Joined: Book One

by Mara Gan

  I pulled away slightly, my hands still tangled in his hair, and looked him in the eyes. “Then… why… why are you so angry?” I whispered, voice shaky. “I thought you—”

  “I know plenty of tricks to focus my emotions, but they’re all worthless now,” he breathed, searching my eyes. “Those tricks only work when controlling anger toward others.” He nuzzled his face back to mine, breathing deeply as though he was memorizing how I smelled.

  I frowned, struggling to get my head clear enough to ask a question. “Toward others?” I asked. “I don’t understand.”

  “I’m angry with myself, little one,” he said softly. “I am furious because I desperately want a woman I can’t have, and I’m angry at Tykhe for making me suffer.”

  Pain flashed through my entire being, and I cringed at the suffering I had caused—to this man I was coming to care so deeply for. “Perseus, I—”

  He cut me off abruptly, covering my mouth with his own. It felt like pure bliss. Or was it agony? I could no longer tell the difference. His mouth ghosted against mine, just grazing my lips several times, before he angled his head to deepen the kiss.

  He groaned.

  “You are so beautiful,” he whispered against my lips. “Inside and out.” He kissed me, squeezing me against him so hard that I think I squeaked.

  Just as suddenly as it had all started, it was over.

  He let me loose so abruptly that I stumbled and half fell against the wall. I looked up, confused, flushed, and breathing hard, as he turned away from me, holding his head in his hands.

  “Get out.”

  He didn’t turn as I watched him, uncertain, before turning and fleeing out the door.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Hilariously, I was in an almost identical situation as I had been a mere two days ago.

  This time, I was hiding behind the bar, however, and I had been at the bar before Perseus arrived. I was off duty and hiding from Kos and Synie, and knowing they always looked for me in the Hypethral first, I had come to visit Geôillur again. Talking with him was nice; I enjoyed listening to him, and he sort of saw me as the daughter he’d never had. And not sensing his emotions was a welcome reprieve from a long day of sensing everyone’s emotions.

  It was early evening and there were few customers, but my sensitive ears had heard Gi’s voice from outside the tavern and I had quickly ducked behind the bar to hide, just in case my Protector was with him.

  That turned out to be a good move, since Perseus was with him.

  I sighed and leaned my head against the bar, grateful to be hidden but mentally grousing about the fact I was now, essentially, stuck there. Geôillur gave me several amused glances as he went about his business, but thankfully didn’t give me away.

  Perseus and Gi took a seat near the bar but against the wall. I could see them, sort of, through the cracks between the wood slats of the bar.

  Geôillur had set several giant vats of ale on the table and shuffled off, and Gi didn’t seem thrilled about the prospect of drinking his.

  “Drink up, Gi,” Perseus said.

  Gi gawked at the massive tankard, then looked back at Perseus, one eyebrow raised. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “What?”

  “You expect me to drink this and then hit that target with three daggers?”

  “Don’t tell me you’re feeling weak.”

  “You can’t bait me with that,” Gi scoffed. “But Mathan ale is notoriously high in alcohol content. And toxic! I might end up hitting someone in the back with the dagger.”

  “This is a time-honored tradition on my planet. Be cultural.”

  I wanted to harrumph. Perseus was friendly with Gi, at least. Since our encounter in his rooms, he had been nothing but gruff and surly to me. Hence my avoiding him.

  Gi spoke. “That’s a load of garbage. You have to be some sort of crazy, oversized, self-satisfied Mathan to down this thing and then play targets.”

  “Not to state the obvious, but those are hardly epithets,” Perseus commented mildly.

  I almost snorted but quickly stifled it.

  “I never said they were,” Gi replied. “But there’s no way in hell I’m competing against you. It’s an unfair bet.”

  “Fine, you pointy-eared bastard, you only have to drink half of it,” Perseus acceded. “And only throw one dagger. Better?”

  I frowned as I touched the tips of my pointed ears. As far as I knew, Halians were the only species in the galaxy with pointed ears. A relatively simple feature, yet curiously rare. I had never really thought much about them, except that they were sensitive to the touch and seemed to hear better than other ears did.

  Gi eyed the vat of ale in front of him, calculating. “Done.”

  “What’s the bet?”

  “If I win,” Gi considered, “I get to fly the Pegasus anywhere I want for a week.”

  Their ship? I mentally groaned. I loved flying. I had my own ship, but it was collecting dust in a hangar, since I wasn’t allowed to leave the city anymore.

  “No deal,” Perseus answered. “You’d just crash it.”

  Gi scowled. “Fine. How about three days?” When Perseus hesitated, he continued, “What? Afraid you’re going to lose?”

  Perseus chuckled. Actually chuckled. “Three days it is. And if I win?”

  “I’m open to suggestions.”

  “You pull two night shifts in the brig,” Perseus said, a distinct hint of mischief in his voice.

  Gi wrinkled his nose. “Fine.”

  Curious. Gi had declined an offer to train and join the Protectorate—the two guards who would assist Perseus in my protection—but was apparently still staying in the city. Why?

  Gi lifted his tankard and drank as much as he could in one breath, barely refraining from gagging, then took out a dagger and hurled it at the target on the wall. It hit along the outer rim of the target.

  “Ha!” Gi exclaimed. “I hit it!” He blinked and wiped his mouth. “God, that stuff is awful.”

  “Not bad.” Perseus lifted his own tankard, drank the entire thing, then took out three daggers. He flicked his wrist and one after the other, each nailed the bullseye.

  I didn’t know whether to roll my eyes at the nonchalant ego or gawk at the ability.

  My Protector turned back to Gi, who glared accusingly. “That was so not fair.”

  Perseus shrugged. “You agreed to it.”

  “Blah!” Gi cried, wiping his mouth. “That was vile.”

  “One of many fabulous things my people have to offer,” Perseus replied dryly. He sat back, stroking his chin. “I’m surprised at you, Gi. You’ve been with me for nine years and you’re still soft. Never enter into a bet where you don’t know all the variables.”

  “Clearly I have much to learn,” Gi grumbled. “Why do I keep doing these contests with you, anyway?”

  “One might ask that question.”

  “I’m going to drink something worthwhile,” Gi muttered, signaling to the proprietor. “Barkeep! May I have something palatable, please? Perhaps a normal-sized glass of Galaxian ale?”

  Geôillur scowled at him and turned his back while I smothered a laugh. Even I knew better.

  Gi frowned. “What was that about?”

  “You don’t ever say ‘please’ to a Mathan, Gi,” Perseus replied, shaking his head. “We consider it offensive; most Mathans see courtesy as phony, just some social behavior that other planets developed. If you want a Mathan’s attention, you have to bully them into acknowledging you. Observe.”

  He slammed his fist on the table and barked Gi’s order.

  This time, Geôillur nodded gruffly and set about retrieving a bottle of Galaxian ale, something he kept on hand for the occasional non-Mathan customers.

  Gi shook his head. “You people are strange.”

  “We thrive on it.”

  “Speaking of, these chairs are atrocious,” Gi commented, shifting uncomfortably. “Why the hell do you insist on being as uncomfortable as possible?”


  “Something else we thrive on,” Perseus replied, taking a swig from another tankard. He paused, looking into his glass.

  “And how is your new job?”

  Now here was a topic I was keen on hearing.

  As usual, however, Perseus was frustratingly terse. “Different.”

  Gi laughed. “Understatement of the century. Challenging, I should imagine.”

  I scowled. What did Gi know? Why would I be challenging?

  “To say the least.” Perseus shrugged. “It’s bizarre, being expected to trust people like this. Having a schedule. People following my orders.” He shrugged again. “I have the discipline for it, but it is definitely an odd shift.”

  “How is the princess?”

  “Fine.”

  I bit my lip. Another frustratingly terse answer.

  Gi narrowed his eyes. “Oh, come on,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “She is the Heir to the entire damn galaxy. What’s she like? Is she anything like she was in the bar the other night? Tell me!”

  Perseus frowned, clearly about to change the subject, then he paused. “You want to know about her because she’s Halian, don’t you?” he asked, offering a faint smile.

  Gi fidgeted. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t anxious to know more about another of my kind,” he admitted. “But forget that. She’s still the most influential person in the galaxy. She’s a celebrity. What kind of person is she really?”

  He considered. “Naïve,” he said finally. “Extremely naïve.”

  I wanted to stand up, hands on my hips, and ask him just how he thought I could be naïve when I had survived the destruction of my entire planet. I was the ruler-to-be of my galaxy, and he thought me naïve?

  But I bit back my annoyance and stifled it, noting that no one had ever had the power to rile me up before. But Perseus did it every time he came near.

  Scratch that. I got annoyed just thinking about him.

  Well, not always annoyed. But riled up, certainly.

  A green-skinned woman walked by, clad in a short skirt and top that revealed her well-toned body, and Gi made no secret of staring. The woman didn’t notice, only continued to the table where her companions waited.

  “That woman,” Gi said slowly.

  Perseus raised an eyebrow. “Quite a looker, isn’t she?” he asked, his eyes returning to his tankard.

  “No.” Gi shook his head. “Well, I mean, yes she is, but—she’s… green.”

  I wanted to laugh. I knew that green-skinned woman, even played Dískos with her. She was easygoing and lots of fun to be around—and undeniably pretty.

  “I would imagine she’s from Tumbuhan.”

  Gi tore his eyes away from the green woman. “From—where?”

  “Tumbuhan,” Perseus repeated. “It’s a primarily tropical planet not too far from here. The inhabitants are all green-skinned because they have chloroplasts in their blood. They don’t often leave the planet because they need the sun to keep their energy up.” His lips pressed together in thought. “She probably has to sleep in a special tanning bed and drink some kind of algae milkshake to travel in space.”

  She did, actually. Pyshka had a lot of upkeep to do in order to live in space, but she enjoyed traveling so much that she didn’t mind. I wasn’t surprised that Perseus knew about Tumbuhan. The planet’s inhabitants were quite welcoming to off-worlders, but understandably didn’t leave their planet much.

  “An algae drink?” Gi made a face. “That sounds worse than this ale.”

  “Every culture has its own ways of adapting to this miserable galaxy,” Perseus reasoned. “I don’t need Mathan ale the way that woman needs her algae drink, but I’m certainly adapted to it.” He finished his glass.

  “Any idea what Yalan plans to do?” Gi asked.

  This accidental-eavesdropping thing was proving to be a boon. I was learning all sorts of great things; knowing what Yalan’s plans were would be quite helpful for keeping tabs on the wily mercenary.

  Perseus considered. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “He was pretty upset about all this.”

  “I’m not surprised he didn’t take the job,” Gi said easily, taking a drink from his newly arrived, normal-sized glass of ale. “Ah, much better. This, my friend, is real ale.”

  “Why aren’t you surprised?”

  Gi shook his head. “Yalan was never one to settle down,” he answered. “And I think he would have made a terrible member of the Protectorate, for what it’s worth.”

  Perseus raised an eyebrow. “Why is that?”

  “Yalan is… cold,” Gi said, considering. “He cares about money and, well, Yalan.”

  “Isn’t that what all of us care about?”

  “It’s different. You saved my life a few times. You saved Yalan’s.” Perseus had saved their lives? “You, as much as you hate to admit it, care about me.”

  “Don’t get mushy on me.”

  Gi grinned. “I’m not picking out kitchen tiles or anything.”

  “Yalan isn’t that cold. He is always so smooth with women, so… romantic.”

  I rolled my eyes. Yalan thought he was much smoother than he really was, yet somehow still managed to be a walking STD.

  “Hardly,” Gi answered. “Yalan is just a mercenary disguised as a romantic. You, my friend, are a romantic disguised as a mercenary.”

  “That’s quite possibly the worst thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  That was fascinating. Gi considered Perseus to be a romantic? I supposed I could see that; although he hadn’t shown that side to me except for those two encounters—those two times had been genuine. I couldn’t sense his emotions, but I couldn’t believe he had simply been using me. Besides, I hardly seemed like his type.

  Perseus turned a nonchalant glance at the room. “I smell trouble.”

  Trouble? I closed my eyes. Great, just great. And here I was, skulking behind the bar like a two-year-old. Geôillur was coming back into the bar area and made a small motion with his hand for me to stay down.

  I peeked through the slats, wondering what was up. It seemed awfully early and uncrowded for a Rage fight, but then I doubted there were time limits on that kind of thing.

  Gi also turned curiously, and I imagine both of us were surprised to see the large Selissians who had just entered the bar. I didn’t realize any had arrived in the city; they rarely traveled with any but their own kind and didn’t like staying here, since they preferred to keep their ships running about thirty degrees hotter than normal humanoids did.

  Gi took a drink and propped his foot up on the opposite chair. “Can’t we just let them kill each other?” he asked, looking bored.

  I watched the seven huge lizard-like men, all with horned heads, arguing with several Mathan patrons and groaned inwardly. Selissians were nearly as warlike as the Mathans, only the Selissians had a strong sense of planetary pride; one word against their planet and they lost their tempers. Badly. And Mathans were notorious for provoking anyone with a sore spot.

  One Selissian lashed out with his spiked tail, slamming a burly Mathan into the wall and impaling him through the shoulder. I cringed and drew a breath, preparing to stand and stop the brawl, but Geôillur scowled at me and motioned for me to stay put.

  I ignored him and stood, about to use some authority to stop a nasty bar fight before it got into full swing, then I saw my Protector down the rest of his ale and stand.

  “Get up, Gi.”

  “Can’t you handle this?”

  “Get up, Gi.”

  Gi sighed and stood, looking wistfully at his drink.

  I paused, curious as to what they would do. Gi was going to help? Did everyone know how to fight but me?

  Perseus walked over to the crowd where punches and tails were already swinging in full force. “Excuse me, gentlemen.”

  A Mathan slashed his blade through a Selissian’s torso, spraying yellowish liquid everywhere.

  “I said, excuse
me.”

  Perseus scowled they ignored him, yet again, and stepped into the fray.

  He easily caught the Mathan fist that swung at him, sidestepping and using the Mathan’s momentum to slam him into the wall. He snagged a Selissian’s horn, deftly wrenching it sideways and bringing it down to embed in a fellow Selissian’s leg. When another Mathan tried to attack him, he caught the hand that held the sword and smashed it backward into his face, knocking him unconscious. Another Selissian feebly tried to continue the attack, swiping his tail out at Perseus, but he caught it and whipped the body over his head, launching the lizard into a far wall.

  I gasped in surprise. Perseus was good. I had little point of reference, but that had seemed pretty capable to me.

  Breathing normally, he turned and regarded the remaining few standing with mild interest. “I asked nicely, but none of you would listen to me.” He shook his head. “Such manners. I’m afraid, gentlemen, that I cannot allow you to fight in here. Take your brawling off station.”

  “You can’t stop us from fighting,” a Mathan growled. “That’s who we are!”

  “I never said you couldn’t fight. I said you couldn’t fight here.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because the princess doesn’t like it,” Perseus said. “And because I said so.”

  “You didn’t say ‘please,’” another Mathan sneered.

  Perseus turned and regarded him, eyes narrowing as a small smile played at the corners of his mouth. Gi looked skyward and shook his head.

  Stopping just in front of the man, Perseus gazed calmly into his eyes.

  In a flash he reached out, grabbed the Mathan’s arm and bent it backward, snapping it in half with a loud crack, while at the same time his foot shot out and connected soundly with the man’s leg.

  The Mathan fell to his knees, screaming in agony.

  Perseus folded his arms and said, “Please.” He turned and moved toward the exit. “Cut it out before I really lose my temper.”

  Several patrons gaped. Before he turned away, Gi smiled and shrugged. “Bad day,” he said, turning to follow Perseus out the door.