by Eve Langlais
“Who is Fizz?”
“The commander. And he’s gonna have a hissy fit when he sees I’m stealing you.”
“It’s not stealing but rescuing because I am a person, not a thing,” she announced, straightening to her full height, which didn’t quite make his chin.
“If you were a thing, I wouldn’t have listened to you and I’d have found a way to draw off the guards rather than shoot them.”
Her eyes widened. “You’re blaming me for your ineptitude in planning my rescue? Perhaps, were you better equipped or trained, we wouldn’t be in this dilemma.”
His jaw dropped as he recognized the obvious weakness of his attempt thus far.
“Are you for fucking real?” he said, trying to shock with his profanity.
“Very real.” She’d come out of the womb perfect. “I will admit to being surprised by your lack of skills. Father usually hires more competent people.” Her sister Navinda got saved from her marriage to an Ymp—who were notorious womanizers—before he’d even had a chance to expose himself to her in the getaway ship. She then turned around to marry her mercenary, who turned out to be a notorious pirate king.
Michi’s rescuer didn’t wear an eye patch or look half as dangerous as Navinda’s husband. But he was much handsomer, if annoying.
“Maybe your father doesn’t like you as much as his other daughters,” he muttered.
She blinked. “Are you implying my father dislikes me and is intentionally botching my rescue?”
“Are you calling me shitty at my job?” He raised a brow in her direction.
She clamped her lips tight.
“That’s what I thought.” He turned around to look at the door to the docking tube. “The alarm’s already going. Guess it won’t matter if I use this.” He fiddled with his pistol before he raised it.
While not an engineer, she saw a problem with his plan. “Won’t that compromise the seal?”
“Probably. Got a better plan?”
Surely there was a way out of this situation that didn’t involve dying from a hull breach or marrying the Kanishqui commander.
The siren went silent, which seemed more ominous than the wailing.
“We are out of time, princess.” He steadied his weapon, and she threw herself on his arm before he could fire it.
“Wait. I have an idea.” One brewing since the moment she saw him.
“Does it have a working transporter in it? Because ours is on the fritz.”
She shook her head, the heavy loops of her braided hair threatening to spill. “If it works, then the Kanishqui will let us go.”
“Just like that?” He didn’t attempt to hide a skeptical note. “I highly doubt that.”
“It will work. Trust me.”
“The last woman who said that took out lube and a ridged vegetable. Didn’t work for her, won’t work for you.”
“I’m not making a salad.”
“And we’re out of time.” A hum farther down the hall indicated the door had opened. He squinted at the portal. “When you hear the hiss, grab hold of me. Once the door pops open, we’ll have to run through the tube and hope we make it to the other side.”
“I told you, we don’t have to fight. What’s your name?”
“I don’t see—”
She cut him off. “Name.”
“First mate, Damon Faulkner.”
Not a captain. Pity. But he’d have to do. “Lovely to meet you, Damon Faulkner. Now, please repeat after me. I indubitably, without a doubt, say I do.”
“What?”
“Say it. I indubitably, without a doubt, say I do.”
“I indubitably, without a doubt, say I do?”
Said as a query and yet that was all she needed. The code phrase to make it work. Michi pressed her lips to Damon’s, an impromptu kiss that caught him off guard.
Caught her off guard, too, because it jolted her with an electric zing that tickled her all the way to her toes, and especially between the thighs.
He sucked in a breath. Opened his mouth. Deepened the kiss. Set her senses aflame. But she couldn’t forget why she embraced him. She grabbed hold of his bottom lip with her teeth, a firm grip, then bit down. Hard enough to break skin. She needed blood to activate it.
Damon yelled and pulled away. “What the fuck, princess?” He wiped his hand over his lip, taking with it the bead of blood.
Too late to erase what she’d done. She ran her tongue along the smooth enamel of her tooth, the insignia that used to sit there gone. Just in time. The tentacles of her former fiancé appeared before his bulbous body.
She stood beside her rescuer, hands folded primly in front of her.
A human accompanied the Kanishqui commander, a man in a black uniform much like her rescuer. The pants a supple leather tucked into high matte polished boots. The shirt, a silky fabric, billowy all over, tapered at the waist and wide at the shoulders.
Spit. Spray. Jiggle. *What’s going on here? How dare you attack my people.
Damon held out his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “I understand this might seem a little unorthodox. But I can explain—”
This was her cue. Michi stepped in front of him and interrupted. “There you are. About time you appeared so I could make my excuses.”
*You aren’t going anywhere.
“Yes I am. Remember how I told you we couldn’t marry?” She turned sideways and pointed to her rescuer. “This is why. Meet my husband.”
“Husband?” Damon squeaked. Which made her wonder what kind of modifications he’d undergone. She’d emerged perfect from the womb, her genetic sequence fine-tuned ahead of time to ensure she was everything her parents wanted. A perfect daughter. A tool for making alliances and enriching the family. Father might take issue with her choice in husband, given Damon was not only common but not even the highest-ranking person on board his ship.
Gurgle, splash? Fizz quivered with question.
She rolled a shoulder. “Yes, I know he’s a borderline pirate.” She whirled and gazed at Damon. “But who cares about that? He’s got the dreamiest eyes. And the nicest voice. And… Sigh…” The gushing was for the Kanishqui’s benefit. Would Damon have the wits to grasp the drama she enacted?
For a second, he stared dumbly then caught on. “When I heard my darling spouse was taken, I thought it must be a mistake. I mean, who steals another man’s wife?”
“Which is why,” the captain said, taking over, “we didn’t mention it when we contacted you. Especially since I’m sure your taking of my first mate’s spouse was completely accidental on your part.”
Water over pebbles.
“No, we haven’t been married long,” Damon replied. “Still practically honeymooners, which is why I acted rashly.” Reaching out, he grasped her around the waist and lifted her, just the right height for the kiss he planted on her lips.
He’s kissing me. And without permission, but she couldn’t exactly protest—he is my husband. Nor did she want to since it proved as electric as before. For her at least. She could have kissed him all day. He, though, wanted to talk. “Quick thinking,” he murmured quietly amidst moans. Hers, she should add.
“Mmmm.”
He set her down—pity—and tucked her behind him. “Captain, now that I’ve found my wife, I demand satisfaction. The commander of this vessel unlawfully stole my woman.”
“The evidence is pretty damning. Care to explain?” The captain didn’t bat an eye as he queried the giant blob.
*She wasn’t married when I took her.
“Even if I wasn’t, I wouldn’t marry you.” She lifted her chin.
A warm urine stream on a piling mound of…
Her mouth rounded. “Oh, that was foul.”
“Take that insult back.” Damon stood tall and offended. “You can’t talk about my wife like that.”
Warm squirt on a favorite blanket.
Damon huffed. “You hear how he insults me, Captain?”
“My man is right. You are insulting u
s all.” The captain held up a hand as the Kanishqui gurgled a stream. “Nope. You can forget that case of chocolate I was going to give you. And definitely no alliance with your family. Really. I thought better of you than stealing a man’s wife.”
Drip. Drip.
“I do understand their marriage wasn’t common knowledge, but you are aware of it now and still refuse to let my man leave with his wife. Unacceptable. You can consider our trading deal off.”
Gurgle, siphon?
“Talk? We will only talk once you let me and my man off this ship.”
Water down a drain. *You may leave as a measure of my respect for the captain.
The door to the docking tube suddenly opened, yet Damon did not smile or relax. He laced his fingers through Michi’s. “Shall we, wife?”
She held her head high as she entered the tube. This wasn’t one of the more elegant ones with a moving walkway and music. It was opaque, yet blurry, giving the outside silhouettes of the ships a sinister shape. The stars were fuzzy distant balls. She gripped Damon’s hand tight, willing him to go faster.
They might have fast-talked the Kanishqui into letting them go, but it would be best if they got out of there in case they changed their minds.
Only once they exited the tube and the door to the ship sealed shut behind them did her rescuer laugh.
“Damn, princess, that was the perfect ploy to get him to release us.”
She pursed her lips. Now for the possibly unpleasant part. “It wasn’t a ploy. We are married.”
He snickered. “Sure, we are.”
“We are married. Have been since that first kiss.”
“Hate to break it to you, my naïve princess, but it takes more than a smooch to make it so.”
“I know it takes more than a kiss, which is why you also have to repeat the trigger phrase.”
He stopped laughing. “Hold on, are you serious?”
A bob of her head and she explained. “I knew that I had to make it real in case the Kanishqui commander demanded proof. Which is why you wear my mark.”
“Mark?” he repeated slowly while his captain, who had more manners and would have probably made a better rescuer, ignored them to bark out orders to his crew to get them moving, sooner rather than later.
“Yes, mark. On the inside of your lip.” She tapped her bottom one. “You’ll find my crest tattooed on your flesh. It identifies you as my lawful husband.”
“You marked me?” He again squeaked, bringing into question his gene quality.
“It is how we marry in my religion.” Dkar—a relatively young religion—was only two centuries old and discovered by humans during their explorations, adopted and adapted and gaining ground among the wealthy.
“But I never agreed to marry you,” Damon sputtered.
“You said the ritual words.”
“I didn’t know what I was saying. I certainly never meant it.”
“Nonetheless”—she shrugged—“it’s binding.”
Although she really wished it weren’t when he uttered, “I don’t fucking believe this,” and left.
It was an intriguing change of pace from the males who’d been trying to maneuver her into choosing them for years. Males who either tried to woo her into marking them or, like the Kanishqui, coerced her into doing it.
Doesn’t this Damon Faulkner realize the honor I paid him by choosing him?
Apparently not, since he left her to fend for herself on a strange ship.
She glared at the door he’d left through while the captain cleared his throat.
“Despite knowing your father, I don’t think we’ve ever met. I’m Captain Jameson of the Gypsy Moth.”
Casting a glance at him, she spent a brief moment admiring his dark skin, his vivid green eyes, and engaging smile.
“I meet very few of my father’s allies and friends.” He kept his daughters sequestered lest the wrong person be tempted. “Why is it you sent your first mate to save me rather than do it yourself?” He would have been a perfect choice for a husband.
“I couldn’t.” The captain turned over his arm and raised his sleeve, displaying a tattoo.
Already taken. Figured.
“Thank you for providing assistance.” She remembered her manners.
“I have to admit I was surprised when your father contacted me. It’s been awhile since we did business.”
“Father never forgets who his allies are.”
“You are unharmed?”
“Physically, yes.” But her irritation was rather elevated given her abandonment by her husband.
“And you truly did marry Damon?”
“As per the ways of the Dkar. Your first mate doesn’t seem pleased.”
“You took him by surprise.” The gravelly tone didn’t match his smooth looks.
“He’d better get used to it.” Because the marriage, while unplanned, was binding. For him at least.
He’d better stop aggravating me, or this wouldn’t go well for him.
Chapter 3
Married? Surely the princess lied.
Damon ran to the nearest communal washroom area. The wall held a mirror over the trough sink. He leaned forward and checked his lip where she’d bitten him. Saw just the tender remains of the cut. It had already begun to heal because of the vitamins he took to boost his system.
No mark to be seen.
She lied. He was fine no matter what she said. He used the washroom, ridding himself of the last of the booze, and was washing his hands when Jameson appeared behind him.
“There you are. Hiding, are we?”
“Try pissing. Took more than a few shots to accomplish the mission. Those octopi bastards can drink like fish.”
“At least the plan worked.”
“As if there was any doubt we’d save the woman.”
“Speaking of saving. You seem awfully calm considering what happened.”
“You mean her claim we got married?” Damon scoffed. “Just fucking with me apparently. There’s no mark. See?” He jutted his lower lip.
Jameson shook his head. “It’s not going to show on the outside of your lip. Look inside your mouth.”
“I’m not looking because there’s nothing there. I know how the mating marks work.” Rings welded to fingers. Tattoos that couldn’t be covered by makeup on the body. The Jemmyni actually fused their bodies together. He shoved up his sleeves and held out his hands, flipping them over. “Nothing. She didn’t have enough time to do any of that.”
“Did she bite you?”
“Yeah.” No point in denying it.
“Then she marked you. Look inside your lip.”
Damon wanted to stubbornly say no. He couldn’t be married. He’d not agreed. He wasn’t ready for that, and especially not with a prim and a little-too-proper princess—with a bossy side.
However, he wanted to know. He leaned forward again and pulled his lip forward. Almost celebrated until he noticed it low down inside, a silvery emblem tattooed inside his mouth. “Wha da fuk?” he said, lip still extended. He whirled. “Sha makked me.” His words emerged slightly garbled.
The captain arched a brow. “Does this mean you’ll be expecting a wedding present?”
Damon glared.
“And time off for a honeymoon?”
He intensified the glare.
“Don’t look at me like that. I’m not the one who let some strange woman suck my mouth.”
“She told me to trust her.”
“Was this before or after you shot the guards?”
“She dared me.”
It was the captain’s turn to give him a look.
Damon rolled his shoulders. “Excuse me for being a guy for a minute.”
“Trying being a first mate instead, would you?”
“Hey, she’s safe, isn’t she? As ordered. And I might add you could show a little more sympathy for my situation. You’re not the one married.” Only after he said it did he wince. No point in apologizing, the gaffe was made. They
weren’t supposed to mention the captain’s missing wife.
“She’s safe, but her father won’t be pleased. She’s his favorite, and she’s married to you.”
“So, we get divorced, no biggie.”
Jameson scrubbed his hand over his face. “Actually, it’s bigger than you understand.”
“Because he’s your friend. I totally get it. The situation is awkward. We’ll just explain.”
“Explaining won’t do shit. The Dkar follow some fucked-up set of societal rules, their equivalent of a religion. One that doesn’t believe in divorce.”
“Whoa.” Damon held up a hand. “No divorce?”
“Their marriages are binding from the moment the mark is transferred.”
“That can’t be right. We haven’t even slept together.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“For how long?”
“Forever.”
“What?” he yelped. “Seriously, how long?” Because amongst humans, marriages were contracts with set terms that included an expiry date.
“The Dkar are old school, so it’s ’til death do you part.”
Judging by the captain’s face, he was serious. “Damn. That’s crap. How healthy is she, do you figure?” He only knew the info he’d gotten going into the mission, which consisted of a picture and her first name, Michonne.
“She’ll outlive you more than likely.”
“Genes that good, huh?”
“Yes, but mostly because her father will likely kill you so they can reset the mark and have her ally with something he deems more worthy.”
“Hold on, are you saying they’re going to kill me so they can marry her off again?” Damon asked.
“Yes.”
“That’s a shit way to thank somebody for saving his daughter’s life.”
“If it’s any consolation, I’ll be thanked. Probably with a big transfer of credits and a case of something expensive.”
“While I end up as space dust. Is it me, or is this day getting worse and worse?” Damon groaned as he scrubbed his face with a hand.
Whoop. Whoop.
The ship sounded a warning alarm.
Jameson barked, “Rosy! Status report.”
The ship’s artificial intelligence—AI—recited a litany of reasons for the alarm. “The Kanishqui vessel has activated its shields. It is also arming its electrocryogenic cannon.”