Korven’s Fire
Dragon Prince of Wye
Nancey Cummings
Juno Wells
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
Additional Works
About the Authors
Copyright
Chapter One
Korven
Korven was running out of time.
“Ragnar suggests you replace the mechanic at the next station,” his grandmother, Lasar, said from the screen embedded in the wall.
Korven nodded in agreement. He counted the vials of amber liquid. The mechanic’s unfortunate habit of gossiping when drunk was the least of Korven’s worries. The serum’s effectiveness waned and he required a larger dosage each time. Still, he had enough to keep the Fever at bay for three months.
Lasar counted, also, her keen eyes missing nothing as she peered out from the monitor.
Three months.
That was no time at all.
“You need to end this foolish gallivanting and return home to Wye,” Lasar said.
“The agreement was until the Fever became unmanageable,” Korven said. “I am managing.”
“Managing with my credits.”
Truth. The universe was too big a place with too many fascinating sights. The universe was also an expensive place. He explored on his grandmother’s benevolence and it seemed her benevolence neared the end. He had only just begun to scratch the surface and now it was almost time to go home. Almost.
There was still time for one more adventure before he began the journey back to Wye.
“Your mother is busy organizing the celebration for your return,” Lasar said. “Have you given any thought as your preference?”
“No,” he ground out through clenched teeth.
“I told Searra to just find someone with a tolerable face and pleasant enough demeanor, but she insists you have a say in selecting your bride. Modern nonsense. Searra is interviewing too many females.”
A tolerable face and a pleasant enough demeanor. Nothing sounded more repulsive.
Once back home, though, Korven knew what awaited him. Marriage. His grandmother had indulged him for far too long but because he was the favorite grandchild, he’d get his choice of eligible females, rather than having a bride selected for him.
Such a tolerable and pleasant enough luxury.
“I remember when my first matured,” Lasar said. “Such pains I took in finding him the right female. Everything had to be just so. And it was so hard to believe my little nestling was an adult, ready for a nestling of his own.”
Korven frowned at the box still in his hands.
Three months.
He dreaded suffering through the Fever. All reports indicated that the need to mate was overwhelming. Painful, even, but pain did not worry him. He had yet to experience the full effects of the mating urge, but the fire burned at the edges of his mind. He dreaded the loss of control of his body. Everyone would know what clawed away at him. What drove reasonable thought from his head? And worse, he could hurt the female.
The idea of hurting a female left a foul taste in his mouth. It was unacceptable to hurt a female, no matter what the Fever did to him or his control.
“Is it too much to have some privacy and retain my dignity?” Was it too much for a male to go through his first Fever without being made into a spectacle.
Lasar made a fluttering noise of disbelief. “Don’t be ridiculous. This is how it is done. You will have your celebration and you will select your mate.”
“It’ll be a production, of course,” he said dryly. A wedding. Marry him off to a female of good breeding from a politically advantageous family and then have a huge party. All the guests would stand around, sipping chilled wine, while Korven and his anonymous bride would have Fever induced sex until he physically couldn’t anymore. Or he injured her too much to continue.
“The grandest.” Her eyes narrowed. “What is this about? You’re not getting an idea about finding your own mate?”
Why shouldn’t he find his own mate? His mother interviewed females of good families but were devoid of any real spark. No fire.
He hadn’t found her yet, the female who called to his fire, but she was out there. He would find her and Korven always got what he wanted.
“What happens if I find my own mate?”
Lasar scoffed.
“What. Would. Happen.” He ground out the words through clenched teeth.
“You’d be stripped of title and allowance. Exiled.” Lasar frowned as she spoke. She didn’t want to threaten her grandson but she would. Korven had no doubt she would follow through. Lasar had a well-earned, ruthless reputation.
The Fever took males differently and a person never knew how it would impact them until it happened. Some males said the Fever was an overwhelming need, a physical pain to mate. Others lost their minds and became vicious, sex-mad beasts. Korven found his aggression increased and his patience thin.
“Are you suffering the Fever now? Are you keeping your wings bound? You need to come home before you hurt yourself or a female.”
His skin crawled at the idea of hurting a female, mauling his bride who was practically a stranger while his family toasted his good fortune and fertility. He didn’t want to lose himself to the Fever. He didn’t want to hurt someone in what should be an act of tender intimacy. Especially if that female was to be his wife. He didn’t want to hurt her the way his father hurt his mother.
The scars Venn left on Searra remained vivid years after the fact. Searra never complained. Never gave a hint that the scars caused her discomfort, but Korven suspected. Searra was too well bred to complain, even if she had been in agony.
Korven wasn’t his father. He could tell himself that all day and still not believe it. He felt the burn of the Fever now, even with the serum designed to keep it at bay. He was barely under control now. How out of control would he be when fully in the grip of the Fever?
“Do not defy me, Korven,” his grandmother said. “If you are suffering now you must return to Wye.”
“I’m fine.” Korven smoothed down the front of his jacket. Stitched into the collar, the emblem of Wye gleamed under the lights. He clung to his control by his fingertips but he remained in control. “It is a long journey to Wye. I will inform the captain that it is time to head in that direction.”
Three months to find his true mate. He did not promise his grandmother a straightforward journey. He intended to stop at every opportunity along the way.
“I cannot wait to see you with my tired, old eyes again.”
Now it was Korven’s turn to scoff. His grandmother was many things but elderly and helpless was not one. “Your fire burns as bright as ever.”
“Take no more than three months,” she said, a pleased expression settling on her face.
He was out of time.
Adelle
Adelle was running out of time.
And money. And options.
She needed a job, fast. Any job. When her uncle died in a shipping accident, her tuition dried up. Uncle Tanner hadn’t left a will or an inheritance. His cargo ship went to his first mate. Adelle refused to believe her uncle hadn’t planned
for her future and left her high and dry. Then again, he didn’t have the best track record of financial responsibility. The gaps in her education attested to that. Sure, Tanner didn’t plan to die from a failed pressure valve explosion, but he had to have planned something.
Apparently not. Adelle finished out the semester, that’s all she was paid up for, and left college one semester shy of her mechanic certification. The irony was that with the years of hands on experience growing up on Uncle Tanner’s ship, she was as qualified as anyone with a certification. But no one was hiring a young woman with a baby face and a nearly completed certification. If only she looked her age. If only she looked tougher, had a scar or two. No one would question her experience if she looked like she could hold her own in a scrap. If only Tanner had checked the pressure on the valves before going into that service conduit. If only.
Adelle shook her head to clear her thoughts. If wishes were stars, the sky would never be dark.
Broke and kicked out of school, Adelle scraped up the credits and bought a ticket to Galax One, the largest station in the Interstellar Union. It was central to all the core worlds. Every member of the Interstellar Union did business there. Lots of ships arrived daily and, hopefully, ships who needed a mechanic.
Adelle worked her way down the job listing board and found out the hard way that, yes, Galax One had a lot of ships hiring but, no, they wouldn’t hire without the required certification. Turns out that the ships that could afford to dock at the premier station in the IU could also afford to be choosy about their crew. Every captain she spoke to wasn’t interested unless she had a completed certification. One semester shy wasn’t good enough. Not even if she was willing to work for cut wages.
Her mistake had been going to Galax One. She assumed that frequent traffic meant she had better odds of finding a gig. She would have been better off going to a dodgy station somewhere on the fringes in the IU where no one cared too much about certifications or looked too closely at qualifications. She didn’t have enough credits for a trip like that, not without finding a temporary gig.
Which is how Adelle found herself sitting at the bar in a dive in the lower levels of Galax One, nursing a beer. Cargo runners frequented the bar. She was hoping to overhear talk about hiring and she was really hoping that they’d be hard up enough to hire her. They had to be hard up to drink in a dismal place like this.
“Hey pretty little thing,” a man said in a sleazy voice, sliding up next to her. “You looking for work?”
Adelle kept her eyes forward. She knew his type but wasn’t bothered. She’d been pushing off unwanted advances since she hit puberty. Her uncle had been a good guy but his crew was rough around the edges. “I’m a mechanic.”
“That’s great but I’m just interested in your mouth.”
Ugh, this guy. So far she’d received half a dozen offers and none of them were pertaining to her mechanical skills.
Adelle took a sip of her beer before placing it on the bar. She turned to the man and looked him dead in the eye. He had the decency to flinch. “I wasn’t a hooker when that guy asked five minutes ago. Or him, ten minutes ago. Now unless you’ve got a mechanical cock, I ain’t interested.”
“Hey, I was just trying to be friendly. No need to be a bitch about it.”
Bitch, huh?
Had no one in this place ever actually talked to a woman before?
Adelle climbed onto her chair and then onto the bar, the bartender protesting. “Excuse me,” she started but no one in the place paid her any mind.
“Hey! Assholes!” The room quieted immediately. She fought the impulse to smile in triumph. “My name is Adelle Scott. I’m a mechanic and I am looking for a mechanic’s position. I’m not a prostitute and the next one of you halfwits that propositions me, I’m taking my omni tool to your ball sack. Got it?” She held her omni tool in one hand and flicked the blade to life. It glowed blue in the dim of the bar. She scanned the room, looking for anyone who would challenge her.
Everyone looked away.
Satisfied, Adelle climbed down.
“I should charge for putting your boots on the countertop. That’s a health code violation,” the bartender said.
“Please, I should charge you for bringing a pair of tits into this sausage fest. It’s like they’ve never seen a girl before.”
The bartender snorted before refreshing her brew. “A girl your age shouldn’t be in a place like this or have a mouth like that.”
“I’m twenty-two.” She could really do without people telling her she was too young. The universe didn’t care if she looked too young to be on her own. She was, ever since Uncle Tanner decided to play it fast and loose with safety protocols, and that was that.
“If you don’t mind a bunch of drunks pinching your ass, I could use a girl who can hold her own and serve drinks.”
“I’ll think about it.” Adelle took a drink. It was the best offer she was going to get, honestly. Once her money ran completely dry, she was left with two options: the military or contracting with a mining company. She was not military material, no matter what the catchy slogans said. The pay for mining work was decent enough, considering the rate of injury. Dangerous work paid well. Still, she’d rather have all her digits than a pile of credits when she left the job.
Or she could sling drinks here for a few weeks and hitch a ride out to a fringe station and try her luck there. It was hardly a choice at all, really.
Chapter Two
Korven
The Terran female made a spectacle of herself.
Korven hadn’t really paid attention to Terran females before. They were acceptable in that plain, bland way. No color or scales to make interesting patterns on the skin. His attention snapped into focus as the female climbed onto the bar, the fabric of her durable work trousers stretched taut over her bottom.
Dressed in plain, functional clothes designed to get dirty, her curves strained the front of the shirt. There was not a male in the bar who didn’t imagine taking those clothes off her.
She was furious. Her voice carried over the noise of the bar, insistent but managing to remain far away from shrill. Her pale cheeks glowed red as she spoke. Perhaps Terran skin was not so bland after all.
Her odd Terran hair was short and dark, so unlike the long, uncut tresses of his people. Wholly exotic, he couldn’t take his eyes off her.
She was magnificent.
It was the Fever talking. The female was too strange to be attractive. She was nothing like the slender females of his world with their long manes in elaborate styles and heavy body paint to highlight the color of their scales. Still, she compelled him.
No, that was definitely the Fever. This strange and pale Terran compelled his Fever. It burned in his blood, pounding behind his eyes, driving home one message and one message only: Mate. Her. Now.
Korven was tempted. He received an injection of the serum that morning so he could withstand the fire, but how tempting to buckle under, claim the strange female and lay the blame on the Fever.
His drained the beer and thumped the heavy glass on the bar, having reached a decision. Not a good decision but a decision.
He would offer that foul mouthed, magnificent mechanic a job.
The omni tool sat within easy reach on the bar. Korven eyed it respectfully as he slid into the seat next to the female.
“Not interested,” she said sourly.
“That’s funny, because I thought you were interested in a job.”
She turned, fixing him in her intense gaze. Her eyes were a deep blue, the color of the sky on Wye in the summer. The urge to rush forward and crush her lips with his own nearly overwhelmed him. “You better not be fucking with me.”
Korven fought to keep his expression neutral. Fucking with her was exactly what he wanted. “I know a ship that needs a mechanic. They aren’t too picky about qualifications if you don’t ask too many questions.”
She slid the omni tool into a pocket. “I have qualifications,” she sa
id.
“Not if you’re looking for a job in here.”
She snorted. For the briefest moment amusement replaced the serious scowl on her funny Terran face. Korven wanted to make her smile but he knew it was the Fever talking.
“What kind of questions shouldn’t I be asking?”
Korven watched her throat work as she took another pull on the beer. Yup, just the Fever but he was civilized and refused to be a thrall to a quirk of evolution. He could resist the Fever and he could resist her. “Usual questions about where we got stuff,” he said. “Provenance. Shipping manifests.”
“Provenance,” she repeated back, rolling the word around on her tongue. “Fancy word.”
Korven forced his eyes away from her lips and back to her summer blue eyes. “My parents believed in the value of a quality education.”
“When you say not to ask about property and ownership, you’re not talking about people, right? Is this a Tal ship?”
“The captain is Talmar but no, we don’t deal with the slave trade.” His planet consistently refused membership in the Interstellar Union. A people who had once been enslaved found it hard to commit to a governing body that tolerate slavery within its borders.
Korven dug out the notepad he kept in his back pocket. He had so many ideas, so many notes, and so many things to remember that writing them down on the paper was the only way to clear his head. He wrote down the dock number. “The captain is Providence.”
“Is he now?”
“That’s his name. Providence.” Korven held out the piece of paper. She took it reluctantly.
“Paper. So old fashioned,” she said. She carefully folded it and slide it into a pocket.
“Don’t I get your name?” he asked.
“Adelle,” she said at length. “Are you even in a position to be offering jobs?”
“I’m Korven. Thanks for asking. And maybe I just needed an excuse to talk to a pretty female.”
Korven's Fire: Dragon Prince of Wye Page 1
