by Carysa Locke
“We want to help you, protect you from whatever it is you’re running from.”
She laughed. “Right. So, not only do you profess to have no idea who Niall is, but you also want me to believe you’ll actively work against him? I suppose you’ve never heard of Veritas.”
Dem’s brows drew together. She didn’t give him a chance to respond. She gestured to the ship walls around them, to him, and then to Phantom.
“You’re obviously Talented, so if I decide to believe you, that means you’re not a part of the Veritas organization. There’s only one other organized group of Talented people I’ve ever heard of, which would make you…” She trailed off, the realization settling around her. “Pirates.”
He stared steadily back before giving a small nod. Sanah didn’t want to believe it. She’d heard a lot of stories about the pirates haunting the fringes of civilized space. Most of them were downright terrifying. Violent, ruthless killers, perfectly willing to destroy endless numbers of lives to get what they wanted. In fact, they preferred to leave no survivors.
“Don’t believe everything you hear,” Dem said, watching her face. “We aren’t the monsters your Commonwealth makes us out to be. They hunted us down. My ancestors had no choice but to band together as they did. It was a matter of survival. Here we are, surviving still—despite repeated efforts to the contrary by your ‘civilized’ government.”
“You really are pirates.”
“Yes.”
A sound escaped her. It took her a moment to realize it was laughter. Verging on hysteria, but it was definitely laughter. She put a hand to her throat, but it didn’t help. She could feel a fit of uncontrollable giggling just waiting to escape if she loosened her jaw in the slightest.
“Are you all right?”
She shook her head. The movement pushed her over the edge, and the next thing Sanah knew, she was laughing. She tried to stop, but she couldn’t. Maybe she’d finally snapped.
It was just too much. All this time and energy spent running from Niall and Veritas, running from the devil they knew, and they’d run straight into the arms of their demon brethren. The irony was painful. She doubled over, struggling to draw breath, even though she technically didn’t need to breathe here, in this place that wasn’t real. A hand slid beneath her arm, supportive, and the laughter instantly died.
“Don’t touch me.”
The hand withdrew immediately, and she staggered. Catching herself against the wall, Sanah looked up and watched Nayla put the barrel of a disruptor pistol beneath her jaw. Her eyes were wild, desperate. At that range, the blast meant to stun would almost certainly kill her.
“No!” Sanah whirled on Dem. “Send me back. Send me back now!”
“The firing mechanism is disabled. Phantom won’t allow anything to happen. But I’m curious as to why she would try to use that as leverage against us.”
As she stared back at her sister, Sanah felt the terrible weight of her own emotions. Sadness, guilt, fear. This was her fault as much as Niall’s.
“You really are pirates.”
“I’ve already answered that.”
“And you’ll take us in, offer us…protection?”
“Yes.” He didn’t hesitate in the slightest.
“Why?” She had to understand.
“Six years ago, a virus wiped out almost fifty percent of our total population. All women. We called it Matera-D. Age didn’t matter—young, old. Only a small percentage of women survived.”
A virus, six years ago…a sudden, sick feeling balled up in her gut, and she had a moment to be grateful that gifts didn’t work here, in case he, too, was an empath. It can’t be. I destroyed it. She stifled the thought before it could fully form.
“That’s awful,” she whispered.
“Yes, it was. But you see, we need you. We would fight to protect you and your sister with everything we have.”
Nayla had dropped the weapon now, and she was crying, tears tracking down her face. Phantom appeared more unnerved by that than the threat to kill herself. Sanah had to wonder—would Nayla try to take her own life, if Niall did catch up with them?
She turned and looked at Dem.
“Will we be prisoners?”
He frowned. “No. We do expect everyone to contribute in some way. In effect, to work some form of job aboard ship, or on planet, if you decide to settle on one of our colonies. You’ll draw pay, of course.”
“We will?”
“We do have money,” he said with a bland look.
“Of course.” It was just odd to think of, well, pirates functioning like any other business.
“Our greatest request from you will be genetic material for children, obviously, but no one is going to force you into anything. Our scientists are making great strides in restoring fertility to survivors made barren by the virus, among other innovations. But that is a conversation best had another time. I just want it made clear that no one will force you to do anything, and no one will use your genetic material without your consent or knowledge.”
She got the impression he was holding back, so as not to overwhelm her.
“What about…?” She couldn’t think how to phrase the question. “What expectations are there for…special duties?”
“I’m sorry?”
She could feel her face reddening; she wished her pale complexion didn’t so easily show embarrassment.
“Sex. I’m asking if it’s expected for us to—”
“No. But I’m sure you’ll be aggressively courted.”
Courted. What an odd word choice. Antiquated. She turned and looked him in the eye. “How aggressive?”
He didn’t pretend to misunderstand.
“Rape is a capital crime. Even the attempt of it is a grave offense, with equally grave consequences.” There was something in his eyes when he said it, a coldness that swept through her. This man had killed before, and he would again, without thought, instantly, if the need was there.
She contemplated him for a long moment, and then nodded. “We won’t be forced into anything, into any relationship, or any medical procedures.”
“You have my word,” he said.
“I want you to promise me that again, when we’re both awake and physically in the same room.”
He cocked his head. “Why?”
“Because then I’ll know if you’re lying.”
Chapter Four
Dem wasn’t going to be with Sanah when she woke. While her Viking was sitting safely on the Nemesis flight deck, he was up at astrogation in the CIC, standing beside Treon and Sebastian. Cannon had gone to oversee the flight deck, where the dropship would actually be brought on board, leaving behind orders for the Nemesis to jump as soon as it was secure.
Dem left that for Sebastian to handle. He was moving as soon as he came back to himself.
She must have made quite an impression. The tone in his brother’s voice was lazy, but it had a bite. Treon didn’t take rejection well.
Dem ignored him, entering the lift from the command deck at a jog, and using his telekinesis to hit the controls before he’d completely finished stepping inside.
Since when do you run to a woman? You hate women, their emotional blackmail, and their propensity for inconvenient weeping.
The taunting had Dem’s teeth grinding together, before he caught himself and forced his jaw to relax. Treon was only trying to provoke a response.
Provoke? You misunderstand me, brother. I am concerned for you. This woman has already affected you more profoundly than any I have ever seen, and you haven’t even been in her physical presence yet. What happens when she can turn her Talent against you?
Dem leaned back against the lift wall, crossing his arms over his chest. You’re wrong, he told Treon. Both women are fragile, at the moment. Distrusting, exhausted, and emotionally wrung out. He paused, his next words dry. Your concern is touching, but I am in no danger.
She is an empath.
Dem absorbed that, somehow not s
urprised. There was something about Sanah. Something soft, and at the same time, wild. He couldn’t explain it, and he couldn’t deny she intrigued him.
But the idea that she would use her gift against him was ludicrous.
Why, Treon asked, because you are a Killer, and thus, untouched by emotion? Do you forget yourself? We came of age in the same household, my brother. I know you as few others do. You are only a quarter Killer. The rest of you feels intensely, however hard you deny it. A pause. And she will know it, too.
You misjudge her.
And now you defend her? I think it is you who misjudge.
Dem shook his head, frustrated. “No,” he said aloud as the lift slid to a stop. “You were there, Treon. You read her on the dropship. You interacted with her. Tell me—is Sanah aggressive?”
That seemed to give Treon a moment’s pause. Dem enjoyed the momentary silence.
No, Treon said with great reluctance. She considers her gift passive.
“Then we are done with this line of discussion.”
I never thought I would see it.
The doors opened. Dem picked up his pace to a jog once again, making his way down the corridor to the scene he’d left only an hour ago. He sighed, wishing Treon would just go away.
See what?
Leanne was gone, thank the Mother, and Marcus’s body had been removed, but maintenance was still cleaning the blood off the floor and walls. They moved out of the way when they saw him coming.
“I need the lift,” he said aloud, stepping past the two men and using his telekinesis to keep his footfalls from touching the blood. The soles of his shoes hovered about an inch above the floor.
You losing objectivity, Treon said.
I haven’t.
He paused as he got inside, noting that while the controls were clean, there was still blood spray nearly everywhere else. He caught the gaze of the nearest maintenance worker. “This needs to be done within fifteen minutes. Finished. Not a drop of blood left, understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
He saw the men exchange a glance as the doors slid shut, and he didn’t care if the time frame seemed impossible.
Forgive me, Dem. Treon’s voice was amused. Clearly, you are shielded in titanium, immovable in your detachment.
They don’t need to see blood on the walls, Treon. Surely, you can agree to that.
Indeed. His brother’s laughter rang in his mind. But why not simply take the emergency ladders?
Treon’s presence faded, but the echo of his amusement remained. It left Dem irritated when he finally stepped out onto the flight deck. No one could get under his skin quite as easily as his brother.
The Viking was easy to spot. A crowd had gathered before it. Techs and pilots loitering, mostly. But others had found their way here as well. Word was already spreading.
Cannon was nowhere to be seen, and Dem assumed he was already inside, introducing himself and putting them at ease as only he could. Cannon’s charm was an essential part of his role, whether as captain or king. Dem stalked through the crowd, and people moved out of his way, most of them without even realizing it.
Some of his own men guarded the entrance to the shuttle. His eyes met Haggerty’s, and the other man gave him a brief nod as he passed. He ducked inside the dropship’s empty crew compartment and glimpsed Cannon ahead in the cockpit, slouching in the doorway in his most unassuming posture. Phantom was slightly beyond him, still translucent.
He heard her voice before he saw her.
"I said I was fine, Nayla. And no, not exactly. But he did answer some of my questions, and I'm feeling…like we might be able to trust these people."
“Ladies,” Cannon drawled, “welcome aboard. With your permission, I’d like to introduce you to two of our crew. But I apologize in advance for any offense they may give. Tact is not always among our virtues.”
He turned as Dem came up behind him.
“Ah, and here is the first, although I believe you have already met Dem, Sanah. He’s our head of security.”
Sanah stood beside her sister, their hands clasped between them. At first, something felt off. Different. He couldn’t place what it was. She wore the same unflattering synth-silk suit, the deep charcoal color all wrong for her pale complexion. Her face was still wane with exhaustion, her blue eyes unnaturally bright with too many stimulants. She looked at him, and it clicked. Her hair. She had it twisted back tightly at the nape of her neck, a few curls straggling around her face. In the dream, she’d worn it loose, a fiery tangle down her back.
Why such a detail should prove so distracting to him, he didn’t know. He caught the frown before it formed, managing a stiff nod.
“It’s good to meet you in person,” she said. “That promise you made to me—will you repeat it here?”
“I will.” He met her eyes and held out his hand. After a slight hesitation, she took it. The connection was instantaneous. Dem didn’t know what she felt from him, but he tried to keep his shields moderate, or she’d think he was lying.
For his part, he’d never felt such an instant connection. She had shields, but she allowed him past them, at a depth he hadn’t expected. He didn’t look at any of the darker places in her mind; he wasn’t here to uncover her secrets. But everything on the surface, everything that Sanah was to the people in her life, the traits that made her who she was, he suddenly knew those. An overt personality, warm with love and laughter. She craved a connection to the people around her, but she sometimes balked at what she learned. She wanted to believe the best of people, even knowing she shouldn’t.
It was an outlook that was unnatural to him.
“I give you my word. You will not be forced into anything, whether that means physically, mentally, or medically.”
“Thank you,” she said quietly as she relinquished his hand. Dem found himself strangely reluctant to pull away.
“Medically?” her sister asked. He shifted his attention briefly to her.
It was obvious the two were sisters. Aside from a couple of superficial physical characteristics, they looked a great deal alike. Same long legs and curves, same pale skin, almond-shaped eyes, and dusting of freckles across their cheeks. Nayla looked even more exhausted than Sanah, her eyes red and swollen in addition to the tired shadows around them. She had long, straight hair so dark it was almost black.
“Yes. Perhaps your sister should explain that particular piece to you,” he said, keeping his voice even and calm. He glanced at Sanah, and she gave him a very small nod of agreement.
“We’re really going to stay here?” Nayla turned to her sister.
“Niall will look for us, Nayla. Our best chance of remaining hidden might be here, with these people. And if he does find us, they’ve promised to protect us.”
“I suppose…”
“Nayla.” She looked over when Dem said her name. “I’m sorry, but I must ask. Were you serious about taking your own life, or was that merely a scare tactic?”
“She was just scared,” Phantom quickly said. “She wouldn’t have done it.”
Dem was good at reading people; he saw the truth on Nayla’s face before she sent a grateful look toward Phantom. Something in him went cold.
Phantom, you may go. Dem didn’t take his gaze away from Nayla. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Phantom stiffen slightly at the dismissal, but he knew better than to argue. Nayla watched him fade away, clutching her sister’s hand tighter.
“Well?” Dem prodded. “I will hear the answer from you.” He did not want to be cruel, but this was too important to let go. His tone was one of command, unyielding. Nayla dropped her eyes.
“If you worked for Niall,” she said reluctantly, “you’d have let Sanah—us—go before you let me pull the trigger. He values me. My Talent, anyway.”
Dem didn’t miss her slip. She’d have bartered herself to save her sister.
“And he doesn’t value your sister’s?”
“Empathy is a passive gift,” Sanah said, re
peating what Treon had told him almost word for word. She really didn’t understand the strength of her own gift. She was looking at Dem with troubled eyes, and he knew she was sensing the emotions behind her sister’s words.
Dem shared a look with Cannon. Very few people knew that Cannon was actually an empath. He understood exactly what that particular Talent was capable of.
I’ll have to teach her, Cannon said, while on a tight mental thread to Dem. She has no understanding of what she can do.
And Nayla? What is her Talent?
Something, Cannon said, that has Doc more excited than I’ve ever seen him.
Doc? Excited? Dem was in disbelief. Doc didn’t get excited. He got angry. Irritated. He didn’t laugh. He barely smiled. Even when faced with the direst of circumstances, nothing moved him much. Dem couldn’t imagine him excited about anything.
The girl is biokinetic.
Dem didn’t have a chance to absorb that and respond before Doc was suddenly there, pushing his way into the room. He couldn’t blame Haggerty for letting their chief physician by. No one wanted to be on his bad side. He had, on more than one occasion, refused treatment based solely on how much someone pissed him off.
Right now, he was staring at Nayla with a rapt expression. He held his field kit loosely in one hand, setting it down at his feet without taking his gaze away from the girl. His dark, narrow eyes were actually wide with a kind of reverent wonder Dem had never before seen him display. His straight, black hair looked disheveled, as though he hadn’t bothered to comb it between his bed and here.
Doc muttered to himself, low and fervently in the language of his ancestors. The language was old enough to no longer be in common use. Unfortunately, since it didn’t fall within the top one thousand dialects used within the Commonwealth, the translator booster of nanites everyone received in infancy didn’t include it. Doc took full advantage of this to insult people in terms they couldn’t understand as often as possible. It was also something he did during stressful situations. Or, apparently, when he met what amounted to a miracle embodied in a sixteen-year-old girl.
Cannon shrugged. See? I think he wants to adopt her.