by Lili Zander
Toram had died in less than a year after he’d been enslaved. He’d been beaten by his owner for not working fast enough. His cuts got infected. The drugs to cure him were expensive, and the man who bought him decided that Toram wasn’t worth saving.
I never knew who my father was. When I was a child, I used to fantasize that it was tall, thin, graying Toram. He probably knew. It never changed the way he treated me. Toram was always kind.
It’s Toram’s face I see now. And Jemina’s, and my mother’s. And when I speak, my voice sounds as icy as the coldest night on Boarus 4. “I am your death.”
A shiver runs through Raven. Most days, I can keep the dark caverns inside me hidden, but not today. Not when Hiram Gravtar is still alive and so many of the people that I cared about are dead.
I’ve scared her. I’m about to open my mouth to say something reassuring, but before I can do that, she straightens her spine. Her eyes blaze bright. “Let’s take him down.”
Raven’s parents were killed on Boarus 4. She was sent to the re-education camps—a glorified prison—as a child. She was there for ten years. She’s been forged in fire. She’s stronger than all of us.
Unbidden, a memory rises. Raven building her ice-boat and hoisting the sail, and effortlessly gliding across the ice.
That was the first time I realized I’d underestimated her.
Today needs to be the last.
4
Raven
Nero’s eyes are focused on the screen. He reminds me of a s’kal cat at this moment, lazy and languid, nothing in his body showing that he’s inches from striking. His fingers stroke the controls, soft and light, and I have a sudden vision of his hands on me, his thumbs teasing my nipples. I sit straight in my seat, pressing my thighs together. The slavers are about to attack us, and I’m fighting the urge to touch Nero.
What the hell is wrong with me? When danger surrounds me from every direction, my need for the vampires reaches a fever pitch. The first time I slept with Saber and Nero and Zeke, it was right after Olaf and his enforcers attacked me.
Great Spirit, I’m fucked up.
Thankfully, Nero doesn’t seem to notice the direction of my thoughts. His attention is on the slavers’ ships. He’s on guard for any sudden attacks.
I am your death. His voice had been flat and unemotional, but the words themselves had come from the deepest part of him. Saber’s warning sounds in my ears. This is a situation that is designed to make him lose control.
Nero told me once that we were similar. It was the first day I’d met the three vampires. Saber had sponsored me in the tournament, and afterward, Nero had gone with me to my apartment so that I could pick up clothes. He’d sat on my bed and he’d told me that he’d grown up on the streets. That he understood me.
That day, I’d scoffed at Nero. That day, he was just a vampire to me, rich and powerful. The vampires were our masters. The balance of power would always be in his favor.
But I’d been wrong about him. I understand his pain now. I understand his desire to obliterate everyone involved in enslaving his mother.
Out of nowhere, three more ships appear on the screen, yanking my attention back to the here and now. “Nero,” I gasp. “There’s more of them.” I feel so helpless. I can cut through the ice on Glacis and find fish so I don’t starve. I can follow a s’kal cat’s trail for miles on end. I can build a shelter from blocks of ice so I don’t freeze to death. But out here in space, none of my skills are of any use. I don’t know how to fly a ship or shoot a gun.
“I see them.” Unlike me, Nero sounds perfectly relaxed. “Here, take this.” He indicates a joystick in front of me. “See this viewscreen? Your job is to fire the starboard guns. Whenever one of the fighters is in the crosshairs, fire. Don’t shoot the cargo ship. Got it?”
“Got it.” I swallow hard. There are people on the fighters. Living people. And when I shoot them, they’ll die.
They’re slavers, Raven. Save your sympathy.
I must look nervous because Nero pats my hand. He intends the touch to be reassuring, but I shiver as his callused fingers caress my skin. “Don’t worry,” he says. “Saber and Zeke are crack shots. I’d run into a gunfight any day knowing they have my back.”
Saber coughs, reminding me again that the comm lines are open. “So you’re saying that if we didn’t cover you, you wouldn’t run into as many fights?” He sounds like he’s trying not to laugh. “Really? After seven years, I find this out now? That’s all it takes?”
He’s doing it to distract Nero. He’s heard the flatness of Nero’s voice. He’s heard him tell Gratvar that they will all die. And he’s making a joke.
It’s not a joke. It’s a lifeline.
Arrogant or not, Saber rescues people. That’s his thing. It’s never been more clear than in this moment.
Hiram Gratvar’s voice oozes through the speakers. “We have you surrounded,” he says mockingly. “The only people that will die today are those on the Albatross. And now it’s my turn to give you a warning. Drop your shields and let us board, or you will all perish.”
Nero rolls his eyes at the posturing.
Just as the slaver finishes talking, a pulse of light streaks from the Zaddyth ship. Nero’s been waiting for that moment. He anticipates the shot perfectly and veers the ship sharply to the left. At the same time, his fingers dance over the controls, and the screen expands to show three hundred and sixty degrees of space around us. “When you’re fighting in space,” he says conversationally, “You can be approached from any direction. Stab that red button.”
I hit the button on the joystick I’m holding. A jet of fire erupts from the Valiant and hits one of the pirate ships that zoomed in front of us, knocking it off its trajectory. “Nicely done,” Nero praises me. “We’ll make a fighter pilot out of you in no time.”
“That was all you. I just pushed the button.”
He grins. His dimple flashes into view again. All I want to do is reach for him. Touch him. Two days without the vampires, and I’m desperate and needy and so turned on.
Focus, Raven.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see two of the pursuing ships blow up, one on either side of us. Saber and Zeke at work. Nero throws us in a steep dive to avoid the debris, firing his missiles at the same time. His accuracy is deadly. Another ship erupts in a flare of blue light. “Three down, three to go.” Once again, his thumb strokes the flight stick, and once again, a shiver of heat runs down my spine.
“Anyway. That’s pretty much it.” Nero picks up his abandoned story, and I drag my attention away from his hands. “Saber’s mission was to bring stability to Merin, not hunt down a gang of slavers. He did it anyway. I spent years trying to figure out where my mother was. Zeke found out in an afternoon.”
Zeke’s snort sounds through the speakers. “An afternoon? Don’t be insulting, Nero. It took me half an hour.”
Despite the seriousness of the situation—we’re smack-dab in the middle of a space battle—I can’t help smiling. On Boarus 4, I caught glimpses of the camaraderie these men shared, and it’s one of my favorite things about them. They’re a team. They take care of each other.
Nero veers us sharply to the left. A fighter appears in my cross-hairs, and I adjust my joystick and press the red button again. It sounds so easy if I don’t think about it too much. Just like the sim-games I was sometimes allowed to play in one of the middle-sector arcades. Not too often though; my father didn’t like it. Life is sacred, Raven, he’d lecture me when I’d pleaded to go with Arnie and his friends. Those games encourage violence.
My shot is only somewhat accurate. I clip the wing of the fighter. Smoke pours from it, and it spins away from the battle, out of control. “Will they be fine?”
“Probably.” Nero sounds indifferent to their fate. “Unfortunately.”
There were eight fighters at the start of the fight. We’ve taken out five. Gratvar’s hanging back, his serpent-ship staying out of range of our guns. He’s letting his me
n fight for him while he hovers in safety. Coward.
Saber and Zeke fire again, brutally efficient. Two more fighters blow up. I exhale, releasing the breath I didn’t know I was holding. We’re almost done. Almost there. Soon we’ll be able to board the cargo ship and save those poor, trapped people.
Then Hiram Gratvar does something that changes everything.
His ship fires.
Not at us.
At the cargo ship.
The ship carrying his slaves.
For a second, two seconds, I stare blankly at the viewscreen. I can’t believe what just happened. I can’t believe what I’m seeing.
The cargo ship looked like a long, rectangular box. Now, one side of it is on fire.
“Good friends.” The slaver sounds smug. Triumphant. Evil. “There are two hundred slaves on the Ruby Rose. My shot took out their main OGS. They’re on reserve tanks now. In less than an hour, they’ll run out of air. So ask yourself, are you ready to watch them die?”
My blood goes cold. Gratvar is a monster.
I turn to Nero, hot words of anger on my lips. Then I catch the expression on his face, and my rage evaporates.
Nero’s eyes are glassy. Sweat beads out on his forehead, and his fingers tremble.
“Nero?”
He doesn’t respond. He’s not here anymore. He’s somewhere else, somewhere dark and deep and endlessly cold.
Time slows to a crawl.
Saber had anticipated this. He’d known this might happen. He might not have been able to guess that Gratvar would shoot his own cargo ship, but he’d been smart enough, aware enough, to predict that Nero might react this way.
He’d asked me to alert him if something happened to Nero.
I don’t need to panic. I don’t have time to panic. I have to follow instructions.
“Saber, I need you on the flight deck.” I’m shocked at how steady my voice is.
“On my way.”
“Drop your shields, Albatross.” Gratvar’s hateful voice fills the cabin and echoes around me. “Drop them now. Or my next shot takes out the reserve tanks.”
Nero’s gaze is blank.
The last fighter has peeled off to the side. The move prickles at me, and then I realize why. It’s so Gratvar has a clear shot at us. He doesn’t mean to board us when we drop our shields. He means to blow us out of the sky.
I’m acting before the thought has fully coalesced in my mind. I wrench free of my harness and throw myself at Nero, slamming my left shoulder into him. The impact knocks him sideways. His elbow hits the joystick.
Time stands still.
My palms turn slick with sweat. The only sound is that of my harsh breathing.
Then the Valiant lurches. Does a one-eighty turn. Everything loose and untethered slides to the left.
Including me.
Great Spirit, what was I thinking? I’m on a spaceship in the middle of a battle. Without the harness…
Time speeds up again. An explosion rocks our craft. I’m thrown forward, and I slam into a wall. Hard. It might just be my imagination, but I swear I can hear bones crunch.
We’re falling. Spinning. We’re out of control. My fingers try to grab something, anything, but I can’t. I’m thrown about like a stray piece of paper in a windstorm. Over and over, I hurtle into the walls of the cabin.
My body is a world of aches and bruises. My vision is going blurry. No, I tell myself. Hold on. Nero is in trouble.
Belatedly, I spare a thought for Saber. He was on his way to the flight deck when we started to spin. He’s already injured. Is he okay, or is he going through what I am right now? Are the orbital forces using him as a punching bag, the way they’re using me?
I want to give up. Sink into the ocean of pain, and let myself drown. I can’t fight anymore. It just hurts too much.
Then I feel someone grab me. A strong pair of hands yanks me back before I can catapult into the next wall. Nero pulls me onto his lap and wraps his arms around me. “I’ve got you,” he whispers into my ear, and the world narrows to just the two of us. For an instant, I don’t feel pain. I don’t feel fear.
I just feel… him.
With one hand still protectively holding me tight against his rock-hard chest, Nero fires his weapon.
The Valiant is still spinning. Still falling. It’s a one-in-a-million kind of shot. The instant he shoots, I can see it in his expression. He’s missed.
Jets of light streak by. Gratvar’s firing at us, over and over. But just as our dive has prevented us from getting a good shot at him, he can’t get us in his cross-hairs long enough to aim.
“Shields at 10%,” the ship’s computer warns us in a monotone.
Nero readies the joystick to fire again, but before he can, a bright, white beam streaks toward Gratvar, illuminating the sky in its wake. And when it reaches the slaver’s ship, it explodes.
Gratvar’s ship disintegrates into a million tiny pieces.
Nero does something to the Valiant, and it steadies.
My pulse slowly returns to normal, but my fear doesn’t retreat. We didn’t shoot Gratvar. Someone else did. But who?
I turn around and stare at Nero. “What the hell just happened?”
Saber and Zeke hurry into the cockpit. Saber’s bandages are soaked with blood. “It’s not important,” he forestalls me. “I’m fine. Nero, did you take Gratvar out?”
Zeke swings into a seat and starts playing the recording of our firefight on the screen. Nero shakes his head. “I couldn’t get a clear shot. I’m pretty sure I missed.”
“You did.” Zeke freezes the viewscreen. “The shot came from the other side of Gratvar’s ship. Someone was lurking there, out of range of our sensors, watching the fight. They didn’t intervene until it looked like we were in trouble.”
Unease skitters up my spine. “Maybe it has nothing to do with us. Maybe our mysterious benefactor was hunting Gratvar.”
“If they were, they’d have joined the fight from the outset.” Zeke swivels his chair and faces Saber. “Ragnar wouldn’t have stayed on the sidelines. This person, whoever it was, stayed hidden the entire time. Stayed in the shadows, waiting and watching. Levitan wants Raven. He sent us; we failed. Who would he have sent next?”
Saber’s face wipes free of expression. “Marya,” he says, his voice terrible. “He would have sent Marya. The most skilled assassin in the Shayde Empire is after us. And she wants you alive.”
She’s after me.
They’re looking at me, all three of them, with barely concealed expressions of panic. They’re not afraid for themselves. They’re afraid for me.
I should be terrified. Death rushes toward me, swift and sure, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
I’d be damned if I’m going to cower in front of Saber’s ex-girlfriend.
I straighten my shoulders. “Nothing’s changed. We stick to the plan.”
5
Raven
It’s not that I’m being particularly brave about Marya—I’m not. I just can’t let myself be afraid. It’s like being on the ice desert of Boarus 4. The rules were simple: If we stopped to think about the enormity of Glacis, fear would overwhelm us, and we would die.
All I can do is put one foot in front of the other. Right now, we have more important concerns than the assassin. Saber’s wound is bleeding again, and judging by the way he’s cradling his right hand, he’s hurt his wrist.
More urgently, the oxygen re-generator on Gratvar’s cargo ship, the one filled with people that the slavers abducted from their homes, has been destroyed. We need to help them before they run out of air.
Saber marches me to the sickbay. “We can’t help Gratvar’s captives if we die of our injuries,” he announces.
“That would have never struck me,” I reply, fluttering my eyelashes at him. “It’s so… obvious.”
His gorgeous blue eyes twinkle. “Really? That’s how we’re playing it?”
“Mm-hmm.” I have another snarky retort on the tip
of my tongue, and then I notice my forearm is bleeding. I must have cut myself when I bounced around the Valiant. “Don’t come near me,” I gasp, jumping back in alarm. “You could die. I’m bleeding.”
He doesn’t even flinch. “Where?”
I show him my arm. “Not too deep,” he responds calmly, handing me a disinfectant-soaked gauze. “You must have cut it on the instrumentation. Here, clean it off.”
“Seriously?” I gape at him. “This is my blood. Why aren’t you running shrieking from the room? You saw what happened to Olaf Vander.”
“I never shriek,” he says, keeping a straight face. “It’s against Army regulations.”
Argh. Spirit save me from arrogant men. I roll my eyes. “Saber, that’s very admirably brave, but you’re not immune to this virus. I’m a walking plague. You shouldn’t be here.”
He gives me a deeply exasperated look. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard of in my life.” He shakes his head. “Walking plague. Where do you come up with these things? Raven, you’re hurt. I’m going to take care of you. For the virus to affect me, your blood has to come into contact with mine. I’m not reckless. I’m being careful.”
I’m going to take care of you. I can’t decide if I want to scream at his stubbornness or melt at his kindness.
“Sit,” he continues. He bandages my cut and then pumps me with a cocktail of vampire blood and painkillers. It’s like magic. I go from bruised-and-aching to alert-and-ready in minutes. I jump back on my feet, and Saber fixes me with a glare. “You need rest,” he says sternly. “Your body needs time to heal.”
I refuse to be weak and frail. “As does yours,” I point out. “I don’t see you lying down.” I wink at him. “You’re not my superior officer. I don’t have to listen to you.”
His eyes glitter. “Is that so?” he asks, low and dangerous and sexy as hell.
That tone. It sends a lighting jolt of lust straight to my core. For a second, a fog of utter need swamps me and short-circuits every cell in my brain. I forget about Marya. I forget about the slave ship. I forget about everything but him. “What are you going to do about it?”