Taming the Wildcat (Sargosian Chronicles)

by Mina Carter, Bethany J. Barnes

  She ignored the urge to run her hand over her lower back and focused on Saarday. A smile crossed her lips, to show him she meant no offense. Hugging her knees, she shrugged.

  “Small world, errr, galaxy that is. Sorry about the knife thing. Let’s just chalk my being jumpy up to the near-death experience thing and forget about it? Drifting in space for two days alone will do some crazy things to your mind, believe me.”

  Chapter Nine

  The shuttle journey took less than a day. A short hop for a full-on starship, but an eternity in the small confines of a four man shuttle. In that time, she’d learnt her companion had a long and varied history with the Fleet since he’d left the Wildcats years before to join, and was now taking up a berth on the Pendragon.

  “Coming into visual range now. There’s our new home.”

  Saarday’s voice woke her from her light doze. She sat up and blinked sleep out of her eyes, then blinked some more as she looked at the Pendragon.

  “Shit…that’s an Excalibur class warship!”

  “Aye. My new command.”

  She turned a startled gaze on the man who sat in the seat next to her. Through all their conversations, she’d thought he was just another grunt, perhaps the commander of a marine detachment or something. That he might be the commanding officer of a top of the line, state of the art warship had never crossed her mind.

  “I didn’t think they were even out of the shipyards yet.”

  He grinned, that easy expression plucking at her heartstrings again. He reminded her of Roz so much her heart hurt.

  “They aren’t. This is an advanced prototype.”

  Looking back at the ship, she put a smile on her face. Every time something brought the memories back, she was powerless to fight it. Like standing at the water’s edge at high tide, each wave hit harder, threatening to pull her under, down to where the riptides waited. If she let go, she’d start crying and never stop.

  She ached for Roz so much it hurt. An overwhelming ache consumed her until there was nothing left. Just an empty shell. All that crap she heard people talking about when they mentioned heartache now made sense. So painful and real…would it never end? Did she want it to end?

  Reaching over, she tried to shove Saarday out of the pilot’s seat. Commanding officer or not, he reminded her of her brothers as well, and that made him fair game for her teasing and rough housing.

  “Somebody is one lucky son of a bitch. Man, what did you do to get so lucky?” she asked in wonder as she practically drooled over the Pendragon.

  He snorted in amusement. “Sleeping with the engineer who built her, that’s what.”

  “You naughty, naughty boy!”

  She fell back against the co-pilot’s seat in a fit of laughter. She had no idea why he’d chosen Fleet service over the Wildcats, but she could definitely see him fitting in with the rowdy bunch of mercs. From what she’d seen, those characteristics and behavioral traits were commonplace amongst Sargosians. Not that she would ever complain about it. Finally, her laughter faded as thoughts of “Her Boys” and Roz flooded back.

  Sitting up straight, her eyes were wide as they flew into the shuttle bay of the big warship. Shuttles and fighters lined it, each one of them looking brand new and shiny. She would have pressed her nose up to the window on the shuttle to stare at all the sleek birds, but she was going for the “calm and professional fighter pilot look” at the moment. Which was ridiculous, there wasn’t anything calm about the fighter pilots she knew. And how she could be calm when looking at such masterpieces of battle? She had no idea.

  “So… what’s next for me? I fill out my report on the Tipton and wait for a ride out of here?”

  She turned back and gave him her best, big kitty-cat eyes. No mistaking it, she was begging to stay aboard the Pendragon. She needed to stay aboard the Pendragon.

  “You said if I told you what happened I could go kick their asses for what they did. Oops, sorry…you said arse.” The amount of charm she laid on was so thick he should have drowned in it.

  He chuckled, the smile crinkling the corners of his eyes appealingly. Although she’d taken him to be as young as Roz or the other Wildcats, the fact he was a Fleet Commander made her think again. That, and there were other little clues that he was older than he looked.

  “Well, technically, I should report we found you and ship you off to the nearest base for debriefing and reassignment. But…” he paused and looked at her, then continued, “…you swear you’d know that Cutlass if you saw it again?”

  She narrowed her eyes, going over her options in her mind at light speed. No way she’d let herself be shipped off to the nearest base if she could help it. Even the closest one was out of this star system. Her heart slammed into overdrive. That was too far away. It would be hard enough to find Roz now without adding more distance to the equation.

  “Well, technically, I could draw you an extremely detailed picture of the Cutlass, down to the modifications and blast damage to the shield generators, but…you wouldn’t need me anymore. Besides, I think I hurt my hand the last time I shoved you.”

  Childish, yes, but she pretended her left hand was hurt and cradled it as she pouted. She looked back up, with fire and determination burning inside of her. All of her playful mannerisms were gone. She wanted to stay. Not just for her heart, but because she wanted to find those bandits and kick some ass. Hopefully, in the form of whatever the guns on those new fighters in the hanger could dish out.

  “Let me stay. You won’t find a better pilot.” She went for it, her tone fierce and confident. She’d always had trouble knowing when to back down. Deciding it couldn’t hurt to try a little humility, she added a little breathlessly, “Please?”

  He pursed his lips, as though thinking about it. “On one condition. You tell me more about your blond Sargosian.”

  He gently landed the shuttle and set about cycling down the engines while he seemed to be waiting for her answer. She didn’t say anything. Finally, the engines were silent, their breathing being the only sound heard in the shuttle.

  “What do you want to know about him?” she asked, her voice hushed. She didn’t look away from him, but she couldn’t understand why he wanted to know about her angel.

  He finished up with the shutdown procedures, his gaze on the console as he answered. “Blond isn’t a common hair color for my species. I might know him. May be able to find him if you want.”

  He looked up, his eyes full of sympathy. “But I have to warn you…our warriors live and play hard. They don’t ever stick with one woman for long. Your warrior will probably have already forgotten you and moved on.”

  Probably already have forgotten you and moved on.

  Summer sucked in her breath as if she had been sucker punched in the gut. The words, so casually uttered, robbed her of the ability to breathe and twisted her heart in a vice of unbearable pain. She stared at him blankly as the shock of such a possibility settled over her. He had to be wrong. No way she’d been so blinded by her own feelings she had made up the way Roz felt for her. The way she thought he felt, anyway. Sure, he hadn’t claimed his undying love for her, but she could sense some powerful and deep emotions in him.

  She couldn’t believe what they’d had was just a weekend fling. Yet still, just hearing someone speak the words that it could be possible, that it might’ve meant nothing to Roz, crushed and trampled her already vulnerable heart. After everything she had been through, it was just too much to deal with.

  She refocused on Saarday. He watched her with an unreadable look on his face. Anger and hurt warred within her chest. Her heart thudded, galloping painfully along.

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but there is no way in hell he’d forget me. I don’t care if it was just three days—it felt like a lifetime.”

  Shoulders heaving, she struggled to get the words out. She pressed on, even as the tears betrayed her and spilled down her cheeks in ever-increasing speed and numbers. Someone, somewhere, had control o
f the waterworks in her eyes and had opened the floodgates.

  “You don’t know him and you damn sure don’t know anything about me. How and what I feel about him are one thing. If you want to tell me I’m stupid for falling for someone after only spending three days with him, that’s your opinion. It won’t change how I feel, one tiny bit. But I’ll be damned if I’ll let you try to make me believe he’s some heartless person just out for a good time.”

  A sob forced her to drag in a breath. Oh dear God, I can’t believe I’m losing it in front of him like this.

  She swiped angrily at the tears. This wasn’t her. She never reacted like this. About anything. Exhaustion beat at her from every side—physically, mentally and emotionally. All she wanted to do was curl up into a tiny ball and cry.

  Everyone she had known, worked with and cared about on the Tipton was dead and gone. The man she loved, Lord only knew, was somewhere out there, in the great unknown. Hell, he probably thought she was dead too, if news of the Tipton had reached him. She cried again.

  She couldn’t do this. She wasn’t the type to indulge in crying normally, but she’d never felt like this before. About anyone. Ever. She’d lost Roz, lost her friends and her ship, nearly lost her life. Hell, anyone would break under this kind of stress. Somehow, she reined herself in as Saarday stared in shock at her outburst. She dragged her palms over her wet cheeks and then shoved her hair back. She must’ve looked like a crazy person.

  “I’ll give you all the info you could possibly want about the attack on the Tipton. Names, numbers of enemy fighters, coordinates…you name it, but I don’t have to tell you anything about him. If that means you want to ship me off, so be it.”

  The tears had finally stopped. Slumping back into the co-pilot’s chair, she felt wrung out, smaller almost. For once, she was grateful for the numbness that pervaded her entire body and mind. As if someone had given her a shot, there was nothing in the numbness but an odd calm that allowed her to regroup.

  He inclined his head, an odd expression on his face. “No, you don’t have to tell me anything. I’m sorry if I upset you.”

  He stood in a lithe movement and looked down at her. “I’m in need of a new Air Group Commander. If you want to remain on the Pendragon, then the job’s yours.”

  * * *

  She was gone.

  Not just gone but ripped from this life before her time. Destroyed by violence he’d have given his life to protect her from. Hell, he’d have given every last drop of blood in his veins to make sure she never cried again.

  “Gone,” he informed the brandy bottle sitting in front of him, already half empty. Sargosian brandy, a cheap vintage, strong enough to strip the hairs from the inside of his nose, and proof enough to kill a non-Sargosian immediately.

  It was his third today.

  Roz grabbed it by the neck and poured more of it down his throat. He couldn’t stay drunk for long, even on this stuff. His metabolism was too quick. But if he could drink himself into unconsciousness, then the empty hurt in the middle of his chest might go away for a while.

  Until he woke up. Then it would slam right back in place, twice as strong. Carving up his heart liked a butcher had taken a blade to his ribcage. A pain so strong it stole his breath. There were only two things that made it go away—alcohol and combat. Losing himself in the thrill of battle.

  Killing.

  It wasn’t the way he wanted to remember her.

  His Summer. His life…his wife.

  He emptied the bottle and flopped back on the bunk. Not his. He couldn’t face going into his room, not with her scent covering everything from the three days they’d spent holed up in there. Not yet, anyway. When the pain got too bad and he was too drunk not to, he’d crawl back in there and wrap the sheets around himself. Try to lose himself in memory.

  *

  The bottle clunked to the floor as the tall warrior passed out. Shirtless, he sprawled over the hard bunk. His body was covered in deep cuts and bruises from a recent battle, his arms spread wide, one empty above the brandy bottle, purple fabric wrapped around his other fist.

  Jei, Wildcats’ second-in-command, watched his boss with a frown of concern on his face.

  “What are we gonna do with him?”

  Sel dropped into a chair next to the tall, dark-haired warrior, her gaze following his to the unconscious Roz. “He wouldn’t even let us patch him up…”

  Jei shook his head. “Damned if I know. I’ve never seen him like this. Not over a woman.”

  They both turned to look at the unconscious man, both studying the fresh tattoo across his chest. Normally, ink like that was an expression of joy, a celebration…a mark to signify a man had been fortunate enough to find a wife and a permanent symbol of his commitment to her. Roz’s tattoo sprawled across the skin over his heart and extended across most of his broad chest, leaving little of his skin untouched.

  Jei shook his head. Such an elaborate tattoo was usually reserved for the most sacred of the Sargosian marriage forms—the bond marriage. A design that big usually meant a man didn’t intend to take any other wives, and to devote himself solely to his bond-wife.

  It was a huge statement, a huge commitment…

  …especially for a woman who now, was dead.

  * * *

  Saarday sat in the center chair, watching the shuttles and their fighter escorts as the Pendragon trailed them in a leisurely crawl through the system. He sighed, this was their third mission stuck babysitting diplomats and he itched to get out there on patrol.

  "Sir? We have a ship on long-range comms. Not Fleet. They're identifying themselves as a mercenary vessel…the Ninth Twelfth Wildcats."

  He blinked, the small expression the only indication of surprise he gave. The Ninth Twelfth was the unit his son led. Why they were contacting him here, he didn't know. Roz had his personal codes, could contact him at any time. In fact, he’d meant to make that call himself. Find out if his blond-haired son knew anything about a young pilot named Summer King.

  "I'll take it in my office. Route it through. Keep the comms open out here," he ordered, rising from his chair and resisting the urge to leap over the separating barrier, rather than walk around. Something was wrong, he felt it in his blood.

  "Roz, this had better be good." His voice was gruff as he reached his desk and wrenched the console around. But the face on the screen wasn't that of his eldest son.

  "Talk. Now," he ordered, knowing full well he outranked the warrior looking at him with an expression of “oh, crap” and “I do not want to be here” written on his face.

  "Jei here. I'm Roz's second-in-command. We got trouble." The dark-haired warrior grimaced and rubbed a tattooed hand over his stubbled jaw. "Roz has gone loco, and…sorry, Lead, we don't know what to do with him."

  "Loco?" Saarday shook his head. Roz was hot-headed, yes, but not seriously bat-shit. He shook his head, aware of what was going on outside on the bridge. "No, don't explain. I don't have time at the moment. Just get him here and I'll deal with him."

  The look of relief on Jei's face was immediate. "Yes, Lead. ETA, three hours.”

  Chapter Ten

  Diplomats.

  Summer was sick of ferrying them back and forth between planets. Why didn’t they just keep their fat asses on the planet where the trade conference was being held? It made more sense and didn’t waste valuable Fleet resources in personnel, fuel and wear and tear on the ships. But no…they insisted on returning to their own planet each day.

  Heaving another bored sigh, she checked her squadron’s formation around the shuttle. Nice and tight, just the way she liked them. She had four fighters each side of the shuttle, front and back. Nothing would get past them. Summer flew shotgun to keep mobile and watch for any trouble. One fighter flew point and another brought up the rear. Massive overkill, but the diplomats were paranoid and insisted on a full detail of fighters.

  Shaking her head, she smoothly changed positions so that she dropped back to fly off the rearg
uard’s port side. If they insisted on doing this same tedious routine each day, they could have at least followed her recommendation on method of transport. The shuttle was fine and dandy but the snail’s pace was killing her, or drive her nuts. They could get out and push faster.

  “Spoiled, pansy-assed diplomats.” Over her headset, she heard snickers and laughter from the men and women she now commanded.

  It still shocked her that Commander Vann had not only let her stay aboard, but that he had made her Air Group Commander of the fighter wing onboard. Especially after her horrifying, emotional outburst. Perhaps he judged her on how she had been before that, which would make more sense. No one wanted a crazy, emotionally compromised woman commanding anything, let alone a squadron of fighter pilots. Hell, they were crazy enough as it was. No need to add emotions into the mix.

  “I heard that, King,” came a low, gravelly voice over her comms. Oops. She sometimes forgot “Big Brother” kept the lines open on the bridge for all of the fighters and shuttles.

  “Stop eavesdropping. Then you won’t hear things you don’t like,” she quipped back.

  The comm crackled again, and what sounded very much like, “Bloody smart-mouthed women pilots,” came back at her.

  She was sorely tempted to ask him to repeat himself, but decided against it. She took too many liberties in the way she spoke to him, both on and off duty. For the most part she remained professional and respectful to him on duty, as she didn’t want others thinking of it as being acceptable to mouth off to the commander of the ship. However, it was just part of who she was. A smartass. Though, she didn’t bother teasing people she didn’t care about or didn’t like.

  Beep-Beep-Beep…