Page 15 of The First Spark (Dynasty of Fire #1)

Pain jolted through Kalie’s bones as she slammed into the floor.

The impact knocked the wind out of her. Gasping, she rolled over.

Patched leather couches, a low table, a dusty holoprojector—everything was shaking.

The holopad sitting on top of the projector wobbled closer to the edge.

Tremors ran along the steel floor, vibrating through her, and as the ship lurched violently, the holopad fell and cracked.

Kalie winced, but roaring thrusters drowned out the clatter.

Thrusters. She was on a ship.

Kalie pushed herself up, but before she could ask, Vega’s skin glowed golden and she disappeared.

She was using a transporter.

Kalie gaped at the spot where she’d disappeared. Prototypes had been around for a few cycles, but the technology hadn’t hit the market yet. Even Aunt Calida hadn’t been able to get her hands on one.

A legionnaire wouldn’t have that sort of tech. A legionnaire wouldn’t have shot Admiral Krii either, yet he’d known her by name.

Heavy metal footfalls thudded behind her.

Kalie spun, and her eyes widened. A humanoid aibot that appeared to be held together by its sheer force of will stood behind her, clutching a pulser in its spindly arm.

The pulser was pointing at her head.

“Intruder,” the aibot drawled, in a monotone voice. “Identify yourself or be destroyed. Five… four… one!”

“Wait! Don’t shoot!” Kalie yelped, raising her hands. There was a door on her right. Close, but not close enough. “I’m Princessa Kalista Hannover. Some woman transported me here. Vega—Vega, right? She brought me?—”

Vega popped into existence next to Kalie, swearing like a drunken smuggler. Wells dropped to the floor at her feet.

“Get us out of here, Cybel,” Vega gasped, pressing a hand to her chest.

The aibot lowered its pulser and marched across the cabin. Kalie breathed in the sterile scent of metal.

Then the sight caught up with her.

Wells was gasping. He clutched at his arm as blood bubbled between his fingers.

Vega staggered across the room and braced herself against the wall.

Burgundy box braids rippled across her head, replacing her glossy black curls. She groaned and strained, clutching a pipe that spanned the wall, and Kalie’s mouth fell open as Vega grew . Her rapid panting turned into muted cries as her lithe figure morphed into a tall, muscular woman.

Wells placed a hand on Vega’s shoulder.

“Breathe, Mira,” he said, rubbing her arm. Blood stained his sleeve and pain warped his face. “Breathe.”

Vega turned, and Kalie’s mouth fell open. Her tawny skin had morphed into a darker brown. Agony twisted her hard features.

Shapeshifter . Kalie edged away, glancing at the sealed exit ramp. Shapeshifters couldn’t really exist .

Vega’s chest heaved. “The cybermod?—”

Kalie did a double take. The floor rumbled beneath her, and she nearly lost her balance. Vega had a transporter and a cybermod?

“It exploded, broke the morph?—”

A thunderous jolt rocked the ship, and Kalie crashed into the floor. A booming explosion drowned out the roaring thrusters. The world swam around her as she pushed herself up, shaking her head to clear her vision. Alarms flashed red and screeched through the ship’s dingy cabin.

Vega bolted through an open door. Wells hobbled after her, wincing with each step. His lips moved, but the sound didn’t reach her ears.

He vanished through the door.

Kalie stood, wobbled on her feet, and pressed a hand to her sweat-soaked forehead.

“Thruster’s out, dammit!”

Vega’s voice hadn’t changed with her.

Another blast rocked the ship, and Kalie caught herself against a rusted ladder. The metal was rough and flaky under her palms.

If that was the only thruster, they wouldn’t be able to move.

Whoever was attacking them, probably Carik’s minions, would destroy the ship.

They’d saved her, sure, but Wells was only out for himself.

She didn’t know what to make of Vega, but someone who made killing a competition didn’t seem trustworthy.

Explosions boomed beyond the shaking walls.

“Thirty degrees, portside!” Wells roared. “Blast them!”

There had to be an escape pod here. Any ship this size would have one, especially if it had fighting capabilities.

Kalie’s pulse hammered in her ears. There weren’t any doors in the sleek kitchenette, which—if she overlooked the shattered plates sliding across the floor—was the only decent part of the rundown ship.

Bright light shone through the open door beside it, where Vega had disappeared. That had to be the cockpit.

Sidestepping the metal column at the center of the room, Kalie scanned the far wall.

Four metal doors, all scratched and chipped, spanned the wall between the folded-up ramp and the cockpit.

Those were out. An escape pod usually had an airlock door to defend it.

There was an airlock door next to the ramp, but that spot was always reserved for a boarding tube.

An impact hurled her into a battered chest of drawers. Pain pulsed down her spine. Groaning, she pushed herself into a crouch.

Beneath a filthy old rug was a sunken yellow hatch with three concentric dials.

An airlock.

“Get to the gate!” Vega bellowed. “Cybel, to the gate !”

Kalie scrambled across the floor, brushing the stained rug aside. Lights flickered above her. She’d never learned how to open an airlock as old as this one, and with her rudimentary knowledge of flying, she’d need a miracle from Azura to escape.

But she had to try.

Each dial had a thin black stripe on it, and a single dot was etched on the metal panel. Her muscles burned as she twisted the largest dial, aligning the stripe with the dot. The second dial wasn’t as heavy, but when she turned it, the metal screeched.

Flinching, Kalie glanced at the cockpit.

No one appeared in the doorway.

She turned the second dial into position, then the third.

An explosion boomed. Blinding light flooded the cabin as the ship jolted. Clinging to the largest dial, Kalie risked another look over her shoulder. The coast was clear.

Taking a deep breath, she sent up a prayer to Azura that there was a pod beneath the hatch, not open space. Her heart hammered and the floor thrummed under her knees.

She was in Azura’s hands.

The thought wasn’t as calming as it used to be. But this might be her only chance to run, so she braced her hands to lift the hatch.

“Going somewhere, Princessa?”

Kalie whipped around, and her blood boiled.

Wells stood in the doorway, clutching his arm.

Despite the bleeding wound and his sickly pallor, a smirk curved at his lips.

His hand wasn’t on his holstered pulser, which was a good sign, but she’d seen him fight before he abandoned her in that tunnel.

He didn’t need a weapon to prevent her from leaving.

“Am I a prisoner?”

“No,” Wells drawled, shuffling closer, “but since we just jumped to a gate and saved you from the Feds?—”

“I didn’t need saving.”

“—now’s not the best time for a pod to detach.” Glancing at the hatch, he rolled his eyes. “You wouldn’t get far, anyway. You aligned it wrong.”

“So I’m supposed to trust you?”

“I came back for you, didn’t I?”

Kalie studied him, but either he was being genuine or he was good at hiding things behind his ridiculous smirk.

“You can thank me anytime, you know.”

She huffed. “I was perfectly capable of saving myself.”

“Oh, really?”

He sauntered towards her. Kalie glowered at him, willing herself not to step back.

“How did you plan to overpower six armed legionnaires? You hiding a few weapons up your sleeve? Some combat skills I don’t know about?”

“Not every battle has to be fought with weapons,” Kalie said, echoing Father’s advice. “Many can be won with words. I was just negotiating the final terms of my release.”

It would’ve come at heavy cost to herself, but he didn’t need to know that. Someone with that much arrogance didn’t need any extra boosts to his ego.

Wells kept smirking. Her hands itched to claw it off his face.

At least they’d gotten away from Carik’s men. The blinding flash of light must’ve been the jump to the stargate route, and aside from the softer roar of whatever thrusters were left, the ship was quiet. The battle was over, and her racing pulse slowed.

She could worry about Wells and his money later.

A gush of water sprayed from the kitchenette’s sink, and Vega’s worried voice drifted in as she scrubbed her hands. “Find the regenerator, Cybel, his arm ruptured when we teleported—Zane, sit down! Idiot. I swear to the stars…”

“Mira, it’s fine. I’ve had worse,” Wells grumbled, but he slumped onto one of the leather couches. His long legs dangled over the end.

Heavy footfalls clomped against the floor as the aibot, Cybel, crossed the room. As it rifled through the battered chest of drawers, metal clanked and squeaked. Kalie cringed. Her head was throbbing, and the noise sounded like it came straight from Zagan’s hell.

“You look like shit,” Vega said, drying her hands and marching past her.

As Kalie stiffened, Wells snickered. “I bet she’s not used to people talking to her like that.”

She glowered at him, but it was true. Only Ariah had ever gotten away with it. Even Julian and Haeden hadn’t dared.

“Whatever.” Vega dropped onto the table between the couches and removed a simple silver ring, taking a fat stack of gauze from Cybel’s outstretched hand.

Pressing it against Wells’s wound, she looked up at Kalie.

“Make yourself useful and grab us okul salve, yeah? And some more gauze, too. It’s in the top drawer by Cy. ”

Despite the hot flush creeping up her neck, Kalie breathed easier as she washed her hands and joined the aibot at the drawers. Vega clearly didn’t know who she was, which was good. Right now, anonymity was safer. Wells must’ve honored their deal and kept his mouth shut.

She trusted Wells about as far as she could throw him, though, and if he had told Vega the truth, she had to know so she could do damage control.