Pirate Nemesis (Telepathic Space Pirates Book 1)

by Carysa Locke

  She’d forgotten. Wolfgang never could sit around for long, not even to play a hand of cards or sip a glass of something nice.

  He grabbed her shoulder in a gruff half-hug. “Why don’t you come and have some dinner with me?”

  “I wish I could, but I have plans.”

  “Do you, now?” The look he gave her was far too perceptive. “With Reaper?”

  Mercy fought to keep embarrassment from flushing her cheeks. Wolfgang had never judged her for any of the connections or liaisons she’d had in various spaceports. Her life had never been conducive to anything long term, and the old Wolf never seemed to have any illusions about what two young women might get up to when most of the people around them were smugglers, thieves and mercenaries. He gave them one lecture about being safe and careful, showed them the contraceptive and health treatments stowed with the rest of the medical supplies, and never asked any more questions. Mercy had always been grateful for that.

  And truly, the one time she’d tried for something more had ended in disaster. She forced her thoughts away from that and gave a casual shrug.

  “With his family. His brother’s the head of security on this ship. Reaper wants me to talk to him about the bombing.”

  “Yes, I’ve met Dem a few times now. He seems competent.” Wolfgang crossed his arms. “Be careful, Mercy.” This was said so softly, Mercy knew it had nothing to do with Dem or security.

  She glanced at him. “I am. I will.”

  He said nothing else, just brushed his lips across her forehead in farewell, and showed himself out. Mercy heard Zion greet him before the door slid shut.

  Cleaning up before dinner seemed like a good idea. She was pretty sure she could still smell the acrid burn of the explosion clinging to her. She made quick use of the shower, taking a little longer than necessary as she reveled in using the water option. Her room actually had a full size tub, something she’d never seen aboard a ship outside of expensive luxury liners only the wealthy elite could afford. She hadn’t noticed it on her first inspection as it was hidden behind a clever panel that made the bathing room look smaller than it really was.

  A bath sounded like heaven, but she didn’t have time now. She looked at the nano-graph tub fashioned to look like pale grey marble shot with gold, and ran a mournful finger along one edge. Later, she promised herself.

  Turning one wall into a mirror again, Mercy did the best she could with her hair. It was longer now, not quite brushing her shoulders so not long enough to tie back. Unfortunately, Nayla’s growing spells didn’t mean it looked nice. The hair fell in uneven dark waves, ending up with tufts that stuck out funny and didn’t lay nicely. Still, it was much preferable to the shaved look Willem Frain had left her with. She’d have to get some nano-bots and clean it up. For now, though, she combed it as best she could and divided it into two sections, twisting them into braids and using a sealer she found in one of the drawers to tuck the ends in. She looked like a grown woman wearing the hairstyle of a five-year-old, but it was something.

  Mercy decided wearing armored clothing to dinner might not set the right tone. Especially given Dem’s title. She had just finished pulling on a casual cotton shirt – the real stuff, so soft beneath her fingers she lost a few moments playing with it before she pulled it on – when a chime at her door sounded. She stood up, hastily tugging the deep purple shirt straight, and did a mental sweep to see who it was. She was expecting Reaper.

  But it wasn’t him.

  She was so shocked she opened the door to verify with her eyes what her mind was telling her. Sure enough, Max and Kator stood side by side outside her door, neither one looking comfortable.

  Both boys were dressed in plain, serviceable synth-fabric clothes. Their bruises were still spectacular. Apparently no one had treated their minor injuries. Half of Max’s face was covered in a mottled purple bruise that started at his left eye, extending down to his jaw. It looked painful. Kator’s nose was swollen, and scratches stood out in livid red down one side of his neck. He kept giving Zion nervous looks over his shoulder, and that one wasn’t helping with the grim look he wore. He stood up straight, looming over them with silent menace like he’d as soon pound them into the deck as allow them to see Mercy.

  She glared at him. Do you have a problem?

  Nope.

  She gritted her teeth.

  “S-sorry to bother you, Your Majesty.” Max stuttered out the words, looking ready to bolt at any second.

  “Don’t call me that.” The words came out sharper than she intended, thanks to her irritation with Zion. Max’s face went white beneath the bruising. To her utter mortification, both boys dropped to the floor, heads bowed like she was some kind of idol. Or tyrannical monarch.

  “Please forgive me, Your—I mean ma’am.”

  Seriously?

  But Mercy could see Max’s whole body quake as he knelt before her. He was definitely, ridiculously, serious. If anything, Kator was worse. He huddled in as small a mass as he could bend his large frame into, like he hoped to disappear into the deck.

  Mercy looked at Zion. What the hell is wrong with them?

  He shrugged. They might be too young to remember Lilith, but they’ve grown up hearing the stories.

  She looked down at the boys again. So they’re terrified of me.

  Pretty much.

  She sighed. “It’s Mercy. You can just call me Mercy.”

  Neither boy moved, and she got the feeling her words did little to reassure them.

  By the Mother. “Would you stop that? Get up.” She reached down and took each boy by an arm, hauling them up until they scrambled to their feet. “I’m just Mercy. You don’t need to be afraid of me, and you don’t need to bow or call me anything but my given name. Got it?”

  “As you wish, M-Mercy.” Max stuttered over saying her name, and it was everything Mercy could do not to roll her eyes.

  “Let’s get straight to the point.” Better to get this conversation over with and put everyone out of this misery. “Why are you here?”

  The boys exchanged a look. Mercy found it interesting that these two suddenly seemed to be allies. There was no sign of Kator’s group of friends anywhere in the corridor. Folding her arms across her chest, she leaned against the door frame and waited.

  “We came to apologize,” said Max. He was staring down at his toes.

  “For what?”

  “For what happened at the arena. F-for making you personally intervene in our disagreement.”

  Mercy raised an eyebrow. “Is that what happened?”

  Kator had crossed his arms in a defensive posture. He was twisting the material of one sleeve so hard she was surprised the fabric didn’t rip. Max kept staring at the deck. Mercy eyed them for another long minute.

  “Bullshit,” she said, and both boys flinched. “Why are you really here?”

  “I-I—”

  “The apology might be part of your strategy, but it isn’t why you came to see me.” She was sure of that. Spending half her life dealing with swindlers and thieves had given her a healthy meter for bullshit. “The two of you are the opposite of friends, yet something made you come here together.”

  “We want to swear ourselves to your service,” Kator blurted out, the words so fast they almost ran into one another.

  Mercy felt her jaw drop. “What?” She looked at Zion. They want to what?

  He smiled, and for the first time it felt genuine. It means they’re declaring their loyalty. They might want to be trained as future dogs, or you could assign them specialized training and tasks. For example, you might want to give one of them command of a ship that answers directly to you. He eyed both boys with a speculative look. When they’ve proven themselves, of course. In the meantime, their focus of study would change to what you direct, and they’d do odd jobs for you when required.

  So, what? They’d be servants?

  Zion gave her a disapproving look. No. It means you would become responsible for their training, for…m
entoring them. And they would gain the advantage of having that mentorship. And your favor.

  She stared at both boys, who fidgeted and waited. They almost seemed to be holding their breath. The very last thing Mercy wanted was to be responsible for anyone else. What the hell was she supposed to do with two teenagers?

  It would crush them if you refused, Zion said. The bastard’s eyes were twinkling. They won’t be the last, either. You’d better decide now if you plan to refuse everyone who asks.

  Mercy thought a lot of colorful swear words. She could hear Zion chuckle mentally, and gave him one last glare. She could also hear the thoughts of both boys, they were thinking so hard. They badly wanted her to say yes.

  What happens if I tell them no?

  Zion sobered.

  This is the first thing I have ever seen the two of them united on. Your refusal could very well send them back to being at odds.

  Are you just saying that to manipulate me?

  Now he gave her a flat, cool look. Do you think I don’t give a shit about their lives? Don’t think you know me, lady.

  “Fine,” Mercy said the word aloud. Both to him, and to the boys. “I guess I accept.” She held up a hand to forestall the tumble of words she knew was coming. “But I’m still learning all of this. You’re going to need to be patient while I figure out what the hell I’m doing.”

  “No problem, You—I mean Mercy.” Max bobbed his head in something between a nod and a bow. “Thank you. You won’t regret it.”

  “No more fights. Especially to the death. If I hear about it, you’re both out –got it?”

  “Absolutely.” Kator was nodding like a fool.

  “But if you have to fight to protect yourselves, I mean, definitely do that.” Mercy wanted to rake a hand through her hair, but couldn’t because she’d braided the stuff. Damn, she was already messing this up. “If anyone is giving you trouble, I expect to hear about it. Hopefully before it becomes physical.”

  They both continued their vigorous nodding. Exasperated, she waved a hand. “Unless there’s something else, I have a dinner to get to.”

  “Yes, I mean no. Mercy.” Max gave her a fervent grin as the boys backed away. “We’ll report to you first thing in the morning.”

  She winced. “Let’s go for a couple of days from now.”

  She could tell from their expressions that the delay was disappointing, but neither boy argued. Apparently they knew the value of not pushing their luck. The two of them ran down the corridor, jubilant in their body language and smiles. They passed Reaper on the way, who gave them a long look as they hurried by.

  “You mean I only have a few days to figure out what to do with them?” she asked Zion.

  “Come on, it’s not that bad.”

  Mercy sighed, watching Reaper approach. “That’s a matter of opinion.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Mercy was anxious. Reaper could see it in the way she kept smoothing her hands down her thighs, or how her brow furrowed when she ducked her head. She’d been nervous before, when he’d taken her to the arena. But not like this.

  Part of him wondered why dinner with his family could possibly be a more stressful prospect than facing a few hundred pirates, some of whom had every reason to want her dead. He could look into her thoughts to find out, but she’d actually been bolstering her shields. They’d finally reached a level of strength where forcing his way past them felt like cheating. So he didn’t.

  “What?” She looked at him warily, and he realized they’d been standing outside the door to Dem’s quarters for too long while he watched her.

  He shook his head in answer, and brushed against his brother’s shields with his mind. He bit back an oath a moment later, but not soon enough to stop Mercy from shooting him an alarmed look.

  “What’s wrong?” The tension in her body reached new heights, and Reaper huffed a frustrated breath as he felt Dem acknowledge his presence.

  “My brother is here,” he said, keeping his voice low.

  “Isn’t that the point?”

  “Not that brother.”

  He could say no more before the hatch opened, framing the exact person he’d been hoping not to see tonight. Treon blocked the doorway with his body, a move as intentional as it was provoking. Reaper already wanted to throttle him, and he hadn’t even spoken yet.

  His youngest brother looked nothing like him. All three of them had sharp differences in their physical characteristics due to their different fathers. But Treon was somehow even more removed, because unlike Reaper and Dem, Treon was no Killer. His eyes were the softer, deeper blue of their mother’s. They reminded Reaper of her every time he saw them. His skin was fair, his features beautiful in a way Reaper’s or Dem’s would never be. Treon put even Zion’s looks to shame. Only in the dark fall of his hair, and the masculine lines of his jaw, did he resemble his brothers.

  “Well, well.” Treon crossed his arms. “I’ve been looking forward to this moment.”

  Reaper cast a look Mercy’s way. If anything, her wariness had increased, the furrow in her brow deeper.

  Treon gave her a long, penetrating look.

  Don’t. Reaper kept the thought on a tight mental thread, reserved just for his brother.

  Oh, come, Nik. Don’t tell me you haven’t been inside her head.

  To train her. Not to take whatever I wanted.

  So scrupulous. How unlike you. Aloud, Treon said “Your Majesty, it is an honor to finally meet you.” He even tilted his head in a kind of bow.

  “Don’t call me that.” Reaper saw Mercy take a moment to rally after snapping the words. When she spoke again, her tone was lighter. “It’s just Mercy.”

  Prickly, isn’t she?

  But Reaper saw something behind the glint in his brother’s eyes. He wasn’t just here to provoke. He wanted to see this new queen for himself. He didn’t yet trust that she wasn’t another Lilith, despite what Reaper told him.

  Move aside, Treon.

  His brother opened his mouth, probably to say something else obnoxious, but he was forestalled by the sudden presence of a small whirlwind. Tamari appeared between them, dressed in a yellow frock with red flowers and fat ladybugs. Her curls were bound in pigtails on either side of her head. She was so excited she danced in place, each step moving her up through the air until she stood at eye level with them.

  Uncle Nik! Mercy! Uncle Treon, Momma says to stop being you. What does that mean?

  Treon softened instantly, reaching out to tweak her nose. “It means she wants me to stop poking at Uncle Nik and let them in the door.”

  Tamari giggled. You weren’t poking him.

  With my words, halla. With my words.

  Tamari wrinkled her nose. That doesn’t make any sense. Mercy, come see my room! Uncle Nik, Papa wants to talk to you.

  Tamari grabbed Mercy’s hand and tugged her right past Treon, who had no choice but to move. Reaper gave his brother a small smile as he followed. There was a simple satisfaction in watching his brother’s arrogance punctured so easily by a child.

  That child makes mighty Killers back down, Treon said. What chance do I have?

  Reaper gave him a cool look. Humility doesn’t suit you, Treon.

  I am merely speaking the truth, brother.

  Stop it, both of you. This is a no-sniping zone. Treon, I know that will be especially difficult for you. Sanah, Dem’s wife, inserted herself between them to give Reaper a hug. After more than four Galactic Standard years, it was still a practice that startled him. People just didn’t hug Killers voluntarily.

  Unless you happened to be married to one, it seemed.

  And that was still a shock to Reaper. Killers didn’t marry. On rare occasions they became consorts, but in those situations, there were always other men in the coterie who could provide the emotional resonance a woman needed. In nearly all other circumstances, Killers formed short-term contracts with other Killers to produce children. Men and women who weren’t themselves Killers rarely sought
more than a single night’s thrill when sharing a bed with one. The physical act of sex could be mutually satisfying without emotional resonance, but rarely in a long term arrangement.

  Reaper had often wondered since meeting Sanah how Dem managed it. Maybe the fact that she was an empath had something to do with it.

  As Sanah let him go, Reaper studied her. She was short, pretty, with wild red curls, pale skin, and a dusting of freckles. Her blue-green eyes sparkled with a warmth that was at once fascinating and alien, largely because she directed that warmth at him. As though she cared for him.

  Oh, Nikolos. I do care. When I married Dem, you became my brother. Sanah linked her arm through his and pulled him further into the room. He could see they’d expanded the kitchen counter into a full table, suitable for seating several people. It was already set for dinner.

  Very few people would have dared to breach his shields so casually, and Reaper had known all of them for much longer than Sanah. But she’d never seemed afraid of him. Wary at times, but not afraid.

  How do you make it work? Even he was surprised at the boldness of his own question. As much as he had wondered, Reaper had never before asked Sanah about her relationship with his brother. She gave him a long, searching look.

  You and Dem had more than Killers for fathers, Nik. Sanah never called him by the name everyone else used. It reminded him of his mother, and something inside him softened, thinking about her. Yes, said Sanah. You are half the genes of your mother. I wish I could have met her.

  She would have liked you. Reaper wasn’t sure what prompted him to speak the words, but the radiant smile Sanah turned on him was both unsettling and pleasing.

  She squeezed his arm. Thank you for that. Now, to answer your question more fully. Dem has emotions other Killers I’ve met lack. No, that’s not quite right. Dem is able to connect with his emotions in a way other Killers can’t. The same is true for you, though it seems more difficult. Perhaps because Dem is only a quarter Killer, where you are fully half. She gave him a sober look. It will be a long and difficult journey. But if you want to build a loving relationship with her, it can be done.