by Bex McLynn
"Welcome back." Therion smiled—or at least, she thought he meant to smile. He looked like hell. His lips took on more of a twisted grimace. A deep cut on his cheek oozed magenta blood. His uniform was torn.
"What happened?" She raised a hand to shield her face, the lights once again too bright for her sore eyes and pounding head.
"You fucked shit up. Brilliantly. That's what happened."
"Huh?" She blinked, trying to focus. Sharp dings, like hail on the roof of a car, distracted her.
"Oh, where do I begin?" Therion sighed deeply. "Well, once upon a time, there was a young, dashing acting cachemaster named—"
"Therion, shut the fuck up," Wies said. He still wore his armor, but had his visor retracted, revealing his stern face. "Feldser said you could sit with her as long as you followed Lekar's orders. Keep her calm."
"I am keeping her calm. I'm telling her a bedtime tale."
Seph gingerly craned her neck because the weight of the helmet bothered her. At least the visor was retracted. She still wore most of her flex armor—only her hands were free of the gauntlets—and phantom spiders still scurried lightly over her skin.
She shivered.
Wies, circling her like a hawk, said, "Doin' all right, Seph?"
"Yes," she said without thinking about it.
If she examined herself too closely, she might not like the results of her assessment. At this moment, she was better than she had been. She'd count that as a win.
Wies gave her a hard, wary look before tucking his chin to mumble into his C-Cune.
Then he said, "Feldser will be right over."
"Then why'd you bother asking?" Seph asked.
"Just doing my job," he said with a curve of his lips that soften his words.
And it worked. She wasn't angry at him, just mildly irritated.
"Shall I continue my tale?" Therion asked as he stroked lightly over her eyebrows. It would have felt oddly intimate if he hadn't been smirking.
Seph's eyes drooped closed. "Please do. But first, is the battle over? Is Rannik safe? The thane?"
Therion scoffed and said, "That wasn't a battle, Seph. That was a mere tussle. And Rannik is wonderfully annoying, just like always. Deleo wasn't even boarded. And the Thanemonger kicked ass."
"Good." She exhaled, her breath ragged. "I'm tired, Ther."
"I know, Seph."
She curled into him, relishing the fact he didn't wear any armor. She wasn't belittling Wies. She literally owed that man her life—plus her second-born, her grandma's secret turkey gumbo recipe, and her special edition Star Wars Monopoly game. He'd earned it all by protecting her with his own body. But right now, Therion gave her touch and much-needed normalcy via aggravation. Her brother would have done the same, would have riled her out of her mood. She adored Therion right now.
Ding. Ding. Like gravel thrown against metal siding.
She instinctively cringed to avoid being hit. "What is that noise?"
Ding. Ding.
"What noise?" Therion sounded ridiculous, too solicitous and relaxed.
Ding. Ding.
"That noise, Ther. The dinging. I know you hear it. If I hear it, it must sound like someone's crashing cymbals in your ears."
Ding. Ding.
"Oh, that noise. It's nothing."
She rocked back to look at him. "That very much sounds like something. Are we still under attack?"
"Nope. We're fine."
"Therion." She shoved at him, which as always did nothing. "Tell me."
"But I have to keep you calm. Wies said that Feldser said that Lekar said so."
"Do I sound calm right now?" She pitched her voice higher.
"No, so be good or you'll get me into trouble. And for once, I'm not doing anything. Now, hush. Let the dingy dings drift you off to sleep."
"Ther, if I know what is happening, then I won't imagine what could be happening." She gazed up at him, hoping he'd see her dilemma. "If I don't know, then I worry. And when I worry..."
Therion studied her intently. "I admire your shrewd shaming, Seph. Very well. The marauders are in full retreat, bunch of cowards. And the mutineers—the ones that didn't high tail it outta here with the marauders—are being rounded up and tossed into the brig. It's kinda like pulling fish from a barrel. We override some locked hatches, and there they are, sprawled on the floor, waiting to be dragged to the brig."
"Huh?"
Therion sighed. "See, I knew I should have started at the beginning. All right, so, once upon a time—"
The wall of fleetmen parted, and Submedic Feldser, who also wore his armor, dropped down next to them.
Ding. Ding. Much closer. In fact, the sound was practically on top of them.
"How are you feeling, Seph?" Feldser asked as he retracted his helmet visor and brought forth a scanner. "Any headaches? Nausea?"
"My head hurts." Then Seph rushed to ask, "What is that noise?"
"A damn nuisance," Feldser said. "The engineers are trying to disarm it."
"Disarm?"
"Hey!" Therion said. "I'm telling the tale!"
"Darts," Feldser said.
Ding. Ding.
"Darts?"
Seph listened, focusing on the sound. Indeed, the men forming a barricade around them were pelted by darts. She cast her gaze toward the deck and saw gray darts scattered everywhere.
Feldser consulted the scanner. He set it aside, and keeping inside the protective barricade, slid his gauntlet off. He took Seph's hand. "Squeeze for me, please."
She obliged. He repeated with the other hand.
"I can give you something for the headache. Do you have any tingling sensations in your legs? Chest?"
Her skin crawled. "Can I take the flex armor off?"
"Negative. Not until Engineering shuts down the darts." Feldser frowned, then consulted the scanner again. "I'm not registering any bleeding or broken bones."
"It's uncomfortable." Seph shivered again. "My skin doesn't feel right."
Ding. Ding.
"Ah, armor itch," Therion said. "Very common. Plagues green recruits all the time. You get used to it."
"We'll get you out of the armor as soon as we receive the all clear." Felder covered up again. "Just hold steady."
"Holding steady."
Zver stood in the corridor, a few paces back from the open hatch, and watched his systemsmaster stroll across Prykimis's bridge, one end to the other.
"Damnedest thing, Thane," Laptrin said, arms outstretched, making himself a larger target.
Whereas the rest of the bridge crew had been darted and passed out on the floor, Laptrin, his systemsmaster, was dartless and still standing. As Zver approached the hatch, the ceiling turret—that wasn't there before, but was very much there now—smoothly targeted him and fired off a series of tiny darts. All bounced off his armor.
Ding. Ding.
As Laptrin crossed into the line of fire, the darts stopped.
Interesting.
"Do you have any theories, Laptrin?" he asked him.
Laptrin frowned, his expression perplexed. "No, Thane."
Therion hadn't been darted either.
Neither had Seph.
Wies and most of his guard unit, ignored.
With half his officers unconscious—including Mernok lying somewhere in Engineering—getting answers would take time.
Just because the marauders were on the run didn't mean they'd not return. Prykimis was a tempting target. At the very least, he anticipated the marauders running maneuvers to test the responsiveness of the railguns. Fine. He'd deal with it.
The men he sent to the weapons deck had reported that the railguns were silent. Not offline, but in standby mode. Interesting. Prykimis needed a hands-on, thorough assessment, posthaste.
He wanted to give Seph the same hands-on treatment. Personally assure himself that she wasn't harmed. It wasn't enough to see her cradled in Therion's lap when his team left Grondin for Feldser to examine. He wanted her in his arms. He wanted
to feel her heat, know that she was whole and well.
Hold steady.
But he needed to power down those turrets.
Ding. Ding.
Laptrin returned to the console and flew through the screens. "Thane, I've been studying Athelasan systems for years."
More like a decade, by Zver's estimation. Laptrin was young for an officer and reminded him of Rannik. Since no other house valued an Athelasan enthusiast, Laptrin went from Fleet Academe directly into service with House Borac.
Laptrin paused his fingers. "I've never heard of internal weapons systems. This is..."
"Incredible," Zver said.
"And the way Prykimis lit up... The way she came alive..."
"Like a starburst." Hell, he started musing again, overlapping thoughts of Seph while Laptrin spoke about the ship.
"Huh, starburst, yeah." Laptrin smiled, looking like a young man, both infatuated and energized at the same time. "Just like the new clade."
"New clade?"
Ding. Ding.
"Yeah," Laptrin said, a big grin on his face until he looked at Zver and saw his reproachful frown. Laptrin cleared his throat and continued. "Rannik started a clade."
He was aware.
"There was a newer code included. 'Starburst.'"
Of which he was also aware. Seph's handle.
Ding. Ding.
"Never seen an Athela in a clade before."
Indeed not, but it was far better than a clutch.
"So I joined." Laptrin shrugged and turned his attention back to his console. "Some others joined, too. Therion joined."
Ding. Ding.
"Work the mechanics of the problem, Laptrin," he said in an effort to redirect his systemsmaster's mental energies.
"Oh, aye, Thane." He turned back to the console but paused again. "Thane, Wies, he joined, too."
"Laptrin?"
The young officer stood, eyes wide. "Everyone who wasn't darted... They joined Rannik's clade."
Zver's mind raced. The ship treated it more as Seph's clade. He'd bet, well, he knew precisely what he'd bet.
With a thought, he fired off his own scrum code to Rannik. His son, needing to do something, else he'd crack, was awake, monitoring a console on Deleo. Rannik accepted him into the clade.
Ding—.
The turret stood down.
He went to remove his helmet.
"Wait, Thane!" Varlet was there, staying his hand. "Rannik just accepted me as well. Let me."
"Unacceptable, Varlet." And it was. He refused to allow his people to make sacrifices or undertake risks that he himself would not do.
"Thane," Varlet said firmly. "With all due respect, if one of us will be unconscious—" He flicked his eyes on the turret. "It should be me. Too many officers are down."
He frowned, even swore. "Very well, Varlet. Carry on."
"Aye, Thane."
Varlet began popping off one of his bracers, and Zver huffed at his own asinine blunder. There he was, pulling off his helmet, inviting a dart to the eye. At least Varlet had the sense to offer up his forearm.
One bracer off. Then the other. His aide turned, giving the turret his back as he removed his chest carapace. Nothing. The turret remained still.
Well. He'd be damned.
"Wies," he said into his C-Cune while pulling off his helmet. "Are you, personally, under fire from the dart turret?"
"Negative, Thane."
"Anyone else?"
"Keibin. Frouros. Sowar. All being ignored."
"Therion?"
"Him too, Thane."
"Use your team's secure channel. Have them join Rannik's clade."
"Aye, Thane."
If he had the capacity to adore his men, he'd adore Wies. No questions. No chatter. Just 'Aye, Thane.' Zver passed along orders to his remaining, conscious officers to join the clade. Then he ordered them all to silence.
His chest swelled. Seph did this. She rained down on the marauders with her hell and fury. Protected her clade.
Swiftly, that pride curdled in his belly. By Unholy Unholde, she lit up a spirenought. Single-handedly charged a battleship. She probably had no idea what she'd done. No idea what this meant. The Teras Dominion, Teras Tactical, the Trine? They would never let her go.
Chapter Nineteen
Seph played opossum and simply listened. She basked in the sound of his thunderous voice. It thrummed through her whole body, leaving her lusciously kneaded and limp.
God, she'd bottle his voice if she could.
He didn't want to wake her, the low register of his voice indicative of his consideration. Which was wonderful, because she didn't want him to know she was awake. If he did, he might think that he disturbed her sleep and would leave her. She didn't want to sleep. Suspected she might have slept more than a lifetime's worth already.
The words stasis pod crept over her skin, raising her fine hairs.
But enough of that.
She listened to the debriefing—well, Zver's side of the debriefing. Prykimis, once again, had systems offline. Also, only half of her crew remained. The rest either fled with the retreating marauders or sat in the brig as mutineers. The remaining one-hundred or so steadfast crew members had started to regain consciousness. The dart turrets, however, still fired upon anyone either not in Rannik's clade or not locked up in the brig. Zver, in his thanest move yet, took the reins of the clade and restricted who could join.
I fire...
She'd dwell on that later.
Right now, her head felt clear and her skin didn't crawl. The dreaded armor was off. She had showered before tucking into the Athel Chamber bunk. She planned to just lie there, to listen to him drone on and on, and to forget the world. She wondered, if she asked him, would he just lie there with her? Side by side. Wasting time. Limbs entangled. No strings attached.
Her heart skipped as her lips tugged into a smile.
Zver. Relaxed. Disheveled.
Never in this world.
"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked softly—which was still a low rumble, like distant thunder.
Her eyelids fluttered open. She almost moaned. He sounded so delicious.
She rolled to face him, faintly cognizant of an overlarge shirt covering her body.
He leaned against the wall. Arms crossed over his broad chest. Feet braced apart. He wore wrinkled pants and no jacket. His arms and feet were bare, praal wildly spread over his golden skin. Ten toes. How wonderfully banal. This was Zver as informal as she'd ever seen him.
He dipped his head, green-gold eyes intense.
"Seph." His voice rumbled.
Her response—holding up the bunk sheet and inviting him inside.
His eyes flashed as he surged off the wall, arm muscles bulging, rippling his praal, as if to snatch her up. Then he froze, assessing her. Having doubts.
"Just for a bit," she said, negotiating with him.
Keeping his eyes locked onto hers, his fingers lighted over his WristCune screen, and then he unstrapped the device as casually as a man would remove a watch before going to bed.
Her chest ached at the sight of him.
The bunk dipped, and his scent hit her—crisp and spiced, the best fragrances of winter.
She twined her limbs with his and nestled her nose deep into the crook of his neck and shoulder.
"I don't want to talk about it," she said, her voice throaty, pitched low like his.
"Seph." He breathed into her hair, scenting her.
Her fingertips connected with his skin and she sighed. Her exhalation released her banked worries, spilled them before someone who would pick up the pieces. She waited for him to move—to pick her up or to step aside.
"Seph," he said again, her name pulling from his gut. "I choose you."
She could hear it in his voice. He wanted to say more but held back. Seph was not a seductress, so she kept it simple. She knew how damn good his hands felt, and she wanted his touch.
She rubbed her cheek against his skin.
"I know. You don't clutch," she said, ignoring the ache in her chest. "I'm not asking for that, Zver. I just want you, too."
He stilled. She felt his muscles tense, but he didn't squeeze her. He breathed once. Twice. Oh god, would he turn her away?
He moaned, long and low, and rolled her onto her back.
"Seph." He pressed his lips against her crown. "Seph." His lips to her nose. "Seph." Lips on lips.
"Zver," she said, then kissed his neck. "Zver." Again, a kiss to his jaw.
They exchanged names and kisses. They traveled slowly to the places they'd explored before, clothes making way for mouths and hands.
When his lips closed over her nipple, she arched. Her fingers burrowed into his soft bristled hair, grazing his scalp and holding him exactly where she wanted him. He splayed his hands, palms flat against her back, and lifted her up, his mouth igniting her skin. She opened her legs wide, inviting him inside, and when his cock brushed against her opening, they both moaned in pleasure.
"Brace, Seph," he said against her skin as he started to pull away.
"No." She chanted the word a million times, digging her fingers into the tight muscles of his ass. Not that horrid chair. "Stay."
She risked losing her hold on him and brushed one hand down his chest. She pressed along his cobblestone abs, traveling straight to his hard cock. She positioning him at her entrance.
"Zver, please."
With a deep groan, he drove his hips forward, his bulbous tip parting her folds, and breached her.
Oh god.
She was so wet, dripping even, but she still needed him to go slow. She ached with emptiness, and her pussy grasped at him, its eager welcoming hindering his entrance. He'd push, pause, and push again, his cock stretching her open. Each press forward had her expelling breath, as if to make room for him.
He stopped and panted over her. But she still felt so empty.
"More, Zver." She wiggled her hips and spread her legs wider. "More."
He pressed his chin to his chest, eyes locked on where they connected.
"Fuck, Seph." He sounded both pained and awed. "You're taking me."