“It’s still very potent, so sip it.” The tension in Nazerel’s jaw revealed his displeasure with Garin’s fixation.
“Your occupation,” Garin prompted.
“She’s Morgan Hoyt director of the human taskforce assisting the Mystic Militia,” Nazerel answered for her. “I explained about the taskforce in my last message. But as Morgan indicated, I thought she was male at the time.”
“That wasn’t the question.” Impatience narrowed Garin’s gaze, but he merely glanced at Nazerel then returned his attention to Morgan. “What made a woman like you join the FBI?”
Rather than starting a fight by asking him to define “a woman like you”, she smoothly shifted the focus of the conversation. “Actually they recruited me, so you’d have to ask them about motivation. I am curious, however, how do you know about the FBI? Have you been to Earth?”
Though his smile failed to part his lips the expression was almost mischievous. “You would be horrified if you knew how many Rodytes had been to Earth.” His penetrating gaze lingered for another moment, then he took a deep breath and looked at Nazerel. “So, is this another visit or are you finally home to stay?”
“That depends on you.”
“Well, I want to hear all about your adventures on Earth, but not until we’ve eaten.”
Summoned by the simple statement or some silent signal, a parade of young men filed into the room. They all wore a variation of the adult uniforms, black pants and fitted shirts, though the shirts were solid gray rather than color blocked like the men’s. Not only was Morgan surprised by their silent efficiency, she was shocked by how young some of them were. “Are these boys members of the crew?” Afraid of insulting Garin she looked at Nazerel for the answer.
“In a manner of speaking,” Zilor replied. “Most are battle born sons who have been discarded by their fathers. It’s the military or a factory. They’re not allowed into battle. If that’s what you’re worried about.”
That was part of it, but she had many other questions. Were they educated? Who took care of them? Were they ever allowed to be children or were they treated like servants? She wisely kept her concerns to herself and focused on the food.
Though none of the dishes looked familiar, many were surprisingly tasty. There was an ornate knife and a combo utensil that looked like a fancy spork. Short prongs extended from the end of the spoon, which was turned sideways for use. Nazerel warned her each time something was particularly spicy. Zilor kept the conversation moving, which allowed her a few minutes to look at the brothers more closely. Their coloring and sculpted physics were similar, but that was true with every man she’d seen on board this ship. Garin’s eyes were ringed in blue, while Zilor’s were silver. And now that she could see them side by side, Zilor’s features were much more angular, more exotic. Garin’s jawline was imperiously square, yet his cheekbones weren’t nearly as sharp.
“You’ve barely touched your food,” Garin pointed out. “If our fare doesn’t agree with you, I can have them bring whatever you like.”
“No. This is delicious. I’m just distracted.” She speared a piece of some sort of meat with the eating utensil, but the bite didn’t make it to her mouth.
“Females are frequently distracted by Zilor’s pretty face, but you’ve been staring at me as well. Tell me why.”
It wasn’t a request. She set down her spork. Nazerel reached over and lightly squeezed her leg, the warning unmistakable. “I didn’t mean to offend. I’m curious by nature and it frequently gets me into trouble.”
One of Garin’s dark brows arched and his tense expression softened. “What were you wondering? I’m not easily offended.”
Nazerel squeezed again. Apparently, he disagreed.
Entertained by the undercurrent, Morgan chose honesty over caution. “There’s a resemblance between you and Zilor, yet not as much as I’d first thought. I was wondering if you shared both parents.”
All of a sudden Zilor looked extremely uncomfortable. Garin must have assured him telepathically. After a tense nod in the general’s direction, Zilor relaxed.
“The specifics of family connections are considered quite personal,” Garin explained. “You’re foreign, so I’ll make an exception. But in the future avoid such questions.”
“I apologize.”
“We were born to the same father of different females,” Garin told her.
“Garin was born to Father’s morautu, his chosen mate,” Zilor clarified. “Both Bandar and I were born to war brides.” His brow creased and he glanced at Nazerel before asking, “Do you know what that means?”
“I do. You and Bandar are battle born.” Her reply eased the tension twisting through the room, so she let the topic drop. Zilor had said brides plural, which indicated that he and Bandar had different mothers as well. She’d ask Nazerel later if her assumption was correct rather than continue the awkward conversation. “Thank you for indulging me. I really didn’t mean to insult you.”
So morautu meant chosen mate. Nazerel was right. She wasn’t ready to think about all that might mean if she explored the concept.
They lapsed into silence as the boys cleared the table of everything but their glasses. Soon only the drink steward remained. Garin relaxed against the back of his chair and placed his hands on the padded armrests. He looked like an indolent king presiding over his court and finally his assessing gaze shifted to Nazerel. “So, what finally lured you away from the tender mercies of Ontariese?” No one could have missed the sarcasm in his tone. “I’d just about given up on ever having you among the members of my crew.” A rhythmic tone drew Garin’s attention toward the door. “You’re late.”
“It was unavoidable.” The would-be visitor sounded even more impatient than Garin.
“Admission authorized.”
The door slid open and Bandar stalked into the room. At least Morgan presumed the man was Bandar. He had the same dark, wavy hair as Zilor though his had been pulled back and bound at the nape of his neck. His firm jaw and square chin were nearly identical to Garin’s, but Bandar’s eyes were ringed in gold, the effect mesmerizing.
“Quadrant leader Lizten has finally seen the error of…” Bandar’s gaze landed on Morgan and his steps slowed considerable. He skirted the table and sat beside Zilor, but he never completed his thought.
“Morgan meet my brother Bandar. Bandar this is Morgan Hoyt. She arrived with Nazerel.” Garin paused for a drink before he looked at Bandar. “Update me later. We don’t need to bore our guests with business.”
Guests? Everyone was being polite and attentive, which only made their hypocrisy even more frustrating. This wasn’t a social call. She was Nazerel’s prisoner!
The drink steward placed a glass of g’haut in front of Bandar then hurried back to his station. Garin didn’t ask his brother if he wanted anything to eat. Apparently, if someone was late for dinner on this ship, he went without.
“Nazerel was just about to update us on the developments since our last correspondence.” He motioned toward Nazerel then resumed his relaxed pose. “Proceed.”
Morgan sat silently steaming. Garin’s politeness had made it obvious from the start that he wouldn’t help her, but referring to her as a guest brought her frustration back to the surface. Enlisting the general’s assistance had been the only reason she’d gone along with any of this. She was tempted to stand up and storm from the room, if the door would open and if she could find her way back to Nazerel’s quarters. All the ifs kept her from indulging the impulse.
“I’m glad you’re here, Bandar.” Nazerel offered his cousin a quick smile. “This concerns all of us. In fact it concerns almost every man on this ship.” He pulled in a deep breath before he began the explanation. “Shadow Assassins and battle born sons face the same long-term challenges. We’re both considered inferior and are treated with distain by the societies responsible for our existence.”
“I don’t have all night, Nazerel. Get to the point. Did the bitch succeed or not?”
Dread spread through Morgan with paralyzing force.
“According to Flynn much was accomplished in the past few weeks. Unfortunately, I recently learned that Flynn was a less reliable source than I’d first presumed.” Nazerel shot her a sidelong glance, the brief connection filled with meaning.
“Why do you doubt what Flynn told you?” Zilor had seemed easygoing, almost playful since Morgan met him, but he was all business now.
“He was working with the Mystic Militia.”
Suddenly everything snapped into place. Nazerel had never been a helpless victim of circumstance. He was General Nox’s spy. Significance pressed her back into her chair. When Garin spoke of correspondence, he’d meant frequent and ongoing. Nazerel had kept his powerful cousin informed about everything that transpired on Earth. But why? Was this a roundabout way for Quinton to find out what Sevrin was doing or was this arrangement independent from the royals?
She wanted to grill Nazerel with questions and clearly demonstrate her indignation, but she remained silent and still, watching, listening for all the inferences woven through their words.
“According to Flynn, Sevrin’s team succeeded in transferring Shadow Assassin abilities into several female hosts. All of the females were human, but many didn’t survive the transformation. Technically her experiments were successful, but I believe the risks outweigh the gains. We need to focus our efforts in a different direction.”
Morgan’s fingernails bit into her palms. He spoke so dismissively, as if the victims were no more important than cultures in a petri dish. She’d sweat and bled in her efforts to end Sevrin’s evil and he checked it off like any other item on an agenda.
“The alternative I’m about to suggest is safer, easier and much more reliable.”
“Were you able to secure a copy of Sevrin’s research?” Garin asked. “Even if we don’t pursue that avenue, much can be learned from her progress.”
“‘Pursue that avenue’?” Morgan’s control snapped. Pretending she was a willing guest was one thing. She was not going to sit here like a good little girl and listen to this. Rather than attack Garin directly, she turned nearly sideways in her chair and went after Nazerel. “You told me you were trying to stop Sevrin. You claimed you only allowed the murders to go on so you could find her lab and shut her down. What the hell is this?”
“Is she necessary for this conversation?” Garin’s voice cracked like a whip and Moran risked a quick look at him. He sat forward in his chair, hands flat on the table, gaze cold yet blazing. This was General Nox, not cousin Garin.
“Actually, she is,” Nazerel insisted. “Flynn has been compromised, so I need her to confirm any information given to us by him. That includes the final cache of data he sold me right before I left Earth.”
“I’m not going to tell you anything,” she sneered, not caring how disrespectful she sounded. “You dragged me here in chains. There is no way in hell I’m cooperating with any of you.”
“Your cooperation isn’t required.” Nazerel’s Rodyte heritage took over his personality whenever he was surrounded by other Rodytes. “I can access the information in your mind without your permission. It’s less painful and much less damaging if you allow the scan, but I can force my way into your mind.”
“This is your ‘insurance policy’, isn’t it? You sold out every female on Earth so you didn’t have to spend five years in an Ontarian detention center.” She pushed back her chair and stood, glaring down at Nazerel. “You’re worse than Sevrin. At least she came at us head-on. You’re deceitful and duplicitous. Worse, you’re a coward!”
Nazerel stood, the motion slow and menacing. He grabbed her upper arm then looked at Garin. “I’ll return momentarily.”
“That’s fine, but she remains in your quarters until you’ve claimed her. I will not have a rebellious female inciting the crew. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m serious, Nazerel. If you don’t take care of this problem, I will give her to someone strong enough to tame her.”
“I understand.”
Chapter Nine
No sooner had the door to Nazerel’s quarter’s closed behind them than Morgan flew at him. Unencumbered by restraints for the first time in days, she kicked and punched with remarkable strength and agility—for a human. Nazerel did little more than deflect her blows and avoid her kicks, hoping she would tire herself out. But she kept on. Calling him vile names and shouting accusations that were mostly true, at least from her perspective.
Finally tired of her tantrum, he caught her wrist and spun her around then jerked her tight against him, her back to his chest. “Calm. Down.” He wrapped her tightly in his arms, ever mindful of her head. He didn’t care if she slammed back into his chest, but one lucky impact with his chin could render him unconscious. “My intention is to negotiate with your planet not steal their females.”
“I don’t believe you.” Her voice was muffled and tight as if she forced the words out between clenched teeth.
“It doesn’t matter what you believe. Like it or not, this situation is beyond your control.” Oh she didn’t like that at all. She arched and twisted, then stomped on his foot. Her soft-soled flats were no match for his boots, so the attempt was merely annoying.
“Let go of me.”
He wasn’t fooled by her calm tone. She was still furious. “Do you know about the deal Pern made with the fifteen elite families?”
She heaved an exaggerated sigh as she wiggled one of her arms free. “That was thirty years ago and Pern is dead. What difference does it make now?”
“I’ll explain, but I need to know if what you believe is anything close to the truth.” She dug her fingernails into his wrist and tugged one of his arms away from her body. Needing to gage her reactions to his information, he allowed her to escape his embrace and turn around. “What were you told about those events?”
“The fifteen most powerful families on Rodymia funded Pern’s last trip to Earth, so he promised them first pick of the empowered females.”
“There were other stipulations, but that’s the gist of it. Garin Nox is one of the men who was promised an empowered bride.”
“Good for him. What does that have to do with anything?”
Nazerel tensed. Garin was right. Morgan’s defiance was out of control. He’d been so enamored with her beauty and fiery personality that he’d allowed her belligerence. Most Rodyte males craved a spirted mate, but Morgan wasn’t just spirited, she was disrespectful and rude. Like it or not, he needed to tame her and his leniency so far would make the process even more challenging.
His purpose for returning to Rodymia, however, must take precedence over his personal affairs. “During Pern’s reign, the Nox family was the most powerful family on Rodymia. They’re still rich and influential, but Quinton doesn’t trust them. He will always see them as his brother’s henchmen regardless of their actions over the past fifteen years.”
“I’m still not seeing a connection.” Her defiance had eased somewhat. Now she merely sounded impatient.
“Sevrin assured the elite families that she would uphold the conditions of her father’s contract with them. Garin, and the others, only want what they were promised but Sevrin kept putting them off.”
“They were promised the victims of Sevrin’s experiments. If it weren’t for the elite families’ money, Pern wouldn’t have been able to continue his research. You speak of these events as if they were harmless medical procedures. They weren’t. People died and the elite families are partially to blame.”
“I’m well aware of the victims. Many Shadow Assassins died too. Garin never would have made the deal with Pern, and his primary motivation for demanding his bride is to protect her from abuse.”
“What about the other fourteen? Who will protect th
em?”
“He will.”
Morgan laughed, the sound humorless and bitter. “And you gave him Sevrin’s research for the same reason? To protect human females? Garin Nox must be the most philanthropic general the universe has ever known.”
“I haven’t given him anything and I’m not sure I will. Information is a form of power. The data is part of a much larger negotiation. I’m not sure when, how or if I’ll use it.”
“I don’t believe you.” She was shaking with suppressed rage, ready to explode into another fit of violence. Part of him wanted to encourage the reaction. She obviously needed the release and a period of vulnerability often followed such bursts of energy. He could use that openness to begin her training. It would allow him beyond her emotional barriers and—no. He was through manipulating her. Their battle of wills would be a fair fight and now was not the time to begin such a lengthy confrontation.
“This conversation is pointless. You need to calm down.” He turned and headed for the door. One of her shoes thunked against the wall slightly to his left. The second one smacked the middle of his back half a second later. He started to turn around. Maybe he had time after all.
But the Nox brothers were waiting and the Shadow Assassins depended on him. He wasn’t here to claim a mate. He was here to secure a future for his people. With a frustrated sigh, he hurried from the cabin without even looking back. She was too angry to listen to reason right now. She needed to calm down before he had any hope of making her understand.
He hurried back to Garin’s quarters, knowing the general wouldn’t wait indefinitely. The three brothers had moved to the sitting area, but they appeared relaxed and attentive.
“Sorry about the outburst. Morgan can be volatile.” He crossed the room and chose a chair that allowed him to see the others without craning his neck.
“Fiery females have always intrigued me,” Bandar said with a distant smile. “Do you intend to claim her or is she open to suitors?”
“I intend to claim her, likely tonight.” All Bandar had done was pose a simple question and still Nazerel wanted to strangle him. It was never good to be so distracted by anything.
Rebel Heat Page 16
