“We’ll need to work on your sweet talk.” He massaged his shoulder and puckered his lips.
“I’m not amending my assessment. However…”
“Dare a man hope?”
She pressed a silencing finger to his lips, and he nodded dutifully. After a cautionary arched eyebrow, she let loose her words along with some of her fears. “I can’t change who I was, but I’m kinda interested in working on who I could be. It’s another adventure anyway. There. That’s all I have to say.”
Then nothing.
Nothing, nothing.
The kind of nothing that makes you want to slither away and punch time in the face to steal back the last ten seconds.
His eyes, the same rough silver as the ship, drifted down to her lips then back to her eyes. She didn’t know if they would look on her with love one day, but unless she’d lost her touch, she saw the beginnings of affection there already.
Dario’s warm hand tightened around her wrist. “Maybe it’s enough that Random Colonist A found Random Colonist B, and they are beginning a friendship. No one needs to know the specifics. It’ll come out one day, I guess, but for now, you’re just Maricar, and I’m just Dario. And we’re both starting over. So, let’s try again. Hello, I’m Dario.”
Maricar nodded and with a full running jump, leapt into her new life. She held out her hand and grinned. “Hi, I’m Mari.”
I hope you enjoyed this look into the Outer Settlement Agency. With space pirates, rogue doctors and soldiers to fall in love with, you can start with any book in the series. Learn more at www.lynbrittan.com and happy reading!
About Lyn Brittan
Lyn grew up wanting to live like her heroes, James Bond and Indiana Jones. She wasn't totally successful and never had to shoot her way out of a hotel bedroom. She's still coming to terms with it. Awards include: USA Today Bestseller and two Galaxy Awards.
To find more books by Lyn Brittan click here:
| Amazon | Newsletter | Instagram | Pinterest | Twitter | Facebook |
Hunter Bond
By Carysa Locke
About Hunter Bond
Heat Level: Mild
Sanah and Dem always knew any child they had would be special. As the offspring of an empath and a psychically gifted Hunter and Killer, three-year-old Tamari is one-of-a-kind. When a mysterious illness threatens her life, Sanah and Dem would do anything to help her. Even if it tears their marriage apart.
Hunter Bond
The pain cut through Sanah like knives, white-hot and so intense her vision tunneled and she couldn’t breathe. She stood frozen while an agonizing minute ticked by, her fingers buried in the thick red curls of her hair, pressed against her scalp as if she could somehow reach inside and stop it. But it didn’t stop. The room tilted and dizziness swamped her. For an awful second, she thought her breakfast would come back up. Another thirty seconds passed, when finally it eased and shut off as though someone threw a switch.
The worst of it was, the pain she felt wasn’t her own. It was her daughter’s.
Sanah leaned against the counter in the small kitchen area of the quarters she shared with her husband, Dem, and their three-year-old daughter, Tamari. She drew a shaky breath and picked up the cup of tea she’d prepared only minutes ago, hoping a sip or two would restore her equilibrium.
She was dressed for a day in the labs, simple cotton clothes beneath a utilitarian lab coat. But there would be no work now. Not after hearing her daughter’s shrill crying and feeling her pain. That was the downside to being an empath. Feeling other people’s emotions could be joyous. It could bring her closer to her family, or help her understand better what they needed at any given moment. But it could also hurt far worse than anything she felt herself. No amount of personal agony, however crippling, could possibly be worse than this powerless inability to protect her own daughter.
When she set the thermal cup back down, Sanah’s hand shook. A rush of frustrated tears had her blinking rapidly to stop them. Now was not the time to cry. Now was the time to put aside her motherly emotions, and put her scientist’s brain to figuring out what the hell was wrong with her baby girl.
A sudden presence beside her had her turning instinctively into the arms of her husband, Dem. Moments ago, he’d used his considerable Talent to teleport with Tamari to the infirmary, getting her to Doc far more quickly than any other available method.
He’d come back without her.
Sanah leaned into his warm, solid body, pressing her cheek against the dark blue lapel of his carefully pressed suit. The color made his blue eyes more intense. His face showed no emotion, the smooth, dark skin free of worry lines. Despite outward appearances, Sanah felt his worry and fear as intensely as her own, clawing within him and looking for release. Looking for a target. Dem was the Chief of Security on the flagship of a pirate fleet. When a problem arose, he looked for a solution.
This problem had no solution.
Worse, Dem was having a hard time maintaining his control. His Talents were unique. Not only did he have basic telepathy, but he was also a powerful telekinetic with the rare ability to teleport. Those, he inherited from his mother’s line. But his most dangerous gifts came from his father, a Hunter and Killer half-breed with the unique Talents to both track anyone by a psychic trail, and kill with a thought. Dem’s instincts to protect his daughter were urging him to track down whatever was responsible for her torment, and kill it.
Sanah felt him wrestle with this instinct, and grimly shove it aside. How often could he continue doing that, before he broke? Many women might have feared her husband, especially if they could feel his emotions as clearly as she did. Not Sanah.
A tear slipped out. Dem’s fierce need to protect his daughter just showed how deeply he loved her.
Is she all right? She didn’t think she could handle speaking out loud right now without completely breaking down, so she spoke the words telepathically.
Doc has sedated her. Dem’s mental voice was deep and measured, a wash of calm against her frazzled nerves. He’s going to run more tests.
Because the last round told us so much. Sanah couldn’t keep the bitterness from her thoughts. The scientist in her knew that more tests were their only hope to finding an answer. The mother in her railed against the lack of progress they’d made so far.
Tamari’s suffering had begun six days ago, and no one knew why. At first, she’d complained of her ‘head hurting’ and Sanah had assumed a simple sinus infection, or maybe overuse of her Talent. But she registered as a completely healthy three-year-old girl, and Treon, Dem’s brother and the most powerful telepath aboard Nemesis, could find no sign of strain in Tamari’s mind. The pain went away, and they moved on with their lives without questioning it further.
It came back a few days later with a vengeance. Tamari, unable to cope when it spiked suddenly this morning, had screamed both physically and psychically. Having felt her pain first hand, Sanah understood why.
We have to do something, Dem. We have to help her. Sanah thought of her vibrant little girl, so curious and ready to explore the universe, never getting out of that infirmary bed again. The thought terrified her. Should we take her to one of the colonies? A more complete medical facility?
Dem’s hand stroked her back, soothing. Doc is the best physician we have, with the best medical equipment.
Yes, Sanah had known that. But she was desperate. Truly desperate. The Commonwealth?
Dem’s body went stiff. The psychically Talented pirates lived on the fringes of occupied space because the civilized, head-blind people of the Commonwealth of Sovereign Planets had driven them out. Had, in fact, attempted to murder every last one of them. Taking their daughter to the core worlds was anathema to him, yet Sanah could feel Dem weighing her suggestion. Finally, he shook his head.
I do not see how the Commonwealth could help. They do not understand Talented, and this affliction, whatever it is, could very well be something unique to us. Doc is our best hope.
; Sanah tried not to despair. He was right.
Do not forget your sister.
Of course. How could she? Nayla was the rarest Talent of all, a biokinetic, someone capable of manipulating the human body on the cellular level. She could heal with a thought. If anyone could help Tamari, surely Nayla could. She was certainly driven to try, with her niece’s life in the balance.
But how could she heal Tamari when no one could identify a problem? She seemed healthy. Maybe now that the pain had intensified, Doc’s tests would find something. Maybe Nayla’s mental scans would. Sanah clung to these fragile hopes because they were the only options they had. She could feel her sister’s determination and worry if she reached out to her, but Sanah didn’t think she could cope with anyone else’s emotions right now. Her own and Dem’s were enough.
A chime at the door interrupted her thoughts, and a moment later the hatch slid open to reveal Cannon. Captain of the Nemesis, and pirate king. He filled the hatch, a tall man with wide shoulders and a broad chest that tapered to a narrow waist. He had skin a shade deeper than sun-bronzed, and dark hair that fell to his shoulders. Normally, his green eyes were bright with amusement, charm, or temper. This morning, they were subdued and worried. He was a childhood friend of Dem’s, and an empath himself. He walked into the room carrying a bottle filled with a familiar green liquid. Mnemosa. The specially distilled drink designed to replenish the body after it expended too much Talent.
Sanah knew why he’d brought it. I’m fine, she sent on a tight psychic thread. She didn’t want Dem worrying about her.
Are you? The look in Cannon’s eyes was implacable. So you didn’t absorb your daughter’s pain this morning? And last night?
Sanah glared at him, unable to argue. She knew what she was supposed to do when she absorbed other people’s emotions – take it into herself, but expel it immediately after, so she didn’t internalize whatever they’d been feeling. Unfortunately, that was more difficult than it sounded. Especially when it came to her daughter. Where Tamari was concerned, Sanah couldn’t seem to distance herself enough to separate the emotion.
She caught Dem’s frown as Cannon rummaged in their cupboards, pulled out a glass, and poured the concoction.
“I’m fine,” she said aloud. “I just…didn’t syphon Tama’s emotions as cleanly as I should have.”
Cannon shoved the glass into her hand. “Until you’ve got this handled, you’ll be drinking a regular supply of this. I won’t have you burning out.”
She glared at him, furious that he’d so intentionally said that out loud, in front of Dem.
Unperturbed, he favored her with a slow smile. He’ll make sure you don’t hurt yourself. Burning out won’t help your daughter, Sanah.
“Then what will help her? What is wrong with our little girl?”
Cannon lost his smile. “That is the question we all want answered. Believe me, Doc won’t rest until he finds it.”
Sanah looked from Cannon to Dem. “I’m going to the infirmary. Maybe I can help.” She was a skilled geneticist and biochemist. She might not be a medical doctor, but they didn’t yet know if Tamari’s pain was being caused by something medical. She was a unique child and the product of a very mixed genetic background. Dem was the only person born with both Hunter and Killer bloodlines. Add that to Sanah’s Talent of empathy at the opposite end of the spectrum, and Sanah worried that her daughter’s burgeoning psychic gifts might not play nicely together.
Dem stroked the side of her face and gently kissed her, a rare public show of affection from her reserved husband. I will go consult again with Treon, he said. He has made a study of Talent, and if anyone can isolate Tamari’s gifts and why they might be affecting her like this, my brother will.
All right. Sanah prayed they would find the solution quickly. How long could they keep their little girl sedated? And that only managed her pain; it might not halt whatever was causing it. For that, they might have to consider putting her into stasis. Sanah’s stomach roiled at the thought of her tiny daughter frozen in the chrysalis of a stasis field, completely removed from time. It would give them what they desperately needed – the opportunity to figure out what they were facing. It would also remove Tamari from the flow of time, separating her from them completely. Sanah wouldn’t be able to reach out mentally for the comfort of brushing against her daughter’s mind, of feeling her presence and knowing that whatever else happened, Tamari still lived.
It would feel as though Tama had ceased to exist. Sanah shuddered. Sensing the direction of her thoughts, Dem pulled her against him. Sanah closed her eyes and breathed in the clean male scent of him.
We will find out what is happening, he said. His usual implacable tone made the words sound completely without doubt. We will help her, Sanah.
“Don’t worry,” said Cannon gravely. “The best minds in our fleet are working to help your daughter.”
That wasn’t as comforting as it should have been. Sanah couldn’t quite separate her worry as a mother from the logical, scientist side of her nature.
“I hope you’re right.”
Dem wasn’t accustomed to feeling helpless. He’d never realized, in beginning his little family, just what it would mean to him. Perhaps if his parents had lived, they might have prepared him. But he lost his father as a young boy, almost before he’d begun training in his dangerous Talents. His mother was taken from him years later, murdered by a deadly bioweapon that killed her, and nearly eighty percent of the female Talented population.
It was a weapon meant for genocide. It almost succeeded.
Watching his tiny daughter struggle with so much pain triggered the memory of helplessly watching his mother sicken and die. The Killer side of Dem’s nature rose up in a wave that washed ice through his body. He could feel it numbing his emotions.
Sanah needed him to be supportive, but Dem couldn’t focus on what that meant. Something was threatening his daughter, threatening Tamari, the miracle that had entered his life as an impossibly fragile being.
Those first weeks and months had been a constant test of his own nature, not to mention his relationship with Sanah. Tamari was so delicate; he was constantly seeing a thousand different ways she could die, a thousand efficient ways to kill her. Most Killers wouldn’t have been bothered by this, but most Killers didn’t have an empath for a wife. Many of his kind struggled to connect emotionally, both due to the nature of their gifts, and the training they received from an early age. Sanah saw past that to the emotions Dem had spent his life separated from, and she’d helped him to feel.
It was both a blessing and a curse. Dem spent those first weeks frantically trying to protect his daughter from even the possibility of one of those thousand deaths.
When he ordered one of his specially trained soldiers, or dogs, to stand beside her bassinet through the night, Sanah acquiesced. She said he would calm down in a little while, after the newness of his emotions and fatherhood faded. When he ordered Treon to place inhibitors in the walls of Tamari’s room, so no Talent could be used within that space, Sanah had expressed concern, but she’d allowed it. But when he said he didn’t want her to leave that room until she’d grown beyond the fragility of her newborn status, Sanah would have none of it.
She’s a child, Dem. You will see her as vulnerable for the next two decades, at least. Maybe forever. She’s not going to grow up in a bubble. You need to learn how to cope.
It hadn’t been easy, but the logic of what she’d said made sense. He’d eased off. He even had the inhibitors removed once Sanah pointed out Tama wouldn’t be able to practice as easily with her own gifts when they developed. He learned to compartmentalize what he saw from what he felt. Until now. Until something hurt her, maybe threatened her very existence.
He would kill it, if only he could find it. It should have been easy. Part of a Killer’s Talent sought out vulnerabilities. He should have been able to look at his daughter, and see where she was most vulnerable, see whatever was hurting her. If it had b
een a wound, a sickness, or a poison, he would have. Maybe it was because he was only a quarter Killer. Maybe his gift wasn’t strong enough.
Dem stood in his daughter’s room, holding the stuffed cat she carried with her everywhere. Rasa had begun life with realistic brown fur, but now three quarters of the toy was covered with white splotches. Tamari had spent an afternoon applying color-changing nanites meant to bleach hair, though where she’d gotten them was still a mystery.
He’s the wrong color, Papa, she’d told him gravely when he’d discovered her in her room, sitting on a blanket and brushing the nanites all over Rasa, her blanket, and somehow all over herself.
It had taken three weeks for the light patches on her arms, legs, and face to fade back to the even brown of her own skin. The toy, which he gathered was supposed to be white with brown spots, ended up an uneven mish-mash of color that Tamari refused to let change. She begged him to make the color permanent when it began to fade, and he’d been powerless to refuse. If she loved it, that was good enough for him.
He did have some concerns about how she’d gotten her hands on those nanites. She’d just begun showing her Talent, and having a daughter who could teleport objects made for some very frightening possibilities.
Maybe that’s what had happened. They’d searched her room several times, but hadn’t found anything that could explain whatever was hurting her. But maybe she’d gotten her hands on something dangerous, something from one of the scientific labs, or the armory.
He sent a quick mental message to his security teams, still searching for external and environmental threats.
It was desperate grasping, nothing more. Dem knew all of the security risks aboard Nemesis. That was his job. None of them explained Tamari’s symptoms. But he would tug any thread of possibility until an answer was found.
Romancing the Stars: 8 Short Stories of Galactic Romance and Adventure Page 5