Page 11

Jos spent a brutal hour calming his grandmother down. It was the initial worry of not knowing who had taken him or why, he decided. Once she fully understood the Pruxn? connection, her rancor had become show. He finally told her, more bluntly than he’d intended, that at least this way she’d get those great-grands she’d been prodding him to have.

The sly gleam in her eyes had been hard to miss.

Q Command was not so easily placated. His uncle, the current High Commander, had called personally to chew Jos out. Only after a lengthy tirade in which the High Commander had threatened to bring Jos up on charges ranging from dereliction of duty to high treason, none of which were applicable, had he calmed down. Jos had remained silent and steely jawed throughout, the only appropriate reaction a Q-merc could have when a superior officer went on a rampage.

As soon as his uncle had calmed, Jos had looked him dead in the eye and requested leave.

It had been granted with a cold smile.

He sensed his grandmother’s hand there as well. Stars, the things he endured for Tyelu.

After, he’d officially filed for emergency leave through the proper channels and packed his gear. The only thing left to do was brief his dal. They would continue searching for Sweepers under Magda’s command while he played footsie with the princess , as his First had put it.

He was doing more than playing footsie and Magda knew it. How far he was willing to take it remained to be seen. As far as participating in a Pruxn? Choosing? Yes, he would fight for Tyelu there. They melded well enough to risk a long-term commitment, and her connections assured a good political fit. Love had nothing to do with that, though he suspected his heart would fall for his prickly princess, if he let it.

Maybe it already had.

But would he go so far as to seal their mating with his own culture’s rituals? Would he take the mating marks for her, the tattoos etched into each mate’s flesh with Domorian ink to bind them forever? Would he risk such a deep bond, the way Emler had, knowing that if he or Tyelu died, as Emler’s mate had died, that the other would feel that death as if it were their own? Knowing that the surviving mate would have to endure that pain for the rest of their natural life?

Could he truly ask Tyelu to go through that ritual when he threw himself headlong into danger on official orders and whim alike?

His internal comms pinged a request for a connection with Captain Coppev. Jos opened it in voice mode. “What is it, Gage?”

“We’ve spotted a large nest of Sweepers. One mother ship, two children.”

Jos swore under his breath. Frekking Sweepers. “Where?”

“They just jumped in system.”

“How long until contact?”

“Too long, Jos. We intercepted a mayday from Yarinska . They’re the closest target to the nest.”

Jos’s heart leapt into his throat. Tyelu . And his frekking armor was still on her brother’s ship.

“What are your orders, Q’Mhel?” Gage said.

“Transport me to Yarinska . Let Magda decide how to handle the rest. I’m officially on leave as of half an hour ago.”

“Enjoy the honeymoon.”

Jos grabbed his gear, one bag in each hand, and braced himself for transport. Funny guy, that Coppev. His timing was just as bad as Tyelu’s.

Just before the transport, he caught the beginning of a ship wide announcement.

“Alert, alert! Sweepers attacking a private—”

He didn’t need to hear the rest to know how much danger Tyelu and her family were in.

Tyelu hunkered down in the cargo bay, hoping against hope that someone could respond to their mayday in time to render aid. A faint, wistful longing sighed out of her. Jos and his dal would come in handy right now. Too bad he’d disappeared without a trace.

A loud clank echoed through the hull, and Tyelu cut her emotions off at the root. She’d never taken on three Sweeper ships on her own. Not many had outside of a well-staffed army, let alone a single retired Queen’s Guard armed with three handheld blasters and eight extra battery packs.

So, she would make do, fighting as hard as she could to give Ryn and Ziri a chance. If she could just hold the Sweepers off long enough for help to arrive. If Ziri could hold their course toward Lodem. If a stray ship heard their mayday and answered it.

If, if, if.

Tyelu thought of one more: if they made it through this alive, she would personally see to it that Yarinska was outfitted with enough weaponry to fend off even three Sweeper ships.

The electric zing of a too-close transport raised the hairs on the back of her neck. She jerked around, blaster primed and ready, and watched Jos shimmer into view holding a duffel in each hand, the lines of his face set in granite.

The sight shocked her so much, she blurted out the first thing to pop into her head. “You came back!”

“I always meant to.”

“How was I supposed to know that?”

His expression wobbled before settling into grim lines. “I’m sorry. I thought you’d figured it out already.”

Her heart fluttered hopefully against her ribs. “Figured what out?”

“That I will always come back for you.”

He dropped his gear, yanked her into his arms, and kissed her hard, one hand tangling in her hair, the other around her waist. His mouth explored her with a practiced insistence, as if he knew exactly when to press and when to draw back, when to touch his tongue to hers, when to suck her lower lip into his mouth and bite.

Her knees went weak, and her fingers curled against the steady thud of his heartbeat, and she savored each rough press of his lips to hers, each flicker of his tongue, the warm, comforting strength of his body against hers. It felt like years since that kiss on Domor, forever even, and she cherished each moment of the embrace, knowing full well it could be their last.

When he drew back, tears pricked her eyes, whether from relief or affection, she couldn’t say.

He groaned and touched his forehead to hers, his breath washing over her mouth in short, sharp puffs. “Next time, wait until I’m finished kissing you before kidnapping me.”

A laugh sputtered out of her, and she kissed him again. “I’ll do that. I shouldn’t forgive you, you know. That was a horrible way to leave.”

“I know, princess. I’m sorry.” He kissed her tenderly, rubbed the tip of his nose against hers. “Will forgive me?”

Yes, she would. She’d already forgiven him for leaving without a word or promise of return. She, who never forgave anyone outside of her family, had forgiven him merely because he’d asked it of her.

She traced the firm line of his jaw, ran a thumb over his lower lip. “If I told you that I’m beginning to care about you, would you leave me again?”

“If I did, I’d turn around and come right back. You can’t get rid of me that easily.” He grinned against her touch, nipped her thumb, and a wicked gleam glinted in his murky green eyes. “When this is over, you’re going to chain me to your bed and have your wicked way with me. Consider it a condition of my return. One of us has to be chained to the bed.”

She laughed again, high on his touch, on the rare affection roiling through her, on the relief of his return. They’d made no promises to each other, yet, but she could not quite rein in the hope welling within her.

“I’d planned on it.” Another clang hit the hull, this one louder, and she rocked back on her heels. “Kraden Sweepers.”

“Tell me you hid my armor nearby.”

“Over there, in a packing crate.” Reluctantly, she stepped back and pointed to it as another clang rang through the air. “Hurry. That’s their third harpoon. One more and they’ll go for the airlock.”

He dropped another kiss to her mouth and one to her throat, then pivoted away. “Don’t worry, lover. We’ll handle it.”

Yes, she thought. They would. How bad could it be? A child ship could hold, what? Fifty to seventy males? But that mother ship had two such children. They couldn’t all hold be that large. Sweepers were too aggressive to congregate in those numbers. If luck was on their side, and Tyelu prayed Fryw it was, then the attacking ship held the fewest Sweepers and not too many of them at that.

While she’d been calculating their odds, Jos had located the packing crate and started pulling out his armor.

“Make yourself useful, princess,” he called. “That second bag is loaded with weapons.”

She blew him a kiss. “You say the sweetest things, Q’Mhel.”

His grin warmed her as much as his kiss had.

The bags held weapons, gear, clothing, and toiletries. She left his personal items be. Candidate for the Choosing or not, he had a right to privacy. She was more interested in the weapons anyway. The weapons a man chose revealed as much about his character as his actions.

Jos had apparently come prepared for a fight. She recognized the wickedly efficient long-barreled blaster as one of his service weapons and set it aside for him, along with two of the three battery packs included in the bag. The third, she tried to lock in, only to have it jam.

Jos appeared at her back, his movements so silent she hadn’t caught them over the ship’s hum, the clang of Sweepers, and the boom of Yarinska ’s cannon.

He leaned down, reached over her shoulder, and fiddled with the control mechanism on one side of his blaster, above the trigger. “It’s locked to my print, but you can load it now. Be a good girl and I’ll get you one of your own.”

She twisted around and shot him a wicked grin. “I’m very good.”

“That you are.”

He rewarded her with a kiss, then she turned back to his portable cache. Would she ever get enough of him?

The answer seemed so obvious, she wondered why she’d bothered asking. No, she would never get enough of Jos Q’Mhel. Bribing her with weapons wasn’t necessary.

Though it didn’t hurt.

She riffled through the remaining weapons, drawing out those she knew he carried on him into battle, and chose some for her own use. A flash-bang for distractions, a hefty knife sheathed conveniently enough in a thigh holster. She’d just strapped it on when her nape started tingling.

She reached for her blaster as she turned, catching sight of Jos across the way, halfway into his armor. Another boom of the cannon, then the bay fell eerily quiet. Tyelu searched the shadowed space, her blaster at the ready. An odd, strangling noise reached her ears, clearly audible over the engine’s hum. She caught movement in the shadows, heard the noise again, and swung her gaze toward it.

There, not five ceg away, the monstrous head of a Sweeper rose above the twisted hull of a demolished ship. But how had it gotten into the cargo bay? The airlock was closed, the atmosphere intact.

It groaned and wiggled, and the salvaged hull shifted, giving Tyelu a sickening glimpse of its body fused with the scrap metal.

“They can transport,” she whispered hoarsely. “By Wode, they figured out how to ‘port from ship to ship.”

“Frek,” Jos said. “Call for h—”

Lights shimmered in the bay, reaching into every corner. When they dimmed, Sweepers filled the space, dozens upon dozens of the creatures. Many had materialized into scavenged metal and broken engines, becoming part of them. Others had materialized in the rare open spaces. The stench of dung and filth wafted through the air, stinging Tyelu’s eyes, and the cries of the wounded rose to a fevered pitch, rivaled only by the battle calls of the remaining Sweepers.

Including the one right in front of Tyelu, a girthy male supported by thick legs, his metal-tipped tentacles weaving around him. This one wore rough leather pants and a matching coat dotted with shiny studs, an outfit she’d never seen on a Sweeper.

She managed to get off two shots, each a solid hit, before one of those tentacles slapped her blaster away, knocking her to the floor. Blaster fire hit it from the side just as Ryn popped through the open hatch, his own blaster blazing, and Tyelu pulled a second blaster from its holster and fired.

It wasn’t enough to penetrate the alien’s metal-studded outfit. The Sweeper stomped toward Tyelu, shrugging off every hit it took. She pulled the knife and slashed at the tentacles it thrust at her. The knife snagged on a metal tip, something wrapped around her ankle. The Sweeper aimed a leering grin at her as it snapped one of the studs decorating its coat.

Light flickered around them, and her gut twisted into a horrified knot.

“Tyelu!” Jos roared.

Then the light pulled her into darkness, away from Jos and the relative safety of her brother’s ship.