Her Rogue Mates

by Grace Goodwin

  The energy field built to a near crescendo, and I knew transport was imminent as I took aim at another of the red-armed mercenaries. My finger tightened on the trigger, but he was too fast, to agile. He avoided the ion burst and came closer. He shot one of the Prillon warriors who doubled over in pain but didn’t go down.

  “Transport initiated!” the other Prillon yelled at me, and it was the only warning I got before the pain hit. Warping. Twisting agony. Transport technology officially sucked.

  From the ground next to the transport pad, the mercenary who’d been chasing me before sprang up and landed on my legs as I pulled the trigger once with a scream. He had hold of me and wasn’t going to let go.

  He pulled, trying to drag me with him off the pad but Wulf’s huge hand tangled in the back of my uniform and held on tight.

  The fabric of my uniform cut into my flesh as the two massive men pulled me between them. I raised my rifle right at the mercenary’s face, his nose inches from the end of my weapon. I looked down, into his eyes, knew I had to fire again.

  Hesitated as nausea roiled in my belly.

  I didn’t want to do this. When I shot across the field to save my friends? I’d acted on instinct. But this was me. And him. Up close and personal.

  His eyes were brown. Full of intelligence and resignation.

  Bracing myself, I squeezed the trigger.

  Too late.

  Everything disappeared and we were pulled into the nothing in-between of transport.

  Chapter Five

  Blade, Transport Station Zenith, Transport Docks

  The door to the transport area slid open, and it was fucking chaos. The battle station beacon had been blaring for five minutes, the lights in the entire complex turned a muted red. Fully armored warriors rushed by to join teams gathering for transport to the surface, only to be waylaid by orders from Commander Karter himself.

  He was sending in a full contingent from the battleship, and Zenith was to stand down and do its job, acting as a relay station for the long-distance transport of the battle group to the Latiri system.

  Which meant clearing the transport pads. Nothing in. Nothing out. Not until the troops made it to the ground.

  I eased closer to one of the communication crew. He shouted to the officer on deck, who relayed orders to the transport team. It was all very efficient, as if they’d done this a hundred times.

  But they’d never been stranding my mate on a foreign planet before. Never endangered her life with their delays.

  Styx and I had been in our quarters when the alarm came down, and we’d overheard in the hallway that while Zenith itself was safe, the MedRec team on the ground was being attacked. I’d looked to Styx and we hadn’t had to say a word.

  Harper.

  She was part of the group of healers deployed to the latest post-battle mess in the Latiri system. She’d left us, mindless and satisfied as I’d used my mouth and fingers to get her off. Several times. Yeah, she was that quick to arouse. That sensitive to us. And yet she’d left, gone off to do her job. To save lives, not be caught in the thick of a fucking battle. And I still had the taste of her on my tongue, the scent of her clinging to my fingers.

  Our mate was in danger, and there was nothing we could do about it here. It was difficult to work our way to the communication station. First the hallways had been crowded with all the Coalition fighters suiting up for battle and on-site defensive teams staging for potential enemy attack. We’d finally made it to the transport docks only to be shoved aside as transport pads were cleared of supplies and orders given to other stations and planets to delay transport. Everyone had a job to do. Everyone but us.

  While we didn’t have a role to fulfill—we were here meeting Styx’s Coalition contact to acquire weapons and explosives for sale—we had a mate to protect, to save. And the only place to do that was to transport to wherever the fuck Harper was.

  We were fully armed, our armor completely charged and ready to absorb ion blasts. I grabbed the communication officer’s shoulder. “Where is the MedRec team?”

  “Latiri 4. Fifth battle this week,” he answered without turning to see who asked the question.

  My heart felt as if it stopped beating. “Hive? They’re being attacked by Hive?”

  “No, no, no.” He lifted his hand to the comm device covering one ear and ordered another transport station to hold all incoming transports until further notice. Then spared a quick flick of his eyes in my direction. “No. They’re under attack. Unknown enemy. Sounds like scavengers.”

  Styx stiffened beside me, and we made eye contact in silent communication once again. Scavengers? The only fuckers crazy enough to go into the Latiri system would be ours. And since this wasn’t a Styx mission, that meant our mate was probably being attacked by a group of mercenaries from one of the other legions on Rogue 5. Killers. Stone cold killers. Slave traders. Gods damn us all.

  “We will transport there immediately,” Styx ordered, but I was already walking toward the transport pad. We would reach our mate, and everyone else could go to hell. Styx was walking beside me, giving me the space I needed. While he might be the leader of the legion, I was the fighter. He was calm, calculating. He never lost control. I, on the other hand, had a legendary temper. Blade, the rebel. Nothing got in my way, especially when I was fucking pissed.

  Someone was putting my mate’s life in danger, and I didn’t even try to hold myself in check. Styx often joked he thought I wasn’t pure Hyperion at all, that my mother had lied about my lineage, and she’d had a wild romp with an Atlan.

  I felt like I had an inner beast, wild and ruthless, ready to rip off heads to keep Harper safe. My fangs elongated, my cock hardened. My entire body was primed with adrenaline, ready to wreak havoc. And Styx was giving me room to do so.

  As we neared the transport controls, the battle beacon muted, but the red lights persisted. The doors to transport pad 4 opened on our approach to reveal a group of five Coalition fighters, fully decked out in battle armor, preparing to be sent to the site.

  I climbed onto the transport pad behind them, Styx falling in next to me.

  The Prillon warrior on the controls looked up. “Get off the pad. You’re not authorized.”

  Styx’s gaze fixed on the warrior. “My fucking mate is down there. Send us now.”

  Several of the warriors turned to look at us, took our measure, and must have come to the same conclusion because their leader turned to the control panel. “Do it.”

  The Prillon shrugged. “I can’t, sir.”

  “Explain,” the huge Prillon captain demanded. There were four technicians monitoring the controls. Several voices were coming from the speakers around the room, overlapping each other, making it impossible to understand what was happening. Some static only added to my frustration. Nothing was going right, but none of these people had a mate out there in danger.

  The technician was moving his hands, his gaze frantic as he scanned the control. “We’ve got incoming. I can’t override.”

  “Where’s it coming from?”

  “The attack zone, sir. Officer on the ground entered an override code.”

  “Fuck. Clear the pad!” The Prillon captain pulled his helmet off his head and stomped to the controls to see for himself. He was bronze, skin and hair, with fierce yellow eyes. And he was pissed.

  “Contact him,” the Prillon ordered. “Now!”

  The technician did so as we cleared the pad. The sounds of screaming, ion blasters and distant shouting filled the room. Chaos. Battle. I’d heard it enough times.

  “Shit. Me. I’m. Oh, fuck.” A very feminine voice blasted through the speakers, filled with panic, and my entire being stilled.

  Harper’s voice. Styx straightened, his hands clenched into fists the only sign of his inner turmoil. In Styx, that was tantamount to a full on meltdown.

  I could hear her breathing hard, the garbled words. I knew that sound, felt it deep in my bones. Harper was in trouble. A vise gripped around m
y heart, squeezed.

  “Lieutenant Barrett? Report,” the technician replied, no doubt tracking her identity through her Coalition identifier or NPU. When nothing further came from the surface, the Prillon captain took over, his voice booming.

  “Zenith to MedRec Unit 4. This is Captain Vanzar. Report.”

  Her scream pierced the air and everyone stilled.

  “Harper!” I shouted, stepping toward the pad. The fighter group raised their weapons on instinct at my sudden outburst and movement. I felt the sizzle, the thrumming of an incoming transport and a hand on my arm held me back. Styx.

  A second later, Harper shimmered and appeared, sprawled across the pad. She wasn’t alone. An Atlan warrior was a few feet away, bloodied and unconscious. But I didn’t give a damn about him. It was the male who had a firm grip on Harper’s legs I focused on. They were sprawled on the pad as if he’d leaped through the air and grabbed for her, getting his hold on her lower leg, tripping her just before they transported.

  He dug his fingers into her thigh, blood dripping as he snarled at her, using the hold in her flesh to pull her closer. She screamed again, fear written on her face as she pointed an ion rifle squarely in his face. His eyes narrowed and he pulled on her again. She threw her head back in a silent scream, trying to kick him off.

  Why didn’t she fire?

  I saw red. Anger coursed through me, hot and visceral. Harper continued to struggle, to tug at the hold on her leg, her bloody hands trying to find purchase on the smooth metal of the transport pad. Her attacker had the strength to pull her backward, and he reached for her neck, his claws out, a snarl on his face.

  He was a dead man. He knew it. He ignored the group of warriors around him, focused on my mate. On her soft, exposed throat as he pulled her closer. His gaze focused on her pulse like a hungry predator

  I knew that look, the evil intent behind his hold. I saw myself in him. He wasn’t just the enemy, he was also Hyperion. And from Rogue 5. His uniform was identical to mine and Styx’s, unrelenting black except for the thin band of red on his arm. The dark red of Cerberus legion.

  Except—I knew that face.

  “Let me go!” Harper screamed, eyes wild and full of fear. Her hair had fallen from the tie that had held it out of her face less than an hour earlier when she’d left us in the hallway. Her cheeks were marred with dirt and a smear of blood. Her green uniform was torn at one shoulder and at her right knee. And she was covered in blood.

  I leapt up onto the raised dais and ignored Harper. Tending to the attacker meant tending to her. He looked so much like me, silver hair, pale and determined eyes.

  At my approach, he redoubled his efforts, scrambling to get the job done. That’s what Harper was to him, a kill. An order. As he hooked one hand around Harper’s hip and tugged, she fell onto her back with a scream and kicked at him. He was too focused, his intention too finite for the attack on Harper to be random. Perhaps he’d been on the battlefield to eliminate her. At all costs.

  With a growl, I launched myself at him. With his hands occupied with my mate, he had no defense.

  “I want him alive!” Captain Vanzar roared. Too late. One swift twist of his head—one of my hands settled at the back of his neck, the other wrapped around his jaw—I snapped his spine with a sickening crunch before the bellowed order registered. I tossed his corpse away like trash. Forgotten.

  The captain cursed as the body landed on the pad with a thud.

  “Damn it all. Arrest him,” Captain Vanzar ordered, and six ion blasters turned on me. I ignored them, focused only on Harper now.

  “She is my mate,” I growled, and all six lowered their weapons.

  “Fuck.” The Prillon knew I was within my rights to kill the assassin for daring harm her. Every warrior in the room would have done the same. “Check her,” he ordered one of the others.

  I growled a protest as an Atlan neared her and bent close to her head. When he rose to his full height, he looked at his captain and nodded. “She carries his scent.”

  “Fine. Take care of your mate, and get the fuck out of my way.” He stormed to the transport pad, yelling for a medical team.

  Styx tried to grab Harper, but she crawled to the fallen Atlan, shoving Styx’s hands away. “Warlord Wulf needs a ReGen Pod, now. Right now!” She screamed the order at two Prillon warriors standing near the edge of the platform, and they jolted into motion, lifting the huge male between them and hurrying toward an approaching team of medical personnel wearing green.

  Once her patient was taken care of, she turned to Styx for comfort, and I saw my friend, my leader, shudder in relief as he pulled her into his arms. He carried her down the steps and away from any chance of being transported back to the battle accidently.

  “Get us down there. Now!” Captain Vanzar gave the order and his entire unit scrambled onto the transport pad as Styx and I carried Harper farther away.

  Seconds later, they were gone. Harper watched them go, a shudder passing through her. “They’re too late,” she whispered.

  I stood to my full height, clenched my hands into fists, tried to control my breathing. It had been too easy, the Hyperion’s death. I needed to kill him again. And again. Slowly.

  “What happened?” Styx asked. His hands roamed her, searching for injuries. “Are you hurt?”

  Impatient, she shoved his hands away. “No. The blood’s not mine. It’s Wulf’s.” She craned her neck, perhaps looking for him, perhaps simply watching and listening to the transport team and organized chaos of the transport dock.

  “What happened, Harper?” I asked, unable to wait. Afraid to touch her, afraid I’d yank her from Styx’s arms. Frighten her further.

  “There were three of them. Wulf saved me,” Harper said, pushing against Styx’s firm hold. He loosened his arms, but didn’t release her.

  “Three attackers caused all this chaos?” I demanded.

  She shook her head, staring at the now empty platform. “No. There were dozens of them. All wearing those arm bands. They were taking everyone. Taking blasters and all of our gear. Loading the survivors onto their shuttles.” She blinked, now clinging to Styx. It seemed she couldn’t decide if she wanted to push him away or hold him close. “Why would they do that?”

  Dozens? Were they planning to attack Zenith as well? Would more of Cerberus’ legion come after our mate? “Shut down transports,” I said to the technician.

  “I don’t take orders from you, merc. I’ve got a battleship unit ready to transport from the Karter. Injured warriors to be brought here to the med unit. The rest of the MedRec group to evacuate. Get your mate out of here. I’m busy.”

  “Someone tried to kill her—” I bit out the words through clenched teeth. I didn’t break his neck solely because Harper was standing in front of me, safe in Styx’s arms. “This station isn’t safe.” I angled my head to the now vacant transport pad.

  “Blade.” Styx’s voice cut through the haze, and I released the transport technician from my gaze, irritated when his shoulders slumped in relief. I turned to my friend, worried for Harper. “He was from Cerberus.”

  I took a deep breath, let it out. I knew that face. Had seen it on Rogue 5 before. “And?”

  “Harper isn’t safe here. The Coalition can’t protect her. Not from Cerberus.”

  “Cerberus?” she asked, but I didn’t clarify. Now wasn’t the time. This wasn’t the place.

  I narrowed my eyes, glanced at Harper who now clung to Styx as if her life depended on it. She was in shock, although she was exceptional at trying to calm her nerves. The panic had lessened in her eyes and some color had returned to her cheeks.

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” I gritted out, responding to Styx’s statement.

  “We must get her out of here,” he added. “Away from this station. We need to take her home. We need her deep inside Styx territory where no one can reach her.”

  I sighed, let some of the tension leave my body. Styx and I were in complete agreement on this
one. “Fuck, yes.”

  Zenith was under Coalition control. We had no guards here, no one from our legion to offer protection. No one here was loyal to Styx. Here, Coalition rules applied, like keeping the transport pad open to any fucker willing to kill my mate. But within Styx? We ruled. No, we made the rules. We could take care of Harper and this new Cerberus problem. I glanced at the dead Hyperion. The uniform.

  Why was Cerberus here? Scavenging weapons, yes. But taking survivors? And attacking a Coalition MedRec team? That didn’t sound like Cerberus. Their leader kept them focused on covert assignments, high-level assassinations. Thievery. They didn’t traffic slaves, and they did not attack Coalition forces. Moreover, how had they known the MedRec team would be on that planet?

  Nothing added up. And why attack Harper? Why follow her here? What had she seen? What the fuck had happened down there?

  We weren’t going to stay around and find out. More fighters stepped up onto the pad and transported out. They were instantly gone. The injured would come this way next. We weren’t needed. Harper had done her job and almost died for it. She wasn’t going back out there. No fucking way. Someone would have to snap my neck for that to happen and then get through Styx. And I knew enough about protocol here on Zenith to know what she would face next. I definitely wasn’t letting Harper get pulled into hours of questioning with Coalition investigators only to be sent out into the field again. Worse, if we left her here, she’d be vulnerable to any traitor or killer who could make his way onto the station.

  Fuck their rules. She’d served them long enough. She belonged to us now.

  “We need to get her out of here,” Styx repeated. “Now.”

  “What? Where are you taking me?” Harper asked.

  “To Rogue 5, where you’ll be safe,” I told her.

  Her cheek was pressed against Styx’s chest, but she glanced up at me. Frowned.