by Lea Kirk
Between one breath and the next, Gryf was gone. A strangled cry escaped her, and she sat bolt upright, her head catching Graig under his chin. Nicky’s eyes popped open, and he shot her an alarmed look.
The light of Gryf’s soul floated above his own heart. Death stood just beyond Nicky’s shoulder, its cupped hands reaching between her brother and Dante to pluck Gryf away.
“Whoa, shit!” Nicky jerked back. He must be able to see Death’s hands too. “Grab him, Alex! Now!”
Even as she launched herself from where she sat, there was no way she could stop Death. It was too late.
~ * ~
Gryf opened his eyes. Nick sat on his stomach grinning down at him.
“Welcome back, brother-in-law.”
Gryf frowned and raised his head. “What happened?”
“Don’t move, Gryf,” Dante ordered. “If you don’t let me finish, you will bleed out internally and undo everything Alex did to save you.”
He gave Dante a nod, then turned his head to his right. What in all the hells?
Graig straddled an unconscious Alexandra, his glowing hands resting on her shoulders. Ora knelt at her head, bent close, with her fingertips pressed to Alexandra’s temples.
“It isna wha’ it looks like, Captain,” Nick said in an odd, thick accent, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
“Nick, stay on those blood cells,” Dante warned.
“I haven’t stopped,” Nick replied, not sounding the least chastised. “Close your eyes and relax, bro. She’s okay. She just needed a double dose of parvirtu after holding onto you so long. You will both be all patched up in a few more minutes. After that we’ll fill you in.”
All Gryf could do was nod again. Sweet Mother he ached. If he did not know the truth of the matter, he’d swear he’d been hit by a maintenance shuttle. He allowed his eyes to drift shut. Dante said to be still, not quiet. “Report?”
“You just don’t quit, do you?” Nick muttered. Gryf permitted his smile to surface.
“The admiralty reports their campaign to be mostly successful,” Karise began in her no-nonsense style. She and Ora were safe, thank the Mother. “Five of the eight Anferthian warships have surrendered, and two were crippled beyond usefulness during battle.”
“Effing A,” Nick muttered. Whatever that meant.
Karise continued, “Two slavers from the surface have escaped and are fleeing in the general direction of Anferthia, along with the remaining warship. Admiral Cael’s cruiser, Olympias, is already in pursuit with half the Defense Fleet. Admiral Marenys awaits the arrival of the Profetae before he too sets course for Anferthia. A transport will be here shortly. And, sir,” Karise inhaled deep. “Defense Fleet Cruiser Polarus will be the escort ship for the Atlantis.”
Gryf snapped his eyes open. Atlantis? His ship was intact? Spaceworthy? And his father’s cruiser would travel with her—as her escort, no less. A great honor.
“Yeah, you heard that right.” Nick’s grin was wider than before. “And by the way, you now have a full count of red and white blood cells. Glad you choose to hang around with us a little longer.”
“Thank you for making sure I could.”
“I wasn’t the one who snatched your soul from the hands of Death. Literally.” Nick jutted his chin in Alexandra’s direction. “Everything Dante and I did would have been for nothing if not for Alex. By the time we got the dog pile of people off your chest, you were breathing on your own again.”
Gryf drew his brows together. What in all the hells was a dog pile? He shook aside the question and met Dante’s gaze. The healer shrugged. “She will be all right, Gryf, fear not.”
Closing his eyes, Gryf swallowed around the hard lump in his throat. Dearest Mother, thank you for gifting me this amazing woman as my soul mate.
Nick’s weight disappeared from Gryf’s abdomen, and he took in a deep breath, then exhaled, before opening his eyes.
“That should do it.” Ora straightened and gave him a severe look. “We must stop trying to die on each other, sobin.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
Dante laid a hand on Gryf’s shoulder. “Now go thank your wife for saving your soul.”
Gryf turned his head. Alexandra watched him from where she lay at his side, a smile curving her lips.
“Ah, Mother.” He rolled toward her and pulled her hard into his embrace.
Chapter Thirty-two
This is chaos. Gryf suppressed his irritation as he strode through the mass of humanity outside the slaver. A transport had landed, disgorging the remaining refugees from Camp One, per Admiral Cael’s orders. Despite the brief yet frustrating delay, it was logical to gather together as many Terrians as possible in one place. If the negotiations went sour, as hasty evacuation would be necessary.
Maggie clung to him, her skinny arms tight around his neck. Thank the Mother he’d had time to wash up in the slaver’s medical bay. The child did not need to know how close he’d come to dying barely an hour ago.
Gryf ground his teeth together. Nick had once explained a fictional device called a transporter beam of Terrian folklore. If only such technology were possible, they would be underway by now.
Every moment that passed put more distance between them and the Anferthian ships on the run. While Admiral Cael and the pursuing Matiran fleet should be able to overtake and stop them, the fact remained that the Anferthians would only be willing to negotiate with a Terrian for the Terrian hostages. And the greatest chance of successful negotiations lay with Alexandra. The Profeta. Those were her people, and she wanted them back. Alive.
His gaze lit on two people standing together just beyond the main group. James Trimble and his daughter Megan. Their father-daughter reunion could not be easy. Megan said something to her father, then placed her hand over her womb. They stood facing each other before James enfolded his daughter into his embrace.
The poor girl. Fifteen Terrian cycles and pregnant with the offspring of an alien traitor. It would be difficult for them. However there was hope. Perhaps this child would be the first visible sign of their worlds becoming one. Heavenly Mother, please don’t let it take after its sire.
A small hand touched Gryf’s face, and suddenly nothing seemed as important as the petite, green-eyed child in his arms.
“No go,” Maggie whispered.
Gryf curved his mouth up. “So you do have words, puella.” The Mother be praised. This knowledge would bring tears to Alexandra’s eyes, and joy to her heart.
Maggie’s bottom lip trembled.
“Sh, sweet Maggie. Nothing could keep me away from you for long.” Gryf wiped a tear from her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Will you promise me something now?” She nodded. “Promise that when I return, you will keep talking? I want to hear everything you have to say.”
Maggie threw her arms around his neck and squeezed. Why was he in such a hurry to leave?
“There you are Senior Captain Helyg.” Moises’s greeting cut through the tender moment. “The Earthling translators are onboard the transport. You’ll be leaving in about five minutes.”
“Excellent news, and congratulations on your new appointment, Lead Councilor Alexander.” Gryf gave him a quick grin.
Moises cringed at the reference to his newly acquired title as the head of the hastily seated Terr council. “Temporary Lead Councilor Alexander, until they find another sucker to take the job permanently. Come on, Maggie. Let’s find Li-Min. The sooner Captain Gryf leaves, the sooner he can come home.”
Gryf kissed Maggie’s cheek and transferred her to Moises. As they walked away, moving with the others to a safe distance from the transport, Gryf rubbed his chest over his heart. Home. He liked the sound of that.
Are you okay? Alexandra’s question filtered gently into his mind.
He turned and found her a fair distance away, standing near the rear of the transport. She must have felt his emotion. I’m fine, animi. Have you seen Ora?
She’s over by the oak tree on the other side
of the transport.
Odd place for her. Gryf gave his soul mate a nod. I’ll meet you on board.
I’ll be waiting. Alexandra blew him a kiss, and he touched his cheek as if it had landed there. Then he ducked under the belly of the transport and immediately located Ora, exactly where Alexandra said she would be. Alone under a tree, gazing out across the valley.
“Ora?”
Her head moved slightly in his direction, but she didn’t respond. Something was amiss.
“Sobin.” He stopped in front of her, but she still kept staring out over the valley. Her eyelashes were damp, and her nose red. What could possibly make a woman as strong as his cousin cry? “What has happened, Ora?”
She shook her head then, whispered, “Bodie didn’t make it.”
~ * ~
Alex shook her head at her reflection, then smoothed her hands down the front of her dress. The sage-green gown had an almost medieval cut. The square neckline fell just below her collarbone, and long, fitted sleeves ended in a point over the backs of her hands. A cream-color sash hung slightly loose around her waist, accentuating her curves. Very plain and unassuming, which was the point. After all, she represented a people who had lost everything. Karise had even nixed accessories, except for Alex’s wedding ring.
She turned away from the mirror, her gaze drawn to Gryf’s bed...their bed...which they hadn’t even had a chance to test out since arriving aboard the Atlantis four days ago. Granted, she’d suffered gravity sickness during the transport ride and hadn’t been in the mood the first day. But since then, debriefings, strategic planning, diplomatic and foreign policy training, a crash course in the art of negotiating, and garment fittings had occupied her days. It was no wonder she was practically asleep when she fell into bed every night.
“Maybe tonight.” But that wasn’t even certain. Now that they’d caught up to where the rest of the fleet surrounded the Anferthian ships, it was time to negotiate for the lives of her people. If she was successful in convincing the Anferthians to return the captive Earthlings, then she’d probably be up all night caring for the refugees.
On the other hand, there was always the possibility that the Anferthians would decide to blow up the slavers and plunge the three worlds into war. A shiver ran down her arms. She must tread very carefully today, because neither Earth nor Matir could afford that.
She let her gaze sweep the bedroom. Gryf had excellent taste. Although sparsely furnished with only a bed, dresser, and a desk, the entire cabin was done in relaxing greys, blues, and creams.
The door chimed, and a soft feminine voice announced the caller, “Admiral Roble.”
Alex gave her head a shake and rolled her eyes. So her escort to the negotiations had given himself a promotion. “Well, let the Admiral in.”
She moved into the living area as the door opened and Graig stepped inside. Crossing her arms over her chest, she gave him the stink eye. “You didn’t happen to do a little work on our announcer, did you?”
“I can’t imagine what you’re talking about,” Graig replied, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
“Hm, I bet you can’t.” She twisted her mouth into a teasing smirk. “By the way, you clean up almost as nice as Gryf.”
Gryf had looked like an Earth girl’s hot-hunk-from-outer-space fantasy before leaving for the bridge thirty minutes ago. His ankle-length navy-blue cape draped over the standard grey uniform, held in place at one shoulder by his broach of rank. Somewhat reminiscent of a Trojan warrior’s cape. Shiny black calf-hugging boots completed the look. No doubt about it, the Matiran full dress uniform was a thing of art.
“I almost take that as a compliment.” The man never missed a beat. “And you look every bit the Profeta.”
“I look like an extra from The Lord of the Rings.”
Graig raised his brows. “This time I really don’t have a clue what you’re talking about, Alex.”
“Oh, so you admit to fiddling with our announcer?”
“I admit nothing,” he replied coolly, offering his arm. “Shall we?”
Alex swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. In fifteen minutes, she’d be face-to-face with the Anferthian Supreme Warden. Cripes, how was she going to pull this off? She rested her hand on Graig’s arm. She couldn’t fail; the survivors of Earth—her people—were depending on her.
Graig covered her hand with his. “Don’t worry, sora, you will do fine.”
“I hope so.”
Tapping his personal comm, he said, “Senior Captain Helyg, the Profeta is departing her quarters for the negotiation.”
“Thank you, Commander,” Gryf responded. “We will meet you at the conveyor.”
“Yes, sir.” He met her eyes and grinned. “It’s showtime.”
A laugh bubbled up at the Terrianism, and let her shoulders relax. Graig swept her through the door and in the direction of the conveyor. It was silly to be this nervous. Gryf would be at her side the entire time. He had faith in her, and whatever divine power had chosen them to be the Profetae. Her father-in-law, Nicky, and Graig would also stand with them. Even the Administer—the elected leader of Matir—would hologram in for the meeting. What could possibly go wrong?
“I hear the Supreme is an asshole.” Graig’s tone was conspiratorial as they rounded the first corner. “But don’t allow that to bother you, Alex.”
“Are you trying to make me laugh, or just scare the crap out of me?”
A group of six uniformed Matirans appeared at the far end of the passageway. What were they doing here? The entire level was supposed to be cleared until she reached the viscomm room.
“Ska,” Graig muttered. He body slammed her into a control panel alcove along the wall just as the mysterious Matirans opened fire.
~ * ~
The conveyor doors slid open, and Gryf narrowed his eyes at Nick waiting to board the lift.
“Morning blessings, Nicholaus,” Gryf’s father greeted the young man.
“’Morning, Admiral,” Nick stepped into the conveyor and jerked his chin in Gryf’s direction. “Hey, Q-tip.”
Gryf raised an eyebrow. “I know what a Q-tip is, Nick.” He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out the little blue flexible stick with white fluff on the ends. He’d been prepared for this for weeks now.
Nick grinned. “I guess you do.”
“And I know who...or what…Papa Smurf was.”
The doors closed behind Nick and the conveyor began its descent to Epsilon level. “Damn. Those were my two best ones.”
Nick didn’t appear overly disappointed. No doubt he had others tucked away in that devious brain.
“You may call me either.” Gryf tapped the swab against the shell of his ear. “But if you do, make sure you watch your back—Nich-o-laus.”
“Gotcha, old man.”
Zale cleared his throat.
“No offense, sir.” Nick certainly knew how to use his easygoing charm.
The conveyor slowed as it approached their destination. Fear, raw and primitive, permeated Gryf like noxious fumes. His heart rate spiked, and he gripped the wall to keep from folding to the floor.
Alexandra. Danger.
“Gryf?” His father’s voice seemed to come from sectors away.
Gryf’s comm beeped.
“Code Red! Code Red!” Graig’s voice filled the conveyor. “Level Epsilon, Section Twenty-seven. Repeat, Epsilon Two-Seven.”
Graig’s comm picked up a woman’s sharp cry. Alexandra’s cry.
Gryf slapped his comm. “On our way.”
By the Mother, he didn’t want to withdraw from their soul connection, but he had a job to do. He swore in Matiran, sent her his reassurance that he was coming, then withdrew. Cold isolation descended. If his soul could cry, it would.
He punched his code into the small control panel to enable the ship-wide transmitter. “Code Red. All available and armed personnel to Epsilon Two-Seven. Code Red.” An instant later, the message repeated a constant broadcast of the order.
; “What’s happening?” Nick’s face was pale.
Gryf slammed his hand into the crystalline ID reader on the wall. A panel snapped open to reveal a small arsenal of telums. “Someone is attempting to assassinate Alexandra.” He pushed one of the weapons into his brother-in-law’s hands. “Take this, and remember your training.”
The conveyor came to stop at Level Epsilon, and Gryf shoved through the doors before they were fully open. Given all the noise, it wasn’t difficult to figure out the assassins were around the first corner. Please don’t let me be too late.
He rounded the corner, and opened fire. One assassin fell before Gryf’s shoulder slammed into the far corner bulkhead. He grunted at the impact before dropping to his stomach on the floor. Nick rolled into the middle of the opening and flattened himself next to Gryf just as the remaining three assassins opened fire on them.
“They’re Matiran,” Nick shouted.
“Not any of mine.”
One traitor yelled something indecipherable, and the rest turned their attention back down the corridor where Alexandra and Graig must be taking cover. This made it ridiculously easy to pick them off. But they were assassins, and their goal would be to eliminate their target at any cost.
The last one fell. Gryf held his position on the floor, weapon ready, watching for movement. Everything remained still. He signaled his father and Nick, and they rose together in silence. Nick walked over to the closest dead assassin. He gazed down at her dispassionately, then crouched down and splayed his fingers across her forehead.
“Go, Gryf. I will watch your back,” his father said.
Gryf moved quickly through the debris-ridden corridor. If any of the assassins so much as twitched, his father would cut them down.
The outline of a body lay in the control alcove. A male. The cape of a dress uniform draped over the still form as if protecting something. Or someone. Graig. Mother have mercy. Gryf moved forward quickly, his stomach knotted. In a blur of motion, Graig flipped over on his back, his telum appearing from under the folds of his cloak, aimed at Gryf’s heart.
“Peace, Graig.” Gryf raised his hands. The tension in Graig’s face drained away, and he laid his head on the floor with a gusty sigh. Gryf dropped to his knees next to him. “Are you hit?”