Beyond the Shadows

by Jess Granger

  Yara felt as if she’d just taken a blow to the gut. “You’re out of your mind.”

  “No, I’m the one with the ship and you’re desperate.” He downed the last of his drink and placed the empty glass between them. She found her gaze inexplicably drawn down to it and caught there a moment before she could snap out of it.

  “How long will it take your ship to reach Azra?” she asked. She shook the image of his hand caressing the glass out of her mind and focused. He had caught her unprepared, but now that she was in the thick of it, she wouldn’t lose control again.

  “It should take four days to reach Gansai and one to repair the converter. After that, it’s an hour-long macro-leap tops.” He leaned forward, locking gazes with her again. Oh, he knew this was a battle, the filthy rat.

  “Wait a minute. The converter on the macro-drive is damaged?” Her shock slapped her in the face, followed by the sting of disappointment. This would not be an easy trip.

  “It’ll be an easy fix. Don’t worry, the transwave systems still work.”

  “You mean we have to travel transwave?” Her voice pitched up on the last word. She’d get there faster floating adrift in a pressure suit than using the outdated leap tech.

  He shrugged. “You could hold your breath and try to jump, but I don’t think you are going to make it off this base any other way.”

  “Fifteen,” she snapped as she crossed her arms and glared at him. “You’re not worth sixty.”

  “Are you sure?” He let the sexual suggestion drip with innuendo as he said it.

  Elite warriors were supposed to remain celibate. Very few adhered to that rule. She had neglected it in her youth, and now her transgressions haunted the back of her mind. She had enough experience to recognize this game for what it was but not enough to numb her to it.

  He watched her with a sinful look. “I know for a fact I’m worth forty-five,” he added.

  “I’m not paying more than thirty-five.” She’d let his innuendos fall on deaf ears. “If the Grand Sister wants me that badly, she’ll send transport herself. I don’t need you.”

  “But do you want me?” The fringe of his dark lashes lowered, turning his gaze into a polished seduction. He smiled that damn smile.

  Her dagger sunk into the worn chair with a satisfying thunk.

  Yara enjoyed the look of surprise on the trader’s face as he looked down at the dagger lodged just centimeters from the seam of his crotch, then back up at her. It was all the answer she felt like giving him.

  “Do we have a deal?” She stood straighter and looked down at him.

  The Earthlen slowly rose to his feet, forcing Yara to look up to meet his arrogant gaze. Again that annoying shiver rushed down her spine, and she felt a tingling in the backs of her thighs. Her heart beat faster with a sudden rush of adrenaline. She felt as if she was about to begin a long and difficult sparring match, one she wasn’t sure she would win. Why did she like that feeling?

  He smiled again as he offered her a hand. “I’ll take you on, Commander.”

  YARA STOPPED BY HER QUARTERS AFTER AN AWKWARD FAREWELL PARTY hastily thrown together by some of her lesser officers. She doubted any of them would miss her. She was just another commander, and a new uniform would take her place. She suspected a third of the people there had never even seen her but were only there for the cold food and an excuse not to work.

  At least Tuz had fun. He took a good chunk out of some poor lieutenant’s leg.

  Her scout blissfully scent-marked her single bag of belongings with the side of his face. Clothes, weapons—they all stowed neatly in that bag. She double-checked the room as a force of habit more than anything. Empty, gray, it was as if the years she’d spent living in this room made no impact on it at all, just like it had made no impact on her. She felt nothing as she shut the door on what should have felt like a home.

  She’d been born, raised, groomed, and trained, her entire lineage preparing her for one single thing, the day she would take over the throne. She had no room in her life for anything else. Azra needed her now.

  With a sense of foreboding, Yara accessed the stored messages in her com unit and listened one more time to the warning from one of her closest allies on Azra. The message was encoded, and she wanted to be sure she didn’t miss anything.

  Palar was planning to light the fire in the temple. If she initiated a blood challenge, she’d probably kill the Grand Sister, and Yara and her supporters would have to fight her and her faction to the death for the throne. She had to return home and show Palar she wasn’t about to back down. She would inherit the throne peacefully once the Grand Sister decided to step down.

  She wondered if the Grand Sister knew of Palar’s plot and whether that was the real reason she was calling Yara back home. It made sense. The Grand Sister couldn’t be serious about sending her on a bloodhunt for some worthless mudrat traitor. She knew her training partner’s defection was a scandal, and that the Grand Sister was furious about it, but finding the traitor’s brother, Cyn, and seeking justice through him was pointless. It wouldn’t bring Cyani back.

  Yara wandered toward the Scum, unsure how she felt about returning home. No matter how much she had been pressured into her position as one of the Elite, something didn’t quite fit. She felt the weight of expectation, and it cut into her like binding straps tied too tight. But she didn’t want a bloody coup to tear the Elite apart, either. Her planet needed her to be what she’d been bred to be. A leader. She would maintain the peace and order of her planet. Azra didn’t need change; it needed consistency.

  Perhaps when she assumed the throne, the emptiness would ease. It was probably nothing more than a need to fulfill her purpose. Doubt crept into the dark corners of her mind. What if it was something else? What if she assumed the throne and the dark emptiness never went away? She tried not to think about it. It didn’t matter.

  Tuz stalked along behind her, occasionally leaping forward to tag the back of her heel with a paw. They passed fewer and fewer people in uniform as they found their way through the maze of endless halls toward the far end of the base. She knew to keep moving. Tuz tended to launch a full-scale attack on her boot whenever she stopped.

  The slick and polished halls of the Union base deteriorated to chipped slab floors with grimy walls as she entered the Freedock. The constant clatter of haulers shuffling shipping containers in the warehouses echoed under the large force shields. The shields arched like giant bubbles over the gravity generators on the rough ground below.

  She still didn’t understand. There should have been at least seven free-trade transports unloading supplies with hundreds of people milling through the halls on the way to processing and accounting, or the bar.

  Her unease grew as she stared across the Freedock to the dark ship waiting for her on the other side. Her captain leaned against a landing strut, waiting.

  She’d spent hours looking for something, anything, even a complaint of hull vermin against him. She found nothing. That alone was odd.

  Her neck began to tingle, her skin growing sensitive as her heart beat faster.

  She wasn’t afraid of him.

  If he tried to pull anything, she’d just kill him, or Tuz would.

  He crossed his arms against his chest, his simple synthlin shirt gaped just enough for her to catch the edge of a scar on his chest. Who was he? In the modern age, scars were rare on people from tech, especially on Earth. That planet had at least a thousand-year history of seeking physical perfection through medical intervention. How did he get one? She had a sinking feeling it wasn’t from a medical procedure. It was a mark of violence.

  The muscles in her legs suddenly felt heavy and uncoordinated.

  She still wasn’t afraid of him.

  But he made her nervous.

  “Commander,” he greeted with a nod of his dark head. The orange glow of the gravity generators reflected in the lenses of his eye shades.

  Yara didn’t like being unable to see his eyes. She didn�
��t trust him.

  She walked forward with a steady and deliberate stride. It would be fine. As soon as she reached home, she could put the Earthlen out of her mind forever.

  “Captain,” she responded, holding her head higher even though she felt flushed. She tried to tell herself it was only the radiant heat from the ship.

  “Are you ready for this?” He smiled. It was a blatant invitation and an even more blatant challenge.

  “Absolutely,” she answered.

  2

  THEY DUCKED UNDER THE SHIP AND YARA CLIMBED A RUNG LADDER THROUGH the cramped vertical airlock. She pulled herself up into the back left corner of the cargo bay. Looking around with a certain amount of apprehension, she hoped the ship was livable. It seemed like too much to ask. A single stack of crates was strapped with military precision against the forward bulkhead with a closed door just to the left of the stack.

  The outside of the ship seemed large. Why was the interior so small? What sorts of items did he trade in? Obviously he wasn’t a major supplier for the Union.

  “Impressed yet?” Cyrus asked as he picked up her bag and motioned to the bulkhead door ahead of them.

  “Hardly. This ship is tiny.” At least it looked clean. She inspected the area for signs of vermin as Tuz growled his disapproval and curled his long tail around his front leg. The lingering scent of stale joint grease and dust hung in the air.

  “That’s why I don’t take passengers. You’re lucky I took you on at all,” he mentioned as he passed her.

  “I should have talked you down to twenty.”

  Light glittered in his wicked eyes as he removed his shades. “It wouldn’t have happened, Pix.”

  She turned to him. “I could leave this ship right now.”

  He shrugged. “No refunds. You know the way out.” He flicked his hand at the open airlock hatch in the floor, daring her to back out.

  Damn him. Damn him to the filth and darkness.

  “You will not disrespect me, Earthlen.” She felt the heat rise again, felt her hands shake. She had to control herself.

  “Captain,” he stated.

  “Commander,” she corrected.

  “No, you will address me as captain on this ship.”

  “What?” He couldn’t be serious. She refused to play these petty games with him. He should know his place. And this piece of junk hardly counted as a ship. It was less than half a ship.

  “I think I made myself clear, Commander.” He shifted her bag to his other hand, then opened the doors from the bay into converted living quarters connected to the command center of the ship by an open archway with an energy shield generator.

  Yara felt as if she had taken a shock blast to the head. Handling venomous snakes seemed less hazardous than talking with him. Did he respect her authority or not? Was he trying to tell her it didn’t matter either way? She felt like she was missing something, and she had the feeling that was exactly what he wanted.

  Clenching her teeth, she entered the living quarters. Her nerves made her feel edgy as she carefully inspected the compartment.

  Four bunks lined the sidewalls, with spacious storage lockers between them. She had expected old military blankets, or something equally as practical on the bunks, but each proudly displayed beautiful handcrafted blankets of soft foreign material. They swirled with deep red and black patterns, an intricate maze of craftsmanship.

  They looked soft, inviting. A small but spotless galley sat in the corner with an antique water basin that had been scrubbed so clean she could see reflections in the smooth stone.

  This wasn’t a transport ship. This was his home. The conversion of the living space was personal, not simply functional. This was a ship made for a one- or two-man crew living and working in a single area. She had no place to hide from him.

  “Which bunk?” She had trouble articulating the rest of her question as it dawned on her that she didn’t know which one he slept in on a regular basis.

  “Which one do you want?” he responded, placing her bag in the center of the polished floor and entering the open control center.

  “I think I should sleep on a cot in the cargo bay.” It was the best solution. She shouldn’t be in here.

  “I don’t own a cot. You can sleep on the cargo bay floor, but I can’t guarantee a smooth ride in transwave. You might get knocked around, so to speak.”

  Wonderful.

  Tuz jumped up on the bunk nearest the galley and kneaded the pillow with his paws. Yara sat on the edge of it. The blankets felt even softer than they looked and smelled like fresh air and sun-soaked grasses. “Is this one yours?” she asked, wondering where the scent came from.

  “They’re all mine.” He leaned against the archway to the control center and watched her with his shadowed eyes.

  She shifted her weight, unsure what to do with her hands. She could picture him sprawled out under rumpled sheets. What did he wear to bed? She tried to keep herself from wondering if he wore anything at all, but the thought hit her before she could stop it.

  She jumped up like a hot spark had gone off beneath her. “This will do.”

  “Is there a problem, Commander?” He smiled, just a twitch in the corner of his mouth and a glint in his dark eyes.

  Yes, I’m in your bedroom, you dirty mudrat. “No, no problem. The sooner we leave, the better.”

  CYN SHOOK HIS HEAD AS HE EASED THROUGH THE LIVING QUARTERS AND ENTERED the cargo bay to shut the airlock hatch. The commander was a real piece of work. He had no doubt that she would be a cold and efficient killer when provoked, but he had never seen an Elite warrior with less of a handle on her physical reactions to her emotions. She probably sucked at cards.

  She was uncomfortable in his ship. That much was clear. But why?

  He hauled the hatch shut, dropping it in the floor, and engaged the wheel lock in a slow, thoughtful motion. He came from a long line of Elite women. His sister was Elite. They hadn’t brainwashed her no matter how much they threatened her life. His sister broke away from them, whole and happy. His mother had been Elite until they turned on her like a pack of hyenas and banished her as a traitor for the terrible sin of getting pregnant. Yet his mother raised them with courage and love until she found a way to escape the shadows.

  And then there was his aunt, the Grand Sister of Azra. The manipulative bitch. Heartless and ruthless, his father’s tyrant sister was obsessed with her bloodline and maintaining her hold on the throne of Azra no matter the cost. She’d drugged his parents so they’d have sex, used the scandal to steal the throne from his mother, and then turned on her own brother when he decided to stand up for the woman bearing his children.

  If that weren’t enough, she’d tortured Cyn’s sister in an attempt to make Cyani her heir to the throne. Fira intended to create a mindless puppet strong enough to meet any blood challenges but not independent enough to control Azra without her. Cyn was determined to make his aunt fall. For many, the revolution was about freedom, justice, and safety. He knew the suffering of the people he led. He had lived it, and he couldn’t forget it. But this was about more than suffering. For him, it was personal.

  So where did Yara fit in? His sister respected her but insisted Yara was as focused and cold as they came.

  He didn’t see it. The woman unable to sit on his bed was anything but cold and focused. There was a chink in that armor. What kind of woman would he find beneath it?

  What could it mean for the revolution?

  He shouldn’t be thinking such things. He had a job to do, a plan to carry out. The time for plotting was over. It was time to act.

  The hatch lock ground shut with a final clunk of metal locking into metal. They were stuck together now.

  He stood and wiped his hands on his jeans.

  “You ready, old girl?” he asked the ship as he pulled open the door to the living quarters.

  He ignored Yara as he entered the control center and began the launch sequence. He barely glanced at the screens and consoles as he punched i
n coordinates from memory. Once the flight plan had been entered in the panels on the copilot side of the ship, he fell back into his worn pilot’s chair, synched the ship systems with the base’s launch program, and waited for the base to give the all clear.

  “You have a last name?” he asked, knowing full well she didn’t. The more ignorance he showed for the cultural habits of Azra, the better his disguise would be.

  “What is it about Earthlen that makes them think everyone in the universe does things the way they do?” she responded. She climbed the step to the edge of the control center and stood with her stiff back to the archway connecting it to the living quarters. Her eyes fixed on the copilot seat, but she didn’t make a move to sit in it.

  “So you don’t have a last name?” Verbally sparring with her was fun, like when he used to poke snakes with sticks.

  “The Yar in my name denotes my family lineage. I’m a descendant of Yarini the Just, one of our matriarchs. The closest thing you have on Earth is royalty.” She stood a little straighter. “How about your name. Does Cyrus mean anything?”

  “It means I turn around when you call it.” His alias had always served its purpose, but it was just that, an empty moniker. Cyn pivoted in his chair as clearance came through and then initiated the gravity disruptor. “You’d better sit down, Your Highness.”

  He wondered if she would consider him a prince if she ever found out his real name. He was the direct descendant of two matriarchs, Cyrila the Rebel on his mother’s side, and Fima the Merciless on his father’s. Few on Azra could boast such a powerful combination, but men who carried the bloodlines weren’t seen as respected warriors, only breeding stock.

  Yara took a seat on the bed nearest the copilot’s seat, and Cyn slid his hand up the angrav controls, lifting them off the ground. He initiated the control thrusters and angled the ship for the shield breach. The ship shuddered as it pushed up out of the docks and through the atmosphere shield. The bubble folded over the ship, with the remnants of the energy shield sparkling over the visual sensors in a flashing rainbow of lightninglike discharges. The stars opened up before him, and Cyn set the computer on course.