Chapter Eight
“Rodymia is much smaller than Earth, but it is more densely populated. If that’s where Nazerel has gone, how do we even start to find him?” Lor shook his head as a sigh of frustration escaped his mouth.
The office/lounge felt smaller than it had moments before. Varrik moved behind Echo’s chair and rested his hands on her shoulders. The position was both protective and comforting. “He won’t be on Rodymia.” Varrik waited until Lor looked at him to continue. “He’ll be on whatever ship Garin Nox is commanding.”
“Who is Garin Nox?” Elias’ long stride made pacing the room difficult. He was only able to take three steps before he pivoted and headed back in the other direction.
“Nazerel’s cousin,” Varrik explained. “Elder South was born Vortar Nox, youngest son of a very powerful Rodyte family. Rather than live in the shadow of his older brother and accept whatever scraps life left for him, Vortar joined the Shadow Assassins. He quickly rose through the ranks until he challenged the First Son of South during the transition festival and became Elder South. Garin Nox is the eldest son of South’s brother, which makes him Nazerel’s cousin according to human genealogy. Last I heard, Garin was about to be named pferitor, or general. I don’t know his current assignment.”
“Nazerel is cousins with a Rodyte general?” Elias sounded doubtful, yet the dread in his expression made it obvious he believed every word. “Why didn’t he go straight to Rodymia when he decided to leave the City of Tears?”
“Sevrin promised him a mate with Mystic abilities. Someone like Echo. Wouldn’t that have tempted you?” Varrik shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He was a man of action, debates and endless conversations always made him restless.
“How often did Nazerel sneak away from the Shadow Maze to visit his cousins?” Lor grumbled.
“There was no sneaking involved. South encouraged the visits. And the answer to your question is a couple of times a year. There are three Nox sons. As I said, Garin is the oldest.”
Without explanation, Lor stood and walked over to his workstation. He didn’t bother to sit down. With a few hand gestures he found what he needed. “General Garin Nox is assigned to the Undaunted.”
“Damn.” Varrik rubbed Echo’s shoulders as much to calm himself as to comfort her. “I didn’t realize it had been commissioned. It had yet to launch last I heard.”
“What is the Undaunted?” Elias wanted to know.
“The Rodyte version of an aircraft carrier,” Lor told him. “I saw some early specs of the ship. It’s enormous.” Lor returned to the seating area, but didn’t sit down. Elias followed him, stepping to his side as Lor continued. “If that’s where Nazerel has gone, it’s time to involve High Queen Charlotte. We can’t start a war with the Rodytes over one man.”
“One man, his human hostage, and all of Sevrin’s research,” Elias reminded. “If this general gives the documentation to Quinten, he could easily pick up where Sevrin left off.”
“Overlord Lyrik is a better choice than High Queen Charlotte,” Varrik decided. “A military man will respond best to another military man.”
Lor shook his head with sudden vehemence. “Not in this case. Overlord Lyrik can’t go anywhere near Rodymia.”
“And why is that?” Varrik didn’t understand Lor’s reaction.
“Lyrik killed Pern, or at least Quinton holds Lyrik responsible for his brother’s death. It was actually an incorporeal entity that ended Pern’s life, but—”
“Sounds like a story for another day,” Elias suggested.
“Fine. But I don’t think a diplomatic approach is the right strategy.” Varrik shifted his hands to the back of Echo’s chair.
“I doubt the Rodytes want a war over one man either,” Echo mused. “I think we should find the Undaunted, figure out where the general is, flash to his location and explain that all we want is Nazerel and his hostage. There is no reason for the Rodytes to be involved.”
“Garin will hand over Morgan and keep Nazerel,” Lor predicted.
“Is that an acceptable outcome?” Elias looked at Varrik, but Lor responded first.
“No. Nazerel was the driving force behind this rebellion. He must stand trial or the others will become even more belligerent. The only way to permanently end this rebellion is to capture Nazerel.”
“What about the report. We can’t just leave that information with the Rodytes,” Elias insisted.
“You’re right,” Varrik said. “Recovering the report is as important as rescuing Morgan.”
“I didn’t say that. Nothing is more important that rescuing Morgan.”
“Let’s focus on Morgan.” Lor grew even more agitated. “I’m not sure we can do anything about the report. Thanks to Flynn, that ship has sailed. We could demand that they return the report or even steal it back from them, but we have no way of knowing who has seen it or how many copies exist. Besides it’s more than likely Sevrin was forwarding updates to her uncle every time she made any sort of progress.”
“We won’t know what is or isn’t possible until we assess the situation,” Echo stressed. “Which means our first step is locating the Undaunted.”
* * * * *
“How is this less offensive than my pants,” Morgan cried as she looked at her reflection in the portion of the wall Nazerel had just transformed into a mirror.
“I told you it wasn’t about modesty. It’s about respect. Your pants might have covered more skin, but now you’re unmistakably female.”
“Yeah, a little too unmistakably.” She tugged on the neckline of the dress, but the stiff material wouldn’t budge. The fabric was gorgeous, a shiny midnight blue with a muted geometric pattern. It was the style she found objectionable.
“Truth be told, the only females on board are pleasure givers.”
She scoffed as she tried to find an angle from which she didn’t look like a trollop. “That explains a lot.” A robot had delivered three dresses an hour ago. This was the least revealing of the three. The strapless bodice molded to her torso like a corset then the skirt flared dramatically to just below her knees. Her breasts swelled boldly into view and her waist looked incredibly small. If she weren’t on a ship with thousands of men, she might not have felt so self-conscious.
“I think you look lovely.”
Her gaze snapped to Nazerel’s, sure he was mocking her. But his expression was unreadable, except for the obvious hunger in his eyes. She acknowledged the compliment with a tight smile as he moved up behind her.
“You should wear your hair up.” He gathered the thick mass and held it near the back of her head. “Your neck and shoulders are breathtaking.”
She eased to the side and shook her head, freeing her hair from between his fingers. “I’m not trying to steal anyone’s breath.”
He lowered his arms and closed his hands into fists. “You don’t have to try and I think you know it. You’re a very beautiful woman.”
She knew that look, the literal burning deep in his eyes. “Nazerel.” The warning sounded more like a sigh as he pulled her into his arms. “Zilor could be here any minute and I—”
His mouth silenced her, lips firm and demanding. He pressed her against him, his arms much more gentle than his mouth. His tongue caressed her lips as it eased deeper and deeper. She tried to resist him, wanted to remain passive until he gave up and turned her loose. But this was Nazerel. He never gave up and he never surrendered.
Gradually she relaxed into the security of his embrace. She stroked his tongue with hers and wrapped her arms around his back. He’d changed into a uniform similar to Zilor’s. The pants were neatly tailored, but the shirt’s clingy material outlined every bulge and ripple of Nazerel’s torso. Her hands moved over the impressive terrain with hungry appreciation.
“I was unable to put myself to sleep,” he whispered then kissed her again. “All night I lay there, surrounded by your smell, aching for the warmth of your body.”
She was saved from respondi
ng by Zilor’s arrival. Nazerel called out a greeting without releasing her. Their visitor hurried into the room and a knowing smile parted his lips, making him appear even more rakish. “Well done, Nazerel.” He assessed her appearance with a less that polite sweep of his gaze. “She would look beautiful no matter what she wears, but this is much more respectable.”
She shook her head and wiggled out of Nazerel’s arms. “The Rodyte definition of respectable is confusing.”
Zilor started to explain, but Nazerel stopped him. “She understands. She just doesn’t agree.”
“I see.”
“Do I have time to fix my hair? I wasn’t quite ready.” She wasn’t even wearing shoes. Not that anyone was looking that far down.
“Of course,” Zilor assured her with another charming smile.
“Garin isn’t typically patient, so don’t dawdle.”
She started to point out that he was the one who had slowed down her preparations, but didn’t want to argue in front of Zilor. Nazerel’s demeanor changed whenever his cousin was around. Nazerel became more assertive, more intolerant, more Rodyte.
Not wanting an audience, she grabbed the bag of toiletries they’d gotten from Phil and went into the bathroom. Or the Rodyte version of a bathroom. She’d needed a guided tour from Nazerel before she understood how everything worked. There were no fixed objects in the perfectly square space. Various appliances could be flipped, rolled or pulled into view depending on what the user needed. She pulled out the counter then touched the wall directly in front of her and uttered the word Nazerel had taught her. The surface above the counter became reflective.
Nazerel was right, her hair would look best up, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of following his advice. She combed out the tangles, then French braided it at an angle so the end rested over one shoulder. The simple style confined her hair and left her shoulders bare. She seldom bothered with makeup, but the dress called for a different look. She darkened her lashes with mascara and smoothed on a subtle lipstick.
She walked into the outer room and slipped her feet into the black flats also provided by the robot. “This is as good as it gets.”
Zilor looked at Nazerel as if she’d said something outrageous. “Is your female blind?” Nazerel must have responded telepathically, because Zilor said, “I see.”
“We better get moving,” Nazerel suggested. “Garin hates being made to wait.”
Nazerel walked at her side, his hand pressed against the small of her back. Zilor walked in front of them and it didn’t take long for Morgan to suspect he was warning everyone off with some sort of signal. Those who couldn’t duck into an adjoining corridor plastered themselves against the wall and turned their heads. No one made eye contact with her or Nazerel.
“Why is he doing that?” She glanced at Nazerel, though he didn’t seem surprised by the crew’s odd behavior.
“Having an unclaimed female on board is never a good idea. Zilor is just making sure everyone behaves.”
“But how do they know I’m not…” Scent. They would smell her mate if she had been claimed. But all they smelled was female, so she was fair game. She shivered. It was all so animal.
Zilor turned down a short corridor that only led to one doorway. “You should address him as General Nox, not Garin. We use his given name because we’re family.”
“I understand.”
“This is his private quarters, but he expects protocol to be followed at all times.”
“Don’t speak to him until he first speaks to you,” Nazerel warned. “And even then it’s best if you only answer his questions.”
“O-kay.” And she thought human protocols were needlessly formal. Apparently Rodyte generals were treated like English royalty. “Can I look at him or should I fold my hands in my lap and keep my gaze lowered?”
“Once he acknowledges you, you’re free to look at him,” Zilor told her. “If he chooses not to speak with you, then you basically don’t exist.”
“In that dress.” Nazerel chuckled. “He’ll want to know all about her.”
Zilor didn’t seem amused by the thought. “Which is why you should have claimed her before you brought her here. You are far too trusting of our familial ties.”
“Meaning she’s not safe with you?” Nazerel moved directly in front of him, chest puffed out, eyes instantly blazing.
Before Zilor could answer the challenge the door slid open and Morgan forgot to breathe. A man stood there, his shoulders nearly spanning the doorway. Though similar to Zilor’s uniform, this man’s shirt was accented with gold. He wasn’t as tall as his younger brother and his features weren’t as perfect, but he emanated authority without saying a word. His hair was short, his dark gaze sharp, the blue rings clearly visible though at the moment they weren’t glowing.
He glanced at the two men who looked like they were about to come to blows then held out his hand to Morgan. “I’m General Nox. Nazerel never told me your name.”
“It’s Morgan.” She placed her hand on his palm and his fingers closed into a firm yet painless grip.
“Welcome aboard the Undaunted.” He pulled her across the threshold and into his private domain. But then the entire ship was his domain.
Unwilling to smile and pretend she wasn’t bothered by the fact that she’d arrived in chains, she licked her lips and chose her words carefully. “I appreciate the welcome, sir, but I’ve been brought here against my will.”
He paused and faced her, his expression unreadable. “I thought humans were fascinated by the unknown in general and aliens in particular. Have you ever been off-world before?”
“No, but—”
“You would squander the opportunity to experience things few on your planet will ever imagine simply because you were reluctant to begin the journey? That seems wasteful to me.”
Though politely worded, the message was clear. He didn’t give a damn that she was a prisoner. “I understand, General Nox. I’ll endeavor to make the most of each opportunity.” Hopefully, her message was just as clear. She had no intention of casually accepting her captivity.
He continued across the room, drawing her with him. “Morgan is an unusual name for a female, even on Earth.”
Did he really know enough about Earth to make that assessment? “I’m aware.” And she was tired of hearing about it.
One corner of his mouth turned up in the subtlest hint of a smile. “Now I’ve annoyed you.” His gaze barely left her face even as they reached the table. “That wasn’t my intention.”
He seated her in the first chair on the near side of the rectangular table then took his place at the head, which put Morgan on his right. Her back was to much of the room, so she’d only gotten an overall impression of understated elegance and the Rodyte obsession with gray and black. There was a siting area to her right and a large desk to her left. The general’s bedroom must be behind one of two doors adjacent to the dining area.
“When Rodyte children come of age they’re encouraged to choose their adult name, something more suited to their personality and aspirations. Do humans have a similar custom?”
Garin shook out his napkin and spread it on his lap, so Morgan did the same. Still, it all felt a bit absurd. “There are many cultures on Earth. I’m from America and we don’t have that sort of custom. We’re stuck with the names our parents choose for us. I hated my name when I was a child, but it has become an asset in recent years.”
“Really?” His gaze drifted no lower than her mouth and still he made her feel more vulnerable than Zilor had with his open appraisal. “Please explain.”
“I chose a profession dominated by men. Often people judge my actions while under the impression that I’m male. It tends to lead to a fairer assessment.”
Zilor sat down across from her and Nazerel took the chair to her right. Zilor had been worried that Garin would ignore her. The general’s unwavering attention was even more disconcerting.
“Why did you choose a profession domina
ted by men?” He motioned to the young crewman standing stiffly by a beverage station. The crewman came alive and circled the table, filling the men’s glasses with a murky blue liquid. When he reached her, however, he switched hands and filled her glass with a ruby-red drink. “It’s Bilarrian blood wine. Most females find the taste pleasant.”
She let the chauvinistic comment slide and motioned to his glass. “And what are you drinking?”
“It’s called g’haut. There is no human equivalent.”
“Is it harmful to humans?” She offered him her most angelic smile.
Garin chuckled and Nazerel began to fidget beside her. “It’s really strong,” Nazerel warned.
Drinking her coworkers—most of them men—under the table had become a matter of pride down through the years. Men were convinced that anyone who couldn’t stand up to pee and devour massive quantities of alcohol was inferior. Even though she considered the attitude infantile, she loved proving the idiots wrong. “If General Nox has no objections, I’d like to at least try it.”
Garin signaled the drink steward with a stiff nod and the young man presented her with a small amount of the blue beverage. Bracing herself for the worst, she tossed back half of the serving. She swallowed fast enough to prevent herself from gasping, but her chest burned and her stomach cramped as the liquor sank like liquid fire through her body.
“Would you like some more?” Garin was grinning now, and the smile softened his features, made him look more approachable.
She forced herself to inhale slowly even though her lungs were screaming for air. “No thank you.” Blinking back the excess moisture from her eyes, she admitted, “I was just curious.”
“I think you will find the blood wine more enjoyable.”
She picked up the original glass and hesitated again. It really did look like blood.
Zilor winked at her. “The name refers to the color. There’s no blood in it.”
The taste was fruity like human wine, yet there was also a spicy heat. Still, it was far less abrasive than the g’haut. “It’s delicious.”
Rebel Heat Page 15
