by Rose Francis
Making another pass, Quinn hurled a rope to Prince Joaquin, who wrapped it around his thick forearms in a hurry, before the ship’s trajectory carried him soaring out over the edge of the pyramid, over the wastes. The prince held on, his new strength easily up to the task.
On the third pass, Quinn reached for Lucia but as his fingers brushed against hers, the Warmaw shuddered and tipped. Postie lost her grip and slid off towards the edge. Prince Joaquin caught her in one hand, just before the soldier slipped to her doom. Joaquin roared with the effort of holding the two of them up, but he did not let go.
All that was left was Lucia.
Quinn came round on another pass. Somewhere on the deck, Farid was piloting the ship, turning around in tight maneuverings. Lucia hoped she could watch the man dance again, that she could see his hips wriggle and twist up close.
Quinn hung upside down now, the leather harness keeping him secure. Reaching with a mighty stretch he sailed closer. He was coming in too high. He wouldn’t be able to save her. The pain of the knowledge was plain on his face. I’m sorry, his eyes said.
Gathering all her strength, Lucia leapt for the mutt, her legs shifting to the optimal shape for leaping. With one mighty lunge she hurled herself upwards as Quinn passed overhead, her fingertips scraped against his, then she was falling again, back to the spinning, pitching surface of the pyramid.
She’d missed.
The ground was too close.
She wouldn’t get a second chance.
There was no time for Farid to circle around again.
This was it.
Lucia picked one corner of the pyramid, focused on it, and ran. She poured every ounce of her alpha gifts into her speed and ripped across the stone like a dive bike. Below her, the Warmaw impacted the ground, driving its rotating edge through the soft sand before grinding into the bedrock beneath. The pyramid shuddered and ripped itself to pieces even as Lucia kept running. She leapt from one shattered rock to the next, dancing across the air, her feet finding the very apex of the pyramid and hurling herself up into the air.
She’d run the length of it, and jumped soaring into the sky. If she’d been a bird shifter, she would have changed then into a massive hawk and flown away. But she was a wolf, and wolves meant pack.
Under her, the Letherine appeared.
She fell hard onto the ship’s surface, rolling between the inflated zeppelin pods, sliding across the deck as her momentum whipped her forward. She rolled and flipped, getting tangled in ropes, until she came to a stop at the captain’s feet.
Farid was dancing.
“Nice timing, your Alpha-ship,” he said with a smile, “we were just about to depart.”
Lucia closed her eyes, felt the warm sun paint her face with its rays, and she laughed.
Below them, the Warmaw slammed into the rocks that lurked below the desert. The hidden strength of the sands caught the vessel and held it while it shuddered and moaned and shook itself to pieces. It was as if in a moment, a new mountain had been born of fire and rubble. Before the dust settled, scavengers emerged from the sand and from the air to pick through the rocks for the juicy meat they smelled within.
Through the bonds of pack, Lucia sensed some of hers had escaped. Against all odds, they’d lived. Already far away, she was relieved they weren’t being ground down under the sinking mountain. She’d find them, soon. But for now she needed to feel the wood on her back, to feel the air blow across her skin, and to watch Farid’s chest with a breathless giddiness as he maneuvered the airship eastward towards civilization.
That night they ate together with the ship still aloft. A thin cable thinner than one of Lucia’s fingers and stronger than steel lead from the bottom of the ship down to an anchor fifty yards below. Quinn sat first watch, his feet dangling through the floor of the Letherine, watching for any creatures brave enough or stupid enough to climb the oiled anchor cord.
“Can’t Quinn come and eat with the rest of us? It’d be so nice to have everyone together.” Lucia helped set the table. Foxtail’s cooking smelled like a miracle.
“Just because we’re floating, your Alpha-ness, doesn’t mean we’re safe. The ground is littered with the remnants of airships that got too cocky.”
“My word, what kind of danger do you mean?” Triptongue sat stiff and alarmed. Lucia felt immeasurably relieved to see him.
“Sky pirates,” Farid said, ticking off the fingers on his hand as he listed every danger he could think of. “Vulture shifters. Lightning storms. Ground-based raiders with harpoons.” He smirked as he remembered an especially good one, “Used to be a scorpion myriad that lived out here. Basically ruled this corner of the wasteland. Went by the name Anchovy, for some reason. He demanded tax from all travelers and any who didn’t pay—well, see a scorpion can climb into all sorts of places a man can’t. And where one scorpion can climb, ten thousand can climb. I knew a guy who refused to pay the tax on principle. He anchored out here, then woke up with thousands of scorpions creeping up his anchor. His whole crew was killed and he only managed to escape because the paranoid bastard had a glider in his cabin. Captain Fuente kicked out the windows of his stateroom and flew away, even as the scorpion bastard ripped his ship to pieces.” Farid took a long pull at his wastelander whiskey. “Or at least that’s the story he tells. Could’ve just crashed.”
“Perhaps it’s better than First Mate Quinn keep watch then?” Triptongue bristled with anxiety.
Prince Joaquin laughed at the fox shifter, who took offense at first, then warmed and laughed along with him.
They ate their meal warmly, enjoying the luxury of conversation.
Foxtail and Triptongue excused themselves almost immediately. They couldn’t stand to be apart from each other, even for a day, and had much to catch up on in private.
Postie heaped a plate full of fried cactus, cornmeal tortillas stuffed with sweet peppers, and a tangy roast meat that Foxtail refused to identify, saying that no one would eat it if they knew where it came from. When pressured she swore it wasn’t human or shifter, probably. Postie had spent the day in a depressed funk, until Lucia told her that some of the pack still lived, and that they’d find them, wherever they were. The news of survivors warmed her better than the whiskey.
“I know hand language, from back in training times. I’ll take a plate to the mutt and keep him company.” Postie grinned. “And help him watch for scorpions.”
To Lucia’s surprise and horror, Farid and Joaquin hit it off, trading war stories and desert tips like old friends. They began the meal seated on opposite sides, eyeing each other warily, both keenly aware the other was the competition for Lucia’s heart. But by the end, they were leaning on each other, laughing, toasting to fallen comrades and eyeing Lucia with hungry eyes.
At one point, Lucia excused herself to use the washroom. Her head spun from the whiskey and from the scents in the air. Both the prince and the pirate desired her, craved her. She didn’t know what to do. Her wolf stretched under her skin whenever she caught Joaquin’s scent while her human side wanted to rip Farid’s pants off right at the table and ride him until they both buckled and screamed. How could she choose one over the other? If she picked the handsome pirate, her wolf would pine for the Prince. Would that curdle her love? Could she ever fully be with a man that both sides of her didn’t desire?
On her way back to the mess, with the songs of lost civilizations being sung off key by the two men she loved, she made her decision. The fight against the Suzerain was just beginning. If she let herself fall in love now, she’d never have the courage to keep fighting. She’d get too cozy, too invested to make the decisions necessary to defeat him. And no matter where she ran, the Suzerain would come for her. She could feel it in her teeth.
Neither, she thought. I can choose neither of them until after our war is done.
Coming back to the table, her heart heavy with sadness and her wolf snarling in frustration, Lucia noticed too late that the men had stopped singing.
“What’s going on with you two?”
“Darlin’, we can’t help but notice you look fairly miserable for a woman who just scored the most decisive military victory against our local dictatorship in twenty years,” Farid said, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
“We fear that we are the cause of your pain, my lady Alpha.” Prince Joaquin bowed his head. “We have discussed the matter thoroughly and have come to an agreement.”
“What? While I was in the restroom?”
“Yes,” Joaquin said.
“Basically,” Farid agreed.
“I was only gone two minutes.”
“The way we see it, girl, is that both of us want to be with you. I know I do.”
“As do I, my lady.”
“So what we’re going to do is this: we’re going to share you.”
“Share me?”
“Aye,” Joaquin’s cheeks flushed in embarrassment.
“Do I get a say in this?” Lucia leapt to her feet. Her heart and her wolf thrashed about in her chest, taking her breath away.
“The way you look at us, Lucia Brightwolf, it says it all.” Farid leaned back in his chair, putting his feet up on the table with a cocky smirk.
“If this is not satisfactory, we can find another way,” the prince soothed, but Lucia knew he could hear her heart, he could smell her arousal.
Both of them.
Could she really have both of them?
Lucia turned and stormed from the room, stopping at the doorway to lean back and say, “Are you coming, boys?”
Lucia was so excited that she was shaking. Perched atop Farid’s sprawling, circular bed with the silk of his sheets cool against her thighs, she stared at her two men.
“How do we even do this?” she asked.
In answer, Farid untied the cloth about his waist and let his clothes fall to the floor. The sight of his nakedness and the scent of his arousal hit Lucia at the same time, a sizzling heat coursing through her. He clambered onto the bed, a playful smile on his face as he made his way between her thighs.
Joaquin removed his clothes more formally, folding them properly and placing them on a nearby chair before stalking around the bed. A growl rose from his chest, a mating call that was like a thousand tongues on Lucia’s flesh.
“Oh my god, what’s going on?” she moaned.
Farid slid her tattered pants off and spread her thighs open with his strong hands. “I love this part, the first taste of a new lover.”
“What are you—” but before Lucia could finish her sentence, the pirate had his tongue swirling around against her wetness and her words turned to a whimpering whine. Lucia closed her eyes, savoring the feeling of his mouth pressed hotly to her mound, his tongue dancing inside her.
Joaquin growled again, and Lucia’s eyes snapped open. She had two lovers that night and couldn’t ignore either of them. Joaquin’s call again sent shivers of pleasure racing down her body like droplets of cool rain on a hot summer night. The giant alpha eased himself onto the bed near her head. His cock hung heavy and thick between his legs and Lucia found herself straining for it with open mouth, leaning to take just the tip of it between her lips.
Inside her, the wolf howled with delight.
And then Lucia gasped as the prince worked himself deeper into her throat and Farid’s clever fingers slid inside of her, stroking the slick walls of her cunt, making every nerve sing with joy. She pulled her mouth free of Joaquin just long enough to cry out as her climax took her, her fingers lacing themselves through Farid’s hair, gripping him so tight the pirate could scarcely breathe.
When the pirate pulled away, laughing and gasping for air, his face shining with her juices Lucia rolled over onto her belly. The wolf was in charge now and all it cared about was getting mated. She stretched her arms out and gripped the edge of the bed as she lifted her ass in the air, displaying her readiness to the prince. She may have been the alpha, but she didn’t always have to be in charge.
The big man positioned himself between her thighs, his hands stroking the skin of her back. His hard cock rubbed against her and she bucked against him, twisting her body, desperate to feel him inside her. He leaned over her, kissing her shoulders as the knob of his hardness slid into her. Lucia cried out as her body flooded with heat, as her hands shifted into claws and tore great gouging holes in the sheets.
Farid was there in front of her, standing and beaming with joy. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful,” he said. Lucia tried to speak, but her mind was elsewhere. The wolf was in charge and all it wanted was pleasure. The prince slid into her, fitting her perfectly. He was slick and hot and hard. Lucia moved against him, feeling him fill her more with every thrust, dizzy with the rhythm he created inside her.
Lucia opened her mouth to cry out as another orgasm shook her bones and Farid took the opportunity to fill her mouth with his cock. The two men took her, front and back as she wept with pleasure.
The prince’s thrusts grew more ragged, his voice became a growl that made her slicker than ever and then he sank his teeth into her shoulder, marking her, mating her, as he gushed his seed into her. Lucia howled at the sensation, pulling her mouth off Farid and then—her own teeth lengthening into fangs—she bit the pirate’s inner thigh, marking him as hers. A crazy feeling of love and passion moved between the three of them, like the echo of an orgasm bouncing between walls. Farid hissed at the bite and then yelled out as he came, thick ropes of hot fluid gushing onto Lucia’s back.
They were marked now, and mated. All three of them together. They shared each other’s bodies until the sun rose, then slept, limbs entangled, until the moon rose to greet them.
Epilogue
Baron Lawson stood on the upper balcony of his sprawling home, sipping his morning tea. Vast plumes of dust on the western horizon signaled traders approaching. Off schedule they were. That meant opportunity. He snarled at the sun, considering the last traders who arrived at an odd time, how they’d claimed they’d been attacked by raiders dressed in furred masks and stripped of food and water, but left with all their trade goods. They’d asked for fair prices for their goods from the baron, in exchange for provisions. But a thirsty man is a desperate man and a desperate man can’t bargain.
By the time the baron was done with the traders, half of them were in chains in his mine and the other half were meat for the wasteland. He never spent a coin he didn’t have to, or spilled a drop of water for someone else’s thirst.
He looked around the plantation, his eyes hungry for that silly niece of his, Lucia. She was promised now, to a family in Sala City. Smiths they were. Powerful family. With his ore and their foundry, they could change the wasteland. They could raise an empire. But he needed to find that girl, first.
Two months she’d been gone. Everyone assumed she was dead. Taken off by those slaves and left throat-cut in the sands, most like. Lawson knew better. He could feel it deep in his stones. She was alive. He’d see her again. And when he did, well, it’d make what he did to her aunt look like a child’s game. No, he told himself, mustn’t think that. We need her for the dynasty, for the empire of steel.
He was in a foul mood, his frowning face twisted into a grimace by thoughts of how one stupid slut could ruin all of his carefully laid plans. Maybe he could find another girl? In town or on the wastes? With enough preparation, she’d admit to being Lucia Lawson, the baron’s ward. What girl would turn down marriage to a powerful family like the Jacksons? Any girl that valued her hide, the baron chuckled darkly. He knew what the Jacksons did to the women in their family. He knew and approved.
The plumes of dust drew closer, moving fast and aimed straight at his estate. These traders knew what they wanted and were desperate to get to him. His mines were fully manned for the first time in a year. He didn’t need any more bodies down there, not after the raiding season his men had seen on the eastern wastes. A lot of families were fleeing the Suzerain’s approach and that meant a lot of caravans for easy pickings.
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br /> The baron squinted in the sun. A white dot preceded the trader’s sand freighter. He knew the ship. What was it called again? The Leathering? The Featherine? It was the ship that insufferable Avar Farid piloted. He was late with his payment, months late. The deathmark had already been issued and spread to every lowlife haunt in the wastes. If he was here to beg, well, the baron would enjoy that. He’d enjoy it, then kill the man for wasting his time. Even if he had the money, it was too late. You had to make an example of people like that. Had to show the world no one could push you around or renege on a deal without consequences. He saw the skinny smuggler’s bleating face in his mind as he recalled how he begged for mercy. “They were slaves,” he whined. “They were starving! I had no choice but to help them.” The hell he didn’t. You only had one responsibility in the wastes: yourself. Pull yourself up by the bootstraps and then stick a thumb in the guy next to you’s eye. That was the only way to live. If you didn’t take advantage of them, they’d take advantage of you. Look around the room, if you can’t spot the obvious sucker, it’s you.
The dive bike roared through the front gates and the baron dropped his vintage pre-war teacup in shock. It was the girl. His fucking niece. She’d run off with that goddamn skinny pirate after all. He felt twice as justified in putting the deathmark on Farid now, even if he had lied to the man about the cargo.
Lucia sat astride the dive bike, her legs splayed like a whore. She’d cut her hair and swapped her proper robes for leathers of some kind. The girl smirked at him, as if he was the one who looked ridiculous.
“Uncle,” she said, looking up at him.
He decided to stay on the balcony. The better to look down at all the trash.
“Niece. Good to see you’re back. Lotta work to be done around here,” he growled. He could feel the darkness in his blood roaring at him. Just like that night so long ago with his wife.
