Ride the Stars/once Bitten (2 page)

He flipped the folder closed.

"Freaky." Bali had no desire to be bitten and even less to become pregnant. "Why do we care?"

Sighing as if the answer were obvious, he explained, "Your genes are mutating, kid. Slowly killing you, if you want the hard truth. Draconian adaptogen is powerful stuff. Maybe even powerful enough to override what Itara did to you. You won’t be fully human when the Drac is done with you, but you will be alive and healthy."

She hated her options. Either she got a Drac hot and horny enough to bite her, or she died painfully, maybe going mad. She massaged one eyebrow, smoothing it as she thought. "Can you give me something to help until...?" She couldn’t say it. Probably lacked the guts to do it.

Icki smiled. "I’ve ordered you a drug that will settle things down, give you time. I don’t like the side effects, but it will hold you until you find your man."

Bali gritted her teeth. "You don’t know that I will."

He snorted. "Speaking strictly as a man, you’ve got what it takes, babe. Long black hair, blue eyes, and a figure to die for. You’re a cute kid." He frowned and looked her up and down. "We’ve just got to do something about those granny clothes you wear."

She glanced down at her brown sweater and tan slacks. "What are you talking about?" Okay, she knew she wasn’t a prize, but no one had complained about her clothes before. Come to think of it, no one had seemed to notice one way or another what she wore.

Icki winked at her. "Nothing, if your goal is to attract your better grade of computer nerd. For this project you need clothes that scream, ‘Jump me!’" He sighed dramatically. "Well, it’s a tough job, but as your personal doctor, it’s my duty to help you. We’ll go shopping. Don’t worry, I’ll bill you for my time."

He always said that, but he never did.

Grunting with ill humor, she eyed his tailored clothes and slick hairstyle. Well, maybe the man knew what he was doing. Guaranteed, he dressed better than she did.

She surrendered to the inevitable with ill grace. "Fine. Do your worst."

"Icki!" She blushed ten shades of red when Icki tossed half a dozen pairs of racy underwear and matching bras into her cart. "Put that back," she hissed, mortified that someone had seen him.

Brow raised, he challenged, "I will if you swear you own anything better than white underwear." He nodded knowingly at her blush. "That’s what I thought. We’ll grab some stockings for you later, after we check out the outfits. Then we’ll know what shoes and boots to buy."

Glowing with embarrassment, she said through stiff lips, "How is it you know so much about women’s clothes?"

He gave her rogue’s wink. "Spent enough time taking it off."

Forty minutes later, she stepped out of the dressing room in a beaded blue slip with flapper fringe.

Icki looked up from flirting with the dressing room attendant and whistled. "Hello, gorgeous. You make me wish I were a Drac."

She snorted. "If you were, I’d be dead for sure. You’re not my favorite person right now." She’d never worn a skirt that hit her above the knees or a neckline that exposed the slightest hint of cleavage. At the moment she felt as bare as if she were wrapped in nothing but a towel.

Icki lightly chucked the busty brunette under the chin, whispering something that made her giggle. She wiggled her fingers at him as he escorted Bali away.

"New friend?" Bali asked acidly. If she wasn’t in charity with him, nobody should be.

"We’ve got a date. I told her you were my sister." He smirked.

His comment made her heart lighten. Icki was the closest thing she had to a brother, and she was lucky to have him. Maybe she would chicken out and be unable to assist in her own seduction, but she loved him for trying.

Unfortunately, there was still one thing she was worried about. "How am I supposed to get to know any Draconians? I freeze up whenever I meet someone new, especially a man. My idea of small talk makes most people’s eyes glaze over. This is never going to work."

Icki draped an arm around her shoulders and bumped his hip encouragingly into hers. "Don’t worry about it. I’ve got it all worked out. In the meantime, we’ve got to get you some dress boots ASAP.

What were you thinking when you bought those shoes?" He glanced down at her loafers in mock dismay, winning a laugh from her.

There were worse things than having a naughty guardian angel watching your back.

* * * *

Two weeks later

"Look, I don’t give a flying flip about your stupid immigration laws. I’m not immigrating. I’m visiting. Just let me do the tourist thing and then I’ll be off this rock at the speed of light." Bali couldn’t believe her rotten luck. Nine days in a cramped spaceship and now a cushy official was sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. She’d passed customs. The little bureaucrat was just being obnoxious. Probably had a thing against off-worlders.

Become a courier, see the stars, she mocked to herself, quoting a popular advertisement. If they went through this every time....

The stubby little fellow jutted out his chins, the second one jiggling like a bowl of jellied veal. Eyeing her formfitting, knee-length, black leather jacket with the low cut neckline with distaste, he said firmly, "We are strongly discouraging the Craft here, Miss Shane."

Icki was going to die. She coughed, unsure whether to be amused or annoyed. After all, she was wearing pants and a bustier underneath. Black leather, sure, but they covered what they should. It wasn’t like her black boots had spike heels on them, either.

She didn’t like making scenes and hated confrontations of all kinds. Normally she was so retiring, she made Amish women look like Amazons in comparison. But this was just the sort of thing to spark her dormant temper. Her evil instincts urged her to put on a show designed to make this jerk think twice about bothering innocent passengers with bad fashion advisers.

Adopting the dramatic air of an ancient Victorian maiden, she raised her voice to an outraged, carrying howl. "Are you accusing me of being a hooker?"

Several travelers in the spaceport turned to look at them.

Shooting them an irked look, the man said, "Miss, kindly keep your voice down!"

Enjoying herself--this from a girl who’d nearly flunked drama because of shyness--she bellowed back, "You’re calling me a whore and you want me to keep quiet about it?"

That brought another man trotting over. This one had a grim set to his mouth and nervous eyes. "Is there a problem here?"

Over the official’s sputters, Bali played to her gathering audience. Pointing her finger dramatically at the enemy, she said indignantly, "My papers are in order, but this pug here won’t let me pass. He says, judging by my clothes, that I’m in the Craft. Have you ever?" She was tempted to stamp her foot, but that might have been overacting. "I demand an apology, and I am never using this spaceport again." She hid a smirk of satisfaction at the sheen of sweat that suddenly sprouted on his upper lip.

Her rescuer glared at the official. "Apologize at once, Mawkbar, and let the lady through. Expect an official reprimand on your records."

Lips tightly compressed, Mawkbar managed to say a tight, "Forgive me, miss. Have a nice day.

Welcome to Tantalus." It sounded as if he were chewing rocks.

Concealing her mirth, Bali drew herself up with a long sniff and looked down her nose. She stalked through the security barrier, the other official dogging her heels.

"Allow me to pay for your cab, miss. It’s the least I can do."

If he wanted to, she wasn’t going to tell him no.

The heat slammed into her the moment she exited the spaceport. Surprised at the humidity, she glanced at the cloudless blue sky and fierce sun, thinking that the captain should have warned his passengers about the heat. She snorted and slid on her shades, already feeling a sun glare headache coming on. He’d probably had a good laugh when she’d disembarked, imagining her sweltering in her leather. They hadn’t gotten along, but then she rarely took to men who made passes at her, and crude ones at that.

Once in the transport, she gave the official a cool nod of thanks and let him close the door. "Domino’s.

Gun it," she told the cabbie. The sooner she was off this baking hot rock, the better. First business, then pleasure. Or ... she bit her inner lip, trying not to think about the nature of her mission. Her plan was different than Icki’s--she suspected he was doing his best to rid her of her overripe virginity. Since her "over ripeness" was there by choice, she planned to befriend a Draconian instead, much as she had Icki.

In her platonic version of events, the Drac would understand her dilemma, sympathize, bite her, and let her go on her merry way.

Yeah, it might happen that way.

The port city of Tantalus, Killaray was kept cool with a system of heat reflective bio-domes. Shimmering over buildings or entire blocks, the technology formed an interlocking series of energy umbrellas, allowing moving objects easy passage. The poor sections of the city could not afford this luxury, so many of the residents loitered or worked the sweltering daylight hours away under the domes. In spite of the high human traffic, the city was clean.

Eager to see the sights while she was here, Bali rolled down her window to get the full effect. Many flowering plants and fruit trees dotted the sidewalks and window boxes. Rooftop gardens sprouted from almost every building, making her smile with anticipation. She’d never seen a city so alive. Killaray was built on the strength of stone and steel, but embraced the green world with a lover’s hand.

The sunlight faded away to night as she watched, leaving the pastel streetlights to chase the dark away.

Hard to believe that such soft illumination could have such a taming effect on the powerful night, she mused. How often did softness conquer that kind of black heat?

Domino’s club was set on the edge of the city. Outside, it was plain gray stone with red, cut glass letters spelling "Domino" in English and Draconian.

Inside waited the hottest thing this side of the sun. Or so said the rumors.

Not that she expected to attract his attention. Anyone that gorgeous was never going to look her way.

She was hoping for a mild mannered, nice sort of Drac. Rumor said that none existed, but surely it exaggerated. There had to be at least one among the many Dracs who made Tantalus their Mecca.

If not, she was in trouble.

The cabbie accepted his fare and let her out. "Getting an early night on it, are you?" He winked.

Uncertain how to interpret the wink, she settled for a droll stare. "Quite."

A line was growing outside the door when a bouncer propped it open, spilling music out around him.

The golden glow behind him beckoned.

He took the first ID, then looked the nervous owner over. "Nice try, kid. Try coming back when you can shave."

Bali rolled her eyes and sighed as the kid slunk away. Ignoring her rumbling stomach, she cast an impatient eye over the parking lot and shifted in her sweltering clothes. It was so blasted hot, and she felt--moments later she felt nothing at all.

Domino looked up in surprise as his door guard lugged an unconscious woman into the club. They’d once had an underage girl fake a swoon to get in, but she’d revived fast enough with a pitcher of ice water. Judging by this woman’s dripping black hair, she’d already passed the faking it test.

"Heat stroke," Hari said, propping the stirring woman up in Domino’s private booth. Businesslike, he stripped off the woman’s long leather jacket. He dropped it on the seat next to her. "Nice armful. Too bad she’s not bright enough to dress down in hot weather." He left.

She groaned and stirred. "I heard that." Her voice was groggy.

Domino grinned and ordered her some iced fruit juice. She needed to cool down, and he needed to look at her.

Hari was right--she was cute. Black hair, blue eyes now squinting open and a long, elegantly built frame.

Nice curves packaged in a fetching leather bustier and tight leather pants. Pity she hadn’t exchanged them for a skirt. Tantalus demanded common sense fashion.

She grunted. "Stop looking."

"You dress like that and expect a man to ignore it?"

"Fine, stop staring, then." She accepted the fruit juice from a server and pressed it to her head before sipping from it.

"Here." Domino reached around her and gathered her hair up.

She stiffened.

He quirked a brow and used a set of clean chopsticks from the table to pin her hair up in a twisted bun.

"Beautiful as it is down, you’ll be cooler with it up."

She eyed him suspiciously, then reached over and riffled in her coat pocket. She held a plain white, folded piece of parchment sealed with red wax between two fingers. "This is yours. Icki sends his compliments." Her expression smoothed out, though there was a note of cool defiance in her gaze.

Curious, he slipped the card from her fingers--slowly. This was a woman he would take his time with, if he chose to answer her challenge. The odds were good--he’d never been the kind to face a dare without proving himself dominant. It was purely Draconian, and one hundred percent Domino D’rath. She’d learn, in time.

He broke the seal and scanned the contents. "Happy Birthday. Consider her a favor repaid. She doesn’t know you know, and she doesn’t know who you are.

Domino frowned. That was cryptic, even for Icki. A favor? He slid his gaze over her, quickly dismissing his first thought. She didn’t have the look of a hired woman, and it wasn’t Icki’s style. Wasn’t his style.

So who, and what, was she?

Standing up, he told her smoothly, "I’m going to make a call. Please wait here." The tone was pleasant, but he saw from her sharp glance that she’d heard the underlying command. Good. At least Icki hadn’t sent him a stupid woman. He moved into the glass booth set aside a little ways away for private calls.

Ignoring the terminal, he pulled out his private communicator and leaned one shoulder against the wall, keeping the woman in sight. After a couple of minutes of relay static, someone answered at the other end.