by Eve Langlais
He stepped back finally.
“You really shouldn’t do that.”
“Do what?” she asked, a hint of a smile on her lips.
“I won’t be seduced.”
“Won’t or can’t? Is your wife really that special?” she asked.
His mouth opened. Shut. A myriad of expressions crossed his face until it landed on resolved. “Listen, pixie. You seem to forget I’m the one in charge here.”
“Are you?” She advanced. Touch me.
“Stop it,” he snarled as he lunged.
She didn’t bother fighting. Not this time. She realized there was no point. Size gave him a huge advantage. No matter how she struggled, he could overpower her.
So she did something he didn’t expect. She undulated into him as he snared her wrists. Pressed her body against his.
A sound rumbled through him. He released a hand to snare her jumpsuit.
Ghwenn moved with him, making sure to touch him at every turn.
He sat hard on the bed. Dragging her onto his lap.
Lifting a leg for him, she drew it back for him to slip on her pants. He said nothing. Didn’t have to.
His body spoke for him.
The rigid proof under her bottom. Proof even he couldn’t control.
He is attracted to me.
And yet he did nothing. He simply tugged on her pants, without taking any untoward advantage. He pulled up the suit and maneuvered her arms. He didn’t even tickle her breasts in passing.
By the time they were done, he wasn’t the only one breathing heavily. An odd thrill that made no sense passed through her.
It surprised her to find the jumpsuit he’d dressed her in quite comfortable. The material soft, and while it didn’t cling tightly on the outside, her intimate parts felt snugly encased. Built in culottes and brassieres.
Now if only it came in a better color, and maybe with a few embellishments.
Abrams set Ghwenn on her feet. “Get your shoes on.”
“I am still not going.”
“Are you really going to keep embarrassing yourself by arguing?” He snared her shoes.
“Not arguing. Stating.”
He advanced on her. Again, she didn’t fight. She stood and lifted a foot.
“Seriously?” He arched a brow at her.
She arched one right back. Daring him.
His lips pressed into a tight line. But he dropped to his knees. Grabbed her foot in his hand, a firm grip. Skin to skin.
She stared down at the top of his head, expecting him to simply put on the shoes and stand. Instead, she felt the whispery brush of a thumb across her instep.
Her breath stuttered.
Their gazes met. Polarizing and shocking. Feelings hit her. Not just from him.
Something about him drew her. She reached out to touch his cheek.
His eyes widened then narrowed. He snapped his face from her questing fingers. A moment later, a rope went around her wrist.
Pulling it away did not release her. The tether remained snug around her arm.
The panic erupted. Fast and furious. She hated being tied. It reminded her of times her father forced her to sit by his side as he meted his cruel brand of justice. How she couldn’t escape the cuffs when she flinched.
She whispered strength to herself and yanked.
“Don’t bother, pixie. It’s Flkliri rope. Strongest stuff around. It’s not coming off until I say so.”
“This is barbaric treatment.” She tugged and scowled.
“Then file a complaint.” Still on his knees, he grabbed her foot—roughly this time—and jammed a shoe on her foot.
It appeared as if she’d be going out. Tethered to Abrams, the short length of rope stretching between their wrists.
Despite the slack, she kept close to him. If she had to be stuck, then she might as well enjoy the tic jumping by his eye.
“Where are we going?” she asked as he tugged her through the door to the hall.
“Nexus.”
“Which means absolutely nothing. And you know it. What is Nexus?”
“It’s a bar.”
“You’re taking me to a tavern?” She didn’t fake the incredulity.
“Tavern is giving it airs it doesn’t have.”
“It is a place to drink alcohol. Which I thought was banned on most charter vessels from Earth.”
“It is.”
“Why didn’t you say so?” She moved away from him and quickened her stride. “I could use a beverage with a bit of kick.”
“It’s nothing fancy.” Abrams kept pace, his stride longer and thus still more relaxed than hers.
“I am not surprised. I’ve seen some of your ship.” Disdain tinted the words slightly.
“Don’t insult my baby.” He ran his free hand along the bulkhead, and she almost blinked at the softness in his voice and touch.
“You have affection for the vessel.” First his wife and now an inanimate object?
“The Moth is special.” He winked.
Abrams the grump. Winked.
The quiver of pleasure she felt was probably unseemly out in public.
Did he know? He turned from her and knocked at a nondescript door.
A screen on it lit, showing a pair of orbs. “What’s the secret password?” it asked.
“Let me the fuck in or I’ll have maintenance vent the lavatory lines again.”
The door clicked and opened. Sound washed out.
She looked upon a strange place. A large area hollowed out amongst machinery and pallets of goods. Strung with a giant iridescent ball that spun from the high girder ceilings.
A wall with a ladder going up allowed access to platforms welded in place, sporting cushions for those lounging.
Others danced on the metal grate floor. Bodies gyrating. Heads back. Eyes closed. Mouths open.
Free.
As Abrams kept walking, she followed, more confused than ever that he’d brought her here.
This was a place of relaxation and he was anything but when around her.
Was she about to finally meet his wife? The female who managed to snare a male and keep him to herself. Quite the accomplishment. It made Ghwenn green with envy.
The minds around her were open. So very, very open. The emotions hit her in a wave.
Too much. Too quick. She tried to shut herself off. But the noise battered at her.
Lust. Happiness. Depression. Anger.
Everyone had something to express.
She stumbled.
Still moving, Abrams yanked her off balance, and the floor rushed to meet her.
Something halted her crash.
A mind that was closed off. Quiet. She latched onto it, and her hands grasped at the arms lifting her.
Who was this haven in a storm? Her hero.
She glanced up.
Chapter 9
He wished she’d stop looking at him like that.
Crank already found it hard enough to ignore her. When she stared at him like that. As if…
I am someone special.
He’d forgotten how good it felt. How dare she make him remember.
The anger burned away the last of his guilt. Because when he’d felt her fall, off balance, he’d felt guilty.
Surprise. He hadn’t thought himself still capable of it.
Fast reflexes meant he turned quick enough to catch her.
And then she looked at him.
Setting her on her feet, he dragged her to a table in the corner. And by drag, he meant he scowled at everyone in his path, and she, with a docile expression he hated, kept pace with him. Her hand resting on his arm.
The occupants of the table took one look at him and hastily removed themselves and their drinks. He parked her on a stool. Dragged the other close and sat, too.
“How did you do it?” she asked.
“Do what?” He slid his finger on the tabletop, the touchscreen illuminating the menu choices this evening. Since the replicators couldn’t m
ake booze, what they did have was distilled the old-fashioned way or bought in secret when they hit ports.
“Your mind. It’s gone quiet.”
She’d noticed. Good. It meant it worked.
“I am cyborg.” A phrase that, to him, explained everything. He couldn’t put into words or describe the science of how the nanobots accomplished things. Machine and yet sentient beings. They chose their hosts and then adapted them. Encouraged them to get parts that they could meld with their human flesh. Because, while the nanobots could repair, they couldn’t create.
“I could feel you before.”
Mention of the word “feel” brought a flash, a vision of her naked skin. Her lovely shape. His almost complete loss of control.
He’d begged his bots to do something. Anything.
They found a way to prevent her from using her mental projection. The subtle nudges against him stopped, but oddly enough, his attraction toward her didn’t diminish.
“You won’t be using your Jedi mind tricks on me, pixie.”
“The Jedi are extinct.”
“The Jedi are a fairy tale from Earth,” he snorted as a drone arrived, a large platter bolted to the top of its humming, disk-shaped body. It hovered only long enough for him to grab the drinks.
Something pink and frou-frou for the woman. Something strong for him.
She snared his glass before he could explain this.
Ghwenn drained it. Then licked her lips of the clinging foam. “Weak. But palatable. Aren’t you going to have a sip, too?” She pointed to the pink monstrosity.
He eyed it. “I’ll order two more beers.”
Before they arrived, some unfortunate faces did.
Karson dragged a stool over and sat across from him. “If it isn’t a ghost. Nice to see you. And who is this?” His gaze turned to Ghwenn.
“She’s no one. Just cargo the captain asked me to keep an eye on.”
The ship’s doctor raised a brow. “Since when do we transport live cargo? And how was I not informed?”
“I stowed away, and they found me. Now I am a prisoner.” She tugged at the rope, dragging her hand up to show the tether.
Karson ogled the rope, then Crank, then her. He then slapped the table. “You have some ’splaining to do.”
It didn’t take long. “Found her in a box. Dropping her at the next port.”
“Since when do stowaways get the one-on-one treatment?”
“Because she’s dangerous,” Crank growled.
Karson leaned forward and smiled at Ghwenn. Did he not see the peril he courted?
Especially when she smiled back.
He almost punched Karson.
When the glazed look entered his old friend’s eyes and he reached for the rope, Crank sighed even as his fist shot out and bopped Karson in the nose.
“What the fuck, Crank?” Karson reeled back.
But Crank paid him no mind and glared at Ghwenn. “I thought I said no mind tricks.”
“Not my fault he was so transparent and easy to play with. I didn’t do anything bad.”
“You weren’t supposed to do shit at all.” He stood and yanked her with him.
“I told you I didn’t want to come.”
“And that’s an excuse to misbehave?” he snapped as he threaded his way back to the door. Bad idea coming here. He’d had nothing but bad ideas since meeting her.
“Not my fault humans have the minds of simple animals.”
She’d not seriously said that. He waited until they’d exited Nexus and gone a ways down the hall before he turned on her. Shoved her against a wall, pinning her hands over her head.
“You will lose your haughty airs, pixie.” The threat snarled from him.
“Or else what? You’ll prove my point that you’re barbarians?” The thin lift of her brow did nothing to abate his irritation.
“Keep pushing, pixie. Keep pushing and you’ll see what happens.”
“You won’t disobey your captain.”
“There’s an old Earth expression. It’s easier to say fuck it than ask for permission.”
“If you insist.”
Before he could stop her, she leaned up and kissed him.
Kill her. The panic hit him hard.
Kiss her. The desire surged within.
Kill her. Self-preservation and a duty to his wife demanded it.
Kiss her. Logic fled in the face of his arousal.
He couldn’t say what he would have done if the lights hadn’t gone out.
Chapter 10
She froze in the sudden dark, her lips pressed to his. The tension in his frame showed he was listening.
She listened, too.
Not only that, she eased out tendrils of her consciousness. Not as far as she’d like. Certainly not as far as her great-grandmother could, apparently. Ghwenn had only a fraction of the ability, and she sensed nothing. Not a single whisper of thought, which could mean only one thing.
“Assassins,” she hissed. Their mind dampeners could foil her power. “Untie me.”
There was no hesitation. He severed the tie and placed himself in front of her. “Stick close to me, pixie.”
Only if it kept her safe. She’d learned the only person she could truly rely on was herself.
Despite the field dampening her power to influence, she still held a mental chant. “Invisible.”
It couldn’t hurt.
She didn’t hear a thing, and yet Abrams suddenly moved. She felt the passage of air as he threw himself to the side. The crack of something colliding.
Then the grunt of exertion.
Move. She gave herself a mental order and ran, away from the noise and the dampening field. Hands held out in front of her, she fled as quickly as she could, bumping into walls, her breathing harsh.
This blindness of eyes and spirit panicked her.
The lights came on in a sudden flood, and she blinked. Blinked and yet the assassin dressed in black, the swath of fabric around his face revealing only blue jewel-like eyes, didn’t disappear.
Oh dear. Even worse, he wore a circlet at his brow, a personal emission field. It scrambled her attempts to control him.
So she kicked him instead.
The protection at his groin meant it didn’t do much to hurt him. He lunged forward to grab her, and she ducked, dropping to the floor, spotting the sheath inside his boot. Her hand darted for a quick grab, the blade she retrieved short and yet sharp. She stabbed at the fabric over his knee.
It hit the flat edge of a protective plate. He twisted his leg, and she followed, dragging the blade until she felt an edge. She shoved, piercing between.
Not a sound emerged. A true assassin, silent no matter what. She wasn’t, however, when he tangled a fist in her hair and pulled.
“Ow!” Outrage and pain combined.
There was a bellowed, “Get your fucking hands off her,” then a wave of emotion. Foremost, rage.
Then it was her own admiration as Abrams attacked the assassin with no weapon but his fists.
Wham. Wham. He hammered over and over, striking the body armor and yet not flinching. Nor slowing. The assassin staggered under the assault. But this was no amateur.
The assassin recovered, spinning away from the devastating fists, emerging from that twirl with a knife that he flung.
Abrams didn’t even try to avoid it. The knife hit him in the arm, sank into flesh. She gaped as she saw a red stain blooming from the site.
What did the fool man do? Cracked his knuckles, the sound loud, the smile louder. “Thanks. I needed a snack.” The hilt of the knife suddenly fell to the floor minus the blade.
And then Abrams threw himself at the assassin. The circlet dampening his thoughts—preventing her influence—was knocked off.
This was her chance to read his… Nope. The body suddenly went limp.
Abrams cursed. “What the fuck? I barely touched him.”
“Suicide,” she stated, noting the clouding of the assassin’s eyes.
“Suicide? Seems rather extreme given we would have simply jailed him.”
“Capture is not an option.” She knelt and pulled the scarf from the head, noting the tattooed features.
“He’s an elf like you.”
“Nothing like me,” she stated, getting to her feet. “No one is. That’s the problem.”
Chapter 11
For the first time since he’d met Ghwenn, she had nothing to say. She remained silent while Crank arranged for the bodies—because a second assassin was recovered by the crew—to be taken to the morgue for processing. Both of them had killed themselves rather than be questioned.
Completely fucking psycho.
And elf girl had nothing to say about it.
She sat on his bed. Hands on her legs. Calm as could be.
“Captain wants me to report.” Crank usually would have told him to fuck off, but truth was, he wanted a word with Jameson, too.
“Do not let me prevent you from doing your duty.” She kept her words monotone.
“There will be guards stationed outside.” The assassins were dead, and yet the fact that they’d made it on board at all, and as far as they did, left him leery.
She didn’t seem to care. She didn’t reply.
He left, eyeballing the two ensigns. Both veterans. The circlets they’d taken from the bodies around their brows. “Don’t open her door for nothing. No one goes in but me or the captain.”
A crisply saluted, “Yes, sir,” was the reply. The double gesture of respect brought a scowl that he wore all the way to the war room. At least that was what Crank called it. Large space off the command center where the captain held court. It was where they held meetings or got their dressing down. Usually Jameson, hands tucked behind his back, listing things he couldn’t do; No more telling the port commander he’s a noodle-sucking vegetarian. No making the ensigns cry. No, you may not punch people if they take the last pudding when Ivan makes a batch.
Crank didn’t bother announcing himself and walked in. Already a crowd had gathered. The captain, arms crossed, glared at the wall screen of the morgue where the bodies were being robotically dissected. Einstein had parked her hover chair close to the table and leaned over it, gnarled hands flying. Damon was also there, hologram in front of him, sound bubble around him, as he relayed orders. Given he was present, that meant Lazarine was off shift, probably sleeping before she had to work. Rounding out the group was Natalya, who had her hands busy at a console.