Chapter Two
Joyzal eyed the schematics of the slave ship projected on the holo-map in front of him. He’d accepted this mission from the Bounty Hunter Guild a moon cycle ago and stalked these assholes off and on ever since, waiting patiently for the perfect opportunity to attack. Patience was the number one personality trait required of a Bounty Hunter.
The warrior who waited reaped the most rewards.
He’d followed as the ship had landed on obscure planets, taking victims one by one, waiting to attack and grab his target because Krillian pirates never worked alone; they traveled in armadas of at least twenty ships. Today the ship carrying his target, Groogan Mar, the captain of the deadliest of the pirate ships, was in perfect position. It had peeled off from the main group and changed course. For the first time since Joyzal had been watching his prey, the ship that carried his target was now isolated, alone, without backup.
He tilted his head, examining the holo-map closely, touching parts to expand and zoom in for a closer look. “Here,” he said out loud. “This is the perfect entry point.” His own ship was cloaked in the latest Xylan slip drive technology. The pirates had no idea he was moving next to them, synchronizing with their velocity and latching on to the side of their ship. This was why he was the best, the number one Bounty Hunter in the four sectors. He was patient, but he also never went on a mission without a tight plan, thought out to the nearest nanco.
A chime began sounding at intervals, announcing the arrival of a vid message. Joyzal frowned. Fuck. This was bad timing.
“Incoming message from Melachine of Eighteen,” the computer informed him. “Do you accept?”
Joyzal cursed. His mother was the master of bad timing. “Yes,” he bit out, and continued working. He had to execute his carefully arranged boarding plan. There was no time to waste, even for Melachine. “I accept the message.”
The vid blinked to life in front of him. The familiar features of a mature female Xylan with royal pigment and noble bearing formed on the screen. “My son, I need you to return home immediately,” she declared.
Joyzal snorted as he moved to the other side of the bridge. “I’m in the middle of a mission,” he answered absently, his claws busy, still working the controls of the ship. There was a slight bump as he rode alongside the slave ship and attached the locking mechanism. This was his favorite part of boarding and capturing a target—the element of surprise. He’d arrived alongside the pirate ship, shields up, invisible to them, a silent predator ready to take down his prey. He grinned. They’d never know what hit them.
Her lips thinned. “Joyzal, this is of highest importance. I was able to convince the manager of the line of Claxa to introduce their youngest daughter to you to determine mating compatibility.”
He growled and slammed a fist into the wall as he walked away from the console. “By the gods!” he roared. “I’ve told you not to do this anymore.” He strode off the bridge and into his quarters. He glared at the vid screen, which had followed him and reappeared at his new location on the wall next to his bunk. “Why do you continue to set up mating compatibility tests for me?” he told his mother. “I told you to stop. I am done with these charades.”
She lifted her chin and met his gaze through the screen. “I want you to be happy. The only way for this to happen is for you to find your Bride. I will fight for your happiness until my last breath.”
He jerked open the Cabul, the tall cabinet all Xylans used to hold their most precious ceremonial tools and weapons. He pulled out his personal blade for closer-quarter fighting and slipped it into the holster at his hip. “You continue this because you want second-generation offspring to nurture.”
She smiled. “That too.”
He glanced again at her image but did not return her smile. Melachine’s biological offspring and mate were lost to her. Joyzal had assumed responsibility as her champion rotations ago and had gladly taken on the role of her adopted son. They’d grown close. But by the gods, she knew he’d long ago given up the idea that he would find his mate. He was finished with this idiocy. Let young men continue to play this game. He was done. “I am forty rotations, a Margol, and a Bounty Hunter,” he growled. “What line of good standing on Chronos would offer their daughter for consideration to an older, lighter-skinned warrior who does not live on Chronos?” He slammed the Cabul cabinet door closed. “You know there has to be something wrong with her for her family to offer her to someone of my standing. She must be an embarrassment to them and they’re trying to pawn her off on us. It isn’t worth trying. At my age the chances of finding a Bride are now slim to none. You know I have formally taken my name out of the mating database. It’s over.”
“I know, but Joyzal, this is diff—”
“No, Melachine,” he cut her off. “No,” he emphasized, and took a deep breath. “It is not different. This is the same as all the other times.” All the times he’d let a ray of hope creep into his heart only to have it torn away. Hope that possibly the female standing before him would be the one who was his life mate, his Bride, the female who would bear his offspring and start his line. He palmed the door to his room and strode down the hall to the cargo bay. He opened the side portal he’d already aligned to the other ship’s emergency escape hatch. The door slid open, creating a small space, exposing the portal to the pirate ship, which was locked. Joyzal began planting short range detonators on the other door.
The vid screen popped up again near his head. “Joyzal, please try one more time. What if this girl is your Bride?” Melachine urged.
He sighed. “I will not debate this with you. I am in the middle of a mission, and I won’t be returning for a minimum of two moon cycles.”
“Two moon cycles?” she exclaimed. “They won’t wait that long.”
He went around the corner to take cover.
“Joyzal? Joyzal, can you hear me? You must listen to me. The line of Claxa is strong. Their older daughters are already mated to high-ranking warriors. Their place in society is secure, and their youngest daughter has sufficient pigment. They won’t mind about your lack of—”
A blast thundered in the compartment.
“What was that?” Melachine gasped. “Are you all right? Joyzal?”
Joyzal eyed the hole he’d created in the side of the other ship, pleased with his work. This, he was good at. Being a Bounty Hunter, chasing down the scum of the universe and taking them in for extradition came naturally to him. He was number one in the Leaderboards, the best Bounty Hunter in the four sectors. The designation at times almost made up for his classification as Margol and his life-long treatment from other Xylan as a lower-status warrior lacking color, and a warrior without a Bride or a line.
Almost.
He turned and met Melachine’s gaze through the vid screen. Her eyes were wide and worried. He paused. “I am unhurt,” he reassured her.
“Joyzal.” The way she croaked his name…breaking with anguish, emotions, and conversations they had no time for at the moment.
“Melachine.” He tried to help her understand. “My life is not lost. I follow the true path of a Xylan warrior. I am a Bounty Hunter who has his claws full with many missions. I am number one on the Leaderboards. I take care of the manager of my line, I work hard, I—”
“But you are not happy,” she gritted, her face hard.
Her words hit him like a spear to the chest. Sometimes she seemed to enjoy sifting and poking at his most vulnerable parts. Why, he never understood. He slammed his palm on the console. “We will continue this conversation when I return,” he clipped. “Computer, discontinue vid.” She opened her mouth to speak, and the screen blacked out, effectively cutting her off.
He stood up and forced his mind back to the mission ahead, strapping on his black Hunter armor and his weapons. He grabbed an extra bag of smoking detonators to toss in the halls once he was inside the other ship. He would deal with his mother later. Finally, he strode around the corner and stepped through the demolished portal
to capture the captain of the slave ship, his target, THX309.
Jacole leaned forward and glanced through the bars of her cage. The second shift of asshole guards clustered near the entrance to the cargo bay, talking and gesturing. Her heart rate skyrocketed. Her palms were sweaty. Lizard Lady paced the cell, speaking in hissed phrases, her clawed hands clenching and unclenching, eyes blazing.
It was strange, but waiting to be attacked by evil space pirates bent on gang rape seemed to take an eternity. She felt like shouting at them, “Get the fuck over here! Let’s get this party started already!”
Jacole and her cellmate were as ready as they were going to be. Lizard Lady had hissed a message to Bird Lady. The other women in the cargo bay were poised for action. These assholes weren’t going to know what hit them.
Finally, the guards strutted over, evil intent gleaming in their alien eyes.
Oh shit.
Lizard Lady met her gaze and gestured. Jacole nodded and assumed her position, the shank she’d created hidden in her hand. Lizard Lady took the opposite side of the cage. The lock clicked open. Up close, the guards were even more ferocious than she’d thought. Most were purple aliens, and they were all at least six feet five with wiry muscles that strengthened their thin forms. Their heads were large and hairless. Their round eyes glowed a demonic silver. Her heart beat in her ears like a drum. She licked her lips. This was it. Now or never.
A thundering blast rocked the ship.
The deck tilted. Jacole shrieked and fell against the bars of the cage. Shit, that hurt. She looked around and saw the guards were mobilized, snarling at each other, weapons out.
What the hell had happened?
The door to her cage was left wide open. Jacole stumbled out. She coughed through the haze. It was hard to see; there was smoke everywhere. But there was one guard, already down and sprawled on the floor. The mechanism for unlocking the doors to the cages, a metal “key” that beeped the lock open when tapped against the door, was next to the guard’s open hand. She bent down and picked it up. Lizard Lady hissed and gestured with an open claw. Jacole tossed her the key, and her new friend got to work. She watched Lizard Lady’s green form blink in and out of the fog quickly unlocking the cages, freeing the other prisoners.
Jacole paused. She was about to grab the guard’s weapon when she heard something. The distinct, heavy pounding of a single set of footsteps. Despite the sirens blaring, the screaming, the shouting—somehow she heard those footsteps. Or possibly it was a premonition.
Who was that? More space pirates? She glanced around. She needed to hurry and help get weapons and free the females while the guards were distracted… But she took a few steps forward and turned toward the entrance to the cargo bay again. She couldn’t stop staring and waiting.
Couldn’t stop.
Her eyes fixated on the doorway.
And her jaw dropped.
The smoke, which held a hint of flashing purple, haloed the entrance of a man’s sleek, black form—like a rockstar making an entrance on stage. He was amazingly tall, easily seven feet, and grim as hell. His skin was a golden brown and his hair long and caught in dreads that were tied back from his face. From the neck down he was covered in black, shiny armor, and he held a big, futuristic-looking gun in each clawed hand.
Yes, clawed hands.
Jacole sucked in a breath. Dear God. Who was that? He was fantastic. Right out of a movie. And he had streaks of gray at his temples. Oh wow, she was a sucker for a grown-ass man. She was so done with boys. Men who knew what they wanted and had the experience and balls to back up their decisions… Hot…damn hot.
The rockstar stepped over the debris and strode in like he owned the place. He lifted his weapons and fired at the guards. It was fucking epic.
The crowd of stunned females grouped behind the cages for cover during the gun fight. Jacole continued to stare at Rockstar, who was still returning fire and shooting down guards. She turned and grabbed Lizard Lady by the arm. “Who is that?” she shouted over the firefight and gestured to the enormous guy in black armor. Lizard Lady looked where she pointed, and her eyes widened. She hissed words Jacole couldn’t understand. Lizard Lady leaned over and hissed to Bird Lady, who could apparently understand her, and pointed to the new alien in black. Bird Lady looked over, her eyes round. Jacole noticed other women also stood there in shock, staring at the new alien.
Wow. Who was this guy?
One last guard was holed up behind a row of metal crates. It didn’t take long for Rockstar to dispatch him, too. Now that he’d killed all the guards, he looked around, scanning the area. Jacole held her breath. His eyes skimmed over her and the other females, barely noticing them. They seemed to be as important to him as the cages or the metal crates. Part of the scenery. Apparently satisfied there was no one left to return fire, Rockstar turned on a swift heel and strode out, his blaster pointed up.
When he left, Jacole felt a strange sense of loss. Which was silly, right?
By now the women were forming groups, speaking to each other in murmured tones. Jacole felt a stab of jealousy, wishing she could understand them. She sucked in a deep breath and tried to figure out what to do next. They’d been freed, which was terrific. But who was this new guy who’d come in and annihilated the bad guys? Was this an out-of-the-frying-pan-and-into-the-fire situation? So far the new alien appeared to be ignoring them—he’d swept in, killed the guards, and stormed back on out without a word to any of them. Where was he now? In the bridge? What was he going to do? Did he think he was in charge? Bird Lady and Lizard Lady were talking to each other. Jacole exhaled. Fuck, if only she could talk to them and get some answers.
Because she had so many questions. So. Many.
Jacole made eye contact with Lizard Lady and gestured to the door. Lizard Lady nodded back in agreement. Jacole turned and started out of the cargo bay. Might as well go and figure out what was happening. Standing around here, not being able to talk to anyone wasn’t going to get her anywhere or get any of those women any closer to returning home. She decided to follow Rockstar. He seemed to be where the action was happening.
In the hallway she could hear blaster fire again. She froze and noticed Lizard Lady was behind her, as was Bird Lady. She jerked her chin up at them. The three of them paused, and when she didn’t hear more sounds of battle, Jacole cautiously continued forward, her hand on the blaster she’d snagged from a dead guard on her way out. The other women had weapons now, too. The three of them went down one hallway and turned left, stepping over the bodies of a few more pirates. They reached what must be the bridge. The entrance was wide open. She peeked in. Rockstar was in there, standing over the inert form of the captain of the ship. All seven feet of him in glorious technicolor. Holy shit. Her heart beat furiously, and she swallowed hard. She had no idea what to do or say or if they would even be able to understand one another, but she pulled on the big-girl panties and started to step forward. A hand fell on her shoulder. She jumped and turned. Lizard Lady hissed at her and gestured for her to step back.
Oh, well…okay, then.
So Jacole stepped back.
Bird Lady nodded as she passed by and pointed for her to stay put. She went in first, then Lizard Lady. Jacole stayed behind, deciding to keep an eye on the corridor in case any of the space pirates weren’t actually dead.
Joyzal had the fucker laid out on the floor and tranquilized. He was here to extract the captain of this ship, a notorious slaver who’d killed and/or enslaved so many women and children across the four sectors he now had an exorbitant bounty on his head. Wealthy inhabitants of a variety of planets and species whose wives, sisters, and daughters had disappeared and later turned up dead at the hands of these slavers had banded together to contact the Bounty Hunter Guild. They’d offered to increase the size of the reward due to the fact these pirates slipped between many different sectors and there was no one military that could bring them to justice.
Rayzor of Twelve, Joyzal’s number one rival in th
e Bounty Hunter Leaderboards, had recently been forced into retirement, so Joyzal was offered this mission. And it was the biggest mission of his career, with the highest payout ever offered in Bounty Hunter history. This was the catch that would solidify forever his standing among Hunters and make his future one of choices rather than need.
He needed to drag the target over to his ship and get him into lockdown stasis for transport. He’d killed all of the subordinates on the ship because they interfered with the extraction of their captain, plus they were lazhul—beings without honor. These pirates, and their captain, were slavers who routinely stole and sold women and children to the highest bidders for sexual depravities. They deserved death as punishment. This assignment had no mission parameters—he could mete out punishment as he saw fit. He chose to not kill the target, who was wanted dead or alive. This particular lazhul needed to face punishment. Death was too easy.
Joyzal heard a noise and whipped his blaster around and aimed it at the doorway. He expected to find another pirate to kill. What he saw was worse. Far worse.
Women.
Females who looked like they’d been to hell and back at the hands of the slavers. He lowered his weapon. By the gods, what a mess.
He took a deep breath.
Yes, he’d known the chances were great that these slavers would be carrying women and children, but this wasn’t part of his mission. He wasn’t a peace or rescue organization. He was a Bounty Hunter. He hunted and extradited criminals law enforcement was unable to apprehend. That was where his job ended.
Joyzal's Prize (Alien Bounty Hunters Book 2) Page 2
