by Nina Croft
That was for later. Now, he just wanted to sit here and think of nothing except how good Destiny felt in his arms. He shifted again and pulled her onto his lap, held her cradled against him, all warm and soft.
He tugged at her so she straddled his hips and he buried his face in the curve of her throat, breathing her in. He licked her skin and tasted the saltiness of sweat. Her eyes were closed, and he stroked his thumb over her lower lip, then kissed her. She tasted of whiskey and warm woman, and his cock stirred in his pants.
He didn’t want to think.
She was kissing him back, her tongue pushing inside his mouth, her hands in his hair, and he winced as pain shot through his head. He didn’t stop her, though. He could put up with a little pain. She pressed down against him, rubbing herself against his growing erection, small moans emerging from her throat as she tried to get closer.
Someone cleared their throat directly above them, and Destiny went still on him, pulling away slightly and staring into his eyes. Her lower lip coming out.
He lifted his gaze to Dylan. “Fuck off.”
“Sorry, I don’t like to spoil your fun, but we have things to do. Important things.” He didn’t sound at all sorry. He turned his attention to Destiny. “And I’m a were-fucking-wolf thank you very much,” Dylan said. “Never call me a dog again.”
He was pulling a T-shirt over his head. One of Milo’s. He’d obviously trashed his clothes when he’d shifted and helped himself to Milo’s stuff. Probably taken the last bottle of whiskey as well.
Destiny sighed but pushed herself to her feet and held out a hand to him. He took it and stood up, running his free hand over the lump at the back of his head and trying not to flinch.
“Does it hurt?” Destiny asked. She sounded as though she cared.
“I’ll live.”
“I’ll take a look at it when we get to the ship. I read a book on first aid.”
“What about me?” Dylan asked. “I got shot.”
“You look all right to me,” Milo said. He was quite aware that once the werewolf had shifted, he would have healed the bullet wound. So he could stop whining and trying to get sympathy. Though he supposed Dylan had carried him most of the way back from the shuttle.
“Thank you,” he said.
Dylan grinned. “That didn’t hurt a bit, did it?”
Milo ignored him, just turned around and strode back along the corridor to the spaceship. He headed for the galley and sank down into one of the chairs.
Destiny got a cloth and a bowl of water from somewhere and he bent his head forward obediently so she could dab at the lump on his head while she murmured soothing words. The touch of her fingers felt so good.
He glanced up to meet Dylan’s amused stare.
“Is there anything left to eat?” Dylan asked.
Destiny shook her head. “No. I’m sorry, we finished the last of the food this morning.”
“Once we’ve had a little chat about what happens next, I’ll head out and see if I can find us something.”
“Like an animal? Will you turn into a wolf and hunt us some food?” Destiny sounded intrigued by the idea. He hoped she wasn’t impressed by the whole changing into a dog thing.
“I was thinking more along the lines of pinching something from one of the other ships.”
“Oh.” She placed her water and cloth onto the table and sat down next to Milo, but she was staring at Dylan. “Does it hurt, changing into a do—” She pursed her lips. “Into a wolf?”
“The first few times. Not now.” He raised his arm and Milo sensed the shiver of magic in the air. Claws extended and black fur sprouted over his knuckles as Dylan’s hand changed into a vicious wolf’s paw.
Destiny grinned, clearly entranced. Hell, he was only a big dog. Though the partial shifting was pretty impressive—only the strongest of shifters could do it. All the same, Destiny didn’t know that—there was no reason to look so impressed. She reached out and stroked her finger over the black fur.
She showed no fear at the werewolf thing. The average human would probably have been running and screaming by now. But Destiny was far from average. He was also a little concerned about the ultimate outcome of this. Secrecy was the way they survived. Would Dylan be happy to leave her here with the knowledge that she was aware of what he really was? While Dylan came across as quite affable, Milo was aware that wasn’t who or what he was. He didn’t think Dylan would kill Destiny without giving her a choice. There were other ways to ensure her cooperation. He was aware that Dylan had changed Logan Farrell—if not by force—then he had made him an offer the other man couldn’t refuse. Be changed or be killed. Would he force the same offer on Destiny? Or would he just kill her? Not if Milo had any say in the matter, but he had yet to work out the best alternative.
And right now, that was the least of their worries. If they couldn’t find a way to contact Rico, then they were on their own and had to somehow find a route off planet. Or they were stuck here. And that was not an option.
“Stop showing off,” he muttered. “I thought we had important things to do.”
Dylan shrugged, but his hand returned to normal. “They want us dead.”
“It certainly seems that way. That was no warning.” He still didn’t understand why, though. Why had things escalated so fast?
“How safe are we here?” Dylan asked.
“Pretty safe. The wards will hold. I think.”
“You think?” Dylan frowned. “That doesn’t fill me with a whole load of confidence.”
“Things don’t work exactly the same here. But we’re good for now.”
“What are you?” Destiny asked suddenly, and he turned to look at her. He’d been expecting the question but at the same time hoping to put off answering a little longer. He didn’t know why he was reluctant. Maybe because the last woman he told had promptly handed him over to the Spanish Inquisition. To save his soul—she had told him. And Maria had loved him.
Across from him, Dylan sat back in his chair, arms folded across his chest, with that amused half smile still on his face.
“Are you a wizard?” she asked Milo. “You have a wand and you can make things disappear and move things like…” She hesitated as if not wanting to put it into words.
“I think the word you’re looking for is magic,” Dylan said.
Milo cast him a cold look. “No. I’m not a wizard.” Fucking Harry Potter had a lot to answer for. People were seeing wizards everywhere. Pick up a stick and suddenly you were a goddamn wizard. He’d met a few in his time and they were invariably assholes.
He tapped his fingers on the table, then looked at Destiny. She was watching him, a small frown between her eyes. She gave him a weak smile. As though to say it was all right if he didn’t want to talk about it. That made him feel guilty, though he wasn’t ashamed of what he was—even if a lot of people did consider him a close relation to the devil.
“I’m a warlock,” he muttered.
“What?” Dylan said. “Speak up, we didn’t quite hear that.”
“Piss off,” he growled.
Dylan laughed.
“What is a warlock?” Destiny asked. “Isn’t that another name for a wizard?”
“No.”
Dylan laughed again. “Aw, he’s gone all shy. I don’t think he likes talking about himself. So I’ll fill you in, shall I?”
Destiny rested a hand on his arm. “If you don’t want me to know…”
He shrugged. “Why not?”
She might as well know the worst. At least there weren’t any handy priests around to hand him over to if she decided to try and burn the devil out of him. For his own good, of course. Though he supposed Captain Aaron Sekongo would probably take on the job if she asked him nicely. The thing was, though, he didn’t think Destiny would do anything like that. He wasn’t sure what her thoughts on
God and the devil were—though she hadn’t seemed too impressed with the Bible—and he had an idea that religion hadn’t played a huge part in her education. Dr. Yang was a scientist, and science and religion didn’t tend to go hand in hand.
“A warlock,” Dylan said, “is the offspring of a witch or wizard—they’re human with little powers of their own—and a demon.”
“You’re half demon?” she asked.
He forced himself to look at her, reluctant to read her expression. Her eyes were wide, her hand still rested on his arm, but she didn’t look horrified. More intrigued.
“Demons can vary in strength and powers,” Dylan continued, without giving him a chance to answer. “Minor demons have few powers, but then you have an increasing scale going all the way up to the top where you find the seven Princes of Hell, and then well, it’s fair to say that the sky’s the limit. Scary stuff.” He held Milo’s gaze. “Do you know who your father is?”
His mother had handed him to Rico to keep his safe from his father. Demons could be a little unpredictable where unwanted and unasked for offspring were concerned. His mother had played a dangerous game with the demon, she’d been desperate to gain power and get revenge on the people who had killed her sister. And she’d paid the ultimate price. His father had hunted her down and slaughtered her. And Milo would never forgive him.
“I know.”
“And are you going to share?”
Milo blew out his breath. “Malpheas.”
“Really?” Dylan looked at him through narrowed eyes. “You’re kidding?” He let out a laugh, though for once, he didn’t actually sound particularly amused.
Yeah, Milo was kidding. Not. “You’ve met him?”
“Hell, no. I’m not sure anyone has met him and lived to tell the tale. Have you?”
Oh yeah. He’d spent ten long years as a guest in the halls of his father’s castle deep in the Abyss. That was down to fucking Rico. Again for his own good. Why was it all the people who were supposed to care for him made really fucking dubious decisions when it came to that care? His mother had given him into the guardianship of a vampire. Maria had handed him to the Inquisition. And then Rico had delivered him to his father. All for his own good. “We’ve spent some time together. It was…interesting.”
“I bet.”
Actually, without that time, Milo doubted that he would have survived. After the whole Spanish Inquisition thing, his life had gotten pretty crazy. Before that, they’d decided that most of his father’s powers had passed him by. It had been a relief. In fact, the powers had been lying dormant, just waiting for something to awaken them. Nothing like being tied to a stake and set on fire to wake the sleeping demon. He’d been out of control. Angry, heartbroken—he’d loved Maria despite her betrayal—the powers had raged; he’d nearly destroyed Rico, put all their existences at risk. So Rico had made a deal with his father. Ten years of Milo’s life in servitude to the demon in exchange for teaching him control.
It was fair to say that they would never be close—he would always blame his father for the death of his mother and much of Milo’s time and energy had been spent seeking ways to make his father pay. But Malpheas had taught Milo about who and what he was, how to channel his powers, how to keep them contained within himself. How to hide what he was. He’d gotten the tattoos in that time—demon tattoos to harness the demon fire in his blood.
After the ten years was up, his father had offered him a home—no fucking way. Besides, Milo had been brought up in the human world and it called to him. He was half human as well as half demon and he had gone back to live among men. Well, men and vampires, among other things.
“Who is Malpheas?” Destiny asked.
“He’s one of the seven Princes of Hell,” Dylan replied. “Some say the most powerful of the most powerful group of demons in existence. Shit.” He jumped to his feet and paced the small room. “Does Rico know?”
“He knows.”
“Shit,” Dylan said again.
Milo grinned. “Sorry you came along now?”
“I’m not sure.” He sat down again, studied Milo as though he were some dangerous wild animal who might…spontaneously combust them all at any moment. “Is he dead?” he asked.
That was something Milo didn’t know. What had happened back on Earth? And had whatever happened extended to the other dimensions? Was Hell still in existence? Maybe he’d never know. But one thing was for sure, his father was beyond Milo’s reach. “I don’t know.”
He cast Destiny a sideways glance. What was she thinking? Did she believe him to be evil?
“What happened to your mother?” she asked.
He touched the amulet at his throat—the last gift his mother had given him. “My father killed her.”
“Oh. That’s so sad.”
“She used him, and she knew the risks.” He gave a shrug. “Enough—that’s all a long time ago and far, far away.”
“Well, just remind me every so often never to really piss you off,” Dylan said.
“Good plan, but too late.”
Chapter Thirty
“In politics, my dear fellow, you know, as well as I do, there are no men, but ideas - no feelings, but interests; in politics we do not kill a man, we only remove an obstacle, that is all.”
—Alexandre Dumas, The Count of Monte Cristo
Milo wasn’t human. Or not totally human.
Her head ached slightly. She analyzed the feeling and came to the conclusion that it was probably from all the whiskey she had drunk. She’d read about hangovers. Likely, she was suffering from her first. She pressed her fingers to the spot between her eyes as she sat down at the console.
Milo and Dylan had followed her to the cockpit and now took up position behind her seat.
Dylan wasn’t human, either. Though she supposed he had been at one point. Before he was bitten.
She pushed the thoughts from her mind because she needed to concentrate. She was going to try and contact Milo’s uncle. Who apparently wasn’t a blood relative and so not related to any demons. More than that she didn’t know. But he would help Milo and Dylan leave the planet and her.
She didn’t want them to go. Just thinking about them flying away and leaving her behind made an ache start in her chest. At the same time, she knew they had to leave—it was dangerous for them to stay. She relived that moment when she’d thought Milo was dead. She never wanted to live through that again. She’d rather he was away from her and safe. Actually, she’d rather he stayed with her and was safe, but right now that didn’t seem to be an option.
And he’d made no mention of taking her with him.
Would she go if he asked?
She wanted to so badly, but at the same time—how could she? How could she abandon everything she had been brought up to believe? Duty. Responsibility to the rest of the human race.
At least now she understood a little of why Milo didn’t feel the same sense of responsibility. Because he wasn’t human. Though he didn’t seem to be too fond of demons, either.
She’d always known he was a loner.
She just wished she understood more. What her role was. She knew then that she had to find a way to contact Dr. Yang. She had to discover what she was supposed to do that was so important.
“Destiny?” Milo spoke from behind her. She’d been lost in thought. Now she gave herself a little shake. One thing at a time.
She blew out her breath and placed her palm on the panel. The console came to life. Immediately, she heard the crackle of static, then silence. “This is the frequency I heard the message on.” It was all quiet now.
“Can you make a note of that?” Milo asked. “It might be useful to be able to keep track of what’s going on.”
“I’m sure there’s a way to get it to store the frequency, but I don’t know how right now.”
“Okay, we’
ll just have to find it again.”
She had gotten the frequency for the comm unit on the Trakis Two from one of the engineering books on the fleet—it had the frequencies for all the ships, and she sat chewing on her lower lip. It was totally different from the local frequencies, and she suspected she wouldn’t get there by just turning the dial. She had to somehow flick the machine to a different level. She studied the console. Tapping the button had seemed to move between big areas of frequencies. The dial then narrowed it down. She tapped the button, then ran her finger around the dial. Nothing. Not even any crackle. She tapped again. Same thing. The third time, though, she heard the faint crackle of static. She turned her finger very slowly around the dial and the crackle got louder, then cleared.
“This is the Trakis Seven, we are receiving you. Go ahead.”
She looked up at Milo, and he shook his head, clearly he didn’t want to talk to the Trakis Seven.
“Hello, can you identify yourself?”
She turned the dial again and the voice faded. Her finger moved around.
“This is the Trakis Ten, we are receiving you. Go ahead.”
She thought for a moment, then waved a hand to her ereader. “Can you pass me that?” she asked.
Dylan handed it to her, and she swiped through the pages. She’d highlighted where the frequencies were and she looked up the other ships, comparing them to the Trakis Two.
She grinned, then reached out and turned her finger the other way. She moved quite quickly, until a red light flashed on the console, and she stopped. Then started slowly turning back the opposite way.
“Trakis Two here and this better be fucking important.”
She’d got it. She was good. She tapped the button next to the screen and it lit up. She blinked a couple of times. A man appeared. Black hair pulled into a ponytail, olive skin, and eyes so dark brown they were almost black. He was stunning.
“Who the hell are you?” he asked.
“I’m Destiny.”
He raised a brow. “Of course you are.”
Milo gave her a nudge and she stood up and moved to the side so he could sit down. Dylan gave her a thumbs-up and a grin. “You are good, baby.”
