Page 7 of The First Spark (Dynasty of Fire #1)

“Cheers to Wells!”

With a grin and mock bow, Zane knocked back another shot of Deathstroke Nectar.

The electric blue liquid was pungent, a terrible mixture of burning and freezing.

Blowing a thick cloud of fog from his lips, he slammed the empty glass down on the counter.

He swayed on his feet, but his date—a pretty lavender-skinned dancer in lingerie—caught his arm and guided him onto the barstool.

He was almost certain her name was Crea, but he’d lost track about three shots ago.

She slid into his lap and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, a kiss as intoxicating as the alcohol.

His raucous group of coworkers cheered.

Between their constant shouting, the roar of the aibot fighting pit, the thumping music and the pulsing strobe lights, the Chimaera ’s bar was giving Zane one hell of a headache.

But it was worth it. He hadn’t felt this alive since he was an idiot teenager on Oppalli .

Ancel, who’d joined security a few weeks after him, flagged down the bartender. “Another round of shots! On the new boss!”

“Keep that up, and my first act as Head of Security will be to fire your sorry ass,” Zane warned, but slapped down his card all the same.

The roar from his section of the bar was thunderous.

He tried not to think about the insane tab he would be hit with at the end of the night.

He’d never been careless with money; Mom had raised him paycheck to paycheck.

But what the hell? He was only twenty-three, and his salary was about to shoot up to six figures.

He could afford to enjoy a night of recklessness.

Besides, he needed a drink to survive this flight. Somewhere on this ship, a woman whose family had destroyed his was prowling around—and he’d let her board.

Glowering at the polished countertop, Zane curled his fingers into fists.

“So the promotion’s official?” another guard asked.

With more effort than it should’ve taken, Zane unclenched his fists and let out a slow breath. It would be easier if he didn’t think about her, and this was the perfect place for a distraction. “Confirmed today.”

Ancel whistled. “A cycle into this gig and you’re running the whole show. How much are they paying you?”

“You know I can’t tell you that.”

Crea danced her lavender fingers down his torso. “Will I have to call you boss?”

Zane flashed her a lazy, sated smile. “I’m open to negotiation.”

“Oh?” Her breath fluttered against his ear. She slipped a hand under his shirt, and the temperature rose as her fingers crept across his skin. “What kind of negotiation?”

Her tongue skimmed her ruby red lips, and in half a second, his mouth was on hers.

He dug his fingers into her hair, trailed a hand down her back—then lower, until his hand rounded the curve of her ass and tugged her closer.

Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the little moan she made, maybe it was the maddening touch of her hands exploring his skin or the rush of heat blazing in their wake, but he didn’t care who saw .

A concussive bang snapped him out of the daze.

Zane broke away and scanned the bar, his heart pounding in his ears. His hand shot to his pulser, and Crea leapt aside as he lurched to his feet.

In the fighting pit, one of the aibots had caught fire.

Zane swore, scrubbing his face. It was an aibot fight, dammit. They were supposed to explode, that was the point, and he was acting like a stupid shiny about to lose his shit.

Soft lavender hands slid around him, and Crea pressed her face into the back of his shirt. “You okay?”

Letting out a shaky breath, Zane drew away. He stuffed his trembling hands in his pockets. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m going to take a walk.”

Before she or the guards could comment, he stalked towards the fighting pit.

He pushed through the crowd, ignoring their whining. One glance at the floor of the cage was enough to make him wish he hadn’t looked. The aibot he’d staked twenty credits on, TX-20, lay dying in a shower of sparks. The RD-5 model stood triumphant, with a spike protruding from its chest plate.

Zane huffed. Great. He was out another twenty credits.

He waded through the motley assortment of obscenely wealthy passengers and off-duty crew, taking deep breaths. His hands were shaking. The explosion echoed in his ears, and he winced, closing his eyes.

He’d been an Oppallese Marine for five cycles. He needed to get a grip.

But it wasn’t the noise from the aibot pit that had him as skittish as a cadet.

He pushed through the edges of the crowd, wiping his brow on his sleeve.

He’d go back to the bar, down a Purging Tonic to flush out the alcohol, close his tab, and call it a night.

Once he was back in the privacy of his cramped cabin, he could decide what he was going to do about the princess stowing away on the ship.

Zane slammed to a halt.

There, as if she’d been summoned by Mordir himself, stood Kalista Hannover .

His nails dug into his palms. He’d hoped she would track him down, he’d taunted her for that reason. But now that she was standing in front of him, he could only think of Mom’s sobs and candles burning over an altar with no body.

She opened her mouth, but he beat her to it.

“You look like a wreck tonight, Princess.” Her eyes were bloodshot, her cheeks were splotchy, and mascara left faint trails on her fair skin.

“Don’t call me that,” she hissed, scanning the room. “You know what’s at stake.”

Zane smirked. Carik’s men were hunting her—and she needed his silence.

He’d been counting on it.

“Why are you following me?” Zane gestured to the crowds around them. The room swam with the movement, but his head was already clearer than it’d been at the bar. “If you’re trying to stay hidden, you’re not very good at it.”

“Shut up and listen.”

Zane raised his eyebrows. She was fiery. Unexpected. “Manners, Princessa.”

Scowling, she jerked her head towards a wall of shadowy alcoves by the gambling tables. “Can we talk?”

Zane checked the chrono on his wrist. Half past midnight. All part of the show, so he didn’t look too desperate to hear her inevitable offer.

“My date’s waiting for me. I don’t think she’d be too happy to see me with another woman?—”

“Yes, I saw the two of you.” Hannover’s voice dripped with disdain. “I promise it’ll be worth your while.”

“In that case, lead the way.”

The alcoves in the back were the size of small rooms, meant for guests who wanted a private meeting with their mistresses or showgirls.

Zane couldn’t help but snort at the wary, disgusted look on Hannover’s face.

The wealthy reserved that expression for those they considered common rabble, but the people sitting in the other alcoves were all from the elite class her snobby family belonged to .

She slid into one side of the alcove’s rounded booth, shooting a pointed look at the other side. Her message was clear: there was no way he was sitting beside her.

Zane considered doing it anyway, just to piss her off. It would be a small measure of payback for all the Dalian royals had stolen from him.

Common sense won out. He took a seat on the opposite side and unhooked the gauzy curtains to conceal them from view.

Her wary expression didn’t waver.

“Relax. I don’t bite.” Zane spread his hands. “So, what brings you looking for me? I’m flattered, by the way, that you were so charmed that you decided to track me down?—”

“Oh, for Azura’s sake.” Hannover blew out an exasperated breath. “We both know why I’m here. Name your price.”

Zane grinned. “Anything?”

She glanced at the bar, where Crea lounged on his vacant stool. Her lips twisted into a grimace. “Within reason.”

Leaning back, Zane rested his arms behind his head.

He’d thought he would have to remind her that he could expose her, maybe threaten to turn her in to Carik, then haggle over whatever pittance she offered him.

But this was so easy. A raucous cheer rang out beyond them.

It came from the travar tables this time, judging by the young man pumping his fist into the air.

Zane pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket, jotted down an obscene number of credits, and slid it across the table.

Her mouth fell open. She’d probably been expecting a request for a million credits, maybe five. Nowhere near the figure he’d written.

“That’s… an oddly specific amount of money.”

“Not really.” Zane drummed his foot against the floor, making a show of indifference “And I want a Dalian barony. Let’s say… Avington.”

Her eyes bulged.

“I’ll accept a payment plan.”

Setting the paper down, Hannover slumped against the booth. “I can… I can get you the money. If there’s a comm center onboard, I can ask my uncle to wire you a down payment?— ”

“Word of advice. When you’re on the run, sending a message is like holding up a neon sign telling them where to find you.” As she raised her eyebrows, Zane shrugged. “Wouldn’t want anything to happen to my money.”

“Right.” Hannover swiped a hand over her face, breathing out slowly. “Okay. When we land on Aquis and I’m safe, I’ll have him send you the first installment. But the barony… I can’t just take a barony from its ruler?—”

“Your family’s done it before.”

Her bloodshot eyes narrowed to slivers, and he met her scrutinizing gaze with the weight of two decades of resentment. Some of his pent-up rage must’ve shown on his face, because she pressed against the wall, glancing at the crowded room beyond them.

“There are protocols to follow, people to consult. I can’t replace a baron without just cause, and I’d need the support of the count in charge of that region.”

“I know how your nobility works. Counts rule over barons, barons over lords. I know. But you just inherited the whole planet, didn’t you?” Zane sneered. “Or, at least, you will. If you make it back before Carik finds you.”

The color drained from her face.

Zane folded his arms. “I’ve given you my price.”

Hannover rubbed her bleary eyes. “I don’t even know your name.”