Shifter

by Angela Knight, Lora Leigh, Alyssa Day

  The guard shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “All right.” Casus drummed his fingers nervously on his desk. “I’d better report in. Just in case.”

  “That would be wise,” Aaren said in such a mild tone that Casus knew he’d damned well better get on the comm to Throneworld.

  It was midshift on Market Station, and the main concourse was crowded with shoppers. Spacers and elaborately dressed aristos strolled along under the massive transparent dome, while tourists stopped to gape upward, shameless in their awe. Rance couldn’t blame them. Overhead, the Cordovo Nebula gleamed against the black of space like a woman’s silk scarf, a shimmering veil of purple and red dotted with gemstone stars.

  The view inside the concourse wasn’t nearly that elegant. Merchants pushed massive antigrav carts displaying wares from a hundred worlds. Spidersilk in countless shades, robot toys that pranced and sang, even spices from the Freeworlds that gave Rance a pang of homesickness. A naked slave girl danced in front of one of the dealer shops, her voice musical and lilting as she invited passersby to sample her wares. Yet despite her bright smile, there was desolation in her eyes.

  Fucking aristos.

  Selan glanced at the girl as they passed, and a spasm of pity—and oddly, shame—crossed her face. Pity he could understand, but what the hell did she have to be ashamed of? She hadn’t made the girl a slave.

  Frowning, Rance eyed his new mistress, then turned to scan the surrounding crowd with all his senses, both wolf and nano. He spotted no one who seemed to have an assassin’s unhealthy interest in her.

  Good. Still, he didn’t dare relax.

  As they’d left Casus’s shop, Selan had returned most of his nanobot functions to his control, which said a great deal about how much danger she thought she was in.

  “You know,” Rance said aloud, “I’d find it a lot easier to protect you if I knew what I was protecting you from.”

  Selan shot him a cool look, one hand riding the hilt of her sword. “Not here. Once we get to the ship, I’ll brief you.”

  “Yes, mistress.”

  She lifted a brow, no doubt detecting the edge of sarcasm in his voice. He hid a wince, half expecting her to give him a nanobot jolt for his impertinence. Instead she went back to scanning the surrounding crowd, tension visible in the set of her slim shoulders. She may be paranoid, but at least she’s not a bitch.

  It might have been easier if she were.

  Still, bitch or not, nanos or no, he had to escape. He had a traitor to kill, and he needed to warn Kuarc Lorezo about the mole in his organization. God knew how much damage the spy had done to the Rebellion.

  Rance frowned in worry at the thought. He’d known Kuarc for years and considered him a friend. Though an aristo, he’d sworn to abolish slavery once he became emperor. Which was why Conlan Shipping had been providing his rebels with weaponry and armor for the past ten years.

  It was damned sure Kuarc would make a better ruler than his drunken excuse for a sister. As far as Rance could tell, the only thing Zarifa Lorezo had going for her was that she was legitimate while her brother wasn’t. Yet the man they called the Bastard was far more honorable.

  So if Rance had to hurt Selan to escape, there really was no choice. Friendship, honor, and his own thirst for revenge gave him no alternative.

  On the other hand, I could always seduce her… The thought came from out of nowhere, with the particular ring of something that had been percolating in the back of his mind for a while. Rance blinked, then narrowed his eyes in interest.

  Seduction had always been an effortless skill for him. Women were fascinated by shifters, who had a reputation for animal sexuality and inhuman endurance.

  Unfortunately, though sex came easily, romance was a bit more difficult. An arms-smuggling run to the Empire might be profitable for Rance, his company, and his crew, but it also meant months away from home. More than one of his partners had fallen in love with someone else by the time he returned.

  Still, Rance knew women, and he knew Selan wanted him every bit as much as he did her. He could get her into bed, romance her, make her care about him. With a little patience, he might even be able to convince her to let him go.

  And if that didn’t work, he could always get ruthless.

  Gerik Natalo stalked into his father’s privy chamber, the heels of his boots clicking on the gleaming gemstone tiles.

  He found the regent crouched over his royal compdesk like a heron hunting in the shallows of a swamp, long nose pointed downward, narrow face fiercely intent as he stared at screens of data.

  Umar Natalo was almost as tall as Gerik himself but weighed a good fifty kilos less, his skin stretched taut over bone and sinew. The shoulders of his black velvet coat were padded in a vain attempt to make him look as if he had some meat on his frame. Black lace spilled around his narrow hands, and a ruby gleamed like a pool of blood on his intricate black cravat. The dark, rich clothing only called attention to his pale skin, making him look rather like a vampire from some ancient myth. Which, knowing Umar, was probably his intention.

  The regent didn’t even look up when Gerik came to attention before his battleship of a desk. Gerik wasn’t surprised. His father had yet to forgive him for letting Zarifa slip through his fingers.

  Well, he’d find her eventually, and she’d pay dearly for humiliating him. They didn’t call Gerik the Regent’s Fist for nothing.

  Waiting for Umar to deign to notice him, Gerik drummed the fingers of his right hand on the hilt of his sword and let his eyes drift around the richly appointed room. It barely missed gaudy with its gilded furniture, red upholstery, and golden statues of naked slaves. Umar’s common blood had a way of showing in a certain lack of taste.

  It was fortunate Gerik’s mother was a member of the royal line. Not only did she compensate for his father’s multitude of sins, her ancestry made Gerik an acceptable candidate for Zarifa’s hand. At least in the eyes of the nobility.

  Zarifa was another matter. The ice bitch hated him—and it was mutual.

  “She has been found.”

  Gerik jolted. “Zarifa?”

  His father lifted a coal-black brow under hair styled in an elaborate tumble of black curls. “Is there another fugitive who has escaped you?”

  Stung, he glowered. “I’m not the only one she escaped, Father. Have you discovered how she managed to break your control?”

  Umar’s icy gaze narrowed. “It seems you were right. She has gotten her hands on an Imperial Combat nanosystem.”

  He’d suspected as much from the way she’d fought, so different from every previous time she’d tried to stand against him. “Have you found out where she got it?”

  The regent shrugged. “Black market, no doubt. She had the money for it. I’ve found evidence she transferred three hundred million imperials out of her personal accounts.”

  He cursed. “She could have bought a battleship with that much cash.”

  “Among other things. It seems she’s also purchased a certain werewolf slave.”

  “Conlan?” Gerik ground his teeth. “I told you we should have had that bastard killed!”

  “And I felt slavery was a far more galling punishment.”

  “No, you were just looking to line your pockets!”

  “Watch your tongue!”

  Gerik subsided, glaring at his father. “I don’t understand how she even managed the independence to have the system installed to begin with. When did she break your control?”

  Umar shrugged and leaned back in his massive thronelike chair. “The money transfer was three weeks ago. One assumes just before that.”

  “On her birthday.” Gerik raked his hands through his hair and gave it a frustrated jerk. “Must have been one of the gifts.”

  “Probably. There were several things her father’s will specified she receive when she reached her majority.”

  Gerik glowered. “And you allowed that?”

  Umar drummed his ringed fingertips on his desk. “Appare
ntly the emperor’s lawyer was more determined than I expected.”

  “Have the bastard killed.”

  “Oh, I did.”

  A new thought struck him, drew his belly into a sick knot. “Do you think she knows?”

  Umar shrugged. “We must assume so.”

  “If she tells the Bastard—”

  “She won’t get the opportunity.” His father’s voice was hard and icy.

  “She’d damned well better not. Where is she now? I’ll—”

  “You’ll stay right here.” Umar’s voice could snap like a slaver’s whip when it suited him. “I have put a plan into action. We’ll have her back in hand shortly. In the meantime, you will best serve me here. The Bastard is planning something—I can almost smell it on the wind.” His long nose twitched, as if catching Kuarc Lorezo’s scent.

  “Don’t worry about Kuarc.” Gerik’s hand tightened on his sword. “I’ll deal with him.”

  Umar lifted that brow again. “You’d better. If you fail this mission, my son, there will be no others.”

  FOUR

  Zarifa could feel Mad Dog walking behind her, pacing like a great animal. Something about him seemed to broadcast raw sex. She could feel his intense sensuality in every hair that stood on the back of her neck, in the nipples that rose to hard, tingling attention, in the tension that clenched between her thighs.

  We’re going to make love. Then she corrected the thought with the brutal self-honesty her father had taught her: No, we’re going to fuck.

  The idea shimmered in her mind, dancing on the waves of heat that surged in her blood. It had been six years since she’d known a man’s touch, six years since she’d dared risk the fumbling rush and furtive pleasure of sex. After watching her lover’s execution for treason, she’d had no taste for risking another man’s life. Not when Umar had made it so viciously clear that he’d do anything to control her and keep his grip on power.

  A grip she was damned well going to break. Escaping him and his son had been only the first stage of the plan. There would be more to do later, but for now she was free—free to sample her seductive Mad Dog.

  Unfortunately, she had no idea how to go about it. Asking him to make love to her seemed a bit too bald, but her personal experience didn’t extend to seduction.

  Still wrestling with the problem, Zarifa led the way down the vast, echoing corridor that was the Gamma Deck, past the endless rows of airlocks that led to umbilical docking tubes. Each tube held a ship at a precise distance from Market Station. Some of the tubes were scarcely wide enough for two people to walk abreast, while others—those for cargo vessels—were as big around as some ships.

  Spotting the ’lock she wanted, Zarifa sent it a silent message through her nanobot communication system. “This is my ship,” she told Rance as the thick door slid open with a chirrup of greeting.

  They stepped inside and paused, waiting for the airlock to cycle and let them out into the tube. She stole a glance up at her slave’s stern profile. He looked grim and tough, more wary warrior than sex toy.

  He met her eyes. Heat leaped between them like a flame, so searing she had to catch her breath. He studied her, his eyes wolf-fierce, with an elemental hunger that had nothing to do with submission and everything to do with pure, male demand.

  The airlock slid open, breaking the hot tension. He stepped through as Zarifa followed.

  He stopped just inside to stare around at the cramped passageway with an experienced eye. “This is a Phoenix class transport, isn’t it?” In contrast to the sexual heat he’d exuded a moment before, the question was sharp, clipped, thoroughly in professional bodyguard mode.

  “Yes.” She watched curiously as he prowled the corridor. “How can you tell?”

  “My family owns Conlan Shipping. We had a Phoenix class or two.”

  “So you’re a trader?”

  “I’m a captain.” He shot her a defiant look, as if expecting her to remind him he was only a slave now. When she said nothing, he relaxed. “I am surprised your company assigned you a Phoenix class, though.” The model was notoriously underpowered and slow, which made it an unlikely choice for a courier vessel. “Any armament?”

  “Definitely. She isn’t your average Phoenix class.” Zarifa rattled off weapons systems and engine enhancements until Rance’s brows began to climb.

  “Sounds like the previous owner was a smuggler.”

  She grinned toothily. “Does sound like it.” He looked intrigued as she turned to lead the way toward the bridge. “Welcome to the Empire’s Hope.”

  Who was after his new mistress? And who the hell was she, anyway? He studied her as she led him through the cramped confines of her little ship with every evidence of pride. Each time he thought he had her pegged, she morphed on him like a Drago chameleon, changing shape and color and mood, keeping him constantly off balance.

  “Lady Selan,” my ass. That’s not her name. Hell, that’s probably not even her face. A good nanosystem could create a three-dimensional disguise image to make you look like anybody. Or for that matter, anything.

  Was she really a courier? True, that was a job aristos sometimes gravitated to—usually bored and adventurous younger daughters and sons without the prospect of inheriting. But somehow he had trouble picturing her as some company’s minor underling. She had too much authority in her manner.

  Besides, she hadn’t hesitated to drop two million imperials on a werewolf slave, which didn’t suggest a minor anything.

  Could be a government agent, though, in which case he’d better watch his step. Or one of Kuarc’s spies. She was certainly idealistic enough.

  He needed to get her talking if he wanted to find out which she was. The seduction he’d been contemplating sounded like a great place to start.

  Mad Dog was making her nervous. From the moment they’d stepped aboard, he’d been watching her like one of his furry brethren staring at a particularly fat fawn gamboling in the forest.

  Why in the Lady’s sweet name had anyone thought they could make that man a slave?

  Zarfia sat in her control chair, fighting to concentrate with Rance sitting next to her in the copilot’s seat. Her hands rested on the manual controls, ready to dance if the autos failed. She’d linked her nanosystem with the Empire’s Hope’s computer in order to guide the transport out of dock.

  Three months before, she would have had no idea what to do—but that was before she’d upgraded. Her new nanobot combat system had taught her the piloting skills she’d needed to make her escape.

  Now the three-dimensional control display flashed bright blue and green as it orbited their seats. Its stylized schematics showed the other ships clustered around Market Station’s docking arms. And she knew exactly what to do.

  Zarifa guided the Hope around a massive passenger liner then veered away from a speedy little courier less than half the transport’s size. It took more than an hour of nerve-racking navigation to clear Market Station’s traffic, then zip up beyond the orbital disc of the surrounding star system and into empty space. Clearance from station command came minutes later, and she punched into super-C.

  The engines didn’t so much howl as thrum, in a subsonic growl felt more in the base of the brain stem than the ears. For an instant, reality slid sideways with a nauseating little jolt. Everything acquired a rainbow aura…

  And then they were through into superspace, and the auras vanished, along with that nasty little psychic thrum. She sighed in relief.

  “Nice piloting.” There was something in his voice, a note of experience, that told her he knew exactly what he was talking about. But then, a merchant captain would.

  Zarifa blinked. Whenever she emerged from an intense flight session, there was always a moment of disorientation, like waking from a particularly vivid dream. Rance waited patiently while she brought her consciousness back to the here and now. “Thank you.”

  He rose from the copilot’s seat, all gleaming armor and male strength. “Think you’ll need to
link again, or are you free for the next few hours?”

  “I’m free.” She scrubbed both hands over her face. “The ship’s comp will be piloting until we reach our destination.”

  “And how long will that take?”

  Zarifa shrugged. “About three weeks, assuming we don’t encounter any ugly surprises.” Like the Fist, looking to drag her back to Throneworld.

  “Good.” A wicked smile curved his lips. Armored hands closed over her shoulders and pulled her gently from her pilot’s chair. Drew her full against smooth, cool nanotium. “I know just the way to occupy our time.”

  Surprise had her stiffening. Slave that he was, she hadn’t expected him to be so bold.

  He hesitated for just a heartbeat, reading her eyes. Making sure I’m willing… She caught her breath and licked her dry lips.

  His eyes followed her tongue. Flared like molten gold.

  Despite his sudden aggression, there was nothing of the marauder in his kiss. His lips were warm, surprisingly soft, sweetly seductive, a gentle wooing of lip and tongue.

  This bore no resemblance to the clumsy boy’s kisses she’d known from her lover or even the rape of the mouth Gerik had always practiced. Rance dazzled, enticed with every soft brush and lick, with every gentle breath.

  He went on kissing her, slowly, patiently, as his armored hands came to rest on her waist. Not grinding her against him but holding her in a lover’s clasp. It was more like something she’d seen in an entertainment simmie than anything she’d ever known in real life.

  Zarifa found herself relaxing into the kiss, opening for the soft petition of his tongue along the seam of her mouth. He tasted of mint mouth cleanser, but under that was something dark and wild, a hint of forest and rain.

  Impossibly delicious. And just as dangerous.

  She kissed like a virgin. Sweet, untutored, a little unsure, yet with a delicious, trembling need that made him rock hard inside his armor.