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

by JC Cassels

  Bo reached out and ran her hand along the edge of the mattress, then shook her head. “I’d like to sit up if I may,” she said. “The thought of returning to bed isn’t that appealing. I feel like I’ve spent the last week there.” She tried a smile. “I suppose part of me is afraid that if I lie down, you’ll hit me with another hypo.”

  His hands closed over hers as he guided her to an overstuffed chair and steadied her as she lowered herself slowly into it.

  “I will eventually,” he admitted. “Trizian is highly addictive. I’m afraid that with the amount I’ve given you, I’ll need to wean you off of it over the next few days. If I cut you off abruptly, it would be too much of a shock for your system.”

  She looked up at him and smiled. “Thank you,” she said. “I appreciate your honesty for a change.”

  He settled a blanket over her and smoothed it around her.

  “I doubt that,” he said, his voice suddenly hoarse. “If I were to be completely honest with you, I think it would scare the hell out of you.”

  “I don’t scare easily,” Bo said.

  “Is that a challenge?”

  The question hung in the air between them.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked, breaking the silence.

  Bo nodded. “I’m not exactly dressed for the main dining salon.”

  “What are you talking about? My shirt never looked so good.”

  She felt her face heat and he chuckled. His knuckles lightly stroked her cheek.

  “I love that color,” he said. “It looks good on you.”

  “I can’t see, remember? I don’t even know what color this is.”

  “I wasn’t referring to the shirt.”

  “Oh.”

  Suddenly understanding, she felt her cheeks heat again as another blush crept across her face.

  “It’s the trizian,” she said.

  “You think that if you like, but you were changing color for me before I put you on trizian,” he said. She could hear the smile in his voice. “That’s the thing about an involuntary response – you can’t fake it. It’s completely honest. You can keep your secrets, Marissa… for now. Just don’t stop this.”

  His fingertips lightly traced the curve of her face before he stepped back.

  “I brought something back for you to eat.”

  She heard something rustling before he pressed a warm bowl into her hands.

  “Be careful, it’s still hot.”

  She felt around for the spoon. When she found it, she delicately tasted it, finding it surprisingly good.

  “You’ve been undercover a long time, haven’t you?” she asked, between bites of the tasty stew. “I recognize the signs.”

  “Feels like forever, sometimes,” he admitted with a reluctant laugh.

  “How do you cope?”

  “You believe the lie.”

  Bo nodded. “You involve your family?”

  “Is that why your uncle chose you?”

  She took her time chewing the hearty stew before answering. “I am not at liberty to divulge that information.”

  “Are you interrogating me, or trying to get to know me?”

  “A little of both, I guess.” Bo smiled. “We both know why we’re here. We both know what we’re after. Can’t we just talk? I want to trust you and I think you want to trust me, but I don’t think trying to get each other to spill secrets is going to accomplish that. Do you?”

  “No.” He chuckled. “So we’re just two rivals after the same thing?”

  “Rivals… or colleagues. I prefer colleagues,” she said. “I don’t care who ends up with the schematics as long as my uncle gets a copy.”

  “What does your uncle want them for?”

  “Same thing you want them for,” she said. “He was ordered to retrieve them.” She poked around in her bowl for a moment then canted her head at him. “I don’t want to talk about the mission. I want to talk about you.”

  “Me?”

  She smiled. “Yes, you. Is it so strange that someone would be more interested in you than in some schematics?”

  “What do you want to know?” he asked. His tone was clipped, suspicious.

  “Do you make a habit of rescuing strange women you don’t like?”

  He chuckled, pleasantly surprised by her question. “Do I what?”

  Bo shook her head. “You’ve rescued me twice now,” she said. “Once in the embarkation lounge and then again when the fight broke out. It seems to be a pattern of behavior. I was wondering if that was something normal for you, or am I special?”

  “As a matter of fact, it has been known to happen,” he said. “But only when someone very special is in need of rescuing.”

  “Why? Why would you go to so much trouble for me?”

  He didn’t answer immediately.

  “Before the IC recruited me, I trained as a medic with the First Sector Consular Guard’s Mighty Eighth Search and Rescue. I’m a Recovery Specialist, as a pilot I’m sure you understand what that is.”

  She did indeed understand. He was a member of an elite fraternity of highly trained, versatile warriors whose job was to recover pilots downed in hostile territory as well as elite commandos injured in the line of duty. The job required them to be brilliant tacticians, an army of one and a complete emergency medical facility, all rolled into one man.

  “I believe so,” she said, struggling not to let him see how impressed she was. “You pull people out of bad situations.”

  “Yes.”

  “I was just another injured person in a bad situation,” she went on. “If it had been, say, my uncle, you’d have done the same?”

  “No.”

  “Oh.”

  He moved away from her and she heard something rustling. “I got confirmation that the Second Sector has an agent and an asset on this cruise. Agents understand what they’re getting into. They know they’re expendable. Assets…” he hesitated. “Assets don’t understand how expendable they really are. The IC doesn’t need a reason to liquidate you, or abandon you to die. I didn’t know he was your uncle. Any other IC Agent would have left you there. I’ve seen enough people die of ditoxicin. I don’t care to see any more. It’s a hell of a way to go.”

  “You don’t think very much of government employees, do you?”

  “I don’t think very much of the IC.”

  “But you’re IC, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” he said. “…and no.”

  Propping her elbow on the arm of the chair, Bo rested her cheek on her fist. “Sounds like there’s a story there,” she said.

  He took a deep breath and slowly released it.

  “There is,” he said at last. “But one I’m not willing to go into at the moment.”

  “You lied.”

  “Of course I did. To which lie are you referring?”

  “You said you were a bad man. You’re not.”

  He laughed. “The one truth from our conversations and that’s what you accuse me of lying about?”

  “Recovery specialists and medics have an innate desire to help others. Bad men don’t. You may have done bad things, but I don’t think you’re a bad man. If you were truly a bad man, you wouldn’t have warned me off from Tennova. I think you’re just trying to protect me.”

  “You, miss, are an idealist.”

  Bo nodded. “Maybe… I’ve been accused of that before…that and an overabundance of optimism.”

  “Optimism isn’t something I’ve ever really been burdened with.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “You’ve been hurt. You’re angry. It sounds like you’ve been carrying that around for a long time.”

  “Because I’m not an optimist?”

  “Because you don’t like yourself very much.” Bo canted her head. “Careful, flyboy, self-loathing can make you a bitter man.”

  “I’m a cautious man. I like to know who I’m dealing with.”

  Bo relaxed back against the cushions of th
e chair and sighed. “I like to know who I’m dealing with, too.”

  “Sounds like you think you’ve got me all figured out.”

  Bo smiled. “Oh, I wouldn’t presume.”

  “Sure, you would,” he said. “You’ve already decided that I’m a self-loathing, bitter, disillusioned man whose innate desire to help others is at odds with the actions his job requires him to take.”

  “I never said all that…”

  “Not in so many words, but yeah, you did.”

  Bo considered that for a moment. “I will admit that I’m trying to figure you out.” A slow grin crossed her face. “What do you like to do for fun?”

  He hesitated. “Dress up as Darien Roarke and play Five-Point.” He laughed. “How pathetic is that?”

  Bo laughed. “No! You poor thing. Please tell me that’s not all you like to do for fun.”

  He took the empty bowl from her and moved away. He took a moment before answering.

  “I’m a driver. I race. Semi-pro with hovercycles, and pro with groundcruisers. I even have a sponsor: Pintubo Racing.”

  She nodded. “So you gamble and you show off.”

  “Pretty much,” he laughed. “How about you? What do you do for fun?”

  Bo heaved a sigh. “Fun?” she asked. “I wish I knew what that was. I don’t even know anymore.” Shaking her head, her amusement faded.

  His hands covered hers and he knelt down in front of her. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked gently.

  She attempted a smile. “I just realized how pathetic I am,” she said. “I can’t remember the last time I did anything for the fun of it. Everything I do serves some purpose. I think probably dancing with you was the first thing I’ve done in a very long time that was just for the fun of it.”

  “Sounds like your life is very… restrictive.”

  Bo slowly nodded. “To be honest, I can’t remember another man ever stealing a kiss from me.”

  He laughed. “I don’t believe you.”

  With a shrug, Bo smiled. “I guess I’m just not the kind of woman most men will walk up to and steal a kiss from.”

  “I’m not most men,” he teased.

  “No, you’re not. That’s probably why you’re the first person I can remember having fun with.”

  Bo took a deep breath, and caught a whiff of his cologne. Her stomach tightened. No man had the right to smell that good. She savored his scent and the memory of his lips brushing hers.

  “Marissa?” his voice broke through her reverie. “What are you thinking about?”

  “Nothing,” she sighed. Her fingers tightened around his. Her thumbs stroked the top of his long fingers, memorizing the contours, the light dusting of hair. After generations of spaceflight, Mondhuic hands were incredibly sensitive. Deprived of her sight, Bo’s sense of touch was painfully acute.

  “Nothing? Then why are you blushing again?”

  He gently pulled his hands from her grasp. The sudden absence of his touch left her feeling oddly bereft. She lifted her chin.

  “I am not blushing,” she said. It sounded prim even to her ears.

  “You’re blushing.” His fingertips lightly traced the back of her hand. “Don’t tell me you’re not blushing when I’m the one who can see, woman.”

  A fresh wave of heat flooded her face. Bo’s breath caught as his touch, combined with the sound of his voice, threatened to reduce her to a melted puddle at his feet. A wry smile touched her lips. “I ought to know whether or not I’m blushing,” she croaked.

  Turning her hand over, he traced patterns against the soft flesh of her palm

  “Fine,” he said, his voice low and husky. “You’re not blushing.”

  She nodded dumbly, enraptured by his touch. He slowly lifted her hand to his lips, pressing kisses to her palm. When his tongue lightly stroked her thumb, a soft mew of distress escaped her. He chuckled softly against her hand.

  She heard a rising buzzing noise in her ears and she grew increasingly lightheaded.

  “Would you like to do something… just for the fun of it?”

  “Yes, please,” she breathed, intoxicated by the thought.

  He rose, pulling her to her feet. The blanket slid to the floor unnoticed. His arms slowly went around her, pulling her close to him. When he kissed her, there was nothing tentative about it. This was not the playful stolen kiss from the embarkation lounge. It was the bold, confident kiss of a man bent on seduction and already sure of the outcome. He had no need to rush. The slow, deep, deliberate kisses stole her breath and made her giddy. Riding on a wave of euphoria, Bo clung tightly to him as the only fixed point in her spinning world.

  “Marissa?” His voice sounded distant.

  Her body felt amorphous like quicksilver, fluid and hot, wrapping around him as the only solid thing she could touch. Her knees buckled and her head fell back against his arm.

  “Ah hell,” he said scooping her up like a child. “I forgot about the trizian.”

  So had she. For a millisecond, she thought the ship lost artificial gravity. With great effort, she wrapped her arms around his neck, holding on tightly, afraid that she would drip through his fingers when all she wanted was to wrap herself around him.

  “Shhh… it’s okay, love,” he said. “I’ve got you.”

  With an inarticulate murmur, she snuggled against his shoulder as he carried her. Unable to see and her head spinning like a centrifuge, Bo didn’t even try to figure out where he was taking her. She breathed deeply of his scent as he became the sum total of her reality. Her equilibrium shifted again as he tenderly eased her down onto the cool bedding as if pouring her through a funnel. Her hold on him tightened as he started to pull away, but with a murmured reassurance he gently pried her arms from around his neck. The covers whispered and settled lightly over her, warming quickly with her body heat. The bed dipped and shook as he lay down beside her.

  “I know you can hear me,” he said. His breath tickled her ear. With a fingertip, he lightly traced her lower lip. “I want you to listen very carefully. What you’re feeling right now is the trizian. Don’t get me wrong. I want you… but I don’t want you like this. When I make love to you, you’re going to be able to respond. You may want this, but acting on it right now would feel like I was taking advantage of you. I’m not going to touch you. You’re safe. I will keep you safe. You have my word.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Day Three, Five-Point Tourney

  Lady of Staves Starliner

  He lay beside her, afraid to touch her as he watched her drift off to sleep.

  Blade was certain of one thing: he wasn’t going to be happy when he found out her real name. He was equally certain that he needed to know. Shaking off the desire to lie there watching her sleep, he rolled out of bed and reached for his data reader.

  Making his way over to the chair, he poured himself a drink and settled in for a lengthy session.

  Maybe he was going about this all wrong. Someone had managed to block him through high-security government and military databases at every turn.

  “What if we tried something a little more generic?”

  Switching on the data reader, he reached for the medical scanner. “You’re obviously at least half-Altairian, and your father was a Second Sector noble…”

  Interfacing the two devices, he uploaded her uncle’s genetic coding. Finding a low-security genealogical database for tracing ancestry to Second Sector nobility, he entered the data into a search and waited. He didn’t have to wait long before he got a match.

  “Hello…” Blade set his drink aside and called up the family tree… Barron Clan of Mondhuoun. He followed the links to the living members of the Mondhuic ruling family. He reached to flip past The Barron, but his hand froze when the image solidified on his screen. He stared at her face for a long moment. Though dressed in a formal uniform and her hair pulled back in the severe style demanded by military regs, there was no mistaking her. Slowly, he lowered the data reader and studied the face of the
young woman asleep in his bed.

  “No wonder you looked scared out of your wits on Cormoran,” he whispered.

  He braced his elbow on the arm of the chair and rested his temple on his fist. “Now the question is, what am I going to do with you?”

  ***

  Waking to total darkness disoriented Bo more completely than anything else could have. She would never adjust to it. She patiently took stock of her surroundings, trying to make sense of the unfamiliar stimuli. Gradually it dawned on her that the warm puffs of air on her cheek came from the man whose arm rested heavily around her waist. Afraid to move for fear of rousing him from his slumber, she resigned herself to the unfamiliar sensation of lying beside a sleeping man. The novelty of it intrigued her.

  As a student at the Academy, she’d never had the time for pair bonding. Before her exile, other than her relatives, men were either too intimidated by her rank or her position to approach her. After her descent into the Sub-socia, she’d been wary of the intentions of men seeking any kind of intimacy with her. She was more likely to meet sexual advances with hand-to-hand combat. She had a price on her head, along with that kill-on-sight order. It was foolish to lower her guard.

  Sure, she’d been through a crash course at the D’or Choh, but Aunt Misou had only touched on the theory and technique of physical intimacy. Just her luck to find herself a man who was neither afraid of her nor intimidated by her while she was effectively incapable of doing anything about it. Though, in all fairness, she’d been equally incapable of fending him off. But she hadn’t had to. He had been a man of his word, and that impressed her.

  Bo drew a deep breath and released it slowly. His arm tightened around her in response and he pulled her closer. He was warm and reassuringly solid against her back. Solid… After her little trizian adventure, she had a new appreciation for the word. She savored the press of him against her. Carefully, she rested her arm on top of his and held her breath, waiting for some kind of reaction. Emboldened by his continued deep, even breathing, Bo ran her fingertips over his wrist and the back of his hand, memorizing the contours and marveling over his musculature. She traced his large hand, measuring its width then trailed her fingertips down his long fingers. Calluses in all the right places marked where he’d used his hands as weapons in fights, and also where he had gripped the handlebars of his hovercycle. Blunt tipped fingers told of hours of work. These were not the soft hands of a man of leisure, but hard hands marked by battle and labor, yet amazingly gentle and agile. She studied them by feel, wishing she’d paid more attention to his hands when she’d had the benefit of sight.