by C. J. Barry
* * * *
Grey hit the dirt hard. That last punch had done its job if the sheer number of stars in his head were any indication. Wex had replaced his lost crew with some real heavyweights. The one bearing down on him now was as big and ugly as they came.
"Stone,” Wex taunted him. “Really, is all this necessary? Dunkin here does so enjoy his work. Simply give Calíbre to me and you can stay with the living."
Grey staggered to his feet, eyeing Dunkin's malicious smile. Oh yes, he definitely enjoyed his work. Staying alive, regardless of what Grey agreed to, seemed a remote possibility.
"If he enjoys his work so much, what do you need the other three for? Why don't you take a hike, and let me and Dunkin here hash this out? Or don't you believe he can handle the job?” Grey knew the significance of his words had sunk into Dunkin's thick head when a worried crease developed in the middle of the single, massive eyebrow.
But Wex's head wasn't quite so thick. “Now, now. Dunkin is well-suited to his vocation and needs little guidance from me. You'll only incite him further."
However, Dunkin looked bewildered and unconvinced. Wex spent precious minutes speaking to him in quiet, fatherly tones.
A few more minutes, Grey thought. She had to come. He hadn't wanted to involve her, but there was no choice. If she didn't show up, he would die right here in this filthy alley. There was no way he'd give Calíbre to Sandor Wex.
* * * *
They nearly ran right past the entrance of the alley. Rourke heard the voices first and grabbed her just in time, covering her protest with his hand and whispering silence in her ear.
He ventured a peek around the corner and could make out the shadows of six men, most of them massive. Wex was easy to pick out with his arrogant stance and slight build. He stood flanked by two giants, one of which was delivering another blow to a hunched over figure being held by two more men. Laser pistols glinted all around.
He winced as Grey absorbed the hit with a painful grunt, his head hanging low. They didn't have much time before he'd be down for good.
He felt Cidra hovering over his back, watching the action. He turned to her expecting to see fear or horror. Instead, her expression was brutally fierce and her body wound tight, ready to launch. All that sweet, feminine beauty had suddenly turned formidable and deadly.
Grey had certainly picked himself an interesting pilot.
Rourke pressed his head back against the front of the building and asked Cidra, “Do you have a weapon?"
"No, but I can take care of myself.” Her eyes drilled into him, leaving no doubt to her confidence. Despite her words, he suppressed a curse. He had one laser pistol and an unarmed, albeit, furious female pilot against at least five men loaded with weapons and one beaten hostage. Bad odds, but he'd seen worse. With Grey, in fact.
He cast one more glance into the alley in time to see Grey absorb another blow and drop heavily to the ground, rocking slowly.
"We'll need a diversion then. Any ideas?"
"Just one.” Her whisper brought his eyes to hers immediately, but she was looking past him, straight up into the stars. He watched in puzzlement as she began scouring the ground frantically.
"What are you doing?"
"Trust me.” She scooped a handful of stones from a nearby foliage container, walked past him to the edge of the alley and stared up at the grid hanging over the alley. “Cover your eyes and get that weapon ready."
She heaved a small stone at the biggest gridhead with all her might. It missed, ricocheting loudly off the opposite side of the alley.
"What was that?” A single voice echoed through the alley. Another voice rose up. “If anyone finds us here...” Followed by, “Let's kill him now and get it over with.” Wex's voice cut in, “Just shut up and find out what that was.” One set of footsteps rang out, heading down the alley toward Cidra.
Rourke stood ready. Cidra concentrated on the gridhead, heaved another stone and hit her mark.
Instantly, the grid came to life and blinding lights flooded the darkness while a chilling siren cut through the night air. A chorus of obscenities accompanied Wex's alarmed shout of retreat and the sound of a hasty withdrawal in the opposite direction. Her eyes adjusted quickly to the intense lights, yet she remained motionless.
The approaching footsteps materialized into a startled giant of a man, covering his blinded eyes with a meaty arm and swearing viciously. He staggered to a halt and blinked several times before he realized he was standing directly in front of a very angry woman.
The giant aimed his laser pistol, but before Rourke could pull his own trigger, Cidra delivered a lightening quick kick. The man's gun spun into the side of the building. The next kick caught the giant neatly in the throat. He stumbled back, gasping for air. The third kick connected with the side of his head. His eyes rolled back and he dropped like a stone.
Rourke gaped at the downed giant, at the undischarged laser pistol in his hand, and then to Cidra. She appeared perfectly calm, glanced one last time at the giant to make sure he was down and took off in a dead run into the blinding, blaring alley.
"Well, I'll be damned,” Rourke murmured, then took off after her.
Cidra's heart sank. The alley was empty. They must still have him. She rushed ahead, determined to follow them and nearly tripped over his very still body, curled up on the ground.
She froze, disabled by panic. No.
Running up behind her, Rourke knelt down and checked Grey's neck for a pulse. The siren continued to scream overhead. Blood was beginning to pool around his head. He groaned low.
Rourke looked up at her, urgency in his eyes. “He's alive, but we need to get him to a med center real soon. Hail Calíbre and get some help."
* * * *
Grey braced himself on the edge of the clinic table, watching as the head medic gave Cidra a lengthy list of instructions. She hung on every word, whispering questions and glancing at Grey with deep concern.
In his blood, a potent painkiller and healing accelerator combined into an intoxicating brew they called Triox. Enough of it could make a dead man walk. In other words, he felt awful but was pretty damned happy about it.
For one thing, he was alive. For another thing, Cidra was here. Watching her proved to be the best painkiller around.
Grey heard the medic's parting words. “The broken ribs will take the longest to heal. Lots of sleep and food. The accelerator will do the rest. He's lucky. Whoever worked him over knew what they were doing. It's a good thing they stopped when they did. Tell him it's time to find some new friends."
With a final word of thanks, she nodded and walked toward Grey. The stress of the long evening showed on her face, and he cursed the fear that clouded her blue eyes.
She slipped closer until her legs pressed against his thighs, their eyes locking. There was too much to say and no words to adequately convey it.
Very slowly, very carefully, Cidra raised her fingers to trace around the cut over his swollen eye and along his cheek to his lips caked with dried blood.
His words came out in a raw, hoarse whisper. “It would have been a lot worse if you hadn't shown up."
Cidra squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head. “Don't."
With exquisite gentleness, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pressed her cheek against the uninjured side of his head. He slid a bandaged hand around her waist and pulled her closer, on the verge of desperation. They held each other, sharing and dissipating the violence of the evening with kindred understanding.
Grey couldn't remember the last time he'd been comforted by someone who truly cared about him, who gave and expected nothing in return, who was scared and worried for him. Maybe never. He didn't want to let her go.
A loud knock on the door prompted an abrupt end to the private healing session. Rourke filled the doorway, looking as apologetic as any man could look under the circumstances. “Sorry for the intrusion."
Cidra turned and smiled warmly at him but didn't move from
Grey's side.
Rourke grinned at Grey. “Nice to know you're in good hands. You'll be back to your grumpy old self in no time."
"If you came here to abuse me, you'll have to stand in line,” Grey said wearily.
Rourke held up a hand. “No, actually, I have some news for you.” He crossed his arms and leaned a broad shoulder against the doorway. “Wex is gone. Mora, too. Took off right after he finished with you. I think Cidra's little surprise gave him a good scare.” He flashed Cidra a genuine smile.
"Of course, that doesn't mean he's off your back. He could leave the job of killing you to someone more qualified. I wouldn't want you to get too confident."
Then anticipating Grey's next question, he continued. “And Calíbre's fine. He didn't go near it. He wouldn't dare now. Not when word gets out about what he tried. He's going to have a nasty welcoming committee if he ever comes back here."
He stopped, narrowing his eyes at Grey. “You know, I wish you'd warned me that you gave Coon a laser rifle. He nearly took my head off when I checked around Calíbre."
Grey chuckled and winced from the sudden movement. “He's better than any security system I could find."
"The man is a menace. He took a shot at me. If he knew what he was doing, he might have actually hit me,” Rourke said indignantly.
"That's what you get for sneaking around my ship,” Grey countered, finding the incident too funny to let go and wishing he could at least laugh about it.
"Yeah, that's what I get for being a friend,” Rourke answered with a snort.
Grey grew serious and spoke quietly. “You are. A good one, too. Thanks."
Rourke waved him off. “Forget it. You buy the drinks for the rest of our lives. Besides, I had a little help.” He grinned at Cidra.
Cidra blushed and whispered into Grey's ear, “I'll tell you about it later.” He grunted an acknowledgment, eyeing Rourke with half-hearted suspicion.
Rourke just smiled broadly and put his hands on his hips. “So, where to folks? You can't stay here all night. I brought a ground shuttle."
Cidra turned back to Grey. “Calíbre?” she ventured.
His eyes met hers in quiet astonishment. She already knew him better than anyone. He nodded, fatigue gathering under the heavy cloak of Triox.
Rourke frowned at Grey. “Will you be all right there alone?"
"I'll be with him.” Cidra helped Grey off the table and steadied him while he walked.
Rourke only smiled in envy. “You're one lucky man, Stone."
Grey shot him a single look that told him he knew it, too.
* * * *
"Cidra. Don't go yet."
The tired request sounded more like a command. Cidra had just turned down the lights in Grey's quarters after settling him in bed. She had hoped he would doze off quickly, slipping into sleep's blessed refuge, giving the accelerator the time and energy it needed to heal his wounds. Her eyes swept over his big, battered body, filling most of the bed. So much damage in one night.
"You need to rest. Do you want another injection of Triox?” she asked gently, sitting on the edge of his bed and brushing aside a stray curl from his face. His eyes were heavy from the effects of the massive accelerator dose, but his body still shuddered from the aftershocks of violence.
"No. Talk to me."
Cidra pursed her lips and relented, hoping he would eventually wear himself out. That was the problem with Triox. It told the mind that you were immortal. Unfortunately, the body wasn't. She took his uninjured hand and wrapped it in both of hers.
"How long have you known Rourke?"
Grey closed his eyes. “The better part of ten years. We met during a salvage operation that went bad. Nothing like facing certain death together to cement a friendship."
He shifted and groaned sharply, trying without success to find a more comfortable position. Cidra winced at the effort and the vulnerability it disclosed.
"Are you trying to tell me that this happens a lot?"
"Hardly.” He snorted. “It's been a while since I've had my ass kicked. Frankly, I wouldn't mind if this was the last time."
He laughed. Immediately his face twisted in a grimace.
"I should let you sleep.” Cidra began to move away from him. He grabbed her wrist.
"No. I'm fine, really.” It hurt like hell. He was getting too old for this. Then again, those beautiful blue eyes filled with concern sure held a certain appeal. It was almost worth it.
Cidra looked at him doubtfully but settled back on the bed. “What are you going to do about Wex?"
"I put a false trail in Calíbre's systems for the location of the lost Mask of Teran. And just as she did for the last two finds, Mora stole the file. They will spend the next several months on the other side of the galaxy heading to coordinates in the middle of nowhere. Enough time for me to get the Mask myself."
Cidra smiled wide. “Maybe Wex will think twice about stealing and spying."
Grey smiled weakly. “I hope so. He'll have to learn to do it the hard way like the rest of us.” Grey paused. “I'm glad you approve."
Cidra ran her eyes over his battered body again. “He deserves whatever you gave him."
Grey yawned, admitting depletion at last.
Cidra watched as he peacefully slipped into the blissful haven of sleep with a smile still playing on his lips. His breathing turned even and deep, denying pain any more torment tonight.
Only then did she reach out to him, her hand hovering over his bare chest above the bandaged ribs, close enough to feel the heat build between her body and his. Delicious heat rose and gathered until her hand felt on fire. That's what their lovemaking would be like. Fire, consuming and glorious. And she had almost lost the chance forever. It was a mistake she wouldn't repeat. She couldn't. She loved him.
Cidra withdrew her hand, stretched out next to him and fell asleep watching the even rise and fall of his chest.
* * * *
A man entertains strange dreams with Triox coursing through his veins. This one promised to be a real winner.
In the fertile fields of his mind, he could smell her hair, feel the heavy silkiness of it against his face. She lay spooned against him, her back to his chest, his heavy arousal pinned to her firm derriere. One hell of a dream.
His hand rested over one soft, warm breast. When he slid his thumb over the tip, it tightened and she stirred. So real.
He moved his hand along the curve of the breast and over her ribcage, committing every inch to memory. She wore that little dress from last night. It made sense it would be in his dream. It would probably be in every dream he had for the rest of his life.
With only a vague awareness of pain lurking in the background, he flattened a hand against her slim waist and pulled her tighter against him. Then his fantasy exploration continued in earnest.
Her hip swelled under his touch, followed by a bare, smooth thigh. He groaned. Damned best dream he ever had. He should go back and thank that medic.
His fingertips slid to her inner thigh and began to trace the incredible softness. Up, up, seeking heat.
Her gentle but firm hand halted his progress.
"I see you're feeling better,” she purred.
In an instant, dream became reality. Her presence swamped his senses. She was there. Real and warm and soft against him in his own bed. His eyes flew open. Pain rushed in, compliments of last evening's cold violence.
Another fact emerged.
Reality hurt.
Rolling onto his back with a deep, heartfelt moan, he squeezed his eyes shut, but pain's floodgate stood wide open.
Cidra scrambled to her knees beside him. “Grey?"
"It's not you,” he gritted out. That said, he concentrated on controlling the sudden influx of discomfort. At least today he could distinguish the specific parts of his body in agony. Unfortunately, it proved to be pretty much everything.
"I'll get the Triox.” Cidra hopped off the bed.
Grey clenched his teeth. He
hated the drugs, hated the fact that he needed them. But he had no choice. He had work to do. They were going to locate that lost shipment. He'd made up his mind sometime in the blur of last night after Cidra saved his hide. It had become his number one priority. The Mask of Teran would have to stay lost for a while longer.
He gazed at her as she finished administering the Triox. In the haze of pain, she looked like a divine apparition. He captured her wrist. “I never thanked you, Cidra."
She stilled and tears welled up without warning, dropping like molten fire to his body. She blinked them aside furiously and turned away.
"Cidra?"
With her back to him, she planted both hands on the side table and lowered her head. When she finally spoke, her voice shook. “I've never been so scared in my life. Not even the night the d'Hont came to my house or the nightmares that followed."
"Cidra, come here.” The Triox hit him like a wave, making his world a much more pleasant place. Until he saw the shattered look on her face when she turned around.
"I'm sorry,” he offered.
"You could have been killed,” she whispered, her face reflecting memories of the past.
He held his voice steady. “Thanks to you, I wasn't."
She rubbed her arms and stared at the floor in silence, her mind clearly at work. Then her shoulders seemed to drop in defeat.
"Grey, I've been thinking about the Dakru shipment. Whoever attacked the fleet...” She stopped and looked directly at him. “It's too dangerous. I don't think we should continue."
Her train of thought stunned him. It took him a moment to comprehend what she meant. She was willing to give up Syrus’ last wish, live with the burden of her past, accept the loss of the Kin-sha and bury her own dreams, all to keep him safe. The strength that took, he couldn't imagine. The unselfish gift she offered, he couldn't accept.
"I don't think that's necessary.” His voice was quiet, masking increasing alarm. “We'll be very careful from now on. Believe it or not, I don't usually get into this kind of trouble."
She gave him a long, skeptical look and shook her head. “The price is too high. It's not worth dying for."
"You can't live the rest of your life not knowing what happened, Cidra. It'll eat you alive,” he insisted, fully waged in a battle he did not dare lose: to keep her close.
