Romancing the Alpha: An Action-Adventure Romance Boxed Set

by Zoe York

  Of course, they hadn’t killed Wolf yet, had they? He could still be somewhere, tormenting Ying.

  With these grim thoughts in mind, Marat needed no urging to march off in the direction the captain pushed him.

  Another shudder coursed through the ship.

  “The cavalry is a bit overeager, isn’t it?” Striker asked, ambling along beside Marat, still toting his flamethrower. Judging by the broken and blackened walls, it had seen much use.

  “Frog is at the weapons,” Mandrake said, then tapped his comm-patch. “Frog, we’ve got the ship. Cool your blasters.”

  “Yes, Cap’n.” Frog sounded disappointed.

  “Frog blasting things around a space station,” Striker said. “That’s reckless, isn’t it?”

  “Says the man toting fifty million grenades and a flamethrower around,” came another voice from behind the captain. Marat recognized Sergeant Tick’s backwoods drawl. He wondered how much of the company Mandrake had committed to this... this rescue. He couldn’t call it anything else. He and Striker had nearly gotten themselves killed.

  “Anyone know where crew quarters are?” Mandrake asked when they came to an intersection.

  “This way, sir,” Marat said. “I served on one of these ships before.”

  Mandrake did not answer him. Marat hoped it was only in his imagination that the captain’s hard green eyes were boring into the back of his head like asteroid mining drills.

  As they approached the officers’ cabins, Marat realized he had lost his pistol in the chaos. Oh, well. If he found Ying chained to the bed or worse, he could break Wolf’s neck with his bare hands.

  When he reached the captain’s cabin, he expected it to be locked, but the door slid open for him. He strode into an outer room and immediately turned toward the bedroom. As he entered, he almost stepped on a man’s head. Wolf. There was a dagger sticking out of the back of his neck.

  He tore his gaze from the dead man and jumped at the sight of a huge spider squatting in a terrarium without a lid, but before he could grow too upset by that, he spotted Ying standing against the far wall with her arms folded across her chest, a pistol in her grip. She was naked, blood smearing her chest and bruises on her arms and shoulders. Her eye was bruised, too, her lip cut and swollen, and he worried about internal injuries, as well.

  With a lump swelling in his throat, he stepped around Wolf, lifting an arm toward her, imagining her tumbling into his embrace.

  “Took you long enough,” Ying snapped, tapping one bare foot and eyeing his arm like it was a viper.

  Belatedly, it occurred to him that after she had endured Wolf’s mauling, she might not be in the mood to be hugged by a man. Or anyone.

  “Sorry,” he said. “My plan didn’t go as I had imagined it.”

  Ying sighed and lowered her arms. “Mine, either.” Some of the edge faded from her voice.

  “Oh? I thought this was what you had envisioned.”

  “Not exactly, but it will do,” she said firmly, no hint of regret for sticking a dagger in someone’s neck. Not that Marat would have regretted ending Wolf’s life, either.

  “This the cook?” Mandrake asked from the doorway, and Marat remembered that they weren’t alone. In addition to the captain, Striker, Tick, and several other armored men crowded the outer room.

  “Yes, sir. She can cook,” Marat said. “But I didn’t ask—I mean, we haven’t discussed, uhm.” He recalled that he had tried to persuade the captain to help by mentioning that Ying was a Grenavinian and had a background as a cook.

  “No discussion before action? Shocking.” Mandrake wasn’t usually snide or insulting to his people, so Marat could gauge how furious he must be by that, even if he sounded calm and cool. “Find her some clothes, and get your ass back to the ship. All of you. We’ll discuss the consequences of your actions later.”

  Without a backward glance for the dead pirate, Mandrake strode away. Even if the other armored men were as tall and broad as he was, they scurried to clear the way.

  Ying grabbed a shirt out of the closet, sneered distastefully at it, then tugged it over her bruised body. Marat would have offered to carry her, if she had indicated she might like that, but all he did was wave for her to follow him. She looked like she might object—maybe she had her Killers Keepers rule in mind and thought of commandeering this ship for herself. Since Marat did not know just how secure—or space worthy—the vessel was yet, he didn’t want her insisting on staying.

  “The medic will get you fixed up,” he said, hoping that would sway her.

  Even though she looked tough, her shoulders did slump slightly in relief. She nodded and followed the others out.

  “You’re in trouble,” Striker announced, lingering to wait for Marat.

  “Just me?”

  “No, but mostly you. The captain knows how susceptible I am to promises of adventures that I can immortalize in my comics. He doesn’t expect much from me.”

  Marat sighed. “So long as Ying is all right.”

  Striker grunted, apparently not impressed with the sentiment.

  “In case I’m not around to say it later,” Marat said, “thanks for the help.”

  “Uh huh. Just so you know, you owe me. Next time I want to go halfsies on a big purchase, I expect you to lay some aurums on the table.”

  “So long as you’re not buying a human being.”

  Striker mulled this over for a moment. “How about a new 880 extended-range anti-aircraft grenade launcher?”

  “That might work.” If Marat was still a part of Mandrake Company when Striker wanted to make his purchase. “Do I get to name it?”

  “No.”

  — ELEVEN —

  Marat sat on the edge of his bunk, his hands clasped between his knees. Ying stood at his desk, looking at the portrait of his daughter on the wall. She appeared far calmer than he, but then, her fate wasn’t up in the air. Marat did not think the captain would shoot him, not after he had gone through all the trouble to save him—though that might have been more about saving Striker—but he did worry about being kicked off the ship for disobeying orders and endangering the company. That seemed so likely that he struggled to imagine another outcome. And that was what had his gut in knots. He hadn’t realized how much this place had come to mean to him until this very night. Maybe it had taken Striker walking into a pirate stronghold at his back to drive home that these people were as dependable as his old Fleet comrades, and that this ship could become a home of sorts. If Mandrake let him stay.

  He stared glumly at his hands.

  Ying walked over and sat next to him on the bed, her thigh touching his. The medic had given her a sickbay gown while treating her wounds—apparently, she hadn’t been willing to wear Wolf’s shirt another second. The thin, knee-length garment was only slightly less unflattering than the gray slave robe, but he still found himself aware of the heat from her thigh.

  “Are you all right?” She might have snapped at him in Wolf’s cabin, but she had mellowed since leaving the pirate’s ship, and all of the edge was gone from her voice. Maybe killing Wolf had helped her release her anger. Or maybe he had somehow become someone that she didn’t feel the need to be edgy with.

  “I’m fine. I’m just sorry we’re stuck here,” Marat said. “I’d give you a tour of the ship if I wasn’t confined to quarters.”

  “One mercenary ship is much the same as another. I hear this one doesn’t even have a cook, so it can’t be that special.”

  Marat snorted softly, then regarded her curiously. “Would you be interested in applying if that position was open?”

  “I suppose it would depend on the kind of person the captain was, if he was someone who punished a man for following his heart and trying to do the right thing.”

  Marat smiled, though he understood perfectly well why Mandrake wasn’t pleased. “I don’t regret coming after you, but I can’t pretend to be a victim. That might not have turned out so well for Mandrake Company.”

  “
But it turned out fine, so your stuffy captain should just rub up against his new medical equipment and be happy.”

  Marat nearly choked at that image.

  Ying’s bright smile wasn’t apologetic in the least. Her cuts had been healed, and her bruises had faded under the medic’s care, but the remnants of blood still smeared her skin in spots. He needed to offer her a shower and see if he could find her something better to wear than a sickbay gown, even if all he could give her was one of his shirts. Though he quite liked the image of her in nothing but one of his shirts, the hem dangling to her thighs.

  “I’m sorry,” Marat said, shifting his gaze away from the leg that was touching his. “I’m being a poor host, and poor company. Do you want to use the shower? It’s nothing fancy, but it will get you clean. I can find you a shirt or something to wear until, uh...” He stretched his hand toward the gown, fingers groping. “I’ll talk to some of the women on the ship, see if we can find some clothes that would fit you.”

  “Clothes can wait, but I’ll happily use the shower if you’ll join me.”

  “I...what?”

  “You smell like smoke, chemicals, and dead people.”

  Marat wrinkled his nose and looked down at himself. He had taken off the fire suit, but his clothes were rumpled and worse for the wear. Yes, he would have already cleaned up, if he hadn’t been busy brooding about his future. Ying’s invitation piqued his interest, but he didn’t want to assume anything. He had no idea as to the extent of what she had endured with Wolf, and even if the medic had healed most of her cuts and bruises, she might have psychological as well as physical pain that remained. Still, her eyes twinkled as she regarded him, and the invitation had been fairly clear.

  “It’s not a very large shower,” he said.

  “I guess we’ll have to stand close then.” She winked and disappeared into the bathroom.

  Marat swallowed, still having trouble believing he was reading her invitation correctly. Yes, they had kissed in that maintenance shaft, but that had been in the dark and the quiet, where nightmares lived and made people feel vulnerable and needed. Most of the rest of the time, he hadn’t been certain whether she liked him or thought he was an imbecile.

  His uncertainty did not keep Marat from following her to the doorway, with hope swelling his chest. Something else swelled, as well, and he rolled his eyes at himself. They were both fully clothed and hadn’t even kissed. What was he, some teenage boy? But he remembered that kiss. The feel of her straddling his lap, her hot, lithe body pressed against him. He would be delusional if he didn’t admit that he had been attracted to her from the beginning. The thought of being able to do something about that titillated him. More than that, there was the idea that she might want him as much as he wanted her. No, he couldn’t blame his body for reacting.

  “Marat,” Ying said, sounding more disgusted than titillated. “Not very large? This is a coffin, not a shower.”

  “Sorry.”

  He leaned into the bathroom. Large and luxurious, it was not, and it shared the same drab gray walls and floor that marked most of the rest of the ship, so it didn’t exactly inspire romance. He had never felt overly cramped in the shower, though, even with his big frame. If two wanted to be under the water at once, that would be a challenge, but with the bathroom door closed, the room was waterproof, so if one didn’t mind bumping into the sink or toilet, wayward spray wouldn’t matter.

  “Believe it or not,” Marat said, “I’m fortunate to have a cabin with a bathroom, courtesy of a higher-ranking former roommate.” He decided not to mention that his roommate had been killed during the Nimbus battle, since that wasn’t a cheery pre-shower subject. “Not all of the sergeants warrant such opulent accommodations.”

  “Opulent.” Ying snorted, but smiled over her shoulder at him. “I guess we can take turns.”

  “That would be practical.” He tried not to let any disappointment show; he had been intrigued by the idea of a mutual shower. He turned to leave. “I’ll wait—”

  Ying stepped back and caught his arm. “Stay.”

  His heart sped up at her touch; he swore he could feel it drumming against his ribs. “Stay?”

  “I’ve never bathed on your ship before. I may need help working the controls.” She flicked her hand toward the wall panel that controlled water temperature, activated the body dryer, and turned on the bathroom’s self-sanitizing function.

  It wasn’t complicated, but he would be more than happy to stay and assist her. “All right,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. He was already imagining her naked body, with water beading and running down her curves.

  “And I’m sure we’re both stiff and sore after our respective battles,” Ying added. “We may need to help each other clean the hard-to-reach places.”

  An image flashed into his mind of sliding a bath sponge along the curves of her butt. If he had been swollen before, he ached now, uncomfortably restrained by his trousers.

  “All right,” he croaked again, fumbling as he reached for the rack that held clean sponges and washcloths. He handed her the sponge. “Let me know when you’re ready for me.”

  “Oh, I will.” In one motion, Ying shucked her gown and tossed it onto a peg.

  Marat’s breath caught. Even though he had seen her naked before, it hadn’t been up close, and she was even more sleek and beautiful than he remembered. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch her, but he averted his eyes, feeling that he was invading her privacy, that ogling her might make her feel uncomfortable or remind her of the humiliation of standing naked in front of all those people at the auction.

  Ying touched his hand as she accepted the sponge, but she did not slip into the shower right away. She faced him, resting a hand on his chest and looking up into his eyes.

  “You can look all you like, Marat,” she whispered. “I want you to. I want you to want me. And I want to give you...” Her gaze lowered to his collarbone. “Nobody has ever risked his career, his everything for me. And you did that, for hardly any reason at all. It’s not like I... Look, I know I’m not the easiest person to deal with. I’m not muscular and imposing like your Sergeant Hazel. Being bristly is the only way I know to defend myself, to make a wall so people leave me alone and can’t hurt me. But you make me feel like I don’t need the wall.” She chuckled and leaned her forehead against his shoulder. “That sounded maudlin. I’m not good at feelings.”

  “No,” Marat said. “I’m glad. That you don’t need a wall, I mean. I wouldn’t hurt you.”

  Ying tilted her head back. “I know you wouldn’t.”

  She lifted her lips toward his, and he leaned down, eager to meet them. At first, he kept his hips back, leaving some space between them, so she wouldn’t have his spear jabbing her through his clothing, but she did not seem amenable to this. She leaned closer, linking her arms around his shoulders, then surprising him by rising up and hooking one leg around his waist, almost purring as she encountered his hard bulge.

  The realization that she truly wanted him heated his body—and his emotions too. His last year had been so lonely, so devoid of meaning and pleasure. He cupped Ying’s ass as he deepened his kiss, slipping his tongue inside of her, reveling in her heady taste and in the fact that she had appreciated his help, however bumbling it might have been. He groaned, impassioned by her eagerness, by her smooth willing flesh as she wrapped her other leg around him. He was barely aware of moving until her shoulders bumped against the wall. He had pressed her there, picturing himself driving into her right there.

  Ying chuckled softly and nipped at his bottom lip. “I knew there was a tiger in there,” she murmured, her lips against his. She shifted from nipping to sucking, and pulses of sensation shot through him and down to his cock.

  “I want you,” he said.

  “Good.” She pulled her head back slightly, grinning that mischievous grin again. “But you still stink, fire boy.” Disappointment welled in him when she lowered her legs to the floor, but she didn�
��t go far. “Let’s get you in that shower.”

  “I thought you were going first.”

  “I was, but you’ve seen me naked twice now, and I haven’t seen so much as a chest hair. That hardly seems fair, does it?” She turned him as she spoke, and soon his back was to the wall. She tugged his shirt out of his belt and slid her hands up his torso, his skin shivering as her fingernails grazed it.

  “No,” he said, tugging his shirt over his head and throwing it in the corner. If she wanted to see him naked, he would cheerfully comply, even if the idea of waiting even five minutes while he showered sounded torturous.

  While he unbuckled his belt, she dropped to her knees on the bathmat to unfasten his boots. When he freed his cock, the eager shaft almost thumped her in the face, and he blushed with embarrassment at his timing. But she merely gazed at him, a smile curving her lips as she lifted a hand to stroke him, as if she were examining some precious stone. Fire raced through his body, and his every muscle quivered. For a moment, he forgot what he was doing, and all he could do was clench his fists as she touched him. Images of taking her against the wall surged into his overheated brain again. Then she returned her hands to his boots, and he remembered he was supposed to be undressing. He shoved his sagging trousers down. He lifted his foot so she could remove the first boot. As she did so, she nuzzled his cock, rubbing his balls with her chin.

  Such pleasure scorched him that he did not know how long he could handle the teasing. As she removed the second boot, she ran her tongue along his length, finding all of the sensitive nerves and sending waves of desire through him. His head fell back, and he barely noticed that it clunked against a hook on the wall.

  Ying stood up, his boots and trousers now in the corner with his shirt, and pointed toward the shower. He groaned a protest, wanting nothing more than for her to return to what she had been doing, but she planted her hands on his chest and pushed him toward the small enclosure.