Maverick

by Cheryl Brooks

  Why now when they’d lived apart for so many years? Why not during all the time they’d spent growing up together? Perhaps she needed to be away from him to understand what was going on with him. Although even if she’d known, she couldn’t have helped him cope—not when she had so much trouble dealing with her own powers.

  No doubt their mother could have helped him, although if he’d confided in Tisana, they had both kept the secret incredibly well. And with an empath in the family, keeping secrets was no easy task. Still, he could’ve at least told her about it instead of insisting he didn’t have any powers. In a way, his actions betrayed a lack of trust, which made her hope she was wrong about him.

  Unfortunately, she didn’t think she was.

  For the first time since Larry had coerced her into leaving Barada Seven, she was actually looking forward to going to Rhylos. Thinking about Aidan made her realize just how much she missed him, and she could hardly wait to see him again.

  Too bad Larry’s girlfriend would also be there waiting for him.

  “So, Friday,” she began, “who’s manning the ship?”

  “Larry and Brak are both currently on the bridge,” the computer replied.

  “You know something, I just figured out the best time to hang out with them.”

  “When they’re together?” Friday suggested.

  “Yeah. Dunno why I didn’t think of it before. Having the three of us in the same room will eliminate all sorts of awkward discussions. That way we can focus on rescuing Dartula and Keplok, which is what we should be doing anyway.”

  “I believe you are correct.”

  “You know all about the, um, interpersonal relationships that are going on here, don’t you?”

  “I hear and record everything that is said aboard this vessel,” Friday said, which was probably the most diplomatic version of yes ever generated by a computer.

  Althea grimaced. “I was afraid of that. You can keep a secret, though. Can’t you?” Please say you can.

  “I do not provide information unless it is requested. However, if I am asked a direct question—”

  “You have to tell the truth. Gotcha.” She tapped her chin while trying to recall if she’d ever said anything about her feelings for Larry aloud. She’d done an awful lot of drooling, and the urge to bite him had been almost overwhelming. However, to the best of her recollection, she had never bared her soul to Brak, and she thanked the gods she hadn’t said anything to Larry. She’d only told Larry that Brak had a crush on him, and she’d told Brak what she’d said to Larry. Larry knew about Brak’s feelings, and Brak knew he knew, but Larry didn’t know Brak knew he knew. At least, she didn’t think he did. The gods only knew what they talked about when she wasn’t with them.

  “Damn, this is getting complicated,” she muttered.

  Fortunately, Friday didn’t comment on that observation, which probably meant she agreed. Or didn’t care. Thus far, she was the most straightforward and businesslike computer Althea had ever encountered.

  Her secret was safe for now. As long as she didn’t let her feelings show, Larry would never suspect a thing. Commiserating with Brak was strictly taboo. And for Friday to remain in the dark, all Althea had to do was keep her mouth shut. No one would ever know.

  Except me.

  Chapter 12

  This wasn’t the first time Althea had entered a room knowing she’d walked in on a discussion about her. The uneasy atmosphere on the bridge wasn’t too astonishing. As creeped out as most people were about sharing space with an empath, she shouldn’t have been surprised, and yet she was. A little.

  “Find out anything more about JR-51?” she asked.

  “Not much,” Larry replied. “Apparently, it’s mostly desert. I’m sure there are other plants, but the pictures we found didn’t show anything other than sand, rock, and a few gnarly-looking trees. As I mentioned before, there isn’t much fresh water. The gods only know how anything survives there. The oceans are more like oversized lakes with a salt content about a hundred times that of the typical sea.”

  Althea took a seat at the weapons console, which seemed to be her station of choice for some peculiar reason. Perhaps it was because she was in a “take no prisoners” mood. Or not. “Makes you wonder why anyone would fight over it, doesn’t it?”

  “I suppose there might be something of value there, but if anyone knows what it is, they aren’t saying.”

  Althea shrugged. “It’s beginning to seem like your original theory is correct.”

  “Could be.” Larry returned his focus to whatever it was he’d been doing without even looking up. Was he distracted, or was he ignoring her?

  “Heard anything from the castaways?”

  His chuckle brightened her spirits as well as the room. “Only numerous variations of ‘Where the devil are you?’ Which I’m guessing isn’t automated, unless their computer has an overly colorful vocabulary.”

  “Getting kinda antsy, huh?”

  “Maybe, although I’m chalking it up to the usual Statzeelian grumpiness. Even with his Zetithian blood, Keplok is wound pretty tight.”

  “Guess that breeding program of theirs still needs some work.” She’d have to be careful around their half siblings if she didn’t want the infamous Statzeelian ire directed toward her. Although she’d never been able to keep quiet when she got riled up about something.

  “Could be.” Larry’s attention drifted again, making her consider returning to her quarters for another round of murder mysteries.

  Brak was also conspicuously silent, busily tapping controls with both eyes riveted to the display on the screen in front of him. If he’d somehow managed to clear the air with Larry, it didn’t show. The emotional vibrations emanating from him ranged from embarrassment to frank irritation.

  “You doing okay, Brak?”

  “I am perfectly well now, thank you. However, I shall have to refrain from indulging in cheeseburgers for a while.”

  Althea smiled. “Guess that means I should only bring you six of them next time.”

  His response to that was an atonal hum and a barely perceptible flutter of his antennae.

  She drummed her fingers on the console, stopping abruptly when she strayed too close to the launch button. “Well, since you guys are so busy, I’ll get out of your hair.”

  Contrary to her previous misgivings, she was actually looking forward to picking up the Statzeelians. They, at least, might be a bit chattier than her current shipmates. Even an argument with a prickly Statzeelian would’ve been welcome at this point.

  Larry responded with another absent nod, until a moment later, he sat bolt upright in his chair. “Sorry, Al. I’m a little preoccupied.”

  “Trying to figure out how to get their ship up and running again?”

  “Yeah. Something tells me it would be much easier than having five people living aboard this ship.”

  “I thought there was room for a larger crew.”

  “There is, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I want to test the theory.” Despite a pained expression that spoke for him, he added, “You haven’t met Keplok.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “We will be landing on the planet shortly,” Brak said.

  Althea frowned. “Didn’t you say it was going to take two days?”

  A rustling of his wings accompanied the assenting wave of his antennae. “Thanks to my superior navigation skills, we shall be arriving much sooner than my original estimate.”

  “Really? I’m impressed.”

  Larry snorted. “Don’t be. He did that for months when he first started this job—multiplying his estimates by at least a factor of two, sometimes three. I was impressed myself, until I finally caught on to his strategy.” He arched a brow at his navigator. “Thought we’d gotten past that.”

  Brak’s wings lifted ever so slightly. “Automa
tic response to a new shipmate.”

  “Uh-huh. Sure.”

  Apparently, Althea really couldn’t read Brak like a book, or she would’ve known he was stretching the truth. She was somewhat mystified until she reminded herself that Brak was an insect and, as such, probably had different emotional patterns than the average mammalian life-form. Either that or he’d somehow managed to block her, which, while a pretty neat trick in itself, suggested a deliberate act on his part. Then again, he might have simply been an incredibly good liar. Hopefully the same wouldn’t be true of the Statzeelians.

  “If that’s the case,” Larry said, “do you want to do the honors, Al?”

  “Why not?” At the very least, piloting would give her something to do to warrant remaining on the bridge.

  Larry rose from the pilot’s seat and waved her toward it with a sweeping gesture and polite bow. “Be my guest.”

  She glanced at Brak. “So…how far away are we really?”

  “Two thousand kilometers and closing.”

  “Good thing you said something before the autopilot crashed us into the planet,” Larry grumbled. “If you’d still been asleep—”

  “Not much of an autopilot if it lets you crash,” Brak snapped. “Besides, I told you in plenty of time. Why else do you think I got up so early?”

  “You said it was because you couldn’t sleep,” Larry accused.

  Brak waved a pincer. “I was merely maintaining the illusion.”

  Althea couldn’t help smiling. Listening to these two go at it was the most fun she’d had in ages. The thought of spending the rest of her life—

  I can’t be thinking stuff like that.

  “Don’t worry about it, Brak,” she said as she settled in behind the controls. “No harm done.” As she’d noted before, the ship responded instantly to the slightest touch on the console. “I could grow to love this ship.” Although she was mainly talking to herself, a habit she’d developed after years of living virtually alone in the jungle, Larry obviously heard her.

  He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, sending tendrils of warmth flowing through her body from the point of contact. “I know just what you mean. I fell for the Stooge at first sight, and if that hadn’t done it, the first time I flew her would have sealed the deal.”

  Starships were like that. You either loved them or you didn’t. Some were sluggish, almost grudging in their response, while others were nimble and lively. In the old days, yachtsmen would have said that a ship like the Stooge was yare, meaning one that was quick to the helm and easily maneuvered. The Stooge was all that and then some—truly a pleasure to fly.

  The ship was wonderful; Larry was the distraction. She hated to tell him to back off, but his scent and his close proximity were ruining her concentration. Instead of shrugging his hand away, she smiled up at him, fully intending to say something to that effect until her gaze landed on his smiling face and the words died on her lips.

  Mistake.

  The tug on her heart nearly choked her—surely that was to blame for the ache in her throat and the tears stinging her eyes. Looking at Larry had never made her cry before. Very few things did. If she’d ever been a crybaby, growing up as the only girl among several male children would’ve cured her.

  This was different.

  Every emotion she could possibly feel for a man conspired against her weakening control. Her mouth watered with desire; if he didn’t step back soon, her resistance would fail, and she would sink her fangs into the base of his neck with a satisfying snarl.

  A brief frown replaced his smile as he gave her shoulder a quick squeeze. “I’ll leave you to it.” And then he was gone, taking his alluring presence with him. Only his scent lingered to tease her roiling emotions.

  Three slow, deep breaths cleared her head, enabling her to focus her attention on the ship, which was so enticingly yare.

  * * *

  Larry might as well have stuck his hand in a fire. Despite a glance at his palm that proved the skin wasn’t scorched, invisible flames spread up his arm to flood his body before landing in his groin like a pile of glowing embers. His swift, powerful erection forced him to clench his teeth against a howl of anguish.

  Beyond doubt, he’d inhaled the scent of her desire.

  Desire? From Althea?

  How could that possibly be?

  His body’s response to feminine desire had never been so intense, creating an overwhelming need to mate with her. No one had ever affected him as strongly, not Celeste or any of the other ladies who had so openly lusted after him. He’d always known most of those cravings were purely because of what rather than who he was. Being Zetithian herself, Althea should’ve been immune.

  Apparently, she wasn’t. Even without her scent, he’d seen the longing in her eyes.

  What the devil am I going to do now?

  Distance. He needed distance. If he couldn’t inhale her intoxicating scent, his thoughts wouldn’t be so muddled.

  Muddled, hell. He wasn’t the least bit confused. He knew precisely what he wanted to do. Tear the clothing from her body with his fangs and dive into her dick-first.

  Celeste. He loved Celeste. At least he thought he did. She was beautiful, intelligent, and kind, and she loved him.

  Or so she’d claimed. As he retreated to the science station, which was as far away from the pilot’s location as he could get without leaving the bridge, he could scarcely contain a bark of sardonic laugher. Asking Al to read Celeste’s feelings toward him was like consulting the police on the best way to rob a bank.

  He began a scan of the surface, ostensibly to search for potential landing sites, but mainly to help him regain focus. Slowly, his heart and respiratory rates returned to normal. Finding a smooth spot on the desert sand took far less time. “Looks like the best place to set down is about a tenth of a kilometer from their position. I’m sending you the coordinates.”

  A moment later, she nodded. “Got ’em, thanks.”

  After that, all he could do was sit there and try not to watch while she worked—a task that turned out to be completely impossible.

  She was smart and sexy, a bit prickly perhaps, but that was part of her charm. Why had he never seen that before? He’d always liked her. But did he love her, or were his feelings simply chemistry?

  He stared at her until his dry, scratchy eyes forced him to blink. Only then did he realize he didn’t know the answer to either question.

  Did he owe it to himself to try? Or should he remain true to Celeste no matter what?

  Yet another dilemma…

  Between wondering what in the name of Hektat he was going to do about Brak’s unrequited love and trying to figure out what was bothering Althea—although he was fairly certain he knew what her problem was now—on top of dealing with his testy half brother’s troubles and who knew what sort of crap he’d be facing once they got to Palorka, he was worn pretty thin.

  Somewhere, somehow, he needed a release of some sort, and Rhylos was a long damn way off.

  The obvious short-term choice was to have sex with Al—a woman who’d always seemed more like a sister to him than a potential mate.

  Was mate even the right word? Well, yeah, it probably was. If he was going to consort with Al, it was going to have to be a forever thing, because if he caused her any heartbreak, he would have her parents to answer to as well as his own. She wouldn’t want a casual fling anyway. Zetithian men might engage in meaningless sex, but the women rarely did that sort of thing, and her Mordrial blood made it even less likely.

  I’m thinking too much.

  That was nothing new. Problem solving required a considerable amount of mental energy, and repair work was what he did, what he’d always done. Most of all, he enjoyed fixing things without anyone knowing he’d done it. Especially his mother. He’d always gotten such a kick out of her amazement when some somet
hing that had been glitchy or broken suddenly and inexplicably began working perfectly again. He missed that.

  Being paid to rebuild comsystems had eliminated a modicum of fun from his work, but having satisfied customers made him feel almost as good. Now he had more stuff—and people—to fix than he knew what to do with.

  One step at a time.

  If he had a personal motto, that was surely it. The solutions usually revealed themselves eventually, although not always at the right moment. Sleeping on a puzzle worked as well as any strategy, leaving his brain alone to sort things out by itself. Unfortunately, he didn’t have that luxury at the moment. Not with JR-51 looming ahead in the viewscreen.

  He had no qualms whatsoever about handing over the helm to Althea. She would land the ship without fuss or flamboyance, setting it down so gently, even a glass of water filled to the brim wouldn’t spill. His eyes moistened with tears as he recalled how she could slip the Jolly Roger through a planet’s atmosphere and land without waking their infant siblings. Even Jack or Curly couldn’t do it as smoothly.

  Aw, hell…

  He’d always loved Althea. He simply hadn’t recognized the emotion for what it was. No wonder he’d questioned his involvement with Celeste. Except her motivations weren’t the issue.

  His were.

  The question now was whether to break her heart or Althea’s. He certainly couldn’t mate with both of them, so a choice had to be made.

  Like there was ever any contest.

  “You’re doing great, Al. See what I mean about the controls?”

  “Sure do,” she replied. “Curly was right. They’re idiotproof.”

  Maybe. Although Althea wasn’t an idiot, not by a long shot. She was an artist. With her touch, she could’ve coaxed a smooth flight out of the worst bucket of bolts in the galaxy.

  His mouth fell open, and his lungs filled with an exquisitely slow inhale as he imagined what her touch would do to him. On his face, his body, and most excitingly, his cock—and every other erogenous zone he possessed.