Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
Copyright (c) 2010 by Cheryl Brooks
Cover and internal design (c) 2010 by Sourcebooks, Inc.
Cover illustration by Anne Cain
Cover image (c) Wrangel/Dreamstime.com
Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems--except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews--without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
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For that spark of heroism in all of us
Prologue
Trag knew it was a mistake to attend the wedding. Not that he begrudged Manx and Drusilla their new state of wedded bliss or that he didn't enjoy seeing his old friend again, but because he knew he'd be sitting just exactly where he was right now; on Kyra's left while his brother, Tychar, sat on her right. She was as warm and lovely as she had been on the day Trag left Darconia, but just as firmly fixed as his brother's mate as she had been on the day they met. There was no getting past fate, destiny, or Zetithian visions, particularly when they involved a future mate. Tychar had known Kyra would be his long before he ever saw her; he just hadn't bothered to mention it to Trag.
Trag was thankful that he was wearing clothing, which he hadn't done when he and Ty had been slaves to the Darconian queen, because his reaction to her scent was the same as always; his cock was so hard he couldn't think about anything else.
He stared at Jack in a desperate attempt to divert his thoughts as she performed the wedding ceremony. It gave Jack great pleasure to be able to have all of the remaining Zetithians aboard her ship, and gave her even greater satisfaction to be tying the knot between the last known Zetithian and his Terran mate.
Finding Manx had been nothing short of a miracle, and though Trag had prayed to the Great Mother of the Desert for one more, so far she hadn't been attending to him. He tried turning away from Kyra, but her scent lingered in his head until the shallow breaths he'd been taking finally caught up with him and, inhaling deeply, he succumbed to the memory...
He and Tychar had converged on Kyra immediately. She had said yes, so there had been no point in waiting any longer. He fed her fruit while Tychar wiped the sweat from her body, and Trag tasted her sweetness in every way he could. He licked her lips after each bite until she kissed him, sucking his tongue into her mouth and driving him insane with desire. Her intoxicating kisses soon had him purring like mad as his hands caressed her body. She tasted like hot, wet love and her aroma was like nothing he'd ever imagined, igniting flames of passion that threatened to consume him. When Tychar pulled her thighs apart and urged him to taste the source of her scent, Trag licked her soft, wet lips, thrusting his tongue deep inside her, devouring her until, with a gush of creamy wetness, she came in his face. A triumphant snarl erupted from the depths of his throat, and when Ty pushed her beneath him, Trag didn't hesitate; he buried his stiff shaft in her soft warmth and felt love for the very first time.
Trag lost control after that, fucking her harder than he'd ever fucked anyone in his life. It took a while to regain that control, and when he did, he used every move on her he could think of, purring with delight and enjoying the vision of her lovely eyes and gentle smile.
And then, at his suggestion, she'd sucked Tychar. Trag's balls tightened at the memory of it... He'd never seen a more erotic vision before--or since--and it was a wonder he hadn't lost it right then, but Ty got there ahead of him, spraying her face and tongue with his sweet snard. It was one race Trag didn't mind losing though, for her orgasm seized his cock and sent him over the edge. Trag had felt that ejaculation clear down to his toenails and the double dose of Zetithian semen had Kyra babbling on about something--just what, he couldn't recall--but his satisfaction had been complete. He had given joy to a beautiful woman--a woman he now loved, but knew he could never call his own.
It was Trag's first, last, and only time with Kyra. After that, it became clear that she loved Tychar, not him, and when Queen Scalia's death freed the two men from slavery, Trag had tried to make the best of it. He might have withdrawn from Kyra and never tasted her love again, but he certainly hadn't forgotten it.
He tried to imagine what it would be like to love another woman but it was difficult. Any Terran woman would remind him too much of Kyra, if for no other reason than her scent. Telling those who urged him to find a mate that he was holding out for a Zetithian woman made it easier, first, because it gave him breathing space, and second, because he knew in his heart he'd never find one. He was certain they had all perished when Zetith exploded, and if any had been living offworld, the Nedwut bounty hunters had surely killed them all by now. He and his brother had only survived because of Queen Scalia's protection. What chance would a lone Zetithian female have against such determined killers?
Though he visited brothels from time to time, he never recaptured that feeling, and Trag's secret devotion to Kyra never wavered--at least in his waking moments--but his dreams were confused. Whenever he tried to recall them, the image seemed blurred, as though his own mind was uncertain of whom he should love. Was it Kyra, or was it someone else?
Trag didn't know for sure, but with the marriage of Manx to Drusilla, he was now the last Zetithian without a mate, and he was no closer to finding love than he had been as a slave living among the reptilian Darconians. It shouldn't have been that hard for the pilot of a starship to find the woman he was destined to meet, but, then again, it was a very big galaxy...
***
Micayla's earliest memory was of a smothering darkness. She could sense her mother's terror as she fled through the crowded spaceport, but wrapped in the folds of Jenall's cloak, she was unable to see the source of it. Nevertheless, she could feel Jenall's sweat and hear her pounding heart and gasping breaths as her mother pushed herself to the limits of her endurance and beyond. Later, Micayla would understand what it meant to be running for one's life, but at the age of two, the concept of fear meant very little.
There were loud noises and the sound of people screaming, but her mother ran on, bumping, jostling, her feet slapping against the smooth floor. Suddenly, Jenall halted and opened her cloak, and Micayla found herself looking up into the face of an odd being--smooth-skinned and dark, with almond-shaped eyes and softly curling ringlets framing her face.
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"Take her," Jenall rasped. "Hide her and keep her safe."
The response might have been unintelligible, but the intent was clear: the woman opened her own cloak and Micayla was thrust into her waiting arms. As they watched, Jenall turned and ran on, but though her brief pause might have saved her daughter's life, it didn't save her own.
Micayla heard her father's roar as Jenall fell into a nerveless heap and saw him whirl around, his long dark hair flowing out behind him as he set his two sons on their feet and ran to his mate's aid. Micayla didn't see any more, for her rescuer turned and hurried away with her precious bundle--leaving the scene as quickly as any prudent bystander would do. Micayla heard three more shots and then silence.
Chapter 1
His swirling cloak was what caught her eye, but even from across the crowded park, his aura of sadness and regret went straight to her heart. A little girl ran after him as he walked away, and when he stopped and knelt beside her, she held out her hand, offering him something. His long curling hair fell forward as he accepted it, revealing a streak of orange in the otherwise black locks. There was a brief exchange that Micayla couldn't hear, but whatever the girl had given him must have been quite a treat, for his smile after tasting it was a mixture of wistfulness and delight.
Micayla had never seen him before, but, being a newcomer to Orleon Station, this wasn't surprising. So far, Windura was the only one she saw on other than a co-worker basis, and that was mainly because their quarters were next door to one another.
"Hey, Micayla," Windura called out from the corridor behind her. "Let's meet for lunch, okay?"
"Yeah, sure," Micayla replied. Tearing her eyes away from the man, she turned to greet her Vessonian friend. "Lunch would be great."
"The main dining hall at eleven hundred?"
"Fine," Micayla replied, forcing herself to smile. Glancing over her shoulder, to her dismay she saw that the man had already gone. She strained her eyes to find him among the huge potted plants and benches of the space station's "park." "Did you see that guy--the one in the cloak with the long black hair?"
"A cloak?" Windura echoed. "Why would anyone be wearing a cloak? It's hot as hell in here!"
It wasn't the first time she'd heard Windura complain about the heat, but then catering to the preferences of a variety of different beings made the choice of ambient temperature difficult. "Maybe so," she said doubtfully. "But some people are just cold-natured..." She stared off in the direction he must have taken. "What's back that way?"
"Some of the more disreputable parts of the station," Windura replied, flipping her long blond hair over her shoulder. "You're better off not going down there."
Micayla nodded absently. "I'm sure you're right," she said, but something about him was so compelling that if Windura hadn't intervened, she'd have gone running after him in a heartbeat.
"We've got to get you better oriented to this place," Windura went on. "A girl like you needs to know the ropes."
Micayla frowned. "What makes you say that?"
Shaking her head, Windura replied, "If you don't know that by now, then I can't help you." With a quick grin, she added, "See you at eleven," and was gone.
Micayla stood gazing blankly at the throng of children, unable to recall why she had gone to the park in the first place. Ordinarily it would've been a cold day in hell, let alone Orleon Station, when a man distracted her that much, but then she remembered: Tea. You're here to get tea. Getting in line at Starbucks, she ordered a tall cup of hot, foaming chai and then headed off to work.
The communications center was a hive of bustling activity, and Micayla had to squeeze past several other officers to get to her station, nearly spilling her tea as she finally plunked down in her seat. The guy from the previous shift had left his candy wrappers scattered about, and she gathered them up, grumbling as one of them stuck to the console.
"Sorry about that," he said from behind her. Reaching over her shoulder, he retrieved the last of them, his chest pressing lightly against her back.
Micayla shifted away from him slightly. Scott was Terran and an attractive fellow with a terrific smile, but he was getting a little too... chummy. As a female of an unknown species, if there was one thing Micayla had learned, it was that Terrans and whatever she was weren't compatible--at least, none she'd met so far--and having grown up on Earth, she'd met quite a few.
"That's okay, Scott," she said. "I'm sure I leave tea stains for Xantric to wipe up when she comes on duty."
"Not sure she'd notice," Scott said with a shrug. "And if she did, you'd never know it. Twilanans never complain about anything." He turned to leave, but then paused, adding, "Not much traffic on the system for the past couple of hours, but I'm sure it'll pick up for you."
Micayla took a sip of her tea and nodded. "It always does," she agreed. "Get some sleep."
Scott sighed. "Too bad you and I work different shifts. Otherwise, we could spend a little more time together--instead of me just going back to my quarters and dreaming about you."
Micayla felt a pang near her heart and wished she could have felt something other than regret when a man said such things to her. Steeling herself against his inevitable reaction, she purposely avoided his eyes, focusing instead on resetting the instrument panel with her fingerprint on the log entry. "Dreams will have to suffice, big guy," she said. "I'm not looking for a boyfriend."
"You always say that," Scott grumbled. "Sure I can't talk you out of it?"
"You could try," she said, wishing it really would work, just once, "but it probably won't do you any good."
"Ice Queen," he muttered.
"I've been called that before," she said wearily.
"Treacherous Temptress?"
"Been called that too."
"You're kidding me, right?"
"You'd be surprised." Micayla sighed. "And believe me, it's nothing personal, Scott. I have no problem with being friends, but if you want more than that, I'm simply the wrong species."
Seeming to take this as an invitation, Scott turned and leaned against the partition that divided the workstations. "What are you, anyway?"
"No idea," she replied. "But I'm not human, that's for sure."
"No shit," Scott said. "You're better looking than any Terran I've ever seen. I love those cat-like eyes of yours. The elfin ears are nice too, and the fangs..." His voice trailed off there as though indulging in some erotic fantasy.
"The better to bite you with, my dear," Micayla quoted. When her stepmother had first read her that story, she probably never realized that Micayla identified much more with the wolf than with Little Red Riding Hood--though, in truth, she looked more like a lion or a panther than a wolf.
If Scott's response was any indication, being savaged by a lioness was the answer to his wildest imaginings. "Would you?" he asked eagerly. "Please? Pretty please?"
"Absolutely not," Micayla said firmly as a hail came through the system. "Get going, now," she added, shooing him away. "I've got work to do."
Scott withdrew with obvious reluctance, mumbling imprecations under his breath as he went.
Micayla redirected the hail and wondered if it would be worth it to try to spend a little more time with Scott. He was a nice guy and it would take no encouragement whatsoever to--no, she decided. It wasn't worth the pain. Her lack of interest in the opposite sex wasn't her fault, but he would end up despising her for it and then she'd be right back where she started.
Her attitude wasn't precisely a lack of interest, however; it was more a lack of desire, and though she knew what desire was supposed to feel like--she had one fantasy that never failed to elicit that response--it never seemed to work with a flesh and blood man. The man she'd seen in the park might have been different, though; she'd at least felt something for him, if only compassion. Had the little girl been his daughter, telling him good-bye as he left on a journey through space? Was she a friend or a complete stranger? Micayla had no way of knowing, but the more she thought about it, the m
ore she itched to find out.
She glanced up as Dana took her seat at the next station, apologizing to Roxanne for being late. "I had such a tough time getting Cara out of the park!" Dana was saying. "She started talking to someone and didn't want to leave. I'm surprised she didn't go running after him."
Micayla had never met Dana's daughter, but she knew the feeling. It had taken every bit of her strong work ethic to remind her that running after men in cloaks wasn't in her job description. "A stranger?"
"Yes, and you'd think I'd have taught her not to do that by now, wouldn't you?" said Dana. "But since I talked to him myself, I can't say I've been setting a very good example, can I?"
Micayla couldn't help but laugh. Dana was probably the friendliest person she had ever met. Talking to anyone--stranger or not--seemed to come very easily to her.
"And he looked so sad," Dana went on. "I think she cheered him up a little."
Micayla felt her pulse quicken. "Why? What did she do?"
"Climbed up in his lap and wiped away his tears," Dana replied. "She made him smile, too--she gave him a strawberry."
Her heart was pounding now. "What did he look like?"
Dana cocked her head to the side, gazing thoughtfully at Micayla. "You know, he looked something like you," she replied. "I don't know why it didn't occur to me at the time, but he had the same kind of cat's eyes, and his eyebrows were upswept like yours. He even had fangs." Dana laughed softly. "And he could purr like a kitten."
"Did he say anything else--like who he was or where he was from?" Micayla asked breathlessly.
Dana's soft brown curls bounced as she shook her head. "No, he just got up and left."
"I--I think I saw him too," Micayla said. "He had long black hair and was wearing a cloak, right?"
Dana nodded. "Do you know him?"
"No, but I wish I did. There was something about him that got my attention."
"He probably gets plenty of that," Dana said with a giggle. "He was very handsome--especially when he smiled."
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