Heroic Abduction (9 page)

“I’m not drunk. Just slightly tipsy,” she hiccupped. “So where next, my big purple knight? We going to the … what was the name of that galaxy again?”

“Gleshian Galaxy.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right. We going there to look for my old bud, C.B.?”

Honorable, or not, Dyre decided to take advantage of her loose tongue to get some answers. “I thought we were going to the Obsidian Galaxy for goods to bring back to the Zonian world.”

“Couldn’t we make a teeny tiny detour and look for my f-f-f-riend?” she managed to sputter.

“It’s in the opposite direction.” As was his foot, which shot sideways and knocked the knife out of the hand of the thug waiting between two narrow buildings.

“Is that a no?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “I bet I could change your mind.” She tilted her head and nibbled at the edge of his jaw, a delicious distraction, one he would have loved to enjoy if a pair of four-armed Difi’na warriors hadn’t stepped in his path.

“Your timing leaves much to be desired,” he grumbled as he set Betty down and drew his own sword.

“Hey, did you just drop me on a glob of bubblegum?” she yelped. “Oh, never mind. I think I just killed an alien.”

Dyre trusted her to keep herself out of trouble for a moment while he dealt with the menace before him.

“Give us the human,” the duo demanded in cadence. Born as twins, Difi’na warriors always came in twos, sometimes threes. A formidable force who trained to fight as one at birth, they did have one major weakness. Kill one and the other fell apart.

Usually, Dyre would have given them a choice:
run now before I’m forced to hurt you
. However, Betty required his protection, and his damsel’s needs trumped his usual heroic mercy. With a spin, a lunge, a duck, and a thrust, in moments, one warrior lay on the ground gasping as he bled from two stumps and a hole in his chest. He wasn’t dead, yet, but if his twin didn’t act quickly, he would die soon.

No longer worried about them, Dyre grabbed Betty, who hummed an odd tune about bottles on a wall and slung her over his shoulder, which left him able to carry his sword. Judging by her giggles, she didn’t mind, although, he could have done without the pinches to his buttocks which he felt even through his cloak.

Dyre left an unfortunate swath of bodies and gore on his trek back to his ship, but in his defense, the biggest mess lay at the entrance to the tunnel docking his vessel to the space station. A mess that didn’t belong to him, but Zista.

Eyes glowing golden and her beak clacking, Zista hopped about on her clawed feet, stubby wings flapping. “Marvelous exercise,” she crowed. “I haven’t enjoyed such a lovely workout since I left my planet.”

“You killed them all?”

“Not all. I’m sure a few managed to crawl off while I was busy taking care of their friends,” she said. Zista noticed his burden. “What did she do now?”

“She might have imbibed a tad more than she could handle.”

Zista snorted. “Two sips and she’s flat on her white buttocks. Do you need me to put her to bed?”

“I think I can handle one tiny human. Can you prepare the ship for takeoff?” Most of the controls were automated, but it never hurt to have someone watching over them.

“My pleasure,” the Zonian replied, not perturbed at all that he would be putting her drunken friend to bed.
Does she not know of my race’s reputation for debauching?
Pity Dyre didn’t allow himself that kind of mercenary fun. Sigh.

Being a hero was hard sometimes. Really
hard.
He cast a rueful glance down at his cock, which had maintained a semi erection since the kiss in the bar. Nothing like the promise of sex and a decent adrenalized fight to pool the blood in one spot.

He slid Betty off his shoulder once on board, but her knees buckled, so she didn’t stand on her own two feet for long. Back into his arms she went, and back to his jaw went her lips.

“You know, you’ve got soft skin for a man. Have I told you I like a freshly shaved man?” she murmured between nibbles.

No, she hadn’t, but he made a mental note to shave every day, twice a day, if she liked it so much.

He tried to distract himself from her seduction lest he forget himself and push her up against the nearest wall, insert himself between her thighs, and then take her mouth and willing, soft body. “Why did you not tell me before you were seeking your friend?” he asked instead.

“I haven’t told anybody, not even Zista. Although,” Betty lowered her voice, “I think she suspects. But other than that, it’s a secret. The Zonian matriarchs wouldn’t have let me come otherwise. Something about letting warriors stand on their own two claws. Or talons.”

“Are the Zonians not concerned about the missing females?”

“Yes, but they don’t like to act unless foul play is certain. Kill or maim one of them and they’ll come down on you like a rabid flock. But, until they know for sure …” Betty shrugged. “Apparently Clarabelle and Istahra were on some super-secret mission so they can’t act yet.”

“If that’s the case, then why your concern and desire to find them?”

“Because she’s my friend. And up until a few months ago, she was sending me coded messages. Then they stopped.”

“Any clues as to why?”

Her expression turned morose. “No. As far as I know, they were doing fine. Seeing cool places. Meeting neat people. Then, bam! Nothing.”

“Do you know what their last known coordinates were?”

“Would I be asking around if people saw them if I knew?” she retorted.

“Do you want me to find her?” he asked, stroking his thumb across her jutting lower lip.

Lashes fluttered before she let her gaze meet his. The entreaty in her eyes bound him. Even without his hero pledge, he would have done anything she asked him in that moment. Anything …

“Please, Dyre. Will you find my friend?”

There was only one answer, “Yes,” and he sealed his promise with a kiss.

There was a softness to this embrace, a sensual bond that linked him to her more powerfully than an ancient mating bite, more thoroughly than a heroic pledge, and more mightily he was sure than any known magic or force could ever contrive.

In that moment, he knew, knew with every fiber of his being, that she was his damsel. His mate. His future. And judging by the rocking of his ship as someone bombarded it will missile fire, someone wanted to take away his new reason for existing.

To quote his mother, “Not happening.” And to quote his father, “Frukxing kill them all.”

“Take opportunities to blackmail.”
– A Mercenary’s Guide to Prosperity

“Heroes should fight blackmail.” –
The Unofficial Guide to Heroism

In one moment, Dyre kissed her and made her forget the world around her, wiped her mind of her quest to find C.B. and the fact that he wasn’t human. In the next, fireworks went off with muted booms, sending a shudder through her from the bottom of her feet up. It took Dyre breaking off the kiss and striding away for her to catch on that it wasn’t his kiss making her whole world shake.

“We’re being attacked!” she squeaked.

“Not for long,” he replied, not slowing his pace.

She would have jogged to catch up. However, the shaking ship made her first few steps unsteady. That and she was still drunk.

Damned alien booze!

With one hand braced on the wall, and measured steps, she made it to the bridge, falling only once after a particularly well-aimed shot—and a floor that conspired against her. She entered to find Dyre in his captain seat calmly surveying the screen while Zista manned a control panel, chirping out information.

“Shields holding steady still at sixty-seven percent. Small craft in the rear quarter incapacitated by our laser cannon.”

“Excellent. Has the station released the docking clamps yet as requested, or do we need to get proactive?” he asked, his commanding tone deliciously deep.

Betty sidled in and sat out of the way, not wanting to interrupt. She didn’t have much experience with space battles. A cloaking device was a wondrous thing, but only for small crafts. Something this large had to rely on shields and a weapons system.

“I’ll tell them again,” Zista replied. She toggled a button and crowed. “Release us now, or the flock will hear about your attempts to detain a citizen of the Zonian nation. You have until the count of three.”

Zista made it to two when the ship lurched.

“Docking clamps retracted, engaging rear thrusters.”

“Open the communications channel and ping the attacking ships.”

Dyre’s face turned rock hard, and his words emerged clipped—and menacing. “Attention attacking vessels, this is the commander. I am giving you one chance to cease your aggression, or I will terminate you.”

Extreme words from her usually understanding hero. What happened to giving his enemy a second chance? Then again, his ultimatum was technically an option.

One a certain alien wasn’t keen on. A reply was received. “Give us the human, and you may keep your ship.”

Apparently, someone was done using his words. Dyre pressed one button, and a distant boom sounded.

Zista cackled. “Direct hit. The starboard craft is space debris. Two of the other vessels have broken off, but the third large one remains. And they’re firing.”

She’d no sooner announced it than the ship shook, the muted sound of thunder coming to her. To Betty’s relief, no sirens went off, nor did any lights flash. Not that it meant anything, but her recollection of science fiction films she’d watched on Earth always had some kind of warning go off if the spaceship was breached. Hopefully, the aliens who’d built this ship were familiar with those movies.

“Has our defense system penetrated their shields yet?” Dyre asked as his fingers danced on the controls embedded in his armrest, doing who knew what to get them out of trouble.

“No. Do you want me to set a course and see if we can lose them?”

“And have them follow us and ambush when we least expect it?” Dyre shook his head. “I’ll handle it. I’m familiar with that brand of vessel, and while its shields are good, it does have a weakness.”

“It does?” Zista asked, turning her head to peer at him.

“Yes. Me.”

Betty slapped a hand over her mouth before she could giggle at the devilish look on Dyre’s face. It was so unexpected.
What happened to Mr. Nice Guy who gives everybody a second chance?

Holy crap, had she broken him?

Whatever the reason for his sudden change of heart, Dyre didn’t wait to act. He called up a holographic control screen. It hovered in the air before his seat, a tri-dimensional image displaying their ship, the space station, and the enemy vessel. Dyre’s fingers slid and tapped, moving in a quick blur as he manually controlled the battle waging outside their shields.

The sound of thunder reached them again, but this time, they weren’t on the receiving end. They were the ones kicking some alien ass.

Betty couldn’t help but cheer when the attackers gave up and pulled away, and then she gasped as a grim-faced Dyre sent a last shot. A shot that hit the enemy square and broke the ship apart.

“You killed them!”

“I ensured your safety.”

Her safety?

“You think this attack was about me?”

Zista snorted. “Did you not hear the pirate’s demand, little sister?”

“Yes, but I mean that makes no sense. Are you sure they weren’t screwing with you? It makes more sense if they were after this ship or the cargo.”

“I’m sure they would have taken those if given the chance, but they truly were after you. I think you fail to grasp your value,” Dyre stated. “Humans are a rarity. Attractive female ones even more so. There is a thriving black market for your kind, especially since Councilor Tren established security checkpoints around your barbarian world.”

“Tren? I know that name. He’s a cousin or something to Brax and Xarn.”

“Yes. He’s also distantly related to me,” Dyre admitted with a moue of distaste.

“He’s married to a human.”

“So I hear. At any rate, given the fact no one can smuggle humans any more from your planet, your value on the black market has increased. Tremendously.”

“I’d not heard of this,” Zista said. “I will have to inform the matriarchs. We have quite a few human foundlings in our flock. They will want to increase the planetary security to keep them safe from invaders. This also means we shall have to curtail our supply mission.”

“Why?” Betty asked.

“It shames me to say this aloud, but the danger to you is too great for me to handle alone. You need to return to the Zonian world where you will be safe.”

“But I don’t want to go.” Betty couldn’t help but cross her arms stubbornly as if it would make a difference.

“Did you not hear what the big purple one said? You are in danger out here.”

“But if I go back, how will I ever find a male to breed with, huh?” Betty used cajoling logic.

“I will make it my personal mission to abduct suitable males species and bring them back to the colony for you to choose from.”

Betty could tell by the stubborn set to her beak that Zista wouldn’t change her mind. Which left her only one choice, begging. “I can’t go back. Make that I won’t. Dyre, please, do something.”

“Your adopted sister has a point. You are in grave danger. You will need protection at all times.”

Didn’t it just figure. Now that they were out of danger, he’d revert to his usual hero crap. “So you want to make me a prisoner for the rest of my life? That blows.”

“Perhaps we can find a solution that is agreeable to all,” he said in a placating tone—at odds with the speculative gleam in his eyes.
What plan has he got up his sleeve?
“Zista, what if your human foundling were to mate with a male?”

With those startling words, she was roused from her pleasant contemplation of the purple muscles hidden by his sleeve. Betty’s head popped up. “Say what? Marry? Me?”

Her queries were ignored, and Zista appeared pensive. “While not common for our kind, I do know from my alien studies that, in other cultures, the bonding of opposite sexes usually relegates the care and protection of a female to the male. But where would we find such a specimen on short notice? She would require a strong warrior type. Someone more than capable of handling the danger sure to come her way. Someone physically capable of fathering babes with her, and of keeping her from harming herself with her headstrong ways.”