Hotter on the Edge

by Erin Kellison

  "I cannot do that." When he stiffened, she hastened to add, "But I will take you to Yecho. He was the last commissioner's l'auralyo and knows what to do. I told him once I explained our situation to you, you would be more agreeable and we needn't hold such unpleasantness over your head."

  "Unpleasantness." The hard edge of his square jaw flexed. "You threatened to kill my ship."

  The stubbled grass prickled her soles. Much like her conscience pricked her. "We wouldn't have done it."

  He spun on his heel, his boot grinding up the soil.

  "Wait!" She jolted a few steps toward him. "You've come this far. Just hear us out."

  He glanced over his broad shoulder, his black eyes echoing the titanium-infused glint of the hazer barrel. "Threats or lies. Which will I hear this time?"

  She swallowed. "Hate me if you must, but I am trying to save everything I know, and everything you know as well."

  "I can't say as I'd care if this little rock were blown to pieces, one shiny crystal at a time. On our way in, we saw the big hole in your only docking port. That's a good start."

  She mirrored his outrage back at him. "We have no defensive capabilities, and all our sheer-worthy ships were lost, so we can't escape. Seven were injured and one killed in that 'big hole.' "

  He shrugged. "Maybe you're lying about that too."

  "I wish I was." Her shoulders sagged. He had her beat on the indifference; impossible to match. "The raiders want coordinates to the mine where we extract the l'auraly crystals. You have to convince them we are too much trouble to steal from, because if we let them take the qva'avaq, they could take the sheerways and everyone therein."

  Slowly, he let the hazer slide from his shoulder to rest alongside his leg. The stance was hardly less menacing, but at least that black bore was no longer pointed her way.

  "What do you mean 'take the sheerways'? Anyone—anyone with a ship and a pilot and the navigation codes anyway—can fly the sheerways. No federation, union, or alliance controls space." His lips quirked in the dry humor she was already coming to know. "Not that they haven't tried."

  Since he hadn't shot her yet, she took another step toward him, hoping the weight of her concern would convince him. "With the crystals, they could do it."

  His wry smile slipped. "How?"

  At least he hadn't dismissed her outright. She took a breath. "The only export from Qv'arratz is the l'auraly. Without us, Qv'arratz has nothing of value. So you appreciate our determination that the crystals not be taken. And it speaks to the depth of our urgency that we are giving you the only unclaimed l'auralya in our temple: Me."

  He pinned her with an unwavering stare. "I get that you don't want to lose your precious resource. But you said the sheerways are at risk."

  Of course, he only cared about what it meant to him. She squelched her disappointment. They'd chosen Deynah as their savior specifically because he was a mercenary. He had learned the hard way to value his freedom, and he was going to make her fight as hard for their survival.

  "As you know, l'auraly are enhanced with emotively resonant crystalline elements." She thumbed the torque around her neck. "This is the crystal that will align my qva'avaq to my future a'lurilyo—my patron."

  "Your owner," he snapped. "Who will control you."

  She ignored his curt interruption. "According to our off-world sources, the Universalist Union has been exploring a technology that could weaponize the resonant crystal pairs. Whoever holds one half of the qva'avaq can key the other half. And through it, key the person in the crystal's influence."

  "Key?"

  She cleared her throat. "In the right—or should I say wrong—hands, the resonance could be used as mind control."

  "And you say you aren't a slave." His lips twisted again. No smile this time, but revulsion. "If you are the only keyed l'auralya, are you the one in danger?" A spiraling fury rose in his eyes: At her, or for her?

  "Not just me," she admitted softly. "If we lose the qva'avaq mine to the raiders, anyone could be exposed to half a crystal pairing. In small amounts, it would not be deadly. At least, not at first."

  "And before the victims died, they could empty treasuries, expose state secrets, reveal sheerways codes..." He raked his fingers through his hair, leaving the dark locks to bristle. The look he shot her made her swallow as if his fingers wrapped around her neck. "Is this worth your thrice-tangled pleasure?"

  "Obviously I can't explain the l'auralya-to-a'lurilyo bond to you, Captain."

  "Right. An ignorant mercenary could never understand the nuances of such a refined relationship." The loathing on his face deepened to a sneer.

  She'd meant that a man accustomed to the black freedom of space would have no use for the compromises she'd known from her earliest memories. But she wasn't going to try to soothe his outrage. He wasn't her a'lurilyo, to be pampered and appeased with all her l'auralya talents.

  Not yet anyway.

  The quiver of awareness that had sprung to life with her first glimpse of him over the hijacked thread to his shipboard berth plagued her anew.

  She'd seen naked males before, of course. Dozens of them. One wasn't raised to become l'auraly without a complete and thorough understanding of humanoid physiology. Of course, she had seen only Yecho and Icere in the flesh, and Yecho was well into his eighth decade while Icere had stopped running around the temple unclothed when he was four. Still, holographic simulacrums were very lifelike.

  And yet none of that complete and thorough understanding had prepared her for Captain Corso Deynah on her comm screen. And definitely not for the sheerways warrior standing in front of her.

  He was so large and effortless in his strength. And according to his file, when he killed, he killed with the same simple coldness as space itself.

  And yet a sheership could not be muscled through the perilously shifting curtains of sheerspace. That needed a certain sensitivity and delicacy of touch.

  Considering his touch, she shifted her attention to his big hands, to his one long forefinger poised unerringly over the trigger of the hazer, a trigger that was roughly the shape and not that much bigger than her own passionate trigger point…

  The rush of awareness that washed through her rivaled the Qv'arratz monsoon for its moist heat. She jerked her gaze up to find the captain staring back at her, and she realized she'd been silent too long. And maybe she'd been panting slightly.

  She tightened her jaw. She'd simply been shocked speechless that he was demonstrating such an unfortunate lack of understanding and compassion. Well, he made her appreciate her imaginary holographic a'lurily patrons even more.

  "Captain Deynah, despite your lack of imagination regarding the possibilities of connection between man and woman—" She ignored the roll of his eyes. "You seem to have readily grasped the need to protect your ship and thus ensure your ability to avoid future entanglements."

  He lowered his chin to pin her with his dark glare and remained menacingly silent.

  "So if you don't want the UU to gain control of the crystals and from there the rest of the universe—along with the sheerways you so adore—then you will just have to help me now."

  His jaw continued to work over the many words he clearly longed to say. Finally he spit out a terse, "You told me you'd show me more."

  She didn't gloat. They didn't have cause to be gleeful. But she gave him a smile she hoped came across as more approving than smug. "Return with me to the temple. Yecho will explain, and Icere has the beginnings of a battle plan."

  "I make my own battle plans," the captain growled.

  She inclined her head to the angle halfway between agreement and submission, giving him the pleasure of that small victory he clearly needed. She'd learned that much at least from the males of the temple, old and young as they might be. "That is, after all, why we brought you here." She bit back a smile when he ground his teeth again.

  The circumstances were dire, but at least one mercenary sheerways captain would learn to appreciate that a p
leasure slave could find more than one use for her clever tongue.

  Chapter Three

  Hazer at the ready, Corso paced along the shadowed path behind the slave-whore.

  Tangle and shred it, he was being a bastard, but he didn't much plan to change his way of thinking anytime soon. She'd threatened the Asphodel. He'd never forget or forgive the ruthless resolve in her husky-sweet voice.

  He didn't, however, see a way out of this. Yet.

  Through the comm link curled behind his ear, he heard Patter and Jorr murmuring with Evessa back at the ship as the two crew members flanked him, keeping to the trees. He'd told them to stay out of sight, away from the yellow glow of the lume stick in Benedetta's hand.

  Stay out of the slave-whore's hands. He repeated the good advice to himself.

  What sort of creature submitted so gracefully to her own slavery?

  His gaze settled on the Euclidean curves of her hips, charting their sway with the same concentration as he manned his sheership.

  When Benedetta had stripped off her tunic to bare her back to him, the folds of silky material had caught over those hips. Now that he had them in visual range, they looked just as dockable in real life. More so.

  Corso jerked his gaze up and caught her watching him over her shoulder, her citrine eyes brighter than ever in the yellow light of her lume stick.

  Maybe he never forgot or forgave, but apparently he could be distracted.

  She blinked, briefly shielding those night-predator eyes. "This way, Captain."

  They walked out from beneath the shadowed trees into a tiled courtyard. A handful of buildings—all low single story, but with roofs that swept upward to high points—formed a semi-circle, their latticed windows filling the courtyard with elaborate patterns of cheery light. The largest building nestled in the center, and its double doors stood wide open. A smell drifted out, a complex fragrance as sweet and tart as Benedetta herself, and Corso lifted his head.

  Benedetta smiled when he sniffed. "We've prepared a meal for you. Yecho says what he missed most from his station life with the sheerways commissioner was fresh fruit. Luckily, pixberries seem to thrive everywhere with an atmosphere and soil, and here they are always in season."

  "Maybe I can pay my crew in berries. Unless you l'auraly share your . . . gifts." Oh yeah, he was being a bastard, but the tangy aroma caught in his throat until he thought he might choke.

  She lifted one eyebrow, smile still fixed in place. "Perhaps we could start by allowing your crew to dine with us. Unless having them target me from the shadows makes you feel protected from me."

  He flinched. Just a twitch before he caught himself, but he knew she caught it too. Patter's soft chuckle grated in the comm behind Corso's ear.

  "They are fine where they are," he snapped.

  "Aw, Captain," Patter whispered through the link. "We can still shoot her after we eat."

  "Very well." Benedetta swept her hand ahead of her. "Welcome to the l'auraly temple, Captain. Please, step inside. Do leave your boots on if that will make you more comfortable."

  Corso scowled down at her bare toes but didn't kick the closure tabs on his heavy boots as he crossed into the antechamber. The interior was divided with hanging panels, dyed in subtle gradations of dawn and dusk hues, that blocked his view.

  "There's a hook there for your weapon..." She pursed her lips and then, with a shake of her head, drawled, "Never mind. Through here."

  She whisked around the curtains, but he followed more slowly, his boots silent on the smooth squares of the floor. He eased past the drapery with its delicate tracings of silvery thread, careful not to touch it in case the qva'avaq woven into the fabric might poison him.

  Beyond, the tiled chamber opened wide enough to hold dozens of opponents.

  Benedetta had kept her smile, but now there was a touch of wickedness to it. Only herself, one old man and one old woman, a youth working hard at the fuzz on his chin, and two petite girl children waited in a row. They stood with their slender, silvery hands clasped in front of them in matching postures as poised as they were subservient. Between them and him spread a long, low table laden with more platters of food than the Asphodel had passed in light-years. In the fluted glassware centered perfectly on every plate, small purple pixberries still bubbled in their own juices, scenting the air like captured sunshine.

  Corso swallowed hard. The last time he'd smelled that, he'd been face down in a muddy enemy field, his shoulders burning, while the purple pix hedges blackened in the torrents of plasma raining down from the squadron of sheerships that had once been his.

  His fingers tightened on the hazer. Too bad he couldn't put a plasma pulse through his memories. He had to deal with them the old-fashioned way—by ignoring them.

  "Welcome, Captain Deynah." The old man raised both age-gnarled hands to his receded hairline in a deferential salute. "Thank you; a thousand times thank you, for coming in our time of need." Despite a faint quaver in his voice, his back was straight as he knelt, and the sensuality that breathed heavy in Benedetta still whispered around his trim figure. The youth steadied him surreptitiously with a grip that had not yet come into its full strength. In a sinuous wave, the whole group sank to their knees—Benedetta a heartbeat behind the rest.

  The l'auraly stared up at him with jewel-toned eyes. Instead of bartering in berries, maybe he could sell their eyeballs as ornamentation. But Corso knew he was being a bastard only to offset his realization that these living, breathing baubles of erotically enhanced humanity posed absolutely no threat at all.

  With a sigh, he lowered the hazer. "Patter, Jorr, get in here."

  He crossed his legs and seated himself opposite the old man, avoiding Benedetta's amused yellow eyes. He was limber enough to sit cross-legged but too tall for his legs to fit comfortably under the table.

  The old man grimaced. "We apologize for the humble reception, Captain. Qv'arratz is in reduced circumstances at the moment."

  Corso waited while Patter and Jorr crowded the table. "Let's talk about those circumstances."

  At his cold tone, his crew members paused, their plates already half filled.

  Patter shifted so the carbine swung over his shoulder, closer to his reach. "Can we eat first?"

  "Please," the old man said. "Eat and enjoy while I tell you everything."

  "That would be a nice change." Corso shot a brooding glance at Benedetta.

  "I am Yecho—"

  Corso directed his glare back to the old man. "Cancel the edict on my ship."

  "Already done, Captain. A gesture of goodwill. And good faith."

  Beside Yecho, the youth averted his face—a silent protest.

  Corso sized him up in a glance. "You didn't agree, boy?"

  The youth froze, and the old woman settled her hand on his sleeve. "Captain, I am Rislla, teacher to these young people. Icere here is still learning the twin arts of will and faith."

  "I suppose that would be hard for a gang of blackmailing sex slaves."

  Benedetta sighed. The old man and woman didn't react at all. And the youth, Icere, scowled while the two young girls blinked in confusion. What a group.

  Yecho poured matching goblets of some sparkling liquid and distributed them down the table. "I know Benedetta has already explained the repercussions should the qva'avaq be weaponized."

  "She told me. I'm not sure I believe it."

  Icere surged upright. Patter dropped his plate and mirrored the youth with a carbine. Icere gave an audible gulp but slowly held out the tablet he'd had on his lap. "It's all here."

  Corso sipped at the cup the old man handed him and let the tableau stand for a moment. "Patter, take the tablet and send a comm to Evessa with the data. Let me know what she finds."

  The youth flushed a dull red. "I double checked all sources. Based on my—"

  "And we will triple check. After all, it's my crew that could die."

  Benedetta snorted. "We hope you are better than that."

  "Me too," Pat
ter said as he punched the Asphodel's codes into the tablet.

  The girls linked their arms, their dark and light hair mingling as they huddled together. The blonde whispered, "We don't want to die."

  Benedetta caught Corso's glance for the briefest moment then dropped her gaze. He hissed out a breath, because yeah, he felt like a bastard right then too.

  They finished the meal with awkward small talk. Corso and his crew had been a long time without fresh provisions, and the table, as burdened as it had been, was soon cleared. Corso pushed his goblet of pixberries to Jorr, then left Patter to interface with Evessa and Icere over the data.

  He stepped outside, breathing out hard to clear the lingering sweet scent from his lungs, and stared up at the sky. At the almost inaudible pad of bare feet behind him, he stiffened. Benedetta's more subtle perfume teased him, and his heartbeat ramped even higher than it had that long-ago day when the sheership plasma scorched the earth around him.

  "Is it strange to see the stars from this angle?"

  He glanced at the woman beside him. The l'auraly markings curled up the slender column of her neck to brush the points of her jaw, and the traceries glimmered even in the faint starlight. Every soldier knew, a sharp blow to those pressure points could disable. A kiss along those same lines could… He crushed the wayward thought. "What?"

  She gestured upward, and the inner skin of her wrist glinted. "In your ship, you're so much closer to them. They are beautiful from here, even through the ice rings and the light of three moons. They must be utterly amazing when you are up there alone with them."

  "You don't see them at all in the sheerways. It's all black. Unless you're tangled, and then I'm told you see every star and moon and nebula at once in the nanosecond before your ship is shredded."

  She blinked. "Well, Captain Deynah, and here I wondered if you had any music in your soul."

  "Keep wondering." As he wondered about her; how could she hold onto her soul when she was destined to be sold? He didn't want to think about that either. "I suppose there's no chance my pilot is going to uproot an error in your boy's findings?"