“I can talk to her,” Makkon said. “Without drugs.”
“You didn’t get that much information the last time you talked to her,” Brax growled, then held out his hand. “Give me the syringe.”
Makkon stared mulishly back at him, not lowering his hand to his pocket. “Get some sleep, Brax. Whatever this is, it isn’t important. If the ship’s still out there tomorrow, we’ll come up with a way to deal with it then.”
Another time, Tamryn might have appreciated that he wanted to keep his commander from stabbing a needle in her neck, but not now.
“I don’t need any sleep,” Brax said. “I need my space clear so the military ships don’t have any extra allies when they show up.”
“Nothing she tells us is going to help with that.”
“Are you so sure?” Brax squinted at Makkon.
“She’s a junior officer. What kind of information is she going to have? You already heard everything the other one said.”
Tamryn groped for a way she could make them want to drug her without seeming like she wanted it to happen. Makkon would surely be suspicious of that. Maybe she should just give up on the idea. She wasn’t even sure she could resist their questioning under the drug’s influence. If she didn’t, she could end up telling them far too much. But maybe sharing her secret might be worth it if it could be traded for a chance to get rid of Makkon, get her tablet back, and comm that other ship.
“Give me the syringe, Makk,” Brax said. He sounded like he was struggling to keep his voice calm. “You’ll feel like an ass later if questioning her could have brought up some important information, and you chose not to do it.”
Makkon didn’t respond right away. Some of the mulishness had faded from his expression.
“I can question her without the drug,” Brax added, “like I did the others.” His gaze briefly shifted toward a woman in a white lab coat who was curled into a ball and facing a corner, rocking herself and ignoring anyone who came over to inquire about her.
Tamryn glared at Brax, wishing she could stomach the idea of trying to seduce him, so she could kill him instead. Would Makkon continue on with the mission if he lost his leader? Probably. Tamryn wasn’t even positive Brax was the one in charge. They seemed to argue a lot for people with a chain of command established.
Makkon pulled out the syringe.
“I’ll observe,” he said before handing it over.
Brax smirked. “Hoping for a little affection if you’re nearby?”
“Hoping you won’t feel the need to maul her like you did the others.”
“Yes, yes, she’s your special prisoner.” Brax took the syringe and returned to Tamryn.
Her nerves jangled as he reached down and pulled her to her feet. She had wanted this, she reminded herself. That didn’t keep her belly from feeling like it housed snakes writhing in a mad dance.
Brax backed her up to a table. She wondered if she could convince them to untie her. Killing Makkon would be difficult enough with both hands free.
“I have nothing to say to you two,” Tamryn said. If she didn’t pretend to resist, they would be suspicious. “If you need to use the comm to talk to that other ship, I might be willing to do that, in exchange for a shower and some decent food.”
“You’re in no position to barter for anything, girl.” Brax grabbed her by the neck, fingers digging in, and lifted the syringe with his other hand.
She stifled the urge to wince, instead glaring defiantly at him.
Before the needle descended toward her neck, Makkon grabbed Brax’s arm.
“Now what?” Brax growled at him.
Without a word, Makkon took the syringe out of his comrade’s hand, laid it on the table next to Tamryn, then grasped her arm lightly. He didn’t meet her eyes as he did it, but she could tell from the tense set of his face that he didn’t want to drug her. He was at least going to do it the way she had requested. Once again, she found herself wondering if she might find a way to lure Brax out into the corridor and kill him instead of Makkon. But she didn’t know if Brax had any attraction toward her or if he could be distracted by a sexual advance. Brax also wasn’t the one with her tablet in his pocket.
Even though Brax was sighing impatiently and holding her neck, Tamryn was aware of Makkon cradling her arm as he checked the dose in the syringe. It wasn’t as if he was fondling her; she shouldn’t have reacted to the clinical touch. And yet she wished he would hurry up, before her body demonstrated that it liked that touch. Since she had sacrificed her uniform jacket to wrap Gruzinsky’s wounds, all she wore was her black T-shirt, which didn’t hide as much as the heavier garment. Fortunately, Makkon slid the needle into her vein before her nipples could turn into headlights.
She felt the cool bite of the metal, the substance inside entering her body, and then he was stepping back. He nodded to Brax.
“How you feeling, girl?” Brax asked.
Doubting the substance would take effect that quickly, Tamryn said, “Like I want to throw you out an airlock.”
“How about we have a chat instead?”
Tamryn looked down, fluttering her eyelids a couple of times. It wasn’t exactly the twitching that Anise’s eyelids had done, but it would have to do. She tried to look like she was wrestling with inner turmoil. It wasn’t as hard as she had expected, because she noticed herself feeling less agitated almost immediately. The fingers wrapped around the back of her neck stopped feeling so unpleasant. Why was she worried about these people? Everything would turn out in the end. It didn’t matter what she told them; it would be insignificant when Fleet arrived. They couldn’t fight off the strength of the entire system. They’d flee, leaving the station alone. Why fight them now? She could wait until then.
With a sick lurch, she realized the drug was affecting her.
“Got any intel you’d like to share yet?” Brax asked. His hand had grown lighter on her neck, and he rubbed her with his fingers.
She had the sense that she should be alarmed by that, but she couldn’t remember why. She frowned and looked around the room, trying to gather her concentration. She’d wanted to do something. What had it been? Her gaze landed on Makkon, who stood beside Brax, his hands clasped behind his back, his face a mask. A handsome mask. Why couldn’t he be the one rubbing her neck?
“What’s your secret, girl?” Brax asked, a hint of impatience in his voice. Why was he impatient? There was no need to be anything but relaxed and calm. Everything would turn out.
“Tamryn,” Makkon said.
Hearing her name on his lips made her smile.
“What?” Brax asked.
“She has a name. Maybe she would respond better to it.”
Brax grunted. “Why do you want to talk to the captain of the Felling Axe, girl?”
“Oh,” Tamryn murmured. “I almost forgot.” She struggled to arrange her thoughts. She’d had a plan. What had it been? Oh, yes. “My older brothers were all in the service, and two of them still are. Ernest served with the captain of the Felling Axe.” A lie. She’d managed to get out a lie. She smiled with relief, then wondered if they’d think her an idiot, since she seemed to be smiling a lot. She tried to stop, but she was looking toward Makkon again, and she couldn’t seem to wipe the expression from her face. Her smile broadened as she gazed into his eyes. The blue was striking in contrast to his black hair. Why hadn’t she noticed that before?
He didn’t smile back, but he stirred under her gaze, and opened his mouth. To say something? No words came out. She watched his lips, wondering what it would be like to kiss them.
“So what?” Brax asked, jostling her and forcing her to look at him again. “Who’s the captain?”
Tamryn didn’t know the answer to that question. She tried to force her scattered thoughts into a straight line. “He might rescue us if he knows I’m here. They were friends. Perhaps if I could speak to the captain, I could convince him to come in here and take back the station.” She lowered her voice in a conspiratorial whisper. �
��Pirates took it over, you know.”
Brax made a disgusted noise. “This was a waste of time. She doesn’t know anything.”
“I told you.” Makkon didn’t sound disappointed. He smiled slightly at her, as if pleased she had irked Brax.
She smiled back, pleased that he was pleased. “Your mission won’t work, you know. Why did you think you could take over the station with ten people? Fleet will annihilate you.” She shook her head sadly, disappointed at the thought of Makkon being annihilated.
Brax let go of her, clenching his fist. She wondered if he would hit her. She ought to block if he tried, but she couldn’t remember how she might do that.
Makkon watched that clenched fist, and a low growl escaped from his throat. Brax heard it and frowned over at him. Would they fight? Tamryn thought she should encourage that, but she couldn’t remember why. She didn’t want anyone to hurt Makkon.
Brax made another sound of disgust, then flung up a hand in dismissal. “She’s all yours, Makk. I’m going to check on that ship.”
Brax stalked out the exit.
Makkon took hold of Tamryn’s forearm, his touch light, gentle. “Let’s put you back with your buddy, hm? You can get some sleep.”
“Sleep?” No, sleep wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted to be with him. Alone. Why? Because then they could kiss. That would be nice. No, that wasn’t it. She had a plan. Yes, she remembered now. She almost touched the knife in her pocket, but caught herself. She didn’t want to draw his attention to it. “I’d rather talk to you.” She smiled up again, hoping he wanted to talk too.
“Oh? Something else you want to share?”
“Something to share. Yes.” She giggled. The noise almost startled her. She never giggled. Not unless she was drunk.
He hesitated.
“May I talk to you? Alone? I’ll offer you a deal.” She added that in a fit of inspiration, though she wasn’t sure what that deal would be. “And tell you my secret.”
His eyes sharpened. “That wasn’t it? That bit about your brother.”
“My brother is only part of my secret.” What was she doing? She hadn’t meant to talk about her family, other than to hint that she might have a contact on that ship out there. What was its name? She couldn’t remember.
“All right.” He licked his lips. He almost looked nervous. Because of her?
He led her toward the door, but frowned down at her legs when she hobbled after him at a slow pace. The ropes around her ankles limited the length of the steps she could take. He drew a dagger, bent down, and sliced them. He paused, then sliced the ropes between her wrists too.
“Much better.” She beamed another smile at him. Why couldn’t she stop doing that? He wasn’t smiling back yet. That was a shame. He would be even more handsome if he smiled.
“Perhaps,” he said and led her into the corridor.
It was brighter outside, and she blinked after the dim lighting of the lounge. This wasn’t a very intimate place. Too harsh. Too stark.
“My room would be better,” she found herself saying. That hadn’t been the plan, but if he went for it, she had guns in there. Better knives. An anti-armor assault rifle. Even with his fast reflexes, he would have trouble dodging out of the strike zone with that baby.
“Better for what?” Makkon asked warily.
She stood on her tiptoes and leaned against his chest. Under normal circumstances, she would have been scared to presume so much, to get this close in case he decided not to let her go, but she couldn’t find her inhibitions now. All of her thoughts of guns and knives fled her mind, and all she could think about was kissing him. His face was guarded, nothing of invitation on it, but she touched her lips to his, certain he wouldn’t reject her. It was supposed to be a quick kiss, a promise of more, but she lingered, enjoying the warmth of his chest against hers, the taste of his lips, of him.
At first, he did not react, but then she felt his arm slide around her back. His mouth opened, drawing her in, tasting her back. Gently, warmly, not like a plundering pirate but like a friend, a lover, someone who cared. The urge to wriggle closer came over her, to wrap herself around him, to feel his lean hardness pressed into her body.
A vague memory nudged the back of her mind. Wasn’t she supposed to be trying to do something? Accomplishing some mission? And hadn’t he asked a question?
Tamryn broke the kiss, lowering herself to the flats of her feet. She didn’t try to scoot back, instead keeping her breasts against his chest. Not that she could have escaped with his arm locked around her back.
“Secrets,” she whispered.
“What?” He blinked a couple of times, almost as if he were the one trying to surface from some drug-induced haze.
“You asked about my room, what it’s better for.” She smiled and lifted a hand to stroke the side of his face, to trace the dragon’s tail of his tattoo with her thumb. He had shaved when he had cleaned up, leaving all of his handsome angular lines on display. “It’s better for sharing secrets.”
Makkon stood still, his face twisting as he seemed to wrestle with himself. She waited for him to point out the obvious, that the corridor was empty and that there was no reason she couldn’t spill her secrets right here.
“How many guns are there?” Makkon asked, his tone going dry. Had he guessed her plan? That she wasn’t fully under the influence of the drug?
“Three,” she answered promptly, figuring he would see through it if she lied. More, he would know his truth serum wasn’t working. “A bow too. And a blowgun from the Drovokian Steppes. It was a gift from the natives. Do you want to see it?” All right, maybe the serum was working somewhat. That babbling was all the drug.
He still had his arm around her, and he rubbed her through her shirt as he gazed into her eyes. Tamryn made herself gaze back without artifice. Anything less, and he would suspect her motives.
“Yes,” he finally said. “I do.”
“Good.” She kissed him again, having to remind herself not to linger, then nodded in the direction of the lift. “This way.”
He lowered his arm so she could walk, but he stayed close to her side and hooked his thumb into her belt. Possessively? As a gesture to remind her that he wasn’t going to let her escape? Either way, his fingers rubbed her waist as they walked, and she didn’t mind his presence so close. An effect of the drug, no doubt. It didn’t matter. She was still going to kill him, get her tablet back, comm that other ship, and tell them everything.
Chapter 11
This was a bad idea.
The thought kept trotting through Makkon’s head as he walked beside Tamryn, heading to her quarters—or wherever it was she was taking him. He’d slid the needle into her vein and knew she was drugged—those smiles she kept sending him would have demonstrated that even if he’d been less certain—but she had a strong mind, and he wasn’t positive she was as fully under the influence of the concoction as she pretended to be. But it seemed to have hold of her enough that she’d stopped seeing him as an enemy and instead wanted to share secrets with him. In her room. While kissing.
The first touch of her lips had aroused him, and he couldn’t stop thoughts of sex from rushing through his head—and through his heated body—as they walked. But to have sex with her while her mind was fuzzed with chemicals wasn’t acceptable. He was only going with her to see if she might share more information. And because he couldn’t help but be curious to see her quarters, a hint of her personal life, her passions, the things she would never share with an enemy. They wouldn’t do anything there, and he wouldn’t touch her, no matter how much he wanted to. She would remember it later and hate him for taking advantage of her when she wasn’t herself—and rightfully so. She would probably remember that he’d walked her to her room with his arm around her waist, and if he let himself cup her ass, as he so much wanted to, she would remember that too. Having her so close, her womanly scent teasing his nostrils, made it hard to resist her, and his idle hands wanted to explore.
Makkon sighed at his thoughts and lowered his hands as they stepped out of the lift. She led him down a dead-end corridor and stopped in front of a door. It slid aside, and she strolled in.
He watched her, half expecting her to lunge for a weapon. Drug or not, she’d more than once proven she wasn’t some meek prisoner who would give in easily.
Tamryn merely turned on a rug in the center of the room, smiled, and spread her arms. “This is it.”
The space smelled of her—her shampoo and the distinct scent of her pheromones—and also of some flower he had never smelled before, its fragrance mingling with a chemical cleaning detergent. He spotted the weapons mounted on the wall above the bed immediately; two sleek laser rifles, both civilian models, and a pellet-firing shotgun. She could have sat up in bed in the middle of the night and grabbed any of them, or the bow and quiver of arrows above the headboard. However impractical such a weapon might be on a space station, he smiled, feeling a twinge of nostalgia. It was probably some sport toy for her, but he had learned to hunt with something similar. A blowgun, little more than a primitive bamboo shaft with a quiver of darts, was mounted above the bow. His gaze drifted to the bed itself. It was clearly designed for one person, but it looked comfortable and inviting with a rich green comforter and a couple of plush pillows. He could easily see pressing her back onto it, resting her head on those pillows and kissing her senseless as he slid atop her.
Except we’re not doing that, right? the voice in the back of his mind asked.
Right.
He forced himself to look elsewhere. It seemed a standard military room, and the rest of the furnishings, a dresser, a desk, and chair, were simple built-ins devoid of personality, but numerous pictures, some in digital frames and others on actual paper, dotted the walls above them. They were all of people standing and posing for the camera, some in uniform and some in civilian clothes, their ages ranging from children to white-haired men in hover chairs. Her family, he assumed, judging by the resemblances. In one of the pictures, she was about twelve and stood with a gray-haired man who had an arm around her shoulder. She wore a huge grin while gripping a bow in one hand, and in the other six pheasants tied by the legs. Another man stood next to them with a trophy to present.
Frost Station Alpha 1-6: The Complete Series Page 13