The Colossus Collection : A Space Opera Adventure (Books 1-7 + Bonus Material)

by Nicole Grotepas

  “Yes, but which part of your plans? I agree. I—” he hesitated, his head cocked to one side, “—I don’t want to throw a wrench in the gears, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried about you.”

  “Worried? Why?” She finished dressing and hobbled into his bathroom. She studied her face in his mirror. Dark circles under her eyes revealed what she already knew—that she’d not been sleeping. She pulled a brush through her long dark hair and listened to Iain.

  “Not to go into specifics. You were just shot, Holly. And I know you’re tough as hell—that’s one of the things that I admire about you,” he appeared in the doorway to the bathroom, shirtless, his lean chest and torso striking her as particularly inviting. The look was a weakness for her—pants, no shirt, the top of his hip bones inviting her touch. His unshaven morning face was also maddening in how alluring it was to her. He stopped speaking, maybe seeing the hunger in her eyes. “What?”

  “I didn’t say anything.” She put the brush down and pulled her hair into a ponytail.

  His eyelids went half-mast, almost like he knew what she’d been thinking. “Not with your voice, no.”

  “You were explaining how much you admire me,” she prodded, grabbing the spare toothbrush and starting on her teeth.

  He laughed. “I should know better than to try to change your focus.”

  “I was just shot. Can’t argue with that, so I’m not going to.”

  “I’ve never been shot, Holly. But I know people who have been. It doesn’t just cause physical damage.”

  “Are you saying I’ve got mental problems now? I mean, can’t really argue that either.” She hesitated as she saw Iain’s expression change. Her tone may have been rougher than she meant it to be. “I doubt the worst of my psychological issues came from getting shot by an asshole stranger who I know is a complete bitch, versus getting punched in the face by a man who was supposed to be gentle with me and love me. You know?” She finished brushing her teeth, wiped her hands and mouth, and took a step to the doorway. He didn’t move out of her way. She sighed and took his hands, resisting the urge to touch him in so many other ways. She breathed deep.

  Iain’s expression turned stone-like at her sarcastic response and reference to Graf. His jaw moved as he clenched his teeth together. “Not fair,” he said, taking her by the arms and pulling her into his chest. “If I’d known him, I might have killed him.”

  She wanted to laugh, not at Iain, but at the idea of experiencing worse psychological torment from a stranger she considered an enemy. Where it took her years to accept that Graf wasn’t someone who loved her or that she loved—that he was, in fact, someone she needed to reject, to cut off the feelings that aroused love in her for him—she had no quandary about how she felt about Magna. The woman would pay.

  Iain’s skin beneath her cheek was almost too much. His heart pounded close to her ear. It echoed against the bones of her face. One breath drew the scent of his neck into her. Her thoughts swirled with notions of intimacy—breathing him in, absorbing him into her. She’d never been so aware of how intimate it was to breathe in a person. Like tasting them. Like hearing their heart in her ears, the rush of blood, the heightened awareness. It would derail her plans for the day. I have time. Just one little swim through him. Just one little dip. It would restore her. It would give a piece of herself back to herself. Remind her of who she was. It would rebuild the recently crumbled walls of Holly Drake and give her back all the things that Magna had tried to take from her…

  “You know that’s not what I meant, Holly,” Iain said, his words and the sound of his voice pulling her out of her head enough that she was able to suppress the avalanche of desire crashing through her. He tried to let go of her. But she held him tight. Her grip on on him made him laugh a tiny bit, and then he curved more into their embrace. “I forget this about you.”

  The hug lasted a few more minutes, and then they separated.

  “Magna, the woman who did this, is on my list. I’m going after her and the orrery.”

  * * *

  Iain slid a mug across the bamboo counter and tipped the carafe of kasé over it. The smell of the brew woke her up another notch. She punched a number into the communicator and flashed him a look of gratitude as she held the communicator up to her ear.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  She ignored the condiments he handed her and sipped the kasé plain. Today was a day for all bitter. Both the flavor and heat scorched her mouth.

  “Yo, Drake,” Darius said, answering.

  “No all night bender, then?” she asked. “No grieving at your favorite speak-easy?”

  “One, not your business, two, since you asked, no. Busy hatching a plan.”

  “I’m intrigued. What’s your plan?” She watched Iain doing kitchen things as she conversed. Though she was energized, there was that eternal part of her that wanted to have the time to sit with him and relax. Listen to the five or six records in that back room of his story that he’d rummaged up from random shops in the alley. Read actual, physical books sitting beside him. Just have time to exist without the pressure of needing to be drumming up money or recovering an object of value to sell. That life would never be hers, she suspected.

  “What’s your plan?”

  “My plan was to get you to tell me your plan.” She sipped her drink. “What’s your plan?”

  “No time for games, Drake. This hitch in our former plans has me pretty grouchy. You called for a reason. Tell me what I can do to help. Give me something. Or I will head somewhere that I can lose all my money.”

  “Don’t do that. This is my plan. Simple. Get the orrery back. If Voss wants it, she can’t have it.”

  There was a pause as Darius digested what she’d said. “Those words sound pretty. But how.”

  “I’m handling some of this. What I need you to do is start trawling the underworld or whatever you call it, for information about Voss and the orrery, what she intends to do with it, if she’s going to fence it, that sort of thing.”

  “Already doing that, Drake.”

  She sat back in her stool, and felt a smile creep across her face. “I have the best crew,” she said.

  “That’s right. Never forget it. Even when the chips are down, we never give up.”

  She ended that call, drank from her mug, and made another call.

  “HD,” the familiar voice said on the other end. “I see you can’t go very long without hearing my voice.”

  “You know me so well,” she said, smiling at his lisp. Xadrian Tyanne had somehow become Holly’s liaison between herself and Dave.

  “To what do I owe the honor?”

  “Last I checked, you were still playing secretary to our mutual friend, Dave. I’m requesting an audience. Today, if he can swing it.”

  “Requesting an audience? With a sarcastic request like that I should require several days of advance notice,” Xadrian said.

  “I could just call him myself.” She studied her fingernails, wondering how the power move would go over.

  “No need to get hasty, HD. I’m sure he can work it out. The usual location?”

  “If you mean the new location, yes.”

  “The one with the rooms and music. That tasteless abomination?”

  “Your elitism is one of my favorite things about you,” she said.

  “Well, it’s not the Glassini. So, yes, I do find it to possess an embarrassing gimmick. I have his schedule right here, HD. Today at 11.” He ended the call before she could say that worked for her.

  She sighed and made another call, exchanging a look with Iain.

  “That bad?” He was making something at the stove, sautéing or the like.

  “I need to leave. Apparently my appointment is for 11.” She ended the call that went unanswered and put her communicator down on the counter.

  “Without breakfast?”

  “Well . . .”

  “Eat first, Holly. You can’t heal without nutrients. Food is love. This is
almost done.”

  “Did you just tell me you love me?” She teased, her heart catching despite her suspicion that it was an idle phrase. “I always imagined it would be different.”

  He didn’t answer, but the side of his face dimpled with his smile.

  Holly cleared her throat. “Whatever happens next, Iain, I think I’ll need you.”

  “Want to explain that?” He tossed the contents of the skillet, concentrating on catching the ingredients.

  “Well, I got lucky this time and survived Magna shooting me. But I can’t risk my crew.”

  “So you’ll risk me to save your crew?” He shot her a look, then turned back to his task.

  “Well, when you put it like that,” she said, laughing uncomfortably, leaning away from the counter. Honestly she hadn’t thought it through—but he was right. It sounded like she was willing to put his life on the line for the benefit of her crew.

  He left the skillet on the stove, pulled two light gray plates out of the nearby cabinet, and placed them on the counter.

  “Is there another way to put it?”

  He was mildly irritated, she sensed. “I didn’t think you’d be so against it, or turn it into a question of my willingness to risk you over my crew. You were a soldier. I trust you, and you know enough medicine that you could help us if we need it.”

  He lifted the skillet off the heat and poured half the contents onto one plate, and half onto the the other plate. After returning the skillet to the stove, he turned it off, grabbed two forks and slid a fork and plate to Holly.

  “Thanks.” She wanted to push it away, but didn’t. She suddenly didn’t feel very hungry.

  “Look,” he muttered, taking a bite of the vegetables, noticing that she wasn’t moving to eat it. “I’m sorry. I don’t necessarily like that I’m worried about you, but I am, now more than ever. And your crew.”

  “That makes sense, I think.” She couldn’t blame him—she’d worry over him if the situation were reversed. It was hardly fair to expect him to do something she couldn’t do. “Do you know something I don’t? Do you know if the Centau military is strong enough to fight on multiple fronts? You were in it. You saw what they have.”

  “Yes, I saw it. It’s strong. But I never saw the full force. And whether it could protect the borders of our solar system and the multiple wormhole entry points, plus some kind of internal revolution, I’m afraid I don’t know the answer to that.” He cleared his throat and put his fork down on his plate. “Otherwise, I don’t know something you don’t know. But I have my suspicions. You’ve already been hurt, and I don’t think it’s going to get less dangerous as things evolve.”

  “And your suspicions are?”

  “Less suspicions, more like I can see that this is much more than a simple gig where you and your crew go in, do some stealth meddling and get out. You’re building a small military and you plan to do what someone with a military force does.”

  She bit her lip, watching him closely for what he might be afraid to say. “And you think I shouldn’t?”

  “I think you should do what you think is best. But I am worried. That’s it.” He shrugged.

  It was her turn to feel irritated, but she took a bite of the food and stared at him. “Then come with me. Because I am going to do what I think is best. And that means not sitting by while the situation continues to get worse.”

  He sighed and shook is head. “Holly Drake. I swear you want nothing more than to be the death of me.”

  “True. And I’ve got your number.”

  38

  “That works for me. Thanks,” Holly said, and closed the communicator. She slipped it into her pocket. Now we’re getting somewhere, she thought. She needed to set the rest of her plan up, but for the time being, she glanced out of the listening booth through the windows just as Dave was heading toward her. Ben—who seemed to live at the slowly spinning bar—lifted his eyes and caught her glance. He dipped his head, smiled, and waved then turned back to his bar and busied himself with getting a drink.

  She let Dave in and closed the door behind him. “Holly Drake,” he said, taking off his hat, coat, and gloves.

  “Thanks for coming,” she said.

  “Happy to,” he said. Holly immediately sensed the lie. “What else do I have to do with my day but meet my covert agents for drinks?”

  “Oh, so you own that I am an agent. Ixion’s ghost, I had no idea you were calling me that.”

  Dave seemed flustered as he draped his discarded winter wear over the back of the sofa. “You’re not.”

  “Too late. You revealed your hand,” Holly said. She took a long drink of her water. No alcohol for her today, not with the painkiller in her system. “What games are you playing?

  “No games, Holly. You think that I would conceal something from you?” He took his suspenders down and plopped into the sofa. She watched him.

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were exhausted. Too many irons in the fire? Too many angles to keep track of? Agents all over? Plans unraveling?”

  “All right, enough already,” Dave said, running his hands through his short hair. The motion caused his hair to stick up at crazy angles. As Holly watched him, she realized she hadn’t seen him looking so exhausted in a while. Not since she’d first met him. Even then, when she was on the way to save his child, he still put up a good facade. He looked at her as she limped to the window. “What happened?”

  “Oh, you mean with my clownish walk?”

  “That’s exactly what I mean.”

  “Got shot,” she said. She’d managed to get a pair of her standard black pants over the bandaging and was keeping the pain in check with some mild painkiller. Shiro’s and Odeon’s help early on had been integral in preventing it from being worse, starting the healing process by cauterizing the damage right away. She was prepared for an ugly scar, and thanks to Meg’s reaction at Iain’s a day and a half ago, she had her doubts that others would find it as kick ass as she did. Of course, that was the way of things—mixed feelings on all fronts. On the one hand she appreciated the scars that gave her a story. But on the other, they marred her physical appearance. But I’m so much more than how I look, she reassured herself.

  Constantly. Yet, was that true?

  “Good lord, Holly.”

  Dave’s reaction snapped her out of the chain of thoughts. “It’s healing. I’m fine.”

  “Is that why you wanted to meet? So I could come see your war wound?” There was a tap on the glass portion of the door and they both looked up. The bartender was there with a surprisingly froofy-looking drink—bright pink with yellow and blue layers and some fruit sticking out of the top. Dave got to his feet, opened the door, and took the glass from Ben. “Thanks.” He shut the door and put his drink on the knee high cocktail table.

  “Is that for me, or, er—” she said.

  “Hilarious. You should take that show on the road,” Dave said, sitting back down and sipping it. “It’s disgusting. But it’ll wake me up.”

  “I don’t think that’s how alcohol works.”

  “So about this war wound,” Dave began, ignoring her jab. “How did you get it?”

  “Voss’s henchwoman. A vicious monster. I have other words to describe her, but I know how delicate your ears are.” Holly refrained from calling Magna so much worse. “We almost had the galactic orrery. In a little skirmish aboard the transport zeppelin, she shot me, got the orrery and basically slaughtered everyone aboard the ship. Left us to die as well, but we managed to get off before it crashed into Ixion.”

  Dave leaned forward, wove his fingers together, and touched his lips with the tips of both forefingers. Holly watched his reaction. She’d learned enough today to know that he could simply be feigning surprise. She knew for certain now that she knew less about him than she’d previously suspected.

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, Holly, but you said galactic orrery? I heard that correctly?”

  “Yes. You’ve heard of it?”


  He hesitated, glanced out the window at the skyline, and then looked back at her. “It’s been mentioned in some of the information we’ve extracted from that crystal you brought back.”

  She waited. He said nothing more, though the expression on his face turned more introspective. “So it’s not just a trinket?” she guessed.

  His gaze intensified. “I don’t know much yet, but I suspect that it’s not just a pretty bauble.”

  “Have you seen what it looks like?”

  “Yes, the information contains images, but it’s written in a language that we don’t know. Or a code.”

  “But you’re trying to decipher it?”

  “Of course. Galactic orrery,” he repeated in a whisper. “Truthfully, I hadn’t known what it was called—but when you said it, I suspected that you were saying something that referred to one of the images contained in that crystal. If the name is correct, this could be a key to unlocking the language.”

  Holly cursed and took another drink of water.

  “Not drinking today?” Dave’s eyes glimmered with mirth as he noted this change in her typical behavior.

  “Not a great idea to mix alcohol and pain-killer.”

  “Holly, dear, lovely to see you practice such restraint.”

  She smirked. “Comments like that might undo all my restraint as I slap you.”

  “Come on, then, what was that cursing about?”

  “That galactic orrery,” she said with a hefty sigh, “was going to pay for my new pet project.”

  “Which is?”

  She gave him what she hoped was an enigmatic look. “Now Dave,” she began, “do you know how big the 6 Moon’s defenses are? For example, could they fight a battle on two or three fronts?”

  He blinked. “What a surprising question, Holly Drake. Why ever do you ask it?”

  “I have my reasons.”

  “And they are?”

  “You first.”

  His eyes narrowed. The edges of his mouth twitched like he couldn’t decide whether he should smile or not. It became a staring contest as neither of them flinched. Holly began to wonder how the standoff would look to those outside the listening booth.