Sovran's Pawn (The Black Wing Chronicles Book 1)

by JC Cassels

  A graceful female hand caressed his back and slid up to his shoulder. “Hello, handsome,” the newcomer said in a lightly accented, husky tone.

  He stilled at the sound of her voice, a tiny chill rocketing through his veins. A small smile touched his lips. He must be losing his edge to let her get so close without seeing or sensing her.

  “Hello, Larianne. I’ve been expecting you.”

  He steeled himself as he turned to face her. Her attractive, angular face, pale in the harsh extremes of light and shadow, lifted to his. Though she was tall for a female, she still had to look up at him. A spiky, close-cropped crown of hair, black as deep space, glistened under the flashing lights. The black shimmersilk dress fit her like a second skin, revealing more of her lean, athletic body than it concealed. Tracing his shoulders and chest with long, manicured fingers, she undulated around him with a sensual grace that could only come from years of practice.

  “You know this isn’t a social visit,” she purred.

  “Of course not.”

  He studied her with tightly leashed expectancy. Many men had underestimated Larianne Varo to their detriment. He knew better.

  He would have asked anyone else how they’d managed to find him and follow him without being seen, but he didn’t have to: she’d been his handler. Of all the Inner Circle Agents in the First Sector, she probably knew him better than anyone.

  “So what do you plan to do with me,” he asked lightly, “now that you’ve caught me?”

  She lifted a delicate eyebrow. “You don’t think I came all this way for a Five-Point game, do you?”

  With a casual ease he didn’t feel, he slid his arm around her waist and pulled her with him onto the dance floor. “I did come here for a Five-Point game,” he said. “I don’t intend to go anywhere until I’ve won enough credits to cover my stake.”

  He pulled her tightly against him and led her through the slow, sensual steps of the dance. He was safer on the dance floor in plain view. For that matter, so was she.

  “I have a job for you,” she said.

  He smiled. “Haven’t you heard? I don’t do that sort of thing anymore.”

  “Yes,” she said. “That play-acting job of yours.” Her lips twisted in disdain. “I’ve heard.”

  She peered closely at him, the lines around her eyes deepening ever so slightly. She never did like to be thwarted. She didn’t take it well. She tried again.

  “We need to go someplace where we can talk.”

  His smile widened into a lopsided grin as he conjured his practiced charm. There wasn’t much difference between acting and being an Inner Circle agent. His eyes deliberately raked her cleavage before returning to her face.

  “There’s only one thing that can get me to leave here before that Five-Point game is over,” he said. The dance choreography called for a quick twist of their hips against each other. His hand dropped to caress her backside and he guided her through a suggestive series of moves. “Technically, I don’t have to leave here for that. There are pleasure suites on the bottom floor. The hostess did say that I could add anything I liked to my final bill.”

  Something hard pressed against his abdomen, giving him pause. That was new. He glanced down at the palm blaster she jabbed into his side. His lips twisted in a mocking smile.

  “Really?” he asked. “Come now, Larianne. Put it away before you hurt someone.”

  “No one will get hurt if you do as I say…”

  “Don’t make me take it from you. You and I both know I can and I will. Put it away now so I don’t have to.”

  “When I tell you to move I want you to…”

  Before she could finish her sentence, he moved.

  He pushed the hand holding the weapon harmlessly aside as he shifted his balance and guided her into an intricate series of dance steps. Forcing her gun hand over her head, he pushed her away from him and twirled her, breaking her hold on the pistol in the process. Leaving her no time to react, he tossed it aside, sending it skittering across the dance floor into the shadows. He pulled her to him once more. It was all over before anyone noticed what he’d done.

  She glared up at him and tossed her head, trying unsuccessfully to wriggle away from him.

  “Arrogant bastard.”

  “That was always my favorite pet name. Stop struggling. You’re drawing attention to yourself.”

  With an angry huff, she stopped straining to break his hold on her.

  “We’re leaving and we’re going now,” she said firmly. “No pleasure suite.”

  “Care to put some credits on that?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “I don’t want to take your credits,” she said.

  “Humor me,” he smiled. “If you’re not going to let me play Five-Point, then I need to recoup my stake.”

  “I’m not…”

  “What will it hurt?”

  He turned on the charm, dropping his voice an octave. He knew her every bit as well as she knew him, perhaps better. She was an excellent covert agent, but he’d been undercover practically from birth. He would hear her out, but on his terms – and he wasn’t going back, no matter what they promised.

  He leaned closer to her. “You’ve got me dead to rights. I’m officially caught. What kind of man would I be if I ran now? Wouldn’t you like to have a little fun before going back to work?”

  She shook her head. “Blade…”

  He shushed her. “Call me Darien,” he said. “I’m here as Darien Roarke.”

  “No, I’m not…” she trailed off as his lips touched her ear.

  “Call me Darien,” he breathed against her warm skin. His hands slid down her body, cradling her hips, holding her against him.

  She sighed. “Darien.”

  He smiled to himself, savoring the first victory. Time to see how badly they wanted him back, and how far she was willing to go to get him to agree.

  “If you want me to go quietly, you’re going to have to agree to play with me first,” he said softly in her ear. “You know I’m not talking Five-Point.”

  His hold on her hips tightened as he guided her through another series of steps. She followed him easily, but on the second turn, her step faltered and she squeezed his arms for support. His hand slid up the naked flesh of her back. She arched against him.

  “What do you say?” he asked.

  “Blade…”

  “Darien,” he corrected. His lips traced a path to her collarbone.

  “Darien…” she canted her head, giving him better access to her neck and shoulder.

  “What’s your answer?” he murmured. “Shall we go downstairs for some play time?”

  “Yes.”

  That single whispered word of surrender sent a chill down his spine. She gave in too easily.

  With a smile he didn’t feel, he lifted his head and studied her face. She was in complete control of herself, just like any good operative would be. Joy Babes, Skyhoppers, covert agents, or holofeature actresses, they were all the same -- incapable of an honest, unguarded response to a man. If he ever found a woman who wasn’t calculated and manipulative, trying to seduce him for whatever she could get out of it, he’d never let her go.

  For good measure, he held Larianne close for a few more dance steps, then slowly backed her off the dance floor. Once they reached the edge, he eased her to his side and guided her down the stairs to the bottom level of the club. Always alert for ambush, his eyes flicked around the dimly-lit walls, spying the row of pleasure suites. They passed several before a status panel glowed its availability. He reached into his coat and pulled out the voucher card, scanned it and tucked it back into his pocket. The door slid open in invitation. His hand at the small of her back, he nudged her inside. With one last glance around, he followed her. The door slid shut with a reassuring click.

  He watched her take in the luxurious bed and overstuffed chair and sofa. She peered up at him. “This is nicer than I expected,” she said.

  His lips quirked. “Only the b
est for Darien Roarke,” he said.

  Slowly, he unfastened the front of his coat. She stared at his hands as his fingers worked from one fastener to the next.

  “Keep your clothes on, if you don’t mind,” she said sharply.

  He canted his head in amusement. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten how to have a good time, Larianne,” he teased.

  She pressed one well-manicured hand against his chest and firmly pushed him away from her. “I’m not here for a good time, Devon. You have an assignment.”

  He smiled, enjoying her growing annoyance. “Can’t we discuss this in bed?” He lifted a sardonic eyebrow. “Naked?”

  He slowly eased his coat off his shoulders and tossed it carelessly onto the overstuffed chair. Her eyes followed it briefly before returning to the blaster nestled underneath his left arm in its shoulder holster. She looked up at him in silent question.

  “I’m not stupid,” he said by way of an explanation. He shook his head. “You didn’t think I’d wander around unarmed, did you?”

  She shook her head. “To be honest, I wasn’t sure what to expect,” she said. “You’ve been out of the game a while and you left under unusual circumstances. What else are you carrying?”

  All pretense at humor and charm fled. “There’s only one way to find out. How curious are you?”

  The unspoken threat hung in the air between them. She stared up at him. Her self-assurance wavered for just a moment. Swallowing hard, she flinched. Unable to hold his stare, she looked away, but not before he saw the flash of fear in her dark eyes.

  “I’m glad to see you haven’t changed. It makes it easier to send you to your death.” Her tone lacked conviction. “You’re still a dissolute bastard.”

  He studied her a moment. Drawing a long breath, he shrugged off the rising aura of danger and slipped easily back into the wastrel. That role tended to keep people off-guard; make them sloppy and careless. He eased into the overstuffed chair and propped his feet on the low table. “Flattery will get you everywhere,” he said linking his fingers together behind his head. “Speak your piece and go away. My game starts in half an hour.”

  “There is a high-stakes Five-Point tourney on a luxury liner,” she said, clearing her throat. “We need an agent on board. You’ve already got the Darien Roarke cover and the skill to pull it off. It’s a very simple operation. Just play a few rounds.”

  “What’s the catch?”

  “It’s a meet to buy an experimental phase weapon that could theoretically rip a hole in space.”

  He smiled. “That’s quite a catch. So I’m a buyer? Failing that, I obtain the weapon by any means necessary?”

  Returning his smile, she batted her eyelashes at him. “And they told me that you’d likely gone soft and stupid.”

  “I’d love to help you, but I have a job and I’m perfectly happy with it,” he said, coming to his feet. He reached for his coat. “Granted I still have people shooting at me and trying to beat the shit out of me, but it’s all in good fun and at the end of the day I’m well-paid for my efforts. I get all the booze and women I can handle. I don’t need the IC.” Slipping his arms into the garment, he pulled it on, adjusting it around his shoulder holster with a little shrug.

  “I’m sorry you feel that way,” she said. “I have my orders, Devon. If you refuse this assignment, they’re not going to keep looking the other way. You are absent without leave and have been for some time. Barring your complete cooperation, I am to haul you in as a deserter.”

  He shook his head. “Think you can manage that by yourself? You’re good, Larianne, but you’re not that good.”

  “Think about what it would do to your happy little job playing make-believe if you went to a high-security prison like Krakato. Do you think your adoring public will buy the hero act when you’ve served hard time?”

  Bracing his fists on his hips, he laughed, unperturbed by the threat. “Is that the best you’ve got? You know as well as I do that not even Krakato could hold me for long. Not that it would matter much. I have a bad boy image to maintain.”

  She lifted her chin slightly. “I’m surprised you’re willing to go to Krakato at all,” she said crisply, “knowing that your brother is in a very dangerous line of work. He’s a holofeature stunt performer isn’t he? It would be terrible if he were to have an accident while you were a guest of the Commonwealth. You’ve already lost one brother to an accident, haven’t you?”

  His amusement faded into something dark and dangerous. She stepped back quickly out of his reach, swallowing hard. She held herself warily erect, but her eyes darted around the pleasure suite looking for anything she could use to defend herself.

  “So that’s how it is.” His tone filled with velvet menace, he dropped all pretense of civility. A dark wave of tightly-leashed violence radiated from him, so thick as to be almost visible to the naked eye, until it filled every corner of the room.

  She nodded, shrinking away from him. “That’s how it is,” she squeaked. She watched him the way a cornered rodent would eye a hungry felidaen. Her sense of self-preservation overrode all other concerns. “We need you on this job,” she pleaded softly. “We don’t have enough time to establish another cover for another agent. Frankly, I don’t see the point when your Darien Roarke persona is already in place. Holy Maker, Blade, just say you’ll do it.”

  His smile didn’t reach his eyes. He stalked her slowly. She backed away from him until she came up short against the bed. She glanced behind her, trying to make up her mind which way to go. It was all the delay he needed. Reaching out, his fingers cruelly knotted in her short hair, forcing her head backwards, her face lifted to his. Tears of pain glistened in her dark eyes. He gave a sharp jerk and she cried out.

  “I want two luxury staterooms and an unlimited expense account,” he said as casually as if they were discussing the weather. “Anything less and I’ll blow the entire operation.”

  Tears slipped from her eyes and trailed down her temples, disappearing into her hairline. With a small whimper she tried to nod, gasping against the pain of his unrelenting grip. “Of course,” she said. “Only the best for Darien Roarke.” She tried a tremulous smile that vanished when his fingers tightened painfully. He gave her one last shake before he spun her around and shoved her face-first onto the bed.

  Wasting no time, she bounced and crawled across the bed, eager to put it between them as he turned towards the door. He reached for the controls securing the door against intrusion, but paused. His head slowly turned. She froze, holding herself stiffly in wary expectation. Larianne’s fingers curled into fists at her sides. Her bosom heaved as she fought for a calming breath; her lips pursed as she waited to see whether he was going to let her live.

  “Larianne, you don’t want to cross me. If anything happens to my brother, I’m coming after you. You have my word.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Vinatair, Altair, Third Sector

  It didn’t matter how luxurious the spa facility, the underlying odor of sweat always permeated the changing rooms. Slamming her locker door closed with a deft flick of her towel, Bo caught up her bag and a bottle of water and headed for the sparring halls, humming one of her father’s favorite drinking songs along with the music playing through the subcutaneous com-implant behind her left ear. Knowing that Royce waited for her upstairs was enough to bring a spring to her step, making her more lighthearted than she had been in nearly three seasons.

  It hadn’t been easy acclimating to civilian life on Altair. Edge had taken her under his wing, providing her with a position in Redmaster Blue. An information broker primarily, Edge had scanned the Central Com-Net, hunting for any shred that could help clear her name. So far, it had been a fruitless endeavor. Bo, meanwhile, parlayed her combat and piloting skills into a new branch of operations for Redmaster Blue. Edge called her a ‘facilitator’ but Bo, more pragmatic, called herself a mercenary, plain and simple.

  Royce had managed to avoid prosecution for his role in her escap
e, and to still hold onto his job with the Second Sector Inner Circle. Perhaps his formidable reputation as an elite Predator had something to do with that. True to his word, he sought her out as often as he could, bringing news from home, diplomatic packages requiring her personal attention, and homemade goodies from Keri, the elderly woman who had cooked for her family since her father and Royce were boys.

  They usually met at the Imperial Baths. No one thought anything of a middle-aged man meeting with an attractive young female at the baths. It was neutral ground and as secure a location as they could find.

  Resisting the urge to dance a little jig, Bo bypassed the sudatoria and the scrub down rooms and skipped up the wide, stone steps leading to the upper levels housing the fitness rooms and sparring halls.

  Altairian society was stratified according to which Bath one frequented. It had confounded Bo at first. One could always find acceptance at a Bath below one’s station, but only the nobility, members of the Altairian Imperial Family and Joy Babes from select D’or Choh were admitted to the Imperial Baths.

  Bo had been surprised to learn that her brother’s status was quite high on Altair, due to his own merit and the fact that their mother had been a Kiara of the prestigious Kiara D’or Choh, which Bo’s great-aunt Misou ran with exceptional skill. At both Misou and Edge’s urging, Bo had undergone an intensive training period in the Kiara D’or Choh, and had obtained legal certification as a Joy Babe. The experience had left her with a new appreciation for the exotic women who dealt in the ‘comfort trade,’ as Aunt Misou delicately called it.

  Bo passed her hand over the release panel beside the door to the sparring suite Edge had reserved for them. Silently the door slid open and Bo stepped lightly through, her amber eyes casting anxiously around, starved for the first sight of her uncle.

  Royce’s welcoming smile and widespread arms sent her flying towards him. He swept her into a bone-crushing hug and swung her around.

  “I’ve missed you, Princess,” he said, setting her on her feet once more.

  “What did you bring me?”