The Last Queen

by Christine McKay

  “Far, far away,” Adrianne said fervently.

  “If you wish.” His eyes gleamed. Form the location in your mind, so I may see it as well.

  She thought about all the places she’d visited before. “Wait a second.” She ran back to her room, then returned with a newspaper clipping. “Here.” The article was about a lighthouse overlooking Lake Superior. She kept it at the time, thinking she might want to vacation there.

  “It cannot be tied back to you?”

  Adrianne laughed. “No, but I’d love to see the expressions on their faces when they get there.”

  “It could be arranged.”

  She felt mesmerized by his gaze. “Um, no, that’s all right.”

  “As you wish.” He walked across the street and deposited the newspaper clipping in the driver’s lap. The car started and the blue sedan pulled quietly away.

  “They won’t kill anyone driving around that way?” Adrianne asked.

  “They are mindful of the road and your everyday laws.”

  “Like a hypnotist making a person think he’s a chicken. Wow, I’d love to learn how to do that.”

  “I would be honored to teach you. If it would bring a smile to your face, I will bring them back and make them cluck like chickens.” He said the last in a quiet manner, watching closely for her reaction.

  “Is that your mission? To keep me happy?”

  “Happy Dragonesses do not shatter glass.”

  “Ah, but angry Dragonesses do all sorts of unpredictable things.” She stood on tiptoe and, before she could lose her nerve, kissed him. “Thank you,” she whispered and escaped out of his reach before he could respond. She was rewarded with a thoroughly surprised look on his face. Her lips tingled with the taste of him.

  Altarre simply stared, mouth agape.

  “Not a peep from you,” she said, wagging her finger at him.

  He closed his mouth, looked at Navarre, looked back at her, then nodded. Quince remained impassive as usual. “Or you,” she said to Quince.

  “You are our Queen,” he replied smoothly.

  “I don’t want to forget this all,” Nikki blurted out.

  “I wouldn’t let them.”

  Navarre interrupted Adrianne. “You do not pose a threat to our Queen.”

  “Good,” Nikki said with profound relief. “Well, I have work to do. Time for you guys to shove off. Why don’t you show up some night at the bar so I know you’re still alive?” she added, a bit too casually.

  “It’s a promise.” Adrianne gave Nikki a quick hug. “You take care.”

  “I always do.”

  Can Quince stay with her? At least for a little while? Adrianne asked Navarre.

  He should have a fair chance to make a favorable impression with his Queen.

  He makes Nikki happy. For that, he is high on whatever list he needs to be on. But I won’t demand he stay.

  I would be honored to guard your companion, Quince interjected.

  “Mind if Quince stays with you for a little while?” she asked Nikki and shot Quince a grateful look. “To make sure those cops don’t show up again and you don’t get any visits by rabid dogs?”

  Nikki’s eyes widened. “Do I mind?” she asked in a whisper. “Oh Lord, I’ve been such a good girl.”

  “That’s a yes then?”

  “Yes, yes, and oh yes. Here.” Nikki tossed Adrianne the car keys. “Give Quince a crash course on driving and let him bring it back. That’ll give me some time to get ready.”

  “Play nice with him.”

  Nikki winked. “You bet.” She sashayed back into the bar, swinging her hips.

  Adrianne glanced at Quince. His eyes were riveted to Nikki’s backside.

  Men! Universally, regardless of species, they were all the same.

  Chapter Twelve

  Nikki leaned back in her chair, tapping her pen against her teeth. Quince sat in a chair on the opposite side of her desk, as stiff as one of the famous Swiss Guards.

  It was one thing to admire a stranger in a crowd. It was quite another to be left alone with him. And he was an alien to boot.

  Quite a looker, though. Dark, closely cropped hair, black as ink, framed a strong face with a bronzed complexion and eyes so shadowy they appeared almost black as well. His shoulders were broad, not like a bodybuilder’s, more so like a street fighter, not that she had an intimate knowledge of a street fighter’s build, but he reminded her of someone who studied judo or karate. Someone who was completely confident with his body and his abilities.

  Right now, he was busy examining one of her kinky sex etiquette books. It was upside down, she noted. So he was at a loss what to do too, huh? That was reassuring.

  “So.” She tapped the pen on her desk. “As my bodyguard, do you need to be walked through my building so you know the layout? How about keys? Are you going to need access to everything that’s mine?” The last sentence put her in a very sassy frame of mind.

  She expected him to drop the book like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Instead, he carefully closed it, replaced it exactly where it had been on her desk and focused his attention on her. “When you are ready, a close appraisal of your facilities would be wise.”

  She dropped the pen. Mind out of the gutter, she reminded herself. Not everyone thought in double entendres. Well, she was getting nothing done with him sitting here before her, all dark and mysterious, like some sinfully expensive piece of chocolate wrapped in gold foil.

  “How about now?” She rose gracefully from her chair, the need to seduce and taunt her sexuality too ingrained to be dispensed with now.

  She watched his eyes examine her. Pleased that she could attract the attentions of even an alien, she slipped past him, her skirt brushing his pants leg.

  He stood, as fluid and sinewy as a cat.

  Her skirt skipped a beat at that. She’d slept with male dancers before, but even they didn’t move with that kind of unconscious grace.

  He followed her out of the office and into the bar area. “Your clientele has extreme tastes, do they not?”

  She paused to face him. “If you mean are they the minority rather than the norm, that depends. I cater to all sorts. The public is more vanilla. The private parties, more often than not, walk on the wild side.” She’d be the first to admit that some people’s fetishes were way out there and not to her taste, but it wasn’t up to her to question someone else’s morals.

  “When are the private events held?”

  “Anytime. I like to keep Monday to myself though. Bar’s open Wednesday through Saturday.”

  “Do you trust all your personnel?”

  She hesitated, pursing her lips. “Yes.” Trust came in many forms.

  “Enough to reveal my nature?”

  “No.” She released her breath.

  He nodded his head thoughtfully. “Our Dragoness is your closest friend?”

  She turned away. “Sometimes she’s more a daughter to me than a friend.” She started to the front door. “Forget that. Some things I say to you should be kept between us.”

  “There should be no secrets between me and my Queen.”

  “Should and will are two different things.” She glanced over her shoulder, meeting his eye. “You intend to be completely honest with her? Every person in your group is going to bare their soul to her?”

  “I understand the distinction you are trying to make. I will practice discretion.”

  “Thank you.” She turned to the front door locks and fiddled with the electronic combination. She didn’t quite trust the electronic gadgets one hundred percent so she kept the front doors secured with standard door locks as well. The building, however, had a security system.

  Quince looked thoughtful. “Is it possible Doug has the combination and a key?”

  “You’re right. I should have the locks changed.”

  “Immediately.”

  Didn’t she just get rid of one neurotic overanalytical friend? That was cruel. She loved Adri to piece
s, even if they did get on each other’s nerves from time to time. She was going to miss her. Hell, she already did. “Doug is only angry with Adrianne.”

  “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

  Her fingers hovered over the keypad. He continued to stare at her, waiting. “Are you always so macabre?”

  “Your safety is my concern.”

  “Adri’s safety is your concern. I am, hopefully, just a polite nuisance.” She leaned against the door, arms folded under her breasts. “Do you find me attractive?”

  He broke her gaze, looking away. “I am not familiar enough with your language to answer that.”

  “Bull.” That hurt, but she wouldn’t let him know it. She kept her body in excellent shape, despite her age. “Granted, I’m probably old enough to be your mother.”

  He didn’t quite meet her eyes. “What is your age?”

  “Forty-five,” she shot back, defiant.

  He looked amused. “I count my age in centuries, not years.”

  “I see.” That came out as a squeak. Silly her. Who’d have thought? So the aliens aged differently than humans. She’d have to remember to tell Adri that. It was her turn to look away.

  “I will change all the key codes. As for the other doors, I’ll have to get my handyman in to change the locks. Some of my employees have keys too.” Her mind wandered at that, better to let it take that track than wallow in his apparent disinterest in her. She was a big girl. She’d been turned down before. It’d been a while, though, and the guy turned out to be gay and had a boyfriend. Somehow, being turned down because one was the wrong gender didn’t hurt so much as out-and-out rejection.

  She headed toward the rear service doors.

  “Nikki.”

  The way he said her name made her want to rip open her blouse and throw herself at him. Of course, anything he said had her thinking naughty thoughts. She gritted her teeth. “Yes?” Her voice was polite, but disinterested. She wouldn’t let him know he hurt her.

  “I would be unable to conceive a child with you.”

  She stopped in her tracks and spun around. Quince neatly avoided her. “What?”

  His face was serious. “Conception between our species would not be possible.”

  She didn’t know whether to laugh in relief or just stand there with a shocked look on her face. She waved her hand around, encompassing the bar and the stage. “Does it look like I want kids?”

  “I am unsure of your motives.”

  Aha. So he did want her. Confidence bolstered, she sidled up to him close enough to inhale his primordial scent and he, her perfume. “My motives are purely sex-driven,” she purred.

  He took one step back to distance himself. “Always?”

  “Always.”

  “Are you and our Dragoness lovers?”

  Another blow. She rocked back on her heels. How did these guys think? “Adri had a boyfriend.”

  He shrugged, watching her.

  “No! I don’t swing that way.”

  “Mmm” was his response.

  Whether that enhanced or detracted from her appeal, she didn’t know.

  “I am prepared to have a sexual liaison with you,” he said finally.

  “Well, thank you very much. You flatter me.” She put her hand to her heart. He said it with about as much passion as he had when he instructed her to change the locks.

  “You misunderstand.” He strode up to her, picked her up by the elbows and kissed her thoroughly. His lips were rough, not unkind, but possessive in a way she never thought possible. She opened her mouth slightly, inviting in his tongue, but he was not about to be enticed.

  He set her down. “Let us examine the rear entry now.”

  Double entendre, be damned. She’d never been kissed to the point of stupidity before. Quince looked just a wee bit pleased with himself. “Umm, right this way.” She glanced over her shoulder once. His face was once again impassive, but the gleam in his eye was unmistakable.

  She was in way over her head.

  * * * * *

  Alone. The Dragoon had finally left her on her own. Granted, she was safely tucked in her own room in the belly of their ship, but right now she didn’t care. Adrianne wasn’t accustomed to having people pulling at her constantly.

  After another joint meal and some formal conversation with more members of the Dragoon, she had finally been allowed to escape to her room. Thank goodness. Having so many sets of eyes focused on her was unnerving. It was not unlike standing in front of a roomful of students only these men knew exactly what they wanted. She was the student and she had thirteen teachers all with their own agendas.

  A couple of boxes of her belongings and an empty room faced her. According to Navarre, the ship was alive, a sentient creature which could form whatever furniture she wished out of its malleable body. That alone should have been enough to freak her out. It said a lot about how far she had come that it didn’t. Right now, she wished for nothing more than a bed, but her mind was way more alert than her body.

  “Well then,” she said out loud, hands on her hips.

  She felt the ship patiently waiting for her request. Funny, when she finally had nothing to do but focus on herself, she heard and felt many little nuances in her environment she’d previously overlooked. With the television and radio always playing in the background of her former life, she missed these quiet voices. The wind, the trees, even the snow had voices, some more insistent than others, but presences nonetheless. She was probably better off not hearing them in her former life. She would have thought herself mad and the doctors would have agreed. Could Navarre have reached her mind through a drug-induced haze?

  Her room had no outside windows, she supposed for her own safety, but it was spacious enough not to be claustrophobic. Navarre had indicated that an opening could be made to face the inner auditorium-like space, but she wasn’t sure the Dragoon wouldn’t spy on her then. What a dumb thought. The room was probably filled with surveillance cameras. She glanced around. The walls, floor and ceiling were all a muted gray.

  “All right then, how about a chair?”

  A formless mass of inky gray rose from the floor beside her, and shaped itself into a boxy version of a chair, all blunt edges and no class.

  She wrinkled her nose. Functional, yes. Pretty, no. It probably wasn’t the ship’s fault. It had served the male members of the Dragoon for God knows how many years.

  “I think we can do better.”

  How detailed could she make her furniture? Could she communicate with the ship, mind to mind?

  She formed the image of an ornate throne, complete with curlicue arms and a red velvet seat. The boxy gray chair vanished to be replaced by the chair in her mind.

  “Much better. But I was just kidding.”

  The chair dissolved into a puddle of gray slime that melted into the floor.

  “That was really good,” she said, unsure how much the ship understood. “Thank you.” She paused. “Can we try something else?”

  As if in response, she felt the ship vibrate beneath her feet.

  A smile toyed at her lips, her eyes dreamy. She formed the image of a very unconventional bed in her mind. Why not? The Dragoon had said it was her own private space.

  The shape of a gray-skinned woman rose from the floor, head thrown back, arms which were no longer just arms, but dragon wings as well that curved back and up. She lost track of the time, focusing on that one woman, sheathed in nothing more than scales, a bare arm here, a finger half turned to claw there. Perfect breasts, the hint of ribs, a muscled abdomen. She longed for a body that goddess-like. She’d never sculpted before, but she now knew the same possessive pride of an artist. The woman’s head was thrown back, lips parted slightly, eyes closed. When she was finally satisfied, the sculpture stood just slightly taller than herself.

  “Can you make three more?” she asked, picturing the wings of each tangling to form a canopy. This was to be her bed.

  Three sculptures rose immediately fr
om floor, mirror images of the first. A hint of a headboard etched itself along the wall between two of the stone women as if questioning her. “Yes,” she replied. With that, the headboard solidified, along with a mattress. The sculptured women colored, the shade of veined gray-hued marble. The walls turned a shimmery white pearlescent with a single thought. The ceiling became a panoramic view of the night sky, violet-hued, the northern lights captured in all their glory in one great sweep across her “sky”.

  Now her mind leaped ahead of her before she voiced conscious thought. Playful, the ship eagerly joined in. Romanesque columns twisted and were born in the corners of the room. A gothic style arch of brickwork framed the outer panel. Dark green vines crept up the columns. Buds formed and flowered in seconds. The nodding wine-toned roses froze in the peak of bloom. A herringboned paver path traveled from panel to bed, broke apart to circumvent the bed and trailed along to her bathroom.

  A wardrobe formed along one wall, a great hollowed tree trunk. Its tree branches scraped the ceiling, and vanished into the “sky”. The remainder of the floor became lush green grass, springy to the touch. She whirled around the room, laughing. The ship purred with her. She flung herself on the bed.

  There was a soft rap on the panel.

  Uh-oh. She panicked and glanced around the room. One wall started to turn gray in response to her unspoken request, but she didn’t have the heart to annihilate all her creations. The wall returned to its pearlescent state. They’d have to accept her sooner or later. They had no choice.

  “Come in.”

  The panel slid open. “Dragoness?” Altarre asked, taking one tentative step into the room. He looked around, eyes wide. “I was about to ask if you wished a tour of the ship to give you an idea of what you could create in your private sanctuary.” He touched a nodding rose close to his hand. “But we have nothing to compete with this splendor.”

  She rolled onto her stomach on her bed, carefully nonchalant, and observed his reaction from between two stone dragon maidens. Resting her chin in her hands, she waited for him to continue.

  “May I enter?”

  She waved a hand in acquiescence.

  He eyed the statues warily. “Do you dream of this?” he asked in a low voice.