Havik: Warlord Brides (Warriors of Sangrin Book 9)

by Nancey Cummings

  She forced a sunny smile on her face, channeling every harmless and hapless thought possible.

  He recoiled, a disgusted look on his face. “You’re in luck. Paadric also didn’t have time to pack a bag and he was on the scrawny side. If you don’t mind blood, what’s in his cabin is yours.”

  “Delightful.” A dead man’s closet. Yo ho ho.

  He marched her down a narrow corridor, shoulder to shoulder, and watched her carefully from the corner of his eyes like she was a prisoner and he expected hijinks. “How’d you know how to do that for Naston?”

  Great. Questions.

  Thalia shrugged. “I was apprenticed to a doctor. I picked up some things.”

  “You’re a medic?”

  “Fuck no. I was like the orderly. I followed a drunk doctor around and kept the exam room smelling like disinfectant rather than booze.” A lie, but remarkably close to the truth.

  Dray stopped in front of a cabin door. He covered a keypad with his hand but made no move to unlock it. “What kind of ship has its own doctor? You military?”

  “Does anything about me look like I’ve been in the fucking military?” Thalia held up a lock of her vivid green hair. God, she was sick of that color. She should go for something boring, like purple.

  “Your mouth sounds like it.”

  “I’m sorry, I already did the job interview with Sue.”

  His top lip curled. “Sue gets emotional about the males she’s fucking. I don’t know you, and I don’t trust how you just happened to be there when Naston needed you. It’s very convenient.”

  Thalia rolled her eyes. This asshole right here.

  “I didn’t order him the murder-berry beer and I didn’t pour it down his throat,” she said. She hated all this posturing. She got her fill from Nicky’s crew. Every new guy had to prove he was the biggest and the baddest. The dimmer ones viewed her as weak and thought they could gain some credibility by swinging their dicks around.

  Words could not express how incredibly short-sighted it was to antagonize the person responsible for stitching up injuries. She never had to say anything, but Doc always forgot to give those particular assholes numbing agents and did a sloppier-than-usual-job with plenty of jabs. Usually they figured it out.

  Experience told Thalia that Dray was not the kind to figure it out on his own.

  Havik never had to posture or threaten her. Even when she poked and teased and she could see the frustration boiling inside him, he never tried to intimidate her into submission. Maybe that confidence came from being an uptight, law-abiding goody-goody or maybe it was just from being the biggest, meanest-looking guy in the room. If anyone knew the mean-looking red bastard doted on a giant pet scorpion, the scandal would ruin his reputation. Then again, he kept a giant scorpion as a pet.

  The thought of Havik carrying Admiral Stabs around in his arms like an infant brought a smile to her lips.

  Thalia hoped she hadn’t made a mistake by joining Sue’s crew and she hoped there was more Havik for her on the other side of this.

  “Is this for your vision?” The asshole plucked the glasses right off her face.

  Rude.

  Thalia grabbed them back, aware of the smudges he left on the lenses. “I needed them for distance. You gonna open the door or are we just going to keep staring at each other?”

  Dray huffed but pressed the pad, speaking the code as he entered it. “Remember it because I’m not going to come back and unlock your blasted door.”

  The narrow cabin boasted a bunk on one side and a desk on the other. A stale funk of unwashed sheets hung in the air. Paadric, whoever he had been, had not been a tidy person.

  “Charming,” Thalia said, tossing her backpack on the bed. “Is there a medical bay or something?”

  He pointed to a red box on the wall. “That’s all you’ll need for your doctoring. What was the name of the ship you were on?”

  “Nunya,” she said.

  “Nunya?”

  She dragged a finger across the surfaces and frowned at the trail left in the dust. “Yeah, none of ya business.”

  “What about—”

  “Fuck!” She kicked a chair out from the desk and tossed herself down. Hard plastic and unforgiving, the chair felt about as comfortable as Dray’s heavy-handed interrogation. “You want my life story? Fine. Once upon a time, there was a small-time crook who taught a little orphan girl to pick pockets. But that guy was a hypochondriac.”

  “What’s a hypo—”

  “He worried he was ill all the time, so he hired an old drunk as his personal physician. I just kept Doc from choking to death when he passed out. Sometimes I assisted him with patients. Then Doc got himself killed and our boss didn’t need me anymore.” Thalia could still taste the splatter of Nathan’s blood. No matter how much she scrubbed out her mouth, the metallic taste lingered. Hoping Dray didn’t push the issue, she did not want to explain how she was sold at auction and somehow cool working with smugglers known to deal with human trafficking.

  A nasty expression settled on Dray’s face, like he thought he had the upper hand. “So, you couldn’t fuck your way into his good graces like the way you fucked the doctor?”

  “For the love of—” Thalia sprang to her feet. She jabbed a finger in the center of Dray’s chest. “Doc Mitchell was my friend. My best friend. He was a flawed man, but he didn’t fuck underaged girls.” She hadn’t known him to have a romantic or sexual relationship with anyone. That just didn’t seem to interest him. “But if you’re so insecure that you need to convince yourself that the only work I can do is on my back, go right ahead.”

  “I think you’re an empty-headed bitch,” he snarled, knocking her finger away.

  “When it’s you gasping for breath on the ground, I just might remember I’m an empty-headed bitch and oopsie.” Twirling a lock of hair around her finger, Thalia’s voice increased in pitch, becoming bubbly and babyish.

  “I’m watching you, human,” he said, stretching out the word like an insult.

  The door slid shut behind him. Thalia slammed her hand down on the control panel and locked it.

  She had never shot anyone before, but she hoped that asshole would be the first.

  Further exploration revealed the cabin to be as miserable as she first thought. The dead man’s pants fit her if she rolled up the cuffs and cinched the waist with a belt. The tunic could be altered with the needle and thread kit she kept in her backpack.

  She stripped the bed and found a cleansing unit in the shared facilities down the hall.

  Not knowing what duties Sue expected her to fulfill, she reasoned that the captain would let her know when it was time. Until then, she set about taking in the tunic on the sides, so she didn’t look so scrawny. Then again, being underestimated could work in her favor.

  “Hey ho, it’s a pirate’s life for me,” she sang under her breath.

  Havik

  “Are you working on that thing again? You don’t even like watching films.” Ren held a bowl of noodles in one hand and an eating utensil in the other. He barely paused between bites to speak.

  The internal components of the holographic projector spread across the table. Stabs lay curled in Havik’s lap, his mandibles absently chewing on the end of Havik’s braid. He tolerated the occasional tug as it was preferable to Stabs chasing that obnoxious ball.

  “It is nothing. I simply upgraded the graphic processor, added more memory, and installed a new cooling system because the old fan was insufficient,” Havik said.

  “Simply.”

  Havik frowned. The whine of the fan diminished enjoyment while watching films. He did not see how it was unreasonable to want to enjoy using an entertainment device in the manner for which it had been designed.

  Ren shoveled in another mouthful of noodles. “This flavor that Thalia ordered is rather good. Spicy poultry. Did you know that Terran poultry is descended from ancient megafauna, what they call terrible lizards? Now they are domestic livestock, and delicious.�
�� He tilted back the bowl and drank the broth. “We should get one.”

  “No, we should not,” Havik said, only half-listening.

  “Don’t you want a terrible lizard? Admiral Stabs needs a playmate.”

  “The ad—” Havik stopped him before he inadvertently acknowledged the fictitious rank. He removed Stabs from his lap and set the creature on the floor. “Stabs does not. And if this poultry is livestock, he will consume it.” The kumakre was a predator, after all.

  Ren discarded his empty bowl and retrieved Stabs’ ball from the counter. Havik had placed it there because the noise the ball made when attacked incited the kumakre to attack again. He had concern that Stabs would play until the point of exhaustion.

  “The kumakre is a beautiful predator and you bought him a toy,” Havik said.

  Ren shook the ball and the bell rang. Stabs scuttled toward Ren, rearing back on his hind legs. Ren threw the ball out of the common room and down the corridor. It bounced off the wall with a hard ping before rolling on the floor.

  Stabs took off, his claws scrabbling on the floor, no doubt digging into the surface for purchase.

  “That is an insult to Stabs and yourself,” Havik said, disgust in his tone.

  “He needs to practice hunting, since you claim you will release Stabs back into the wild.”

  “I will.” Havik frowned. The kumakre had been his companion for years now. While he told himself that Stabs was not a pet, that assertion grew harder to believe now that the kumakre had a name and toys.

  Ren did not need to state his disbelief. The wry look on his face said it all. “I will check the tracker signal while you play with the projector you care nothing for.”

  “The flickering lights hurt Thalia’s eyes,” Havik muttered. Already compromised and requiring her to wear corrective lenses, he did not wish to further damage her eyesight.

  “You have completed several such projects.”

  Havik turned his attention to the circuit boards, ignoring Ren. Years of accumulated dust coated the older tech pieces. He dipped the boards in tubs of solvent and carefully brushed away the grime.

  It meant nothing that he wanted to make the ship more comfortable. He did not do it for Thalia. That was a ludicrous notion. He had lived aboard the ship for two years and had already completed the major projects that kept the ship habitable and them alive. Now he had time for the smaller, quality of life tasks.

  The bell jingled, growing louder and Stabs ran toward him. With his claws, the kumakre climbed his way up Havik’s leg and dropped the ball in his lap.

  “No.”

  Stabs’ tail rattled.

  “This is demeaning to us both. You are a mighty warrior of the sands.”

  His mandibles opened and closed, tasting the air, and his beady eyes glistened.

  Havik could not refuse that face anything. “Once. Do not make this a habit.”

  He tossed the ball down the corridor. Stabs dug his claws in before launching himself, the barbed tip of his tail scratching. Havik remained unconcerned as the kumakre was too young to have developed a potent venom, even if his skin did tingle from the scratch.

  He returned his attention to the holographic projector. One day, when enough time had passed, he might admit that he upgraded the projector to please Thalia. When she returned to him—and he would do everything in his power to make that happen—he wanted to see her smile and know that his actions put it there. He would not admit this desire to Ren. He barely admitted the truth to himself.

  On a small tablet screen, her favorite film played. The boring version too, not the more exciting version with slaying the undead. No fighting, no chases, and zero explosions, because he wanted the meaningless noise of Terran chatter because it reminded him of how she snuggled into him as they watched. Playing the film to fill the silence made her feel closer.

  He missed Thalia. The ship was empty without her constant chatter and questions.

  Stabs returned with the ball clutched in his maw. He stood on his back legs and scratched Havik’s leg, begging.

  Havik sighed. “This is beneath you,” he grumbled before throwing the ball.

  He missed Thalia and it worried him. In all his grief, disappointment, and then fury at his father’s betrayal, he never missed Vanessa. Not once.

  Chapter 14

  Havik

  He followed the smuggler’s freighter at a distance, keeping the ship at the edges of his long-range scanners. He did not worry about the freighter detecting him. Commercial scanners did not have the range or the sensitivity of the one he installed in his ship. Much of his ship had been upgraded, including the shields, and had been further improved by the installation of weapons. While his vessel appeared to be of humble origins and sought to be unobtrusive, it could defend itself.

  The smuggler’s freighter had similar modifications. He noted the hidden gun ports and the upgraded shields. The energy signature indicated that the original engine had been replaced with a more powerful drive. The freighter traveled at a rate that neared what the upper limit of speed that could be traveled safely. Anything faster and the ship’s integrity would degrade.

  He hoped the smugglers were not so foolish as to endanger his mate, or they would suffer the consequences.

  Thalia

  Being the new person on the crew sucked. Thalia got all the menial and disgusting tasks. Naston claimed he was too “fragile” to do his kitchen rotation that week, even though Thalia caught him and Dray playing a boisterous game of kicking and chasing a ball up and down the corridors.

  She might have added too much salt to his portion, but no one could prove it.

  Dray continued to be an ass as he foisted off any chore to her that he could without arousing the captain’s suspicion. The only other human on the ship, Butcher—because of course that was his name—simply didn’t trust her and watched her like he expected the worst when she entered a room with her mop and bucket.

  Yeah, a mop and bucket. The space pirates had her swabbing the deck. Or corridors, as it were.

  The upside to being the newbie was every place had to be mopped. Dragging her mop and bucket let her learn the layout of the ship and snoop better than trying to be sneaky because that mop and bucket made her practically invisible. Every door opened with her custodial code.

  Every door but one.

  Clever people probably had some educated explanation about the invisibility of menial labor and class structure, but Thalia felt anything but invisible. Clad in the bright yellow flight suit she inherited from Paadric, she was hideously visible. No one had any excuse to ignore the giant banana suit.

  While she felt bold enough to open every door and poke in supply closets, she did not feel confident enough to send a message to Havik. First, there was nothing much to report. The freighter was headed to an auction, but Havik and Ren would figure that out by following the tracker embedded under her skin. Second, every outgoing message would be scrutinized, so her comm unit remained unused.

  Sure, she could send a message with a false destination to a friend back on Earth and bounce it off relays to obfuscate its ultimate true destination, but she didn’t have the skills to pull it off. That was more of a theoretical option she saw in movies and shows. Even if she leveled up her tech skills and got a message to Havik, it would have to be written in code. Not an obvious code like numbers and symbols, but the real message would have to be written between the lines.

  She just didn’t know if the rigidly truthful and too-good-for-his-own-good Havik would even realize the message had a code. He’d be confused as to why the message was addressed to a dead man, Doc, and might discard it as a joke. Ren might recognize the code. There were so many factors to consider, and so much could go wrong.

  No, getting a message out was too risky. She had to wait, keep her ears open, and hope that the tracker worked.

  “Newbie!” Naston shouted down the corridor, breaking Thalia out of her thoughts. “Bring the cleaning solvents and a lot of towels.
You are required.”

  “The name’s Thalia. You might try it, you know, since I saved your life!” Thalia shouted back. While he made a rude hand gesture, she unlocked the bucket wheels and followed. “You really should have better manners. Everyone on board knows how to kill you now and make it look like you’re too much of an idiot to read the label on a bottle of beer.”

  Naston spun on his heels. Before she could blink, he had a utility knife pressed to her throat. A hard, bitter expression settled on his face. “Dray told me about you.”

  “All good things?”

  “He doesn’t like you,” Naston said.

  “I get the impression that he doesn’t like anyone.”

  He blinked, a slow grin spreading on his face. Up close, his lavender complexion appeared washed out. The harsh lighting showed every scratch and smudges of oil on the decorative horn caps. His teeth were brown, and his breath had the yeasty smell of beer. Delightful. Drinking on the job.

  She filed that nugget of intel away. Another advantage of being the invisible cleaning person was she saw all the crew’s bad habits. They might put up a good front with the captain around, but she saw their true natures. Every one of them was a selfish, conniving bastard who would slit the other’s throats if there was profit to be made.

  “Oh,” she said, not able to keep her sudden revelation to herself. “Someone already knew about your allergy. It wasn’t an accident.”

  She hadn’t saved his life. She interrupted his murder.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll get her before she gets me,” he said.

  There was only one other “her” on board: the captain. Thalia should not have been surprised. Sue bragged about murdering the old captain to gain the ship. What did Sue gain from Naston’s death? Insurance money, or just the satisfaction of taking a life?

  Thalia misunderstood the situation at the bar. What else did she misunderstand since coming aboard?