table and spoke to Wolf in a string of hard consonants, growls and glottal stops that Fitz’s language files couldn’t translate. He handed the waitress his credit chip, replying in a throat searing quip that ended in a wheezing chortle Fitz suspected was laughter.

  “Your Acinonix badder than my PanGal.” The woman stumbled on the foreign words as she scanned the chip, returned it to him and withdrew.

  “When did you learn about Acinonix food?” Fitz hoped he wasn’t one of those men who frequented non-human brothels.

  “The Gold Dragons…” His voice caught for a second, then he continued. “We took a contract backing an Acinonix princeling in a bid to retake his ancestral demesne. We were in the high country of Gollurma for months. Out in the wilderness, schoschritties are the traditional trail food.” He returned to staring out the viewport at the glitter of the shipyards laid out against the endless night.

  That was the longest string of words Fitz had gotten out of him since they left Padraic’s. She waited, drawing circles in the moisture rings left by her beer bottle, and studied his profile against the stars.

  As much as it hurt her to think of him walking away, she felt compelled to offer him a way out. The situation had spun out of control and she couldn’t expect him to ignore his own disaster and continue on with her, not when the threat of all-out war between the Empire and the Midworlds hung over them like a shroud.

  “You don’t have to do this,” she said. “Come with me, that is. You’ve already given me all the information I need to finish this up on my own. I can’t ask you to do anymore. You have your own mess to deal with, picking up the pieces of your life.”

  His gaze shifted to her. “Trying to get rid of me? Then who’ll pay Lister’s repair bill?”

  Fitz massaged her temples. “Damn, I forgot about that. I hate to ask you to cover that, but when this is all over, I’ll see to it that you’re compensated.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ve already instructed Miah to bill it to the Gold Dragons’…” He scowled. “To my personal account, but she’d better be quick. It’ll be a long time, if ever, before our assets on Rainbow can be tapped, so I’ve authorized our accountants on Willcommin to pull whatever they need from my personal accounts. That won’t last long when the claims for death benefits start rolling in.”

  “Death benefits? For the entire company? Then where does that leave you?”

  He took a pull on the bottle of beer. “Broke, I suspect, but then I’ve been busted before.”

  “Will you sign on with another mercenary company?”

  He laughed. “No, I’ve made too many enemies in the business for anyone to be comfortable with me in their organization. Perhaps I’ll hire on as a pilot with one of the independent freighters. I’ve been doing some nosing around and have heard about a ship that might be willing to take me on. Pay’s not much, little more than a berth and meals, but it sounds interesting.”

  Pain thrust hard and cold into Fitz’s chest. Did he want to be rid of her so badly that he’d take a no-paying job with a low-budget freighter to get away? She swallowed her anguish and forced a smile.

  He leaned forward on his elbows. “The ship’s run by some crazy Scyran woman who’s offering a berth in exchange for joining her on an insane quest.”

  “A b-berth.” She stumbled over the word. “That’s all it would take to convince you?”

  A mischievous grin lit his face. “That and a chance to share the captain’s bed.”

  Fitz’s eyes stung and she blinked away the sudden tears. Words couldn’t pass her tight throat, so she leaned across the table and kissed him. At first her lips only brushed his but then his tongue responded, tracing the outline of her mouth, taking control and deepening the kiss. An eon later, she pulled back, drawing in a trembling breath.

  He traced the line of her jaw with his fingertips. “If you’d like to return to the hotel, I would be happy to demonstrate my job qualifications, Captain.”

  He hesitated and cleared his throat. “Fitz, they still routinely sterilize everyone on active duty, don’t they?”

  “Of course.”

  Because of exposure to hard radiation in space, like all members of Fleet, she’d been sterilized after submitting genetic samples for the production of future offspring—children she never expected to have.

  She drew her tongue up the cleft in his chin and felt his lips smile. “And I’ll have you know, during my last physical, I was certified free and clear of any of those annoying social diseases. How about you, soldier?”

  “I don’t think you have anything to worry about on that front, ma’am.”

  He pulled her to her feet and out through the swirl of noise and bodies until they reached the gametable. “We’re leaving, Jumper.”

  The pile of kibble in front of the black cat had shrunk to a few scattered pieces while One-eye’s collection had grown substantially. Jumper looked at his cards, flattened his ears and folded. He pushed his remaining stash across the table to the gray cat and hopped down to follow them out of the bar.

  “Where are we going now?” Jumper asked when they reached the relative quiet of the corridor.

  Wolf draped an arm around Fitz’s shoulders. “We are going back to the room. You can do whatever your furry little heart desires.”

  The cat trotted along behind them. “Well, it’s about time you two got around to that.”

  Once in the privacy of their quarters, Fitz wasted no time shrugging off Wolf’s jacket and unbuckling the shoulder harness, easing the weapon to the floor. As his arms came free, he cupped her face, crushing his lips to hers, his tongue invading the warm recesses of her mouth. She couldn’t breathe, didn’t want to breathe, only wanted him to kiss her like this until she shattered into a million blazing pieces. Which, from the way he made her feel, would be soon. She slid her hands under his shirt, stroking the hard muscles of his back, pushing the fabric up until she skinned it off over his head. His hair came free of its clasp, spilling around his shoulders.

  He pulled her into his bedroom, shutting the door in Jumper’s face. Fitz peeled off her tee, wanting to feel her breasts against his chest, skin to skin. Her breath caught in her throat. The scars. In her passion, she’d forgotten about her scars. She watched him, waiting for the light of desire to leave his eyes, replaced by pity or disgust.

  All she saw in them was hunger as he ground her against his chest. He kissed her jaw, her neck and down to the hollow of her throat. Fitz urgently fumbled with his other gun belt, pulling the heavy weapon free. It stubbornly refused to come off, and she remembered the tie down straps on his thigh. Her fingers skimmed along the smooth fabric of his running shorts, loosened the buckles and slid the belt to the floor.

  She stroked the silky fabric encasing his thigh, sliding her hand upward to caress the hard bulge of his erection. Against her neck, she felt his sharp intake of breath followed by a wicked chuckle. Her fingers brushed the length of him, lightly at first, but then more demanding.

  “I love seeing you in those
shorts, but I want them off. Immediately.” She tugged at the waistband.

  “Aye, aye, Captain.” Wolf gave a jaunty salute. He skinned off the offending items and sat on the bed tugging at his bootlaces, cursing as his haste tangled them. After he’d pulled off his boots and tossed them, he stopped to take the slug thrower from its holster and place it on the nightstand with its grip facing toward the bed. She wondered if the habit was so ingrained in him that even in the depths of passion he couldn’t forget. He also extracted a module from the belt pouch, turned it on and placed it next to the weapon. Her ears felt the change in pressure of a suppression field activating.

  “You’re afraid someone might be monitoring our lovemaking?” She stroked her hand down his face.

  “No, but it does have an anti-telepathic function.”

  She leaned forward to kiss him, but stopped. “Jumper?”

  “I wouldn’t put anything past the fuzzy little pervert.” His chuckle was deep and suggestive as he unfastened her pants. Her skin tingled under his hands as he slid the rest of her clothes to the floor.

  “Lights, off,” she said.

  “Belay that order. Lights on. I want to see you.”

  “But…”

  “I know you’re self-conscious about the scars, but you’re a beautiful woman, Kimber. The scars are a part of who you are, so they can’t be anything but beautiful, too.” He nuzzled the skin between her breasts, tongue caressing the long raised ridge bisecting her chest.

  She buried her face in his hair, tangling her fingers in its golden silkiness. He took her nipple into his mouth, nipping and sucking until she knew she’d explode if she didn’t have this man right now. She forced him back onto the bed, straddling his stomach, pinning his arms above his head and covering his mouth hungrily.

  “Ah, now I understand,” he said, when she allowed him to breathe again. “You’re going to be one of those captains who forces her crew to do despicable things. So, what’s your first order?” He waggled his eyebrows.

  “I order you to pleasure your captain.”