Heroic Abduction (8 page)

The guy could fight. She’d seen ample evidence on the planet he’d more or less rescued her from. So why then was he toying with the alien?

Don’t tell me this is because of his stupid hero code.
Judging by the occasional word she caught here and there, his skewed sense of honor was indeed the issue. Of bigger concern? He was drawing way too much attention, which, given he possessed a nice ship—a ship she coveted—wasn’t a great idea. The last thing he should do was appear weak before this gaggle of miscreants. Stealing the ship from one big purple dumbass was one thing, fighting to take it back from a horde of pirates another.

With a sigh, she made the decision to rescue him. “Hey, smelly, walking carpet guy. Any idea where I can get some Bretunian fur sheets?”

When the creature turned to bare his teeth at her, she was ready.

One well-aimed combat boot to its jewels and a whack from the butt of her knife at the base of his skull when he bellowed and bent over, and down went the shaggy beast—a weak spot she recalled from her studies, a Zonian education that came in handy when she went exploring.

Betty didn’t kill him. No need. As soon as the alien hit the floor, a bevy of Anturian centurions, with their eight legs and hard carapace bodies, swarmed. In a moment, they’d hoisted the beast’s shaggy frame and carted him off—probably to shave him if he was lucky or, if not, to skin him and turn him into a high price fashion accessory.

And without even a squeak of thanks.
The least they could have done was left me a coin for doing the hard work for them.

“What was that?” Dyre’s incredulous query had her spinning around to face him.

“Haven’t you ever seen Anturian centurions before?”

“Not that. What you did?”

“You’re welcome.”

“But I didn’t thank you,” he sputtered.

“I know. Would it kill you to show a little gratitude?” She smirked at his obvious agitation.

“Gratitude? For your dishonorable act? You kicked him in his male parts.”

“Yes. And?”

“And you don’t do that. It’s not sporting.”

“I do. On Earth, it’s the first thing they teach girls so they can defend themselves.”

“It’s barbaric.”

“I’d call it effective. Now, if we’re done discussing my technique, could we move along? We’re causing a disturbance, and I’d rather not have to ice some sore toes later having to defend you.”

Before he could reply, she spun on her heel and strode away, but the prickling at her neck let her know he followed. Great, because it meant he could continue to harangue her.

“I don’t require defending.”

“Says the guy who couldn’t take down the big hairy monster.”

“I was giving him a chance to walk away.”

“Dumbass, you’re wearing one of his family members. No way was he walking away.”

“I was kind of getting that impression,” he admitted reluctantly. “Ah well, at least those kind centurions removed him before he could get trampled.”

She thought it best not to tell him what she suspected they wanted the Bretunian for. Chances were, Dyre would go haring off to save it. Him and his damned heroic principles. If they weren’t so misplaced in a place like this, she’d think they were cute.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“The tavern.”

“I have alcohol on my ship,” he pointed out.

“I’m not going there to drink.”

“Then why are we going there?”

The real reason: to listen for rumors. Betty wasn’t the first orphan to leave the nest with a Zonian sister. Thing was, they’d lost communication with the first pair. But she didn’t tell Dyre that. She messed with him instead. “I am going to see if there’s any hot hunks that I can club over the head and drag back to the ship for some no-strings, hot and sweaty sex.”

She expected a reaction. What she didn’t expect was growling. She spun around looking for an enemy, but only Dyre stood stock still at her back. He must have heard the sound, too, because his eyes practically glowed.

“What the heck was that?” she hissed, peering around him, looking for the source.

“You will not find anyone suitable here,” he stated instead of answering her question.

“How would you know? It’s not like you’ve had time to visit the place.”

“I have already told you I am willing to accommodate your needs.”

“Yeah, but what if you’re not my type?” Why did she deliberately challenge him? Who cared, the result was worth it.

“I believe we have already ascertained our compatibility. But I am more than willing to prove it again.” He grabbed her by the waist and hoisted her until she was eye level, and their lips aligned. And meshed. And clung.

Oh my.

She’d had time to wonder since their last embrace if she’d imagined the fiery passion of it. Time to convince herself that it was just her dry spell that made her think the kiss was out-of-this-world awesome. Dry spell or not, it was just as wonderful as she recalled. Just as all-consuming, riveting and … so inappropriate given their location.

She drew back, her breath short, her blood coursing like molten fire through her veins. “Okay, so you’re possibly my type.”

“Definitely your type,” he asserted.

“I still need to go to this tavern.” Before he could object, she threw him a reason, one his honorable self could handle. “I’m looking for a friend who’s gone missing. Two of them actually.”

To her surprise, he didn’t pepper her with questions. “Another damsel in need?”

“Yes. My best friend as a matter of fact.”

“What are we waiting for, then?” Dyre practically dragged her the rest of the way, his eagerness irritating her.

He could have shown a little less enthusiasm. Maybe argued a little more, you know with his mouth on hers. But she’d given Dyre a quest, and he seemed determined to help her, in the most obtuse way possible.

They entered the tavern without any subtlety what so ever. Dyre strode in, head high, shoulders back, and furry Darth Vader cloak swirling around him. Truthfully, he was kind of hot. Problem was, he drew way too much attention, especially when he jumped on a table, scattering glasses, some still filled with drinks.

He pushed his hood back before bellowing, “We seek information on my lady’s missing friends. A—” he peeked down at her and in a not-so-quiet whisper said, “What are they?”

“Human and Zonian,” she muttered, resisting the urge to close her eyes and smack her head off something.

“A human and a Zonian. Anyone with information, please come forth.”

Not surprising, no one moved.

Atop his tabletop perch, Dyre pivoted, scanning the large room. “No one has seen such a pair?”

Dead silence.

“I thank you, dear patrons, for your time. Should you think of something, though, my lady and I will be at the table over there.” He pointed to the empty one without a wall to support a back, the one that everyone avoided.

Betty dragged her feet as she followed her purple dumbass to it. Plopping into the seat across from him, she grumbled, “Could you have been any less obvious?”

“You think I was not clear enough? Did my query not carry? I could ask again, louder this time.”

“No,” she snapped. “You’ve done enough damage.”

“You’re angry.”

“Well duh. You just ruined my chance to subtly ask questions. I’ll never find anything out now.”

He signaled the waitress, holding up two fingers and swirling them before replying. “I think you need to show a little more faith in my methods.”

“What method?”

“The one that will pay off.”

Their server arrived with two frothy concoctions that misted over the edge of the opaque glass. The clear blue liquid resembled window washer fluid and Betty eyed it dubiously. “What the hell is that?”

“Try it.”

“Trying to get me drunk so you can have your way with me?”

“I would never do something so dishonorable.”

“A shame.” She enjoyed the flare of surprise on his face. Picking the glass up by the stem, she took a sip then another. Fruity, not too sweet, with a slight kick, it was better than most of the vile, fiery stuff she’d tried before, which, if drunk too fast, caused choking, burning, and in some cases, literal steam to come out of her mouth.

“This is good,” she admitted somewhat grudgingly.

“Not as good as the news I’ve got to sell,” announced a burbling voice behind her.

Startled, Betty jumped. Usually she was much more careful when in a strange place, but Dyre had her all turned about. It didn’t help that she usually sat with her back against a wall. Peering over her shoulder, she glared at the octopus-like creature that slithered into the open chair. Talk about ugly. Its brackish-colored skin was pockmarked and bumpy.
Definitely not a good deep-fried calamari candidate.

“You have heard of, or seen, my lady’s companions?” Dyre asked without preamble.

“Maybe.” A tentacle slid forward.

It surprised her to see Dyre slide a large pearl in its direction. Her hero bribing an informant? Holy shit, somewhere in the galaxy a planet had stopped spinning on its axis.

“Less heard, more like seen. Awhile back though. They was stopped for fuel and directions at the space station by the Gleshian star system.”

“Can you describe them?”

“The little human one had orange-colored hair and spots all over her face while the Zonian,” the squid-like mass jiggled, its version of a shrug. “Looked like a Zonian.”

“That’s Clarabelle!” Betty exclaimed.

Dyre shot her a look, and given he didn’t usually get stern, she clamped her lips shut.

“Anything else? Any indication about their direction? Any trouble?”

Another slimy appendage peeked forth and took the second pearl Dyre pulled out from his cloak.

I really need to frisk him next time he tries to kiss me and see what else he’s got hiding under there.
And maybe cop a feel while she was at it.

“No flight plan, but there was some fellows, big ones like you, talking to her.”

“Like me? You mean other Kulins?”

“Barbarian mercenaries yes, Kulin though no. The two-legged varmints were bronze-skinned and yellow-eyed.”

Intent on the news, Betty drained her drink, barely getting a buzz. Less cocktail, more like a tease. Damned bar tampering with the alcohol content. Given Dyre hadn’t touched his, she snagged it and sipped it too.

“Got anything else to tell me?”

“Nope. Pleasure doing business.” With a final wet warble, the sickly looking sushi alien slithered off.

Just in time, too, because Betty couldn’t contain herself any longer. “Do you know that’s the first bit of news I’ve heard since Zista and I left our planet?”

“Still going to question my methods?” Dyre asked, his smile more cocky than usual.

“Nope. You’re freaking awesome.” She was so happy with him in that moment, and possibly a touch tipsy, that she grabbed him by the cloak, yanked him toward her, and plastered him with a kiss.

“Gambling isn’t just for fun
.
” –
A Mercenary’s Guide to Prosperity

“Wagering is a sin.” –
The Unofficial Guide to Heroism

The kiss took him by surprise, but he didn’t let that stop him from enjoying it. The fact Betty had initiated the embrace made it especially titillating. Her lips tasted fruity, and Dyre took a moment to suck the sugary sweetness from them before reluctantly pulling away. Of all the places she could have chosen to show her appreciation, she had to choose the most dangerous.

“Mmm,” she murmured, the husky sound the most arousing thing he’d ever heard. She popped out her tongue and licked her luscious lips. Lust rode him hard, and he almost forgot their location. It took actual physical effort to stop himself from yanking her onto his lap and continuing the embrace. A public tavern, where he’d intentionally made a spectacle of them, wasn’t the place to lose control. Especially since everyone present now suspected, despite her head covering, that Betty was a human. A highly valuable human.

My human.

A very drunk human who pouted delightfully when he shook his head at her crooked finger begging him to come closer.
If we were anywhere else, I’d ravish her, code or not.

“Come, my drunken Earthling, we should vacate these premises.”

“But things were just getting fun.”

“And are about to get dangerous.” Or so his senses warned. He didn’t need the prickle of foreboding to know they needed to depart. Danger stalked them.

But wasn’t this what he wanted? To place her in harm’s way so he could save her?

Save her yes, see her come to actual harm, no.
This wasn’t an environment he could control, nor did it present odds he liked. If he was about to battle for her virtue, then he preferred a more open space and less of a crowd ready to stab him in the back.

Standing, he tossed a jewel on the table as payment for their drinks. Probably not the most subtle act given the patrons who watched with avarice-filled eyes, but the most acceptable form of payment galaxy wide.

Betty weaved when she stood, the alcohol having hit her hard, a predictable result given she’d imbibed her drink as well as his. When she staggered on the way to the door, he thought it prudent to sweep her into his arms, well aware of the hushed whispers going on around him. If he were the wagering type—another vice he had to give up when he left behind the mercenary ways—then he’d assume they planned an ambush.

Excellent. Or not. If attacked, in her inebriated state, would Betty recognize he saved her from miscreants? Or giggle? It was what she did when he exited the bar, and he immediately had to head-butt the fool who thought to block their way. The singled-eyed, gray Uniclopson went down hard. As attacks went, it didn’t rate high.
I’ll need to do more than that to impress her.
But at least she noticed.

“I see someone has a head full of rocks,” she chortled. “At least it’s good for something other than looking pretty.”

He ignored her strange compliment as he took long strides back in the direction of his ship.

“Do you make it a habit to carry women around?” she asked.

“Only the drunken ones.”