Ragnar
Dragon Lord of Wye
Nancey Cummings
Juno Wells
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Epilogue
Thanks for Reading!
Also Available
About the Authors
Copyright
Chapter One
Priya
This was a mistake.
The heavily armed security guard kept leering at Priya as if she was a meal he was dying to devour.
No, scratch that. Taking in the size of the overly-muscled males and the weapons they carried, she knew she was just a snack.
“Sorry, kitten. Those are the terms. I’m not running a charity.” Gracious leaned against the cargo crate, careful not to snag the fabric of his dark blue suit while still trying to appear cool and unconcerned. He buffed the back of his nails on his lapels. Deep red and black tattoos on his neck and hands bled through the creamy tan color of the light fuzz covering him. The Talmar male’s tail swished back and forth, lazily.
The crook. The smug, condescending crook.
“My family—”
His whiskers twitched at the desperation in her voice and his large triangular ears swiveled toward her. “Your father knew the penalties when he agreed to the terms of the loan.”
Penalties. Loans. Gracious could use financial terms all he liked but he remained a loan shark at the end. And Priya’s father had agreed to the terms. He knew the risk. But no one could have predicted the historic flooding that ravaged the Blackborn colony or the years of blight that followed. He had been desperate for the credit to keep the orchard afloat; desperate enough to do business with a crook like Gracious.
Her father, Hamish Barber, had been a fool to move the family to the cursed colony. And a greater fool for not being able to keep snow apples alive. Snow apples. Engineered to grow in poor soil, with no water, minimal light and extreme temperatures, the fruit grew without trouble wherever humanity settled.
Except in the Barber Orchards.
And because Blackborn was an independent colony, there existed no oversight on unscrupulous business practices, no protection from loan sharks or creditors who trapped an entire family into indentured servitude to work off a debt. There was no governing body to appeal the unjust debt of Hamish and Nora or their minor children, Nathaniel and Nisha; no one to fight for their freedom.
No one except Priya.
“I’ll do anything,” she said.
“Anything?” Gracious’ leering gaze swept over her body, lingering on her hips and bust. “My harem could use some fresh blood.”
With a shiver, Priya zipped up the front of her blue hooded jacket.
“You shouldn’t put anything on the table if you’re not ready to deliver,” he said, pushing off the crate. “Shame. I like the feel of Terrans. So soft and smooth.”
Her gaze fell to the bare concrete floor of the loading bay. She loved her family, wouldn’t rest until her mother, father and the twins were free, but she would not sell herself to do it. The thought of Gracious touching her made her stomach flip-flop. “Not that. Anything else.”
“Hmm. I’m afraid all I’m interested in is credits.” He quoted a figure that made her heart stop. One and a half million credits.
“There’s no way my father owes that much,” she sputtered. One and a half million. Hamish would have been insane to take out such a large loan.
“Oh,” Gracious said casually, “the original amount was much more reasonable. Walk with me.” He motioned for Priya to follow him. “But when you add up the cost of late fees—and Hamish was perpetually late—, collection and administration fees and, of course, the cost of repossessing the farm and the debtors, I’m afraid the debt has increased substantially.”
“They’ll never be able to work that amount off,” Priya said, thinking aloud.
“Probably not. But the female is strong and pleasant enough to look at. She’d fetch a good price at auction. And the twins. Matched sets always do well with collectors…”
“No. Please.” The Talmar male would make her beg. Not Nathaniel and Nisha. They were only twelve years old, far too young to be sold at auction, to a collector.
Only dumb luck kept Priya from being included in the family’s debt. She bought a second hand—more like third hand—old rust bucket of a ship and contracted out courier work. It was lonely work but she didn’t like people so much and enjoyed the quiet. She loved her family, of course, but they were loud and Priya had a hard time hearing herself think. On the Dashing Canard… She had all the peace and quiet she’d ever desire.
The Dashing Canard wasn’t much to look at but it was fast and had a small footprint, which kept docking fees to minimum. Fast, cheap and good enough to deliver small packages: exactly what she needed in a ship. What the ship didn’t eat up in fuel, maintenance and repairs, she dumped directly back into the orchard. She’d been out of the system on a delivery when Gracious’ crew arrived and took the Barber family into custody. Pure, dumb luck.
“Because I like you, kitten, I’ll keep the whole set on my compound.”
Hope sparked in her chest.
“But not forever,” Gracious cautioned. “I’m a businessman.”
“Not a charity.”
He nodded.
“How do I know you still have them? I want to see my parents. And the twins.” Priya crossed her arms over her chest, hoping it made her look tough and not like she was trying to hug herself. She relaxed her shoulders and dropped her hands to her hips. There. Tough.
“Good, good. You’re much better at bargaining than your father. They are well cared for. I make no profit in injured merchandise.”
The hair on the back of her head stood up as Gracious referred to her family as merchandise. “I want to see them.”
He nodded and snapped at a nearby henchman. In a matter of seconds, Nora Barber shuffled forward. She wore a shapeless blue jumpsuit and had more grey hair than Priya remembered.
“Mom!” Priya hugged her mother tightly. Nora felt as solid as ever. For a brief moment, she closed her eyes and pretended that everything was copacetic. “Are they feeding you? The twins? Dad?”
“Priya, sweetie, we’re fine. Don’t worry about us.”
“I’m going to get you out. Just wait.”
With another snap, Nora was escorted away.
“One point five million. How am I supposed to get that kind of credit?” Priya kept her eyes fixed on Nora’s receding figure.
“You’re a smart female. Figure it out.”
***
Back on the Dashing Canard, Priya cleared the atmosphere and set the auto pilot. The ship wasn’t much to look at and rattled alarmingly every time it entered the atmosphere, but it was hers. After the repossession of Barber Orchards, it was her only home. Narrow and tall, the ship had a small living space and galley kitchen on the first floor and a bedroom on the top. All the furnishings were built in, original to the aging relic, and in desperate need of replacement. The couch sagged and the bed was lumpy. Home sweet home.
Priya sat crossed legged on the old couch, scrolling through the jobs board. Half-heartedly she examined the listings. If only she could find a
job that paid enough... But, no single job would pay enough. Maybe a series of high risk jobs. She could fly to zones no one else wanted to go to, go beyond the Fringe territories of the Interstellar Union.
The uncontrolled space beyond the IU territories was filled with pirates and worse, the aggressive and hungry spider-like aliens known as Edder. Venturing beyond the safety of the IU borders was dangerous but what choice did she have? Nimble and small, the Dashing Canard might be too small to appear on long range scanners. Maybe even small enough to avoid trouble.
An entertainment news program played in the background. Priya got up from the couch and grabbed an instant noodle bowl. She removed the foil lid and heated the contents, cooking the mediocre noodles in a matter of seconds. Slurping up the noodles, she tried not to think about the bland taste. Cheap and filling, it fit her budget perfectly.
The presenter of the news program blathered on about some prince from a planet that wasn't even in the Interstellar Union. Ever since that Fremmian prince ran off with a common Terran woman, alien royalty had been all over the news networks. In this case, the alien royal in question had broken up with a film star. Priya found herself watching old footage of an insanely photogenic alien male with green scales on his face, smile to the cameras. An equally photogenic human woman lightly holding onto his arm, her smile vacant. The "expert" analyzed their body language and determined that the famous couple were already heading for a breakup when the actress's latest film premiered.
Ragnar. That name was familiar.
"Computer," Priya said. "Run a search on Prince Ragnar of Wye."
Twenty seconds later she got a hit. Prince Ragnar, famous for his headline grabbing antics and deep pockets, had a bad habit of being captured by pirates and held for ransom. Currently the prince resided at Aslan Station, living the high life. Recently constructed, the luxury resort catered to every decadent indulgence credit could buy.
Not her kind of place but a good place to find a prince.
A prince who was willing to pay a ransom.
Priya turned off the video and shut down the tablet screen. She wasn't honestly considering kidnapping and ransoming the prince, was she?
Right?
It's not like she intended to hurt him, she rationalized. She just needed to incapacitate him a little and collect the credit. She’d even use a stunner instead of a bolter or pistol. She wasn't going to kidnap kidnap him. She wouldn't injure him. A big male like him would barely feel the stunner. And a prince was worth a lot more credit than a dozen risky flights to the colony fringes.
She would have her loud, boisterous family back in no time at all.
And was it really wrong to kidnap and ransom a wealthy person who already expected it? No. Prince Ragnar probably had ransoms worked into the royal budget. He needed to expend a certain ransom amount every fiscal year. She tried to convince herself it'd be irresponsible not to ransom him.
The justifications were thin but what were her other options? Scrimp and save and pray that she made enough before Gracious' generosity wore off and he put her family up for auction.
Priya had said she was willing to do anything, after all.
She really had no choice in the matter.
Ragnar
The sound of the nestling fussing unhappily kept Ragnar awake. The soundproof walls in his cabin did no good when Korven walked the corridors, passing by the decidedly not sound proof door every few minutes.
Barefoot and wearing sleeping togs, Ragnar found his bleary-eyed cousin in a room with dimmed lights.
Korven stood at the window, the bright stars of distant systems shone through the dark. The nestling waved a brightly colored ring in one chubby hand. His wings stretched and flexed with every step. The nestling watched with fascination, continuing to wave the teething toy. The nestling beat the teething toy against the side of Korven’s head, trying to catch his wings with a free hand.
Nothing in Ragnar’s life prepared him for the stab of envy he felt.
Ragnar had wealth, a title, and fame but he did not have what his cousin, Korven, had. A mate and a nestling. People who needed him.
“You should rest. You have an important meeting tomorrow,” Ragnar said. The nestling threw the teething toy. He caught it with ease and handed it back. Kolle gurgled in delight and continued to beat the ring against its father.
“Adelle needs sleep more than I do. This fussy one refuses to sleep,” Korven said, brushing back the dark curls on Kolle’s head.
The nestling was in the midst of cutting teeth and in a constant state of drooling and irritation. Cranky and fussy, nothing soothed the pain except the swaying motion of being held and walking. So much walking, in fact, that the tired parents wore distinct grooves into the ship’s carpeting.
“Give me the nestling,” Ragnar said, taking Kolle from Korven. “We will be fussy together.”
Korven didn’t argue or make a false protest, his exhaustion was severe.
“I do not mind, little one,” Ragnar said, retracing the same journey down the corridors of the ship as Korven. Kolle gummed at his shoulder, soaking the fabric with drool. “You may keep me up all night. I know who you love best.”
The meeting tomorrow was with an engineering outfit to discuss building a new spaceport for their home planet, Wye. It was the lifelong dream of Prince Korven, to build a port that would allow their isolated planet to join the modern galaxy. Trade and tourism would increase. Wye could modernize the naval fleet. Queen Lasar had finally agreed to the massive project, with caveats. The existing station must be incorporated, not scrapped or abandoned. All raw materials must come from Wye and the local industry must be involved in construction as much as possible.
Ragnar had no head for such thing. Korven’s mate, Adelle, had a mind that saw how all the pieces of the machine worked together. She was the right partner to help Korven bring the station to reality.
Ragnar’s role was much less important. He laid the charm on thick at meetings—breaking the ice, as Adelle called it—and when the conversation turned to technical details, he disappeared into the background.
It was supremely boring.
Not that he would ever leave his cousin though. Ragnar had sworn to Queen Lasar that he would protect his cousin. Nothing had changed. Not even Korven’s exile and loss of title affected his position. In fact, Queen Lasar still expected weekly reports and continued to fund the exiled prince’s security.
Korven had no idea, of course. As far as he was aware, the queen continued to shun him while her wrath boiled. Korven had refused to marry an “acceptable” Wyer female and defied a direct order from the Queen when he declared Adelle Scott of Earth to be his true mate. The queen was not used to such defiance and exiled the prince, striping him of his title and financial support. Not including Ragnar and the two other guards, Olver and Derix.
Ragnar’s loyalty to the prince-in-exile went far beyond a sworn oath. Korven was his closest friend. They had grown up together, receiving the same education and training. As the youngest son of a minor holding, Ragnar had no grand expectations. His father was the youngest son of Queen Lasar, who had too many sons and only one heir, Princess Searra, Korven’s mother. Serving the queen’s interest and protecting his friend was as great a purpose as he needed. It was far better than scratching out an existence in some tumble-down country house on a few acres of land his mother could spare him.
Following Korven, Ragnar saw the galaxy. The two had been traveling for years, going from port to port. Ragnar presented himself as the “prince” and put on a show of being a spoiled playboy. His main function was to be an obvious target for pirates, allowing the real prince to remain anonymous and safe.
During their travels, Korven researched everything about modern space travel: ships, parts, docks, tariffs, travel restrictions, trade and the Interstellar Union military forces.
All that changed when Korven entered his first Fever, the final stage of maturity for a Wyer. Medication and sheer determination k
ept the undercover prince in control of his primitive instinct to mate. Then he met Adelle.
Ragnar had known that accepting the Terran mechanic was a mistake. He’d known what Korven was up to, even if the prince had been in denial of his own actions.
Kolle battered the teething ring against Ragnar’s shoulder.
“I understand you are meant to chew on that, not beat your uncle with it,” he informed Kolle in a serious voice. How strange to think the nestling could have been his. While Korven was torn between honoring the queen’s wishes to do his duty and following his heart, Ragnar had offered to care for the pregnant Terran female. Motivated more from duty and friendship, than from romantic affection, his offer had been sincere.
His offered also spurned Korven into doing the right thing, which was Ragnar’s ultimate intention. Korven was far too possessive to tolerate another male with his mate. Ragnar did not want Adelle as a mate, as pleasant as she was, and he did not want a flock of nestlings chewing, drooling and crying at all hours, and yet he was at a loss to explain the sensation of envy curled tight in his chest.
He had never been envious of his cousin before. Korven’s elevated position as obvious favorite of their grandmother, the queen, never inspired a flicker of more than pity that Korven had to be so responsible and could never relax enough to have fun.
The teething ring whacked Ragnar in the forehead. He removed the tool of torment from the nestling. “Let us see if we can find that gel Derix was working on.”
The medical bay on the Firestar was a small cabin on the second floor. Stocked with the latest in technology, the medical equipment could practically run itself. Diagnostics happened in a sweep of light. The computer administered medication or treatments through robotics. It was sufficient for all common ailments and could provide enough emergency care to stabilize a person until the ship reached a medical facility. Derix, trained as an emergency response medic, fancied himself the ship’s medic. No one else agreed with him.
Ragnar: Dragon Lord of Wye Page 1