“Perhaps something can be arranged for you. If the bed was bigger, then you would not have to hold me while you sleep just to keep me from falling out,” she said.
“Yes, holding you all night is very inconvenient,” Chiang agreed dryly, wrapping her even closer as he tucked the covers around them both. She fell almost instantly asleep again and began snoring softly, the pain relievers working their magic on her quickly.
When Chiang eased his grip, a sleeping Boca rolled a little away before scooting back close again without even waking up. Whether it was for warmth, or comfort, or to help her be brave when she needed to be, it was always physically obvious to him how much she needed him.
For someone who could count the number of times on one hand that he had ever wept in his entire life, Chiang had the bizarre urge to shed tears just because the prickly Sumerian had accepted his presence so easily when he had returned from the jaunt to Medical. “What in the raging fires of Helios are you doing to me, Boca?”
But asking the question out loud didn’t gain him any answers. The female in question slept on while he watched her in the dark, stroking her through her hair.
***
While others were retiring for their sleep cycle, there was a lively discussion still going on the captain’s quarters. Ania hoped the raised voices weren’t carrying beyond the doors.
“No,” Synar denied firmly, his jaw set and his gaze uncompromising. “You cannot have the amulet. At least not yet.”
“Why not?” Rena demanded. “The amulet was meant for the Demon Zorinda. It was never meant to belong to you.”
“Perhaps its original purpose was for what you say, but your demon is powering my new lieutenant at the moment. I still have need of an expert tracker,” Synar said. “And I have other reasons for declining.”
“But you have no right to decline, Liam Synar. The amulet is not yours. I could easily take it from you if I wanted,” Rena said.
“If that were true, you’d have already done so.”
Synar stared hard as he held the angry female’s gaze. His intimidating mate wasn’t arguing one way or the other. That fact, along with the one in his gut about being right, left him fairly confident that he was acting appropriately.
“Emissary, if you follow that angry glare with any aggressive action toward Liam, I swear by the Creators that I will restrain you for the entire sleep cycle,” Ania said. Her gaze softened only as it swung to Liam’s, which was approving even though his mouth was grim.
“I agree about needing a tracker because of the Lotharius mission. I don’t want to lose Boca or Chiang on that horrid planet and not be able to find them. What are your other reasons, Liam?” Ania asked quietly, hoping a soft tone would aid her in defusing the hard feelings between the emissary and her mate.
“My reasons for declining should be quite obvious to you after what we went through,” Synar said slowly. “Seta Trax, or what is left of her, has a right to know her fate and what she carries inside her—every bit as much as you once told me you did.”
From the place Ania had perched on their sleeping platform, she now stood and paced slowly to the door and back as she considered his words.
“I was assuming that since the entity in Rena Trax is an emissary of the Creators, that her will in the matter reflects their will,” Ania explained, thoughtful as she realized her potential error. “Perhaps that is not truth, since they aided me to defeat her. In fact, I am considering now that the emissary’s thoughts might be incorrect about many things.”
Synar nodded. “The mission on Lotharius is dangerous. Our crew will be going into the hostile situation with very little backup until the high ambassador’s daughter is located. If Chiang and Boca are captured, an experienced tracker with a demon’s power might become invaluable to a second wave rescue team.”
“Yes, but Lieutenant Trax does not know she is more than just a Peace Alliance officer,” Ania said, risking a smile.
“Is your comment a test? You know I have learned that life lesson well. We have to tell Seta Trax about her fate. The only debate is whether to do it before or after the mission,” Synar answered, pleased at Ania’s nod of understanding.
“But what if Seta wants to continue living when she finds out?” Rena demanded. “I have intentionally kept her unaware of the demon that powers her, and from having to make that decision. Her fate was to die on her home planet. I am aware her fate was not to be a demon host. No demons have been on her planet in centuries.”
“Until you brought one there and put it in her,” Synar pointed out. “How can that not be Seta’s fate? You are the instigator of her specific destiny to do so.”
“You don’t understand the wider significance, Captain Synar. I too am trapped in this body as much as the Demon Zorinda is trapped in Seta’s. But I am NOT Rena Trax. Her spirit returned to the Creators before I even entered this form. I healed the vacant shell and am merely borrowing it until I complete my task.”
Synar shrugged. “You have already intervened in the fate of both sisters and at least one of them still lives because of your actions. Perhaps Rena’s spirit is no more, or perhaps it is restlessly waiting for the physical part of itself to be set free from its corporeality. Many cultures believe the physical must be completely dissolved for the spirit to be completely liberated. So while I see your need for haste, Seta’s corporeal life seems critical to me. My instincts say Seta Trax is meant to live.”
Synar walked to his desk and picked up a rock from his home planet that he kept to remind himself of his roots. Looking back at the emissary, he realized that all anyone would see was a being calling herself Rena Trax, the dual-birth sibling of his lieutenant. For a long time, when he looked at Malachi, all he saw was Conor. Yet lately, the demon’s energy was causing Conor’s body to evolve for the benefit of the creature within it. Couldn’t it be working the same for the emissary?
Synar could see why so many cultures debated such questions. What was really the truth of a being’s existence? Was it spirit? Was it animated flesh? His ship was becoming a veritable proving ground of spiritual quandaries, and those were rarely intellectually understandable. Instead, he found himself forced to lean even more heavily on his instincts, which was what he was compelled to do now.
“I understand your distress and your feeling of being forced to maintain your situation for the sake of my crew. However, coming here was undoubtedly your destiny or it would not have come to pass. My instinct tells me you are now facing the true repercussions of your actions, which happen to include Seta’s service on the Liberator. It is my opinion that you have no choice but to go along with the fact that we require Seta’s aide for the Lotharius mission. I feel sure the Creators will honor your efforts to assist us.”
Rena turned her back to both Synar and Ania. This was not how it was supposed to happen. Synar was not supposed to argue with her or think himself worthy to deny her request. Up to now she had been sparing them. Ania Looren, and her dark power, was certainly not going to have control over the source of her light. She turned back to Synar and lifted her hand, eyes blazing with blue light, only to be shocked when Synar merely arched a chastising eyebrow.
“Did you forget that all your power comes from the same source as that of the rest of us, Emissary? I believe we both now have the Creators’ answer about what is right in this matter,” Synar stated calmly, not surprised to see his mate come to stand by his side, her gaze seeking his for harm. He turned to fully face Ania. “Do you side with the emissary in any of her views?”
Ania shook her head slowly. “No, I do not. However, I am in awe of your fearlessness given her immense power. The Creators intervened for you, Liam.”
“Yes. I am aware of that,” he said gently, puzzled to feel the edges of his mouth quirking over Ania’s shock. “Did you think you and Dorian were the only two spiritual beings on this ship? I assure you I meditate with the Creators frequently, and most typically I do feel heard.”
Ania bowed her
head to her mate. “Forgive my arrogance.”
“I insist you stop being so humble,” Synar ordered, letting his laughter escape when there seemed to be no other choice. “We have a dangerous guest, Ania. Glare at her fiercely so she remains afraid of us both.”
Ania laughed in response and shook back her long, gleaming dark hair that she had finally come to like. “A joke, Liam? I don’t know quite what to think of you in this moment.”
“When the emissary leaves, we will discuss your impressions further,” Synar said, smiling as he bowed his head to the female he adored.
Rena glared at the couple who seemed unconcerned with her irritated state. “Since it seems I am in no position to force you to do as I wish today, I suppose I should collect Seta and retire our hosts for their normal sleep cycle,” she said tightly. “After the mission to Lotharius is completed, I expect to have this discussion again, Liam Synar. Perhaps you need to consider making sure it has a more favorable outcome.”
Synar nodded. “I’m sure the subject will come up. You should prepare an explanation for your actions to give to Seta Trax. Until we get to that crisis point, I will hope your host rests well, Emissary.”
Rena nodded tightly and left, letting Zorinda’s energy signature lead her back in the direction of Medical. The fact that her tracking of the demon was fainter than usual concerned her, but without the Creators’ cooperation, nothing else could be done. She had not felt such interference from them since her early service.
What was she missing? Why didn’t the Creators just tell her their plans?
Frowning, she walked quickly down the hall.
Chapter 9
Gwen inspected the green, red, and black dragon emerging on the arm Malachi held as he wielded his laser marking wand.
“Hold still,” Malachi ordered. “I’m drawing the wings. They are the most challenging.”
Gwen sighed and looked at the man sitting serenely on the table next to hers. “How’s your thingy turning out?”
Dorian chuckled and shook his head. “Do you mean my glyerph? Quite well. Boca is an excellent artist.”
“You should have gotten a dragon,” Gwen said, smiling at the black wings spanned out behind a set of sharp talons about to strike. “My tat is going to look so bitching cool.”
Malachi and Boca both stopped drawing. Dorian turned to his mate as well.
Gwen sighed. When excited, she fell into the language of her youth. “Wonderful. I meant that it’s going to look wonderful. Malachi is an excellent artist too.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Malachi said with grin. “There. How is that? One fierce looking dragon.”
“A glyerph is close to a dragon. It has wings and talons. It is the symbol of my mother’s house. Sarinnea is already going to be upset that I marred my body with a permanent adornment. Rarely does a Siren do such a thing. I am hoping what I have chosen will appease her disappointment a bit,” Dorian explained, watching Boca put the finishing touches on his design.
“Shall I write your mother’s house name in Siren?” Boca asked. “I do not speak the language, but I could probably replicate their symbol system.”
“No,” Dorian replied, smiling at his mate. “Write ‘Gwen’ on its back.”
Gwen walked to Dorian with her sleeve rolled above the still drying ink. “Are you implying I’m a glyerph? What’s your next mate going to think about my name on your arm?”
Dorian didn’t answer, only grinned.
“Don’t smile. I’m truly nothing but flattered you would put my name on you,” Gwen insisted, inspecting a creature that looked like a cross between an eagle and a koala bear to her. “Especially the face. That face is…never mind. My dragon would beat your glyerph in a flat minute.”
“At least my mark is a real creature,” Dorian argued. “Yours is a myth.”
“Dragons are not just a myth,” Gwen corrected. “Dragons are exaggerated symbols of real creatures. And revered. Very revered. On Earth, wearing a dragon tattoo is like walking around asking people to fight.”
“It’s perfect for you then,” Dorian observed. “Thank you, Boca. Very nice work.”
Boca watched them walk off comparing their marks and then turned to Malachi. “Has Chiang been in?”
“He went first, while you were in meditation earlier. All I did was outline the center of his, just like you suggested,” Malachi said. “Ania and Liam went after. That’s all the higher officers. So do me. Then I will do you. Synar chose my symbol, but I am okay with it. It’s under Zade’s.”
Boca swiped the display log full of choices and pulled up the symbol of the Creators, which had Malachi’s name by it. She looked at him with both eyebrows raised. “Really? This is to go on your body?”
Malachi shrugged. “Why not? It’s the truth. I serve the Creators, as we all do.” He walked to her table and climbed up on it. “Let me lie down. I don’t know how you did Zade’s standing on your toes the whole time.”
Boca laughed. “Don’t lie down. I need your arm straight.”
“Not arm,” Malachi said, pulling off his shirt and rolling over. “Shoulder. Make it match Liam’s in size. If Conor ever. . .just do it, okay? I have reasons.”
Boca patted his shoulder, understanding that Malachi still didn’t think of Conor’s form as his own.
“As you wish,” she said softly.
She very carefully drew the outline of the mark, whispering a prayer under her breath as she did so. For a long time, he lay there in silence while she worked on his design. Boca didn’t like it when Malachi wasn’t talking. It made her think something was very wrong.
“Chiang told me about Rena and Seta Trax. He says they are not what they seem,” Boca commented.
Beneath her hand Malachi’s shoulder shook as he snorted and laughed. “That’s an understatement. Seta hosts a demon unaware. Rena hosts something much worse, but is very aware. Neither of the Trax siblings are fully alive, but it is only Rena that is of concern.”
“Really? What creature worries a demon?” Boca asked in surprise, filling in the simple design quickly and watching the ink absorb into Malachi’s skin. Before the last pass of the laser, the rest was dry. “Are you doing that on purpose?”
“Yes,” Malachi answered. “I want to put my shirt back on. It’s cold in here.”
Boca laughed at his complaint but shared his opinion. Medical was one of the coldest areas on the ship. She just hadn’t thought about Malachi being so affected by temperature.
“Okay. I believe you are now sanctified with the mark. Go in peace, Malachi Synar,” Boca pronounced.
“What a sarcastic little doubting Sumerian you are,” Malachi said, tapping her chin. “Now take off your shirt.”
“Nice try to view my body, but no,” Boca said, rolling up her sleeve. “Arm.”
Malachi put his hand over hers on her sleeve. “No—I am compelled to put a design on your shoulder. Please trust me in this, Boca. And you must not ask what the symbol is until you are on your mission. I swear by the Creators it will serve you to have what I give you.”
Boca opened her mouth to protest, but something in his gaze stopped her. “Are you worried for me?”
“Not in the way you think,” Malachi said, removing his hand. “But yes. This symbol is one of great strength. My instincts are saying you need it, and I am compelled. Arguing is a waste of our time. I will do no other.”
Boca considered his words for a few seconds then reached for her tunic bottom, whisking it over her head. She climbed up on the table Malachi had vacated and lay face down on it.
“Thank you for trusting me, Boca dear,” Malachi said with a grin. “Now I need to hurry before Chiang returns. I am sure he would not approve.”
“Of the symbol? Why would he care?” Boca demanded.
“Three hundred years old and two mates. Still, you are so naïve sometimes,” Malachi commented as he laughed. “You’re practically naked with me and can’t imagine why the Greggor might come in growling and s
narling.”
Boca laughed at Malachi’s description of Chiang’s attitude. “He says he doesn’t growl.”
Malachi snorted as he drew the symbol that he’d memorized this morning, just for her. “He makes a sound like a wounded animal when he’s mad or just stressed over something. He’s loudest with you though.”
“Exactly,” Boca said with genuine relief, relaxing under Malachi’s confident strokes. “It’s so good to know I am not the only one who believes this.”
“Greggors have a special sound they use during mating. It’s kind of a keening moan that’s supposed to build arousal to the point of madness in their mates. You might want to consider soundproofing Chiang’s quarters before things get that far between you two. I know how easily embarrassed you are about intimacy,” he said, grinning at her muscles tightening in reaction to his criticism.
“We have been bonding. I have heard no such noise,” Boca admitted tightly.
Malachi snorted. “I’m not sure what you’ve been doing, but I assure you, it is merely preliminaries. As was most of what Chiang has allowed himself to indulge in up to now. I studied Greggor mating because I wanted to make sure you were going to be okay.”
“Cease your worrying. We are merely relieving each other. Nothing else is happening,” Boca declared.
“You need to stop lying to yourself. Sumerians are like Sirens. You need to approach such commitments cautiously. Mating is very different than bonding. Greggors are a bit animalistic in their real claiming. They have a unique method of enforcing their domination. You probably should look this up so you can be prepared,” Malachi advised.
“Your concern is appreciated, but I assure you nothing of that sort is going to pass between me and Chiang. We are of one mind about our resistance to commitment,” Boca said. “He has been honorable in that regard.”
Malachi leaned over the mark on Boca’s shoulder and blew hot breath on it until it completely dried. Then he placed his right hand over the mark and spoke the sacred names of the Creators, sending energy into it to reinforce his request.
The Healer's Kiss: Book Four of the Forced To Serve Series Page 11
