by Bex McLynn
"Pants." She nipped at his bottom lip. "Off. Now."
"As you will, Seph." He chuckled, sliding his hands from her ass to the front of his pants. He shoved them down his legs, smirking as his cock sprung free and she ravenously gazed at him. Kicking free of his boots and pants, he coordinated his tumble so that he covered her body.
When their flesh connected and triggered a cock-wrenching thermal exchange, he lost all his finesse. Grabbing roughly at her thighs, he spread Seph open and thrust inside.
Gods, her cunt. Hot. Wet. Tight. Taking him whole.
He swore. The words, both rapturous and vulgar, pulled from his gut and hissed long and low from his lips.
Arching over Seph's body, yet blissfully anchored inside her body's grasp, he watched her eyes lull with passion. The sight struck a visceral blow. He now had a knowing of her, did he not? He should not feel so raw. Or perhaps each time he took her, the intensity would shoot through him anew. He honestly didn't know.
But Jahat and TerTac and the Trine wanted to end this. They wanted to cart Seph away, leaving him with nothing but these sensations that had sunken into his bones.
Damn them.
Rage spurred a grating growl that vibrated his overwhelmed nerves. Matching the frequency of his lust, he moved. Surge. Retreat. His hips rocked forward. His back and shoulders bowed, desperate to keep her face centered in his view so that he could brand the memory.
Seph cried out. He lowered even further, almost breaking himself in half, and buried his head into the crook of her shoulder. He needed to hear each pant and moan. His choppy breathing pulled her scent deep into his chest. He'd hold all of her deep inside himself. So deep they'd have to gut him like a spirenought to get her out.
He worked his arms beneath her and grasped her shoulders. On the next thrust, he buried himself deep. He pulled her close, caged her in his embrace. He rose to his knees and resettled her astride his lap. Seph gasped in pleasurable shock and clenched down on him everywhere. Her hands clamped tightly to his shoulders. Her legs squeezed about his waist. Her sweet cunt constricted, gripping him.
By Direis, she was perfect.
Holding Seph, watching her grasp him with everything she could to pull him inside, stunned him again. She had been damaged as well. Someone hurt her. Tore her from her world. Abandoned her in another. Sought to use her.
Yet, she clung to him. Her hands, legs, and core held him tight while her spine arched back, exposing her breasts and saddle. She rose above him and sank back down, taking his entire cock inside her. She, too, desperately reached for something, determined to take him with her.
She wanted him. Thank gods, she chose him.
His wanting became too carnal, jagged because it was exposed. To have proof that his choosing wasn't one-side had him thrusting with a single-minded focus. He felt no shame. No matter where she went, she'd always be his.
"Oh god." She shook above him, her own rhythm flagging as her body began coiling for her orgasm.
"Fuck, yes." He wanted her to break while soaring above him. She'd be so damn beautiful, like an exploding star.
More words came. He begged her. Pleaded with her to always choose him. To never let go. She had all of him.
"Have to. Have to," she said plaintively.
So he pushed harder. He couldn't let her go. She could rise into the cosmos, and he'd still follow her. She could burst like a godsdamned supernova, and he'd gather and horde over her stardust.
"Stay." His command was raw. "Stay with me." A desperate plea.
His name tore from her throat, then she bore down on him, squeezing so tight. She combusted and he followed, so fucking relieved that they shattered together, their shards mingling as they came tumbling down.
He just battled with Unholde himself, only to find that he'd slipped into the cradle of Direis's embrace.
Godsdamn them all. He had to let her go.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Zver bristled, aggravated that he was already cleansed and back in his uniform. Not even an hour. That was all the time he could give her. A rough fuck and then his back as he left the small berth. The process was too familiar. Too much like his last assignation, where he'd brace and leave. It angered him. He had wanted his time with Seph to be different.
Varlet, his aide, waited patiently in the Athel Hall along with Wies. Both hovered discreetly by the swinging doors. He wasn't under any illusions that his men were ignorant of his intimacy with Seph. They just refrained from commenting on it.
"Lekar just arrived," Varlet said. "Mernok will join you in the hangar."
He nodded as his long strides took him away from the Athel Hall. He had wanted to go alone, without Varlet trailing behind him, but there were too many wheels in motion—transferring crew, transferring prisoners, arranging meetings, updating his homeworld ministers at Bulan Ero.
He made it through the hangar blast doors just as his medicmaster disembarked. His engineermaster was already there, fidgeting and pacing.
"I trust Lady Seph is resting well," Lekar said knowingly, yet somehow without a trace of lewdness. Well, there was one man under his command who would not hesitate to comment on his private affairs.
"She is well."
Lekar studied him critically. "I have... questions. Of a medical nature."
Zver coolly regarded the man. Like hell he did. Seph, despite all her assertions to being merely Human, still resembled the lush, artistic notion of a sefura. Nothing beyond what she displayed demurely—praal-free complexion, sensual curves, and long, coiled hair—was for other men to know. He embraced the fierce possessiveness that rose within him and let it seep through his composure.
Lekar grumbled, disappointed. "Questions which I see will remain unanswered."
"I suggest they remain unasked."
"Good point. So, off to the brig it is."
"How is the ship, Mernok?" Zver asked his engineermaster.
"Holding steady," Mernok said distractedly, then blurted. "Are we truly giving her up?"
He knew Mernok meant Prykimis, not Seph.
"Aye," he said grimly.
Mernok shivered. "Feels wrong, Thane."
He caught Lekar's eye and raised his brow to inquire about Mernok's health. The engineermaster had been one of hundreds of men darted by the ship. Lekar, in turn, raised his own brow, as if to say, He's standing, isn't he?
"Tell me about the darts," Zver said.
"Their structure is fascinating," Mernok said excitedly. "They're biomechanical. Just slivers of metalloid chitin."
"And they contain allohormones," Lekar said. "Organisms use that substance to induce a direct behavioral or physiological response."
Zver chuffed. Physiological response. "Like unconsciousness."
"In our case, yes. But it also has the potential to do more. Some species use allohormones to control mating. To denote caste. Identify group members."
"Ship could have been tagging her clade," Mernok said.
He gave the engineer a warning glance. Now that he knew Mernok's views about moya and sentient systems, he had to filter the man's comments. He wanted mechanics, not mysticism.
"Possible," said Lekar. "Also possible she indiscriminately kicked ass and left us to sort the mess."
Mernok frowned. "But I don't feel like I had my ass kicked. I'm just groggy. Those other arses, the mutineers, they're bellyaching like it's their first hangover."
Zver re-evaluated Mernok. Despite the mysticism slant, all of his officers' findings suggested the darting had some level of discernment. Mutineers had been hit with a heavy dose of sedatives, left borderline comatose. Meanwhile, relatively benign crew members had been treated more gently, awake and back on their feet within an hour or so.
Then he added Seph's reflection on the incident. Again he'd eavesdropped through her WristCune when she shared with Rannik her recollections of the marauder attack. She had also given his son a project to pursue, probably because Zver had seized their clade.
I
think the ship asked me if I wanted it to fire the guns.
He was cautiously skeptical. He'd never experienced anything that Seph described. Not with Deleo or with Vayant, Bulan Ero's spirenought. During the time he'd spent with Vedma and then Arana, neither Athela confessed such an encounter with him. They sensed the ship, but they never described the sensation as an entity. Plus, TerTac's stance on the matter stated that the fleet did not operate sentient ships.
Yet, the dart turrets sorted the targets...
To Mernok he asked, "Have you been able to deactivate the dart turrets?"
He had asked the same of his systemsmaster and weaponsmaster. Both had responded negative.
"No, Thane," Mernok said, then reluctantly added, "We may have to forcibly remove them."
He had considered that as well. However, since Seph would remain on Prykimis for an indefinite time, he wanted to give her every advantage that he could.
"Understood. However, we're not to that point, yet. The turrets have been silent."
Mernok exhaled, outwardly relieved.
He excused the engineermaster as they arrived at the brig. His own men, as well as Sobeck's fleetmen, were relocating prisoners. The TerTac command cruiser would transport them to Teras Ero. Out of Prykimis's original complement of six-hundred men, less than a third remained in service to the ship. Over three-hundred men fled with the marauders, and the remaining one-hundred-and-fifty were here, in the brig.
The high number of deserters did not surprise him. The conditions on Prykimis had been bad. The deserters, already downtrodden and jaded, refused to believe that things could improve. The mutineers, however, reeked of Thane Jahat's influence. Grondin and his officers were undisciplined thugs, men who should never have been given authority on a TerTac vessel. Yet, Thane Jahat deliberately placed those men on Prykimis, expecting them to conduct themselves like marauders and raid other houses.
He found Grondin in his cell, bound in restraints. Lekar hovered over him with a MediCune scanner.
Grondin grimaced. "Come to gloat, then, Thanemonger?"
"We're remanding you to TerTac custody. You're bound for Teras Ero, trial and sentencing."
Grondin nodded his head and said, "He'll never let you have the ship. He may disregard his duty, but he's determined to keep his honor. Keep anything that he can squeeze some use out of."
"In the matter of Prykimis, his hands are now empty," Zver said, and as he suspected, Grondin smiled upon hearing of his father's failure. "Your father sent you out here to rot, Grondin. The mutiny wasn't to disrupt my efforts to repair the ship. You wanted to take the spirenought for yourself."
"Fucking right I did," Grondin said hotly. "So he couldn't do this to anyone else." His praal almost pulsed on his face. He sneered. "Prykimis. It's what mothers cry when begging their sons to be good. 'You'll be sent to the dead ship and become a ghost.' Other houses... At least you are banished properly. Have a chance to start again. If the thane sends you to Prykimis, it's over. Ship's nothing but a tomb."
He absorbed Grondin's honesty and replied with his own bare assessment. "I've always thought your father an arrogant imbecile. Prykimis should be celebrated amongst your people. She was meant to be your defender, not your curse."
Grondin scoffed. "Makes no matter to Jahat. He still wields her like a weapon. For Cendera Ero. Against Cendera Ero. All the same to him."
He agreed with Grondin, but ultimately, he had a reason for speaking with him before TerTac took him away. "Thane Jahat has contact with the marauders, doesn't he? Will they attack Prykimis once she is underway?"
TerTac forced him to part with Seph, but he would still see to her safety.
Grondin just grunted and grinned cruelly.
"They'll be targeting the Athela, Grondin. Our women."
"Course they will. Live women, off world for an easy grab. Nothing but Lassies out here."
"And your father would rather see Prykimis destroyed than let her go?"
"I'm not helping you," Grondin said, then pressed his lips closed.
He appealed to Grondin's hatred. "If I have proof Jahat's in alliance with marauders, you won't be the only member of House Jahat on trial at Teras Ero."
Grondin remained silent.
Very well. He had been hoping to resolve this swiftly, capitalize on Grondin's hatred for Jahat. He had his own contacts with the marauders. He'd find a way to implicate Thane Jahat, keep Prykimis safe. Keep Seph safe as well.
Seph stood at the Cuneiform desk, her palms flat on the surface, her elbows locked. Stars twinkled before her, like a scattering of loose diamonds on black velvet.
Diamonds.
She took a step back and lowered her head, swearing at her musings. Worthless diamonds. Of course she would see jewels and not star systems or coordinates. She might as well stare at a black hole. Images of Xander and home faded as her hope drained away, as her arms hung heavy and empty.
Her WristCune pinged, announcing an incoming comm. She glanced down, saw Hyva's contact avatar. Welcoming the distraction, she retreated from the Cuneiform desk and plopped down on the couch.
"Seph, here."
"Hello, Lady Seph." Hyva greeted her neutrally. "You requested a conference with me."
She had. Seph didn't want to float certain questions past Vedma, with her dismissive attitude, or Arana, with her pro-Academe stance.
"I do, Hyva. Thank you for contacting me."
"My pleasure." Solicitous words, but Hyva still sounded detached.
Seph shook off her misgivings and charged ahead. "Is it possible for someone else to stabilize Prykimis as she travels to Lusin Ero?" Like, Arana for instance.
"Yes, given time."
"How much time?"
"Considering you've been on Prykimis for nearly two weeks, creating bonds, my estimate would be triple that amount of time to realign stabilization to another technopath."
Hyva was talking about spending almost two more months on Prykimis, yet Seph desperately wanted to be elsewhere. Then she thought of the hundred or so men who didn't mutiny. Who would be trapped on a floundering ship as they waited for stabilization to happen again. She knew what it was like, to have home and safe harbor seem out of reach. She couldn't do that to these men.
"Cheese," she whispered, and in her mind, Xander echoed, And Mac-a-Mommy. God, the last time she called him 'Cheese,' he told her to stop. That it sounded too babyish. He smiled mischievously and said he'd call her 'Whack-o-Mommy' if she kept it up.
"Pardon?"
She cleared her throat, forcing words out. "Just cutting the strings would be bad, then."
"Strings? How do you mean?"
"You know, my control over Prykimis. Like a puppet and puppet master."
Hyva paused, then said, "That is an ill-fitting analogy. You're not a puppet."
Seph cringed. "I meant the ship."
"Prykimis is much more sophisticated than an articulated doll. Now, if you were to compare her to an automaton or android, perhaps—"
Frustrated, Seph cut her off and asked, "Hyva, how do I disconnect quickly?"
"You don't. You're bound."
Disheartened, Seph cast her eyes about the Chamber. All those mornings in the cargo hold, she gave herself stiff pep talks about being a master manipulator so that she could get a spaceship. Now she had one. She was such an arrogant, ignorant ass. "I didn't mean for this to happen."
"Indeed not. You have no control. You're an untrained technopath."
Seph sucked in a breath, waiting for Hyva to continue voicing her thought, but the other woman said nothing else, so she thanked her for her time and disconnected.
Seph stayed on the couch and wallowed. Her thoughts turned cruel, but she couldn't stop the self-bashing. She wasn't a master manipulator, but a puppet tied to the ship. She wasn't a star navigator, having found two-hundred Big Dipper star patterns, but no Milky Way. She wasn't a cognizant technopath, having no idea how her presence stabilized Prykimis. She wasn't a competent Athela, having failed t
o get the one man she asked to formally clutch with her.
Seph groaned in frustration and pulled at the roots of her hair.
Her strings with Zver.
A tug-o-war was about to happen, one that she'd never win. She wasn't even one of the tuggers, but the string itself, pulled taut between Zver and Prykimis. Presently the three of them were together, sharing the same space, indulging her whimsy. But it was now a matter of days, maybe even hours, before TerTac would order Prykimis to Arana's homeworld. Zver and the ship would separate. She would be stretched between them, only able to lengthen so much before snapping.
If she broke now, she would be done. Zver wouldn't be there to pick up the pieces.
She'd lose Earth. She'd lose Xander.
If she didn't want to break, she'd have to let Zver go.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Zver leaned against the wall, disgusted with the silence. Perhaps he should have served canteen porridge rather than edible food brought over from Deleo. Maybe he should have projected stars onto the ceiling so that they all could cuddle on the floor and gaze up together. Maybe he should have stayed outside, in the Athel Hall, and eavesdropped, so they'd chuckle at all the penis-configured constellations.
Fuck. He wanted to throw his tray against the wall.
Rannik kept his eyes locked on his meal like he anticipated an attack. Seph, sitting on the floor before the low table, just pushed her food about with her utensil. Therion, on the couch, gave him a questioning look, meaning Zver must have growled aloud, unable to contain his ire.
Mere hours. That was all the time he had left with her. Commander Sobeck ordered Prykimis underway. Instead of being with her, driving himself relentlessly into her body, straining over her as she burst wide open in radiance, he tried to recreate a scene he never had with any of his other women. A meal shared with his son and brother. Fraternity. Domesticity. Laughter over terrible porridge.
He had no skills for this task. They ate in silence.
Therion's WristCune pinged. Zver spied the message. His brother received his orders to report to Prykimis's bridge as her new Acting Commander, replacing Grondin. They should be celebrating his brother's promotion. Celebrating Rannik's return to Fleet Academe.
