by Smith, S. E.
How had Penzak put it? It's just me. So much pain tied up in three simple words. Despite herself, she wanted to lessen the burden. Wished for some way to help him move through what she personally knew to be agonizing. She stepped up behind him and put her hand over his shoulder with a reassuring squeeze. "How long ago?"
"Six years," he whispered. His voice was thick, and his throat sounded as though he’d been gargling sand.
She nodded. "Can you talk about it?" That was the worst part. Even though the Forces recognized PTSD as a risk for both man and wolf, there were few things rangers could share with their counselors. Many of the missions were classified, and security clearances didn't grow on trees. Worse, like most high-octane men, rangers tended to avoid therapy as a sign of weakness. Bullshit and stupidity, of course, but then those often went hand in hand for the TJF.
He surprised her by answering. "There was an assassination threat against several high-profile leaders at the summit on Khonsu. Rangers and wolves were on high alert, looking for bombs, guns, whatever. The guy had hacked his fabber to print an Old-Earth-style slugthrower. He’d only get one shot, but that’s all he figured he needed. We should have been checking for that too but hadn’t.” Penzak took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “He pulled his weapon. My wolf jumped to protect me. The bullet tore through his heart, killed him instantly."
She could feel him tremble beneath her hand at the remembered emotion. The wolf hadn’t suffered, and she was thankful for that, but snapping the wolfbond without warning... The loss could leave massive trauma in its wake.
She stroked her hand down his back absently, like petting one of her wolves. Despite her earlier thoughts, there was nothing sexual about it. Just one human comforting another because they both knew how it felt to lose half of their soul.
"There aren't words." Nafisi swallowed. "Nothing anyone says makes it better. And some of the stupid shit people say only makes it worse, but you're supposed to smile and act like you're grateful that they could dispense some nugget of bullshit wisdom that they found on the ’Net somewhere. Truth is, everyone grieves alone. May I ask…" She inclined her head toward the wall and hoped he understood.
"Actaeon." He reached up and tapped the picture on the wall "God damn, but he was a beautiful wolf."
He certainly had been. But that was the double-A litter all over: clever, strong bonders, and big, barrel-chested wolves. In polarized light, their conformation was tremendous. And their skill in training… Yeah, she could see him with a double-A. Wolf and man would have been well matched.
She glanced toward the pen where JJ was sleeping and debated whether or not to tell him. Whether or not the truth would be too cruel.
She voted for honesty. “The double-A's were special all right. We keep gametes from every wolf, just in case there are traits we want to highlight in another generation. We’re already doing the fertilization in-vitro, so it saves time for us. Double-J is a direct line litter from double-A."
Penzak turned to stare at her, and she could read the confusion and uncertainty in his eyes. He worked to piece it together aloud. “So JJ is…"
"Genetically? He's something like Actaeon's grandson."
He looked so stunned. So simultaneously filled with joy and despair, she wasn't sure how to react. Against her better judgment, she went up on her tiptoes and pressed a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth.
It was like he’d been released. She held her breath for a second, then he lowered his lips to hers again. Nothing swift or hurried about it—he explored. Teasing and tasting, as though trying to memorize every reaction he could draw from her. Then, like a ranger who had studied the terrain, he claimed.
Familiar but long-ignored hungers fluttered to life in her belly, and she dragged her fingers through the short hair at the back of his neck. She lost herself in the strength of him, surrounded by the careful circle of his arms. She felt desired for the first time in too many years, and the idea scared her as much as it heated her blood.
One broad hand curved over her backside, grinding her against the evidence that he was equally aroused, and the delicious sense of being crushed against him made her gasp.
Ever the ranger, he took advantage of that too. Shifting from her mouth to the exposed skin of her throat and destroying her control with each clever nip of his teeth or brush of his mouth. His hand skimmed from her hip up her side, and alarm bells went off.
Wait, those were actual alarms. He released her and stepped back, and her skin ached for the lost contact. His amber eyes were alert, darting toward the front of the house. “That’s the perimeter alarms.”
“It’s too soon for another storm.”
“It’s no storm,” he said quietly. “It’s Triptych.”
6
For the first time, Rafe was thankful for the damage losing Actaeon had done to his emotions. Without those scars, he’d be in a panic—worried that he didn’t have the information he needed, worried that he might not be enough to hold off whatever goons had arrived from Triptych until help could arrive. Not that he could be absolutely positive that the crime syndicate was on Secundus. But given the lack of large predators, someone had to have tripped the perimeter alerts, and they were the most likely party.
Also, if he was honest, they were the worst possibility. If being a soldier had taught him anything, it was to always prepare for the worst. Murphy’s Law loved soldiers, and never strayed far from their side.
He moved to his ditty bag and pulled out the near-black ODUs he’d brought with him. Every item seemed ready. Nothing out of place, just as he’d packed it. Even though time was important, he had to go through the checklist. The one time he hadn’t…
The memory of Actaeon’s death burned in his throat with fresh grief, and he fought against the urge to find his picture on the wall again. He already did too much to comfort himself. He finished checking his gear for ops, then barked out, "Shut off external lights. Close the storm shutters. Like you're holding up against a storm."
"What? So you can go out there and sacrifice yourself?" Nafisi took a step toward him.
"I'm not sacrificing anything. But until we know how many people we’re up against, I’m not going to be able to plan efficiently." He stripped off his shirt, ignoring the tug of his stitches, and pulled on a clean black undershirt. His dispersion mesh went on next—it wouldn't be perfect against a plasmacaster, but anything was better than being nothing. He buttoned up his ODUs over the mesh vest. "I'll be back. Just make sure the wolves are safe. And yourself."
She didn't look like she believed him, but she accepted his quick kiss before he slipped out the door. As goodbyes went, he’d had worse. Maybe, when this was over, he'd find a way to make it up to her. Or maybe he’d do the smart thing and disappear from her life.
Outside, he bypassed the old ranch-runner that was parked under a small roof next to the house. He’d be slower on foot, but chances were whoever was on the planet would be scanning for vehicles. If his experience with Triptych’s factions had taught him anything, it was that they tended to let ego get the better of them. One person on foot wouldn’t be a threat, so they wouldn’t even be looking for him. He broke into a jog and headed toward the break in the perimeter.
Triptych was the closest the TriSystem Joint Forces came to having an actual nemesis. Clever, violent, and with their hand in most if not all categories of illicit activity, the crime syndicate had engaged with the TJF for the better part of two decades. While the TJF were more military than police force, they were responsible for fighting interplanetary crime, piracy, and trafficking. All areas where Triptych’s cells operated frequently.
On the plus side, cells mostly operated independently. Rivalries between the lower-level lieutenants could be fierce, especially as they competed to win favor with the syndicate’s mysterious leaders. With luck, that meant only one cell knew where the wolves were being raised. If several cells were cooperating, that meant very bad news indeed.
Rafe turned
on the light-amplification on his helmet as he jogged. The perpetual night meant that he wouldn’t get much light going forward, but at least the lowlight systems took his view from pitch-black to twilight. More than enough to avoid the worst of Secundus’s pitfalls while he ran.
He slowed down as he approached the site where the alarm had been triggered, and clambered up onto some nearby rocks. In the low light, he couldn’t get much magnification, but he also didn’t need it.
A Percheron-class heavy transport sat on its six stubby landing struts, forward ramp open. He couldn’t fault their choice—though they were officially retired from service, the Percy’s reliability kept them in circulation with a number of independent operators and mercenary units throughout the three systems. The large cargo area, configurable hardpoints, and above-average speed in-system for their size also made them popular with well-funded, well-equipped pirates.
Fortunately, like him, they’d found landing on Secundus to be difficult without using their underside floods. He could see eight people milling about in the effort to secure their landing zone, which meant he could expect they’d brought the ship’s full crew of sixteen, and maybe a few more. Not the best odds for the ranch, if they made a serious assault.
At least there was no question about their affiliation—every one of the thugs he'd seen wore a red scarf somewhere on their person, proudly displaying Triptych’s triform skull logo.
As of yet, the raiders hadn't moved outside the safe circle of their lights. Rafe hoped against fate that meant they weren't sure they had the right place. It would be hard to pick the energy signature of the ranch out from the natural fluctuations of the planet. As a result, they might decide they had false intel and beat a hasty retreat.
So long as he didn’t tip his hand and let them know they had the right place, everything might end up okay.
The low-pitched whine of a slow-moving hoverbike reverberated through the rocks and tightened Rafe’s throat with fear. He risked a glance over his shoulder and saw Nafisi cruising toward a different ridge on the beat-up ranch-runner he’d left behind. Worse, he wasn't the only one who’d heard it. In the ship’s floodlights, he could already see the pirates organizing a pair of squads to cut her off.
He fought to keep his breath steady. Idiot woman. She was going to get herself killed. Why couldn't she have laid low like he’d asked?
He eased himself down from the rocks and quietly moved to intercept. With the floods around the bottom of the ship, the pirates would be partially light-blind in the darkness beyond. He had to hope that would work to his advantage.
The sound of plasma fire changed his slow sneak to a full-out run. His senses went into overdrive—eyes scanning the ground, ears tuned for any additional clue. A laugh. A cry of alarm. Anything that might let him know what to expect. His stomach clenched against the adrenaline flooding his system. Another shot sounded, and this time he couldn't miss Nafisi's yelp of pain.
He rounded the rocks almost on top of one of Triptych’s goons. Rafe's sidearm was in his hand and firing before he could even think. Three plasma bolts hit the man’s center of mass and dropped him. Part of him knew he should have stuck with his combat blade, kept silence and surprise on his side, but his primary focus was getting to Nafisi as quickly as possible.
The sharp report of the plas-pistol sent the other goons diving for cover. Rafe squeezed off another shot at the rocks to keep their heads down as he ran up. Nafisi writhed on the ground, one arm hanging useless and her shoulder blackened by plasma fire. Rage filled the space where worry had been, and he fired off another set of shots before lifting her onto the back of the runner.
One of the goons got bold, stepping out to line up a shot while Rafe’s arms were full, and was shot dead for the trouble. The violence sent another thug ducking back for safety, scurrying like the cockroach he was.
Rafe jumped on the bike, hand resting on Nafisi’s back as he fired the remainder of his clip into the rocks. "You'll be okay, baby. Just let me get us out of here." He spun the bike on its lev-cushion and ripped on the throttle with a twist of his wrist.
"Didn’t want you in danger," she said. "In case you needed backup. Damn that hurts." She winced as the runner hit a bump.
"Sorry. This isn’t the smoothest ride on the planet." He couldn’t stop touching her, wanting to assure himself she was alive, to let her know they’d be okay. That somehow it would all work out.
He just wished he could believe himself.
7
"Your bedside manner is shit." Nafisi winced and tried to pull away from whatever the hell Penzak was doing to her shoulder, but rolling onto the surface of the exam table only made it hurt worse. She squinted against the surgery light he’d powered up. "Did you even bother to use anesthesia?"
He glared at her, lips a tight line that all but drove away the memory of their kiss. "You're welcome.” He stabbed his fingers through his hair in frustration. “What the hell were you doing? I told you to stay here."
"And I told you I wasn't going to let you go out by yourself." Any time she thought she’d seen every bullshit, macho stunt from the rangers, they came running to prove her wrong. Sure, he had combat training, but that was with a wolf—and his was already dead. She and Gener had built this farm with their own hands. No way in hell she wasn't going to be part of the fight to protect it. If Bighands McPerfectkiss refused to understand that, he could piss right off with the Triptych goons he’d led here. He reached for her again, and she slapped his hands away. "Let me take care of this myself. Trust me when I say you’re a better engineer."
The barb stung; she saw it flash in his face a moment before he reasserted control. “They don’t know about the communications relay. That’s to our advantage—if we can hail the Hunting Cry, there’s a fireteam handling an issue on Hodur who could get here in thirty hours if we can hold out. So long as Triptych doesn’t realize it's just us, they won’t make a major push. We should have no problem keeping them at bay until backup arrives."
He sounded so damn sure of himself. So like a ranger. "That’s not especially reassuring. After all, there’s at least eight of them.”
“More like twenty.”
“Remember what I said about your bedside manner? Still shit.” She stood up and began rifling through the med bay’s cabinets with one hand. “So we’re outnumbered ten-to-one.”
“Yes, but they've come for the wolves. If these raiders are smart, they’ll want to take one or more wolves back with them. Both to prove to the Triumvirate that they found us, and to have a wolf of their own."
"Wolves won't bond with them. They’re scum." Bile filled her throat at the thought. She wanted to slap Penzak for even suggesting such a thing. She grabbed the SkinSeal out of the cabinet and looked at her arm, but it was more damage than the glue would be able to fix. The wound was deep and, like all plasma wounds, badly burned. The third-degree burns brought nerve and muscle damage that, if she was lucky, might regrow in the future, but for the short-term her arm would be out of commission. The realization didn't improve her mood.
Penzak stepped closer. "It's a bad wound, but I've seen worse."
"Yeah? Well I haven't. I'm not the soldier here, you are." She grabbed a can of spray anesthesia out of one of the cabinets and applied it heavily to the open wound. After the pain had lessened, she stepped to the mirror and examined herself. He was right, the injury certainly wasn't good. But it was clean, and that meant it should heal. She didn't have access to KnitFast or any of the regenerative drugs that might speed healing. When the time came though, she did have some grade-A painkillers for the wolves. If things got too rough, she could always fall back on that.
"Triptych doesn’t need to bond with the wolves in order to use them as a weapon. Any animal can turn vicious if you abuse it enough. Not to mention the psychological advantage it would give them against rangers." Penzak's hollow voice sounded more traumatized, if that were possible.
She understood his feelings on that. The idea
of someone torturing her beautiful animals filled her with a motherly rage that boiled in her blood. She was going to hurt these bastards. Badly. "They're going to come to the ranch."
"It seems likely."
"Then let them." She wrapped sterile cloth around the wound and then covered it with a thin sheet of waterproof dressing tape. At least plasma fire cauterized wounds instantly. She wouldn't have bleeding to worry about, just dressing changes as it started to seep and heal. After fastening a sling around her neck and tucking her arm into it, she looked at Penzak. "Give me your sidearm."
"No way in hell." He stormed closer to her, and she fought her instinct to recoil from his size. "This isn't your fight. Let me protect you."
This time she did hit him, for all the good it did. Her fist bounced off his chest like the wall it resembled. "You macho asshole! Whose fight do you think it is, exactly?” She shoved past him and crossed out of his reach. “I can't fire my rifle one-handed. But I can use a pistol. The rifle is plenty good for you." Had he not been paying attention? Did he really think so little of her abilities? She had run this ranch just fine without the rangers help for half a decade. And now because of their screwup, they thought that she would sit on the sideline and not get involved? She'd sooner throw Triptych and the rangers off her planet. She glared at him. "It's that, or you knock me out."
He hesitated, and for a heartbeat or two she worried that he might actually try to render her unconscious. She had a tranq gun in the cabinet behind him if he bothered to look. They never used it, but Gener had insisted, in case one of the wolves went feral. After a terse moment that had her pulse thumping in her ears, Penzak relented. He pulled out his pistol and handed it to her, but first. "Do you know how to use one of these?"
"Gener and I believed in being prepared, but please keep assuming I’m helpless. I can probably outshoot you." She'd show off, but chances were he hadn't brought much extra ammunition, and what they had they'd want to save. Instead she thumbed out the cartridge and dropped the power cell to the floor. “Fresh.”
