Danger in the Stars: (The Sectors SF Romance Series)

by Veronica Scott

  Opherra gave him an indulgent smile as she accepted the small controller. “I knew you’d see reason. No woman is worth dying for.” She pulled Miriell forward, closer to the Shemdylann.

  “We are pleased to accept this offering, and we appreciate your attention to detail by clothing it in the sacred color of gifting among our people. Well done. An auspicious start to the day. I congratulate our allies on choosing you to represent them, Lady Opherra.” The Shemdylann clacked one of her claws, and an underling hastily came forward with a pair of manacles on a long chain. Opherra locked the cuffs around Miriell’s wrists, and the alien female hooked the chain onto her carapace. Handing the AI controller to another servant, Opherra briefly explained the purpose. Deliberately yanking at the chain to force Miriell to stumble, the alien leader moved to take her place behind the table set aside for the Shemdylann. As the Chimmer eyed her, Miriell sank onto a hastily provided hassock a few feet behind her new owner. She sent Conor a look trying to convey all her love for him and released her psychic hold on his body.

  He staggered a step but then straightened and deliberately switched his gaze from Miriell to focus on Opherra, who was at his side again, hand on his arm. “I’m glad you see it my way and came back to your senses. I’m sure she was fun in bed, but now the serious work begins. Come, sit behind me, where my second-in-command belongs.”

  Without another glance at Miriell, he pivoted and followed Opherra to the head table, taking the chair she indicated in the first row behind the Combine overlords.

  Although her heart beat fast with fear and sorrow, Miriell was proud of her warrior, for his immediate acceptance and understanding of the roles they both must play for now. Miriell stayed on edge, wanting to be prepared to take action when the SCIA attacked. She was sure Conor would immediately move to save her from the Shemdylann, and she had to be ready to do her part.

  But the day went on uneventfully.

  There were speeches from both sides after which the most senior member of the Amarotu overlords gave a recap of the year’s significant events and challenges.

  So businesslike, except their profits and losses are counted in actual lives ruined or lost. Miriell couldn’t stop herself from glancing at the translucent ceiling dome far above. She hoped to see incoming ships or some other sign of law enforcement coming to break up this travesty of a meeting, to destroy the Amarotu. The bronze-colored skies remained empty, only a few wispy tan clouds scudding by.

  Aware she was an object of curiosity for the assembled Combine personnel, as well as the Chimmer, Miriell held her air of sullen, disinterested captive and refused to allow herself the comfort of glancing even briefly at Conor.

  There was a working lunch, and since no humans sat on her side of the amphitheater, none of the servers approached her. The Shemdylann juveniles acting as servants brought rations for their mistress and her staff but seemed puzzled about what to do about Miriell, with one eventually placing a tray on the floor next to her hassock. Hastily, she grabbed the container of water and several oddly shaped pieces of fruit, stowing several in the pockets of the dress, creating ungainly bulges. She knew from her past experiences that she wouldn’t be able to stomach anything else the aliens themselves ate.

  In the late afternoon, the meeting broke for the day, and Miriell’s last glimpse of Conor was as the humans left the amphitheater. He hesitated at the door, searching for her among the small gathering of aliens, and his gaze was like a physical touch, concerned and loving in equal parts. She didn’t have to extend any of her power to read the frustration in him and a deep anger over her drastic measures forcing him to yield her to the enemy. Opherra put her hand on his arm flirtatiously, laughing, and the two strolled out of sight.

  Jerked by her chain as the Shemdylann leader moved, Miriell obediently walked behind the female, surrounded by her enemies as she exited the building on the other side from the portals used by the humans. Shemdylann soldiers fell into formation around Gyxxtahm, escorting her and the others to the waiting, oversized ground transport vehicles. Miriell had to fight down panic as she was tugged into the vehicle, casting a desperate final glance at the sky.

  What if the SCIA arrives while I’m trapped on the Shemdylann ship?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  He’d never been so angry, nor felt so powerless, in his career in law enforcement, unable to protect the woman who meant more to him than life itself. As the Combine proceedings dragged on, Conor concentrated on breathing. He compressed the anger deep inside, honed the emotion to unleash when the moment for action came. If ever it was imperative that he keep his cover intact, it was now. Miriell’s action paralyzing him for a few key moments when she was transferred to the Shemdylann had saved his life, not to mention protecting the success of the SCIA operation. He knew that. The knowledge didn’t make him any less upset over her choice. She should have trusted me to think of something.

  But he had to admit there was nothing he could have done. I hope she didn’t sacrifice her own life to save mine. Keeping his gaze away from where she sat on a cushioned stool of some sort, tethered to the Shemdylann by a golden leash, required almost more willpower than he possessed. But he knew curious eyes watched him. He could feel them inspecting his demeanor for any sign he was upset with his boss or felt rebellious. Opherra wouldn’t forgive even the tiniest lapse in loyalty on this big stage.

  As the long day wore on, there was no relief from the tension. He had to be ready for the moment when the SCIA forces launched their assault, even more so than before, because he’d have to rescue Miriell from the Shemdylann while the fury of the seven hells was breaking loose around them. The Amarotu had massive firepower of their own on-site, plus whatever their alien allies commanded. No one was going to go down easy.

  He hoped the Mellurean implant had sent its updated information about the attendees to his people.

  By midafternoon, he was seriously questioning whether he had sent the one-time signal to initiate the attack. Where the hell are they? Was anyone coming? Had there been some massive snafu, some problem with his implants? Had these last five years of living in hell been for nothing? He straightened his spine and rolled his head and shoulders a bit, striving for calm, trying to get a handle on his out-of-control imagination. He knew he’d sent the quick blip speeding offplanet from his mind to his Mellurean handler. The Mellureans never failed. The SCIA will come. Taking down the Amarotu at this rare gathering of leadership is the top priority and the operation will be initiated.

  Just, apparently, not on his schedule.

  The day’s events ended. He waited beside his seat, watching Opherra talk to one or two of her fellow overlords, before she walked in his direction, a spring in her step and a confident set to her shoulders. “Shall we go back to the ship and freshen up before the banquet?”

  “Whatever you want to do, boss.” He gave her a bow and stepped aside to let her precede him, but she looped one arm through his and drew him toward the exit.

  As Opherra walked her fingers flirtatiously up his arm and murmured breathy, disparaging comments about some of her fellow Combine overlords, Conor concentrated on breathing. Her touch made his skin crawl. As they followed the thinning crowd toward the portal, he gave in to the urge to glance over his shoulder for a last glimpse of Miriell. He prayed to the Lords of Space to keep her safe during the night, even as she was surrounded by enemies.

  He realized Opherra was staring at him. Voice acidic, she said, “Well?”

  “Sorry, boss, what did you say?”

  Eyes narrowed, she gave him a look of disgust. “I hope you and I aren’t going to have a problem. Are you still upset because I gave away your little bed partner?”

  “I was surprised, that’s all.” He forced himself to keep a casual tone. “You did warn me we weren’t keeping her.”

  “Right. She doesn’t fit our operation profile, and I don’t need my second-in-command thinking with his cock. Distracted means disaster in our world. Don’t forget the old rule.
” Accenting her advice with a childish tap of her index finger on his forehead, she started walking again. He fell in beside her, making sure no one in the throng leaving the building bumped into her as she headed toward her sleek black groundcar. He took refuge in performing the instinctive bodyguard duties, because if he let himself think about what Opherra’s stunt might cost him and Miriell, he’d probably strangle her on the spot.

  Several of the Combine’s guards joined them.

  Opherra nodded, and her lips quirked in a small smile that she quickly suppressed as the grim, heavily armed soldiers took their positions to protect her. “I like the perks of being on the ruling council.” With a nod and a satisfied flip of her hair, she said, “Ride back to the ship with me. We need to talk.”

  He followed her into the backseat of the luxurious limousine. Despite the size of the passenger compartment, she sat so close their thighs touched, and she gave him a coquettish glance as he handed her the obligatory drink. He poured one for himself. “I propose a toast. To your success, boss. Well deserved.”

  She clinked her glass against his, and they drank.

  “I hope you’re going to tell me how this all happened,” he said, settling back against the cushions, feigning a relaxation he didn’t feel. The expensive feelgood wasn’t making the slightest dent in the tension and stress rampaging through his body.

  Kicking off her shoes, she rubbed one bare foot over his calf and leaned in close so he had to raise his arm and allow her to pillow her head on his shoulder. “It’s been a comet ride, I’ll tell you that. When the Shemdylann made it known earlier this year they wanted to deal with a woman, the overlords decided there were three of us in the running.” She sipped her feelgood and snorted a laugh. “Stupid bitch in Sector Thirty Seven, the one we borrowed the punk and the alien from, got her whole operation taken down by the SCIA. Which is another reason not to harbor the so-called performer. Her people may have been involved in destroying an entire branch. I wish the Shemdylann great joy in owning her, frankly.” She held her glass out for a refill. “Where was I? Oh right, after the self-styled ‘ringmaster’ was eliminated, only Olikkia and I were left in the running.”

  “The woman who heads up the counterfeiting operation?”

  “The same. She’s not nearly tough enough to go toe-to-toe with that Shemdylann bitch.”

  “From everything I’ve ever heard about her, I agree. Surely the overlords realized her weaknesses?”

  Opherra smiled, and his blood chilled a bit. He’d seen that particular expression on her face before and knew it to be a sign of something awful having gone down. “The council had a little help clarifying their vision,” she said. “Olikkia garnered strong support from several of the overlords, due to their, uh, personal connections, shall we say? But she also had ties to Framter. So I killed two birds with one stone, framed him for the fake hit on my people at the restaurant and then exacted my revenge, thus destroying him, casting doubt on her for having been his ally and, more important to the big picture, showing the overlords what a badass bitch I am.” She raised her arms in a champion pose. “Ready to impress the Shemdylann. Today was a good start.”

  Somehow, he maintained control of his vocal cords, despite the anger choking him. He realized he’d curled his hands into fists and consciously relaxed. “Fake hit? Felt real to me. Sure as hell wasn’t a fake death Saviano and the others suffered. Thought I was of more use to you than dying to prove a hit was genuine.”

  “You sound disappointed.” She eyed him. “Are we going to have a problem moving past that? My key people had to be there that night. No one would suspect me of engineering the death of my own. Pawns, Conor, we’re all pawns in someone else’s game. You know the rules as well as I do. Seven hells, we’ve both known what success in the Combine takes since the early days when we first teamed up. Only now I’ve leveraged my sacrificial pawns into getting myself onto the actual board, with real power. The Shemdylann are going to expect to see me at every interaction, and I’m going to extract my price for providing the mouthpiece service from the council.” Finishing the last of her drink, she set the glass into the recessed holder. “I figured you’d survive. You always do.”

  “Aren’t you afraid that whoever pulled the job will talk? As you yourself said, Framter had allies.”

  “I used a jack team from offworld, freelancers. It was an easy enough job. They came in, did the deed and flew out. Handled through an anonymous third-party mercenary broker. None of the allies of the late, unlamented Framter want to tangle with me, even if anyone somehow suspects my involvement. No profit in it either. The deed is done. The council was suitably impressed I am a badass.”

  “Yes, you are. One thing bothers me, though, a loose end.”

  “What?” She peered ahead. “We’re nearly at the ship. Make it a quick question.”

  “Why did the restaurant manager and his staff know the hit was coming? Miri—I mean, the performer keyed off their anxiety to warn me, remember?”

  “Oh, that was the best part.” Opherra gathered her purse and slid her feet into her shoes. “The manager’s a distant cousin of Framter’s. So I made sure he got the hint, planted a false trail to indicate the word came through Framter’s back channels. Told the mercenary crew not to target any of the staff.” The groundcar slid to a smooth stop next to Opherra’s ship. “The manager survives, the obvious assumption is Framter saved him. Not my problem the idiot told all his waiters and cooks too.”

  The door opened, and one of the guards waiting outside leaned in to offer his hand to Opherra. She gave Conor a wide-eyed, flirtatious smile as she exited the compartment. When he got out, she was already halfway up the ramp. “We never did get to what I wanted to discuss,” she called over her shoulder.

  “Sorry, boss.”

  “We leave for the dinner party in two hours. Don’t make me late. And wear your best suit. It’s a formal occasion.”

  He waved a hand to acknowledge the order. Walking through the ship to his cabin, he kept control of his emotions, but the moment the door slid shut behind him, he took a deep breath and removed his concealed blaster, setting the weapon carefully on the dresser and then sweeping everything else to the deck with one violent swipe of his hand. Glancing around the small space, he could still smell Miriell’s delicate natural perfume, like sweet flowers. She was here just this morning. He’d never expected to see this space again. By now, he’d thought the SCIA takedown would be complete and he’d either be dead or on his way home with the woman he loved. Instead, here he was, still at Opherra’s beck and call, while Miriell was a prisoner of the Shemdylann.

  He went into the bathroom, shedding clothes as he went. Checking in the mirror to see if he should shave again—Opherra liked a certain amount of stubble on a man but was fastidious about how much shadow he had—he swore. “What a complete fuckup.” And now this formal dinner to get through, acting as Opherra’s loyal backup and arm candy. At least it’ll be continued evidence-gathering for the SCIA’s case, but I don’t need any more proof of how heartless and ruthless these people are. Fighting the strong urge to get dressed in utilities, grab his blaster, steal a car and go in search of the Shemdylann ship, consequences be damned, he forced himself to get into the shower, blasting the cold water in an attempt to calm down. Surely my guys will arrive tomorrow and this nightmare will be over. Lords of Space grant that Miriell will be safe enough for one night.

  As he toweled off and laid out his suit, he remembered Miriell’s perceptive words to him at the safe house. Too long have your commanders left you alone in the battle.

  She was right. I’m at the end of my endurance, and I never realized it until I fell in love with her. I want my real life back, but Miriell has to be part of it. So he had to step carefully for this evening and the next day. No mistakes.

  He could manage.

  Of course he could.

  The dinner was interminable. Expensive, supremely well-cooked food was prepared by a renowned chef flown in
especially for the occasion. Unfortunately, the dishes tasted like cardboard to Conor, given his tense mental state. A lot of loose talk went on about Combine operations that he was sure his supervisors at the SCIA would salivate over, and to his relief, he received scant personal attention from Opherra. She was busy worming her way into the inner circles that fate and her horrific scheming provided her access to.

  The gathering was humans only, so he didn’t have an opportunity to see how Miriell was faring. Hard as it would have been to stand by while she was leashed to the Shemdylann admiral, at least he’d have been near enough to help her if the attack came tonight, or anything else went down. The Combine overlords were on good behavior this evening, but he knew the jovial demeanor and collegial discussion were only on the surface. These predators could turn on each other in a heartbeat. Combine soldiers loyal to the top overlord were stationed everywhere, ostensibly guarding the entire gathering’s safety but ready to take directed action if so ordered.

  Seven hells, he was no better, sworn to protect and obey Opherra, despite his blood oath to the Combine itself, which was supposed to take precedence, although his oaths to the Sectors and the SCIA override all of that. He grimaced at the thought as he spooned a mouthful of the syrupy dessert into his mouth.

  All evening he’d been hoping to feel a tingle of Miriell’s power, to know she was reaching out to him, but nothing. No one had ever told him what her range was, if indeed anyone knew. He supposed she was reluctant, or afraid, to use her special talents while on the Shemdylann ship. The fact she wasn’t trying to contact him wasn’t a sign of any worsening of her situation. Still, he would have liked the reassurance, a connection between them on some level.

  Eventually, the evening ended, and he escorted Opherra to her groundcar. As usual, she sat too close to him in the passenger compartment, and he realized she’d drunk more feelgoods than he’d counted. Still, he prepared to pour her a new drink, as per the standing order.