Tangled Hearts: A Menage Collection

by Various

  “Fire in the hole!”

  The explosion took the remaining hinge off the door, reducing it to matchsticks that rained down on Wynter and the two men with her. First through the door, she swept her rifle in a quick arc. No targets. The room was empty.

  “Room clear. Move on.”

  The two dogs were ahead of her as she stepped back into the corridor, already at the next door. Just one more floor and they were done. Already anticipating a long, hot shower, her thoughts started to drift back to the show she’d been treated to a week ago. In that week, she’d been nothing but professional with the squad, and with Rennick and Camden in particular, but she couldn’t erase the image of the pair locked in passion.

  The zip of a laser rifle discharging was her first clue that the shit was about to hit the fan. Pain stabbed into her thigh, crawling over it like a spiderweb made of fire.

  “Shit. Contact. Rear!” she bellowed as she hit the deck, already firing back. At the far end of the corridor, a group of Kiinarsi crowded around, two setting up a pulse gun as the others fired back, filling the air with red and purple bolts.

  “Shit.”

  If they got that pulse gun going, anything in the corridor was toast. Including her and the two dogs. A growl of frustration curled her lip as she took aim, picking off the two at the front, but more and more piled around the corner, shoving the fallen out of the way to make room for more warriors.

  “There are too many of them. Fall back!”

  She struggled to her feet, the smell of burnt flesh rising to her nostrils even as her leg locked up for a second. Shit, she’d been hit good. The red mesh from the bolt splattered over her combat-pant leg, eating away at anything under it. Not good. She’d have to cut it out before it got too deep into the skin.

  “Arrgghh… Assholes!”

  The bellow transformed her pain into anger as she ran, firing blindly behind her until she reached cover. Blue bolts filled the air around her, Kiinarsi chitters of pain—at least she hoped it was pain—following each one. Then a broad shoulder looped under her arm on her injured side, half picking her up as she ran.

  “Hang in there, Sarge, we got you.” Camden’s voice was low and reassuring. Of course, it would have been more reassuring if a red bolt hadn’t passed between them, so close that she felt the heat of it across her cheek.

  “DIE BUGS!” Rennick yelled, fighting in human form for once, as he fired back at the insects. His face was contorted in a mask of rage, the bright amber of his dark eyes telling her that his dog wasn’t far away.

  Camden barreled them past, used a big shoulder to break the next door down. Ever the soldier, Wynter had her rifle up, sweeping the room almost before the door had shattered into matchsticks around them.

  “Fuck, they got you good, Sarge.”

  Camden set her down on a low couch in the middle of the room, his eyes already on the web over her thigh. Even now the stench rising and the numbness told her it was bad. She pulled the heavy blade from her boot and handed it to him.

  “Cut it free,” she ordered, fingers already against her throat to activate the comms. “India-five-seven-nine, this is Ferris. We got into a little bit of bother in the north section, second building. Could do with some fire support on the fourth floor. South side. We got a bug problem down here.”

  “Got that, Ferris. Exterminator en route. ETA: three minutes. All personnel clear?”

  Wynter met Camden’s gaze over the knife as he held it above her skin, the unspoken question passing between them. Could he cut the web loose and give them all a fighting chance to get free or was she going to have to order him and Rennick to leave her?

  She released the comms patch.

  “Camden?”

  He swallowed then nodded. “Go for it.”

  “India-five-seven-nine, all personnel are clear. Proceed with strike.”

  The knife bit into her leg just as she released the patch and cut the comm. Not a moment too soon. Her scream of anger and pain filled the room as Camden wielded the heavy blade, cutting the laser web from her flesh with the sort of precision and skill she would have expected from a master surgeon rather than a weredog grunt.

  Even so, the pain bled into agony, carried over seconds that felt like hours. Finally he grunted and tossed the web onto the floor where it sizzled and writhed, burning patterns into the carpet. Wynter gasped as he slapped a field dressing over her leg and bound it tight.

  “Sorry, Boss Lady. Got no time for holding hands now,” he said, apology in his eyes as he grabbed her wrist and hauled her upright.

  “Not a problem. Perhaps later,” she gasped as he slung her over his shoulder and took off at a run.

  “The balcony!” Rennick yelled, barely two steps behind them. “Get onto the rooftops across the way.”

  Camden’s shoulders moved. Laser shots. Glass shattered, tinkling as it fell. Then they were airborne. Wynter bit back her shriek and held on tight. Shit, there was nothing she hated more than being wounded.

  Actually, that was incorrect. There was nothing she hated more than being useless. It was why she’d joined up, rather than follow her father’s wishes and become an arm ornament for one of the cloned, junior admirals who buzzed around him like flies.

  But useless was exactly what she was at the moment, having to be carried like a deadweight as the weredogs raced across the high rooftops away from the building that was about to be flattened. Not that the Kiinarsi were going to make it easy for them to get away. Loud chitters sounded behind them, familiar red and purple bolts chasing them as they tried to escape.

  The whine of the transporter’s engines announced its arrival mere seconds before the guns started up. She’d never been gladder to hear the familiar sound as the cannons kicked up. The dogs slowed, and Camden set her on her feet as they turned to look back the way they’d come.

  Pffish-pffish…pffish-pffish…pffish-pffish.

  The transporter hovered in front of the building, the dual cannons blasting away. Bolt after bolt of blue fire smashed into the building, shattering windows and slicing through reinforced concrete. Bugs screamed, their hardened-carapace armor no match for the destructive power of the big guns on the transporter. Stone rumbled, a hideously wrong sound filling the air, as the front wall of the building fell away into the street below.

  Pffish-pffish…pffish-pffish…pffish-pffish.

  Like a pack of cards, the building started to fold up. Collapsed in on itself. Wynter grinned as she slid to a sitting position, no strength left in her.

  “Bugs squashed,” she chuckled then closed her eyes and slipped into darkness.

  * * *

  Medical bays were the same the universe over. Astringent antiseptics hung on the air and made Cam want to sneeze, masking the smell of blood and…other scents he didn’t want to think about. Medical staffers who looked both harried and tired at the same time bustled to and fro, but each time he asked about the sergeant, he was told someone would be out soon.

  Cam grimaced as he shifted position on the hard, plastic seat. His butt was numb, and the chair seemed determined to make him sorry he had a spine. Definite comfort fail.

  “Just relax,” Ren rumbled from the seat next to him. Like always when they had some downtime, the bigger weredog was slouched in the chair in complete disregard to the discomfort the unyielding plastic had to have been subjecting on his tall frame. “If there was a problem, they’d have been out here before now.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  Crossing his arms, Cam leaned back in his chair and tried to emulate his partner’s calm attitude. Three more medics rushed past them, the last one pulling on a set of scrubs. Cam’s heart leapt into his throat, but they disappeared off down the corridor rather than heading into the treatment room where they’d taken the sarge.

  Sergeant Wynter Angela Ferris.

  He’d found out her name the day after she’d been assigned to the unit. Thirty-eight and divorced, she had no children but a record that read like a history of
all the bloodiest battles in recent history. From the Death Squad whose mark she wore on the inside of her wrist, she’d gone from battlefield to battlefield like some sort of avenging angel until, finally, she’d ended up with them.

  Ferris.

  She’d kept her ex-husband’s name, and no amount of digging on Cam’s part could bring up her maiden name. Even with his superior hacking skills, certain parts of her records were stubbornly devoid of information. He gnashed his teeth. Just what was she hiding? What had she done that was worse than her time with the death squadders?

  He slid a glance sideways at Ren. The big man was short on words, but he had a way of letting silence speak volumes. The tenseness surrounding him like a cape and the set of his shoulders told Cam he was worried. His eyes flickered subtly toward the treatment rooms every now and then, letting on that he was more concerned about the petite combat sergeant than he’d admit.

  “She’s cute, isn’t she?”

  Ren turned his head, one eyebrow raised and an expression on his face that suggested Cam had lost his mind.

  “If you mean cute in the same way a Tylean Devil is cute, then yeah…I guess she’s cute. If you fancy your flesh flayed from your bones when you get too close.”

  “She watched us in the shower last week. Then again last night before you pulled the curtain.” Cam dropped the admission into the silence that formed between them and savored the way Ren’s other eyebrow shot up to join the first. They’d gotten amorous on Ren’s bunk, the largest in the barracks given his shifted size, before yells from the others in the squad had made Ren draw the curtain. Living in barracks for so long, they’d learnt to be quiet. Kind of.

  “Really?” Ren’s expression shuttered. “Yeah, right. Probably wanted to see if Vesuvians are as freaky as everyone says they are.”

  “Didn’t look like that kinda interest to me. Looked like the hand-down-the-panties sort of interest.” Cam shrugged one shoulder and studied his fingernails.

  He’d caught the flash of heat in Ren’s eyes. The first time he’d seen a response to any of the women he’d pointed out. They were both classified as bi in their files, but Ren usually preferred guys.

  “She’s cute—”

  The rough admission was cut off as a doctor rounded the corner, his gaze seeking them out. Both men were on their feet in a heartbeat.

  “You two here for Sergeant Ferris?” the doctor asked, already striding forward.

  He had on a clean, white coat, but Cam’s sensitive nose picked up the smear of blood on his pants. The sergeant’s blood. His hackles rose, a growl in the back of his throat. He bit it back, forcing a smile to his face. He knew this guy wouldn’t have hurt the sergeant, but he was having a little trouble convincing his inner dog of that; possessiveness and anger rolled through his system in equal amounts.

  “Yeah, we are.” Ren stepped up to the plate before Cam could speak.

  “You family?”

  The doc’s gaze flicked between the two, a frown already forming between his brows. Cam didn’t blame him, they were still in combat gear from carrying the unconscious woman in here, and neither had wanted to leave to change until they knew how she was.

  “Not as such. Same unit…” Ren dropped his gaze for a moment, shifting from foot to foot. “It’s…complicated.”

  “Oh. Ohh…”

  The human paused for a moment, then his eyes widened as he got the impression Ren was trying to give him. Cam kept his face blank. If the medical staff thought they were in a triad, then getting in to see the sergeant would be so much easier.

  “Oh yes, very good. I thought it odd none of her family had contacted her, but I guess that’s to be expected—”

  “So, how is she?” Cam blurted out as the doctor turned and indicated they should follow him. Like dutiful puppies, they fell in beside him, shortening their strides to match.

  “She’s doing well. Responded to treatment nicely, and is already healing.” He shot them a sideways smile. “She’s a tough cookie. Not as tough as you guys, but with the genetic work and patches, she’s pretty tough.”

  Cam’s steps almost faltered, and the slight catch in Ren’s breath told him that his partner had picked up that little nugget of information as well. No wonder she’d survived in the field for so long. She’d been patched, her original genetic code shored up with DNA patches to make her stronger, faster, and more durable than her original ‘design.’

  The revelation posed more questions though. Patching was pricey work, out of the reach of most soldiers even though it could give them the edge they needed to survive. So how had a grunt gotten access to that level of treatment?

  “She’ll be coming out of the sedative soon and will be pretty sleepy. We’ve cleaned up her thigh and checked her blood for residual infection. She was all clear, so once she’s awake and the nurse has checked her over, you guys can take her out of here,” the doctor said as he paused outside a private room.

  “I’ve sent a report through to her commanding officer that she’s on light duties for the next couple of days, and he’s fine with that. Says your unit is stood down for the weekend. I suggest you take that time to make sure she rests. The wounds will heal much quicker that way, especially with her accelerated healing.”

  Cam nodded, wanting the guy out of the way so they could get through the door and see her for themselves. Again Ren came to the rescue, nodding and smiling in reassurance.

  “Of course, Doc. We’ll make sure she gets plenty of rest and relaxation, I promise. She’ll be looked after better than Admiral Daniels himself.”

  The doctor chuckled. “I’m sure the big man would be pleased about that, all things considered. Okay, I have other patients to see to. Ring the bell when she comes around, and I’ll send the nurse in.”

  Fuck. Lord save him from chatty fucking doctors. Couldn’t the guy see they just wanted to get into the room? Cam had to bite back another growl and the growing temptation to bundle the guy in the nearest janitor’s closet just to get him out of the way.

  Keeping it together, he nodded and, as soon as the guy turned, beat Ren to the door. Careful to open it slowly, he looked into the room. It was a single, just the one bed.

  Sergeant Ferris, Wynter, lay on her side, her short, dark hair a tousled halo of spikes around her head. Her eyes were closed, and her skin way too pale for Cam’s liking, but the sight of her stopped him right there in the doorway.

  She looked so delicate and fragile.

  Cam edged into the room, Ren at his back. For a week he’d seen her bark and bluster at the squad, going toe to toe with the most feared creatures in the galaxy and bringing them all to heel. Even though he knew she was a patch, it made no difference when it came to weredogs. Any one of them could snap her in half without a second thought, but she hadn’t backed down, had shown only strength both on and off the battlefield.

  Even when he’d been about to cut the laser mesh from her thigh, there had been no fear in her eyes. Nor had it been there when she’d asked him whether he could cut quick enough to get them all out of the danger zone. He’d had no idea whether he could, but since he’d known the next order would have been to leave her there, he’d lied. And prayed his hands were fast enough.

  No fucking way was he going to leave her to die.

  A pang tightened through his chest as his gaze flicked down to her thigh. She wore the ubiquitous hospital gown, the dressings beneath visible through the thin fabric. Shit, he’d done that, cut her so badly they’d needed to put what looked like half the ship’s bandages around her leg. Usually wounds were closed with cellular glue and sprayed with synthskin, so it must have been bad.

  His attention shifted. God, she had such small feet. Even the bones of her ankles were delicate, the curve so sexy he ached to wrap a hand around them. Part her legs and crawl between her thighs—

  “Stop it.” Ren’s growl rolled around the small room.

  Startled, Cam looked up and into dark eyes. “Huh? Stop what?”

&n
bsp; “Beating yourself up.”

  Walking past him, Ren hooked a booted foot under a nearby chair and dragged it closer to the bed. He sat down and picked up the unconscious woman’s hand to envelop it in his massive one.

  “You did what you needed, and we got her out of there. The docs did what they needed to treat her. So stop worrying. She’s alive, and that’s all that matters. Everything else will sort itself out.”

  “Eh, I guess.”

  Cam didn’t bother to tell him that his thoughts were more carnal than self-recriminating. Instead, he flitted closer, fascinated by the sight of his big lover being so gentle with the woman in the bed. Now his guard was down, he could see the longing in the Vesuvian’s eyes as he turned Wynter’s hand over and stroked a thumb across her ring finger.

  There was no marriage tattoo there. Not the single line Cam knew that she had to have borne at one point, nor the dual bands that would indicate the type of triad marriage common in the region of space Rennick hailed from. The only type of marriage a Vesuvian would…could…enter into.

  A smile crossed Cam’s lips as a plan began to form in his mind. He’d known for a long time that while their relationship was good, it wasn’t everything that Rennick needed. The thought of the slender, but tough, little female between them, being pleasured by both of them, or pleasuring one while she was fucked by the other, took his breath away.

  It looked like they’d just found the missing piece.

  Someone was holding her hand.

  Normally that was an event that would freak Wynter right out, especially since the only family she had was her father, whom she hadn’t seen in the flesh for at least four years. If he was here holding her hand, then the shit had not only hit the fan, it had taken out an airborne strike on the damn thing, and there would be machine parts and crap all over the place.

  She swam up through the layers of semi-consciousness, cursing at her stupidly weak body all the way. Memory came back in random spurts. A dirt-side op. A building block. Chittering. Fuck, there was always chittering. Kiinarsi then. When was it ever anything else? Fucking bugs.