by Elsa Jade
He checked his new dat-pad again. It had been easy enough to sync it with his old unit. She was back in her room after having dinner earlier with the other Earther girl. He wondered what they’d talked about. Growing up as a potential source of blackmail and then getting sold off to privateers before finally winning his own command hadn’t left him a lot of time to get to know females of any planet on a personal level, but he’d seen that they liked to talk. Would Trixie reveal his bastardy to her friend? The thought left him twitching with disquiet.
If it was true, as transgalactic scientists and scholars said, that an ancient proto-species had seeded the universe with compatible genetics among thousands of races of beings…why hadn’t they done more to make sure males and females and the other genders understood each other?
Instead, Trixie had shot him—yeah, yeah, shot at him—when really he had more to fear from her than the other way around.
If his half-brother discovered the truth, Raz could very well order his exile or even imprisonment for falsifying his heritage. IrThorkons—anyone of mixed blood—were afforded most of the same rights and privileges as pure Thorkons, but a claim to nobility was…trouble. The nobles preferred not to dilute their blood, and in times past, they had kept the purity by shedding any blood that wasn’t.
Nor didn’t think his half-brother was the sort to stoop to assassination At least not in this day and age. But as Trixie had pointed out, they didn’t know each other very well.
Trusting Trixie was all he could do unless he wanted to just leave.
“Are you still here?”
He redirected his attention from the dat-pad—where he’d been about to trigger a remote visual of his old pad’s recording apparatus, which he rather suspected would displease its new owner—to the office doorway. He pushed to his feet hastily. “Your Grace.”
The dowager duchess had attended the commissioning ceremony where he’d taken command of the Grandiloquence. At the time, he’d thought she just wanted to glower at him, a half-blood outsider being the only one willing to buy the captain’s chair on the struggling flagship. Now, watching her circumnavigate the office in a slow wander, he wondered.
She’d blow it out of the sky herself rather than give it to a stranger, Trixie had said.
Maybe she’d been at the ceremony because she knew he wasn’t—entirely—a stranger.
She was an older woman, having spawned Raz—only child and Azthronos heir—when she and the previous duke were well matured. But she had the bearing and bright gaze of a much younger being. Probably she kept herself spry by spying and prying.
At the recessed side window that overlooked the nighttime courtyard, she turned to face him. “You’ve taken on quite a bit since the duke departed.”
“Your husband or your son?” As soon as the words left his mouth, he winced inwardly. “I’m just happy to serve, Your Grace.”
She arched one outlined eyebrow. “Are you? I had the impression you were most happy to take.”
“I paid for it,” he reminded her. “Quite a lot, in fact.”
“Haven’t we all,” she murmured. She touched the upswept nape of her coiffure with a reproving sniff. “If Raz insists on completing his system tour, I wish he’d at least stayed aboard the Grandiloquence. It has the biggest plasma cannons. And now that degenerate Blackworm is loose.” She fixed Nor with an ireful stare, as if it was his fault her son had decided to take a faster, smaller cruiser to finish visiting his newly inherited Azthronos territories. Or maybe she thought it was Nor’s fault Blackworm had escaped.
“Your son will be fine,” he assured her. “As will the estate and everyone in it. Blackworm would never return here.”
She lifted her chin higher so she could fix that glare at him down the pointy tip of her patrician nose. “Bad blood always returns, doesn’t it?”
He froze, his blood congealing as if he’d just been ejected from an airlock. “Only if it’s stupid.”
She gave a short cough of laughter. “You don’t strike me as stupid, Captain.”
“I’m not bad blood either,” he said softly.
With another snort, she continued around the room to stand in front of his desk. “Why did you come back, Nor?”
Maybe he was stupid to say it but… “I wanted something of his, even if it was just a ship.”
To his surprise, she nodded. “I wanted his love too. But he was beloved by so many, I’m not sure he ever appreciated its singular worth.” She shrugged delicately. “And he always was even more careless with money.”
Nor sank into the seat, though he probably shouldn’t leave himself unguarded in the presence of so formidable an opponent. Although maybe the dowager wasn’t an opponent after all. He had Trixie to blame for this confusion. “Was there something I could do for you tonight, Your Grace?” Not that he was trying to divert her.
“Since my son informs me that he put you in charge of estate security while he’s gone, I needed to see if you were perhaps one of the treasonous minions who helped free Blackworm.”
Nor flattened his hands on the heavy, fine-grained wood of the desk. It was either that or maybe strangle the old woman. “I am not.”
She waved her hand as if wafting away the fumes of a ghost-mead indulgence. That was the only reason he could imagine she would issue such an accusation. “I’ve already decided as much,” she said. “But you were a pirate, so I had to be sure.”
“I had to find my own way since your beloved duke wouldn’t claim me,” he snarled, not caring anymore if she was a dowager or a lady or not so much older than his own mother.
Her gaze sharpened. “You chose a dishonorable path for your own reasons,” she snapped back. Then she inclined her head. “But you seem to be more responsible now.”
He could lay waste to the entire estate with his illicit weaponry. And he rather fancied the mental image at the moment. “And if they were my own reasons, they were not Blackworm’s.”
She conceded the point with a sniff. “Your father would’ve approved of your fortitude. He was the Avatar of the God of Fortuity, after all.”
Nor tucked his chin. Trixie had said he might’ve impressed the old duke, but he pushed away the wavering sense of softening. “Little late now,” he said instead. “And anyway, the grit to survive my life and his vows to the God of Luck have nothing in common.”
“You’d be surprised how often luck and grit go together,” she murmured. “That’s why I gave you the Grandiloquence.”
“I paid for it,” he reminded her through his teeth.
“And now you owe me, owe Azthronos,” she continued blithely.
Larfing nobility. He’d bought his commission outright, which didn’t make him a lackey of the duchy. Did none of these nobles understand how payments worked? No wonder the duchy was indebted to its beautiful ears.
While he seethed, the dowager said with stern uprightness, “While only half your blood is Thorkon, all your duty is to us now. Whatever Blackworm was doing out there in the edge of our space, you must see to it that he fails.”
Since when was he a defender of intergalactic law, much less a blood champion of Azthronos? He scowled at the dowager. “I owe you nothing, just as the duke decided he owed me nothing.”
“And yet even once you realized he was dead, you stayed,” she noted. “You need something from Azthronos—besides the Grandiloquence—and you won’t get it if Blackworm ruins us.”
“Blackworm isn’t coming back here,” he said tightly. “He’s long gone by now.”
She gave him a meaningful look, reminding him once again that he’d returned. But he was nothing like Blackworm.
Scowling down, he disabled the program that allowed him to track his old dat-pad recordings. Now he wouldn’t be able to see Trixie, but at least he’d know where she was.
“As captain of the flagship,” he said with steady deliberation, “I’ll defend the duchy. But I’m no holy avatar and I won’t forgive your noble sins.”
She inclin
ed her head. “A fair trade.” In a soft rustle of skirts that sounded like a hiss of mocking laughter, she sashayed out the door.
“I paid for it,” he said to the empty air.
With a shake of his head, he looked down at the dat-pad. Why had he ended that program? Now he had to go in person to make sure Trixie was all right. Well, he knew she was all right. But she needed to know it.
He checked the estate shield one last time, and then the planetary defenses, and then the system sensors. All was quiet, as if nighttime’s peace had settled across the entire quadrant. Still, his own pulse ticked higher as he paced through the halls toward the residences. Likely Trixie was asleep by now, and he had no good reason to bother her. But if she too was restless after their strange day, perhaps she’d appreciate a distraction.
Although maybe he didn’t need one, not when he seemed to be sinking ever deeper into the schemes and machinations of Azthronos.
But since he was already standing outside her door…
He pinged her dat-pad with a query. If her biomarkers were such that the pad knew she was sleeping, the message would not be delivered until she woke. He held his breath as he watched the display.
After a long moment of silence, a pang of disappointment soured in his belly. No matter. A swig of ghost-mead would wash it away.
He rocked back on his heels to depart, just as the door opened the front of him.
Trixie stood there in a pale green night robe, her blonde hair mussed as if she’d been already abed. But the dat-pad must’ve seen that she was awake.
He studied her somberly. “Nightmare?”
Some of the churning shadows in her eyes that he once thought of as muddy suddenly cleared. She nodded hesitantly. “How did you…?”
He shifted his weight from one heel to the other. “I used to have them too.”
Her cheeks went hollow when she bit inside. “Not anymore?”
He opened his mouth to lie and was surprised to hear himself say, “Not as often.”
“I’d take that.” She let out a haggard sigh. “What’s the trick?”
He quirked one corner of his mouth, although he couldn’t quite work up to a full smirk. “Ghost-mead,” he confessed. “Plus someone else’s body heat and another heartbeat besides my own.”
She took a step back. “Come on in.”
He blinked in surprise. “Come…in?”
“For the ghost-mead,” she clarified hastily. “Not the…other things.”
He paced behind her, casting a quick look around the dimly lit suite as if it might be a trap. But it was just one of the estate guestrooms, not so different from his own, a little generic but beautifully appointed with several of the geometric artworks favored by Thorkons adorning the walls.
She gestured toward the sunken community area with its deep triangular cushions. “Have a seat. I’ll see if I have any ghost-mead left.”
Left? So she’d already been trying his first trick. He stepped down to the couches and found his old dat-pad tuned to one of the popular entertainments.
“Ready for adventure, Great Space Racers?” The announcer was far too enthusiastic for what looked like ridiculous simulated escapades through a far-away galaxy.
Trixie stepped down beside him with a decanter and two cups in hand which he hastened to take from her. “I thought it would give me some ideas.”
“The ghost-mead?”
“That reality television show.” She silenced the device, and he tossed his beside it.
His universal translator took a moment to provide an explanation for her term. “Why,” he asked as he poured out the beverage, “is something that isn’t real called a reality show?”
“Maybe because we make our own reality.”
“That’s profound.” He handed her one cup and teased, “Have you been drinking already?”
She shook her head. “My mom’s third husband was a drunk. Watching that up close makes drinking seem less fun.”
Nor lowered the cup before it touched his lips. “Should I not have…” He waggled the cup.
“It’s fine.” She sipped from hers as if to give him permission. “I know there’s nothing wrong with a drink or two. Just like there’s nothing wrong with all men just because Mom picked losers. Repeatedly.”
He winced. “And you have not seen much improvement among non-Earther males, have you?”
She gazed at him as she took another swallow. “Raz rescued us. And he’s helping Rayna make the space station into something that will benefit the duchy and us.”
Hearing her laud the absent duke was irksome, and Nor took a long, impenitent drag off his cup to wash down the objections clogging his throat. And yet somehow a few words bobbed to the top anyway. “I was captaining the Grandy at the time of your rescue.”
The brown striations of her eyes were like a deeper, more dangerous hue of the powerful mead as she watched him. “Yeah. You did a good thing.”
Why had he even said that? He didn’t want her praise. He’d never sought anyone’s approval. That was a good thing too, considering no one had offered it. He finished off his cup defiantly and poured another draught.
She curled up on the cushions, one foot tucked under the hem of her nightgown. With her creamy skin, blond hair, and the pale green of her gown, she looked as cool and remote as the smallest Azthronos moon. “Did you come by just because you were out of booze at your place?”
He spun the cup slowly between his palms. “No,” he drawled out the word to give himself time to come up with a believable answer. Since she believed in making one’s own reality. “I thought you’d want to know that all security precautions are in place, and I established a direct link with the galactic enforcers charged with recapturing Blackworm.”
Her brow furrowed. “Do they have any leads yet?”
He shook his head. “With all his Thorkon resources supposedly cut off, I suggested they contact known associates of the mercenary crew he contracted to…” He hesitated.
“To abduct me and the other women.” She looked down at her cup for a moment before glancing up at him again. “Hopefully the authorities will take your suggestion. Blackworm might not have talked, but maybe his underlings will.”
Since she was taking the discussion well, he said, “If you had other ideas you wanted me to pass to the enforcers, I could do that.”
She took a hard drink before she answered. “I don’t remember any of it. I told the medics before—Blackworm kept us drugged.” Curling in her lips, she bit down—blanching the skin—before adding slowly, “I only woke up once.”
He knew the Azthronos medics and other representatives from the transgalactic authorities had interviewed the abducted Earthers and cleared them all. But he wondered how much trauma and truth hadn’t been fully revealed, coming out only with time and trust.
And did he really think she’d tell him anything that could help them recapture the disgraced nobleman? “That must’ve been frightening.”
“More…confusing,” she said. “Maybe if I’d been more afraid, I would’ve moved faster. Instead, I just wandered around looking for a way out. Until he caught me again. I wish I could forget that part too, how useless I was.”
Nor let out a slow breath, an unaccountable violence churning in his gut. He didn’t know Blackworm, had never met the other male; the Thorkon nobleman had been exiled from Azthronos space before his own return. But the self-reproach in Trixie’s lowered eyes infuriated him.
Setting aside his cup, he leaned forward to grasp her chin and lever her face up to meet his gaze. “No shame. You were drugged, lost, and never had a chance,” he told her. “Unless you could’ve moved at the speed of light, no amount of faster, no more fear, would’ve gotten you off that space station and away from him.”
“Rayna got us out,” she said. “And Raz.” She tilted her head so her cheek filled his palm. “And you too.”
It was the final murmur that did him in. That, and the shadows in her eyes, and her soft, heat
ed exhalation, tinted with the scent of ghost-mead.
She gazed up at him, the rumpled silk of her hair brushing across his knuckles. “You could make me forget.”
Chapter 7
Maybe it was weak. Maybe she was shameless. Maybe his words were still ringing inside her.
Another heartbeat beside my own.
The boldness of the ghost-mead seared in her veins, but she thought she might drown herself in the stuff and still not extinguish the needy shiver that ran over her skin when he’d cupped her chin, his long fingers brushing against her throat.
She swallowed hard against the urge to beg him not to leave her alone with the nightmares. Begging wasn’t necessary, of course; he might be an alien, but he was still male, and she knew how they could be captured.
The cushions sank under her and angled her toward him as she rolled up to her knees on the couch. When he angled his face to her, she realized she was looming over him.
His pale blue eyes glinted. “You told me not to kiss you anymore.”
A slow pulse kicked up in her body. “That was dumb.”
“Me kissing you?”
“Me telling you not to.” She rested her hands on his shoulders. So wide, the muscled bulk filled her palms to overflowing.
Tension vibrated through him. “And now?”
“I’m not telling you not to anymore.”
“You’ll have to do more than that,” he chided.
She knew it. She’d pushed him away and told him off—and okay, yeah, she’d shot him, or tried to—so now she had to make it up to him.
If she wanted him to make out with her—and more than that.
The slow, heavy beat in her blood accelerated to match the tingling of her nerves. As her knees slid up against the bulk of his thigh, she wasn’t getting any closer to him. With shaking hands, she framed his face—the crescent scar beside his eye an almost imperceptible ridge under her thumb—and leaned down.
When she closed her eyes, he was so still, only the huff of his breath across her lips convinced her he was real, not a figment of another dream plaguing her sleep.
She tilted just another fraction—the kind of infinitesimal course correction that would’ve sent a planet-killing asteroid off target—and brought her mouth down, inevitably, on his.
