Gates of Hell (34 page)

Pyr turned his attention to his men, and was not unaware of Martin’s standing back and watching them all. Mik had placed the severed arm on one of the infirmary beds and was working on disarming the trigger in Halfor’s pendant. He spared a glance for Pyr, and gave a confident nod before he went back to his work.

Pilsane placed several metal cases on the workstation. “The Rust you asked for, Captain. As much as I could find in the time I had.” He turned and held up several datacubes. “And as much information as I could get my hands on as well.”

“Good work.” Pyr thumbed his bracelet. “Report.”

“Battle’s over. We won. The fortress’s defense shields register as completely inoperative,” Linch’s voice responded. “But you knew that already. Axylel?”

“We have him—but you knew that already.”

He’ll be fine, Dha-lrm
. “Manalo is already landing troops. The remaining pirates have surrendered.”

“Halfor’s dead.”

“Of course he is. The Bucon admiral has called to say he’s delighted with our performance.”
Did you find the rest of what you were looking for
?

Pilsane tossed the datacubes negligently from hand to hand, but he tilted an eyebrow impatiently at Pyr when Pyr glanced his way. He was anxious to start deciphering the information he’d downloaded from the guild’s computers—information that Manalo would not find when he set his own people looking through Halfor’s records. Pyr gave him a nod and Pilsane sauntered out to begin searching for everything the pirate guild knew about the plague and the People. Pyr knew it was a pity he hadn’t had the time to rip the information from Halfor’s mind before killing him, but that couldn’t be helped. The source of all this hell was what Axylel had gone looking for. Pyr hoped the boy had completed that mission before falling into Halfor’s trap, and that he’d soon be making a detailed report on it.

“One way or another, we have what we came for,” Pyr told Linch.

“Pity we can’t leave.”

Linch’s cool voice reminded Pyr that the
Raptor
was surrounded by a fleet of Bucon ships, and that their usefulness to the Bucons had ended when they’d used the Door to lower the enemy’s defensive shields.

“We have the koltiri,” Pyr reminded his second in command. “Has the looting started on the planet?”

“It has.”

“Then send our landing party down for our share. We’re pirates, let’s act like it.”

“Acknowledged, Captain.”

Pyr broke the comm connection and turned to Mik. The engineer held up the pendant, dangling it by its long chain. “All clear. Can I go look at the Door controls now? I hated bringing us back to the ship through here. Might have screwed up the Door by not returning to the exact origin point.”

“I was in a hurry. Go,” Pyr added. “And work on adding to the defense shielding around the Door room while you’re at it. Don’t want the Bucons trying to steal your baby.”

“Right,” Mik said, and left.

Pyr had no choice now but to look at his son, and—his woman. Roxanne in her vivid silk was draped over Axylel, one hand still cupping his face. The bruises had faded from Axylel’s pale skin, but his eyes were closed, his expression blank and lifeless. Roxanne’s head was turned away from Pyr. The thick, long braid of her hair fell to the deck. It reminded Pyr of a golden rope, and made him think of hangings. He touched his own throat, and it was tight with the pain of fear. Concern for both of them tugged him inexorably to the bedside, and held him there, immobile and helpless as endless seconds passed. He didn’t even notice Martin’s hand on his shoulder immediately. He absorbed the warmth and weight and comfort of the Terran’s touch slowly, and eventually turned his gaze away from the bed.

The dark brown eyes that met his were not young—perhaps they had never been young—but they held unexpected compassion. Unexpected, but not unwelcome. Pyr recalled that this man was linked to a koltiri himself. No doubt Martin had experienced his wife perform a healing many times before. He supposed this man who was no adolescent boy had children of his own.

Martin looked back at Roxanne and Axylel. “Do you know what happens if you flunk koltiri school?”

“You die,” Pyr guessed.

“That’s right. Roxanne graduated. She isn’t going to die now, and neither is your son.”

Pyr knew that he had almost killed her, and he had wanted his life to be saved. Axylel was as afflicted with the plague, as addicted to the Rust—and there were other drugs in his system, Pyr was sure, and the residue of telepathic torture. Axylel might not want to be saved. Perhaps the attempt to heal would kill them both.

“She’s stronger than when she met you,” Martin said. “Thanks to you.” Martin didn’t sound happy about that. “And Axylel isn’t as talented a telepath as you, is he?” he guessed.

“No one is.”

Except Roxanne. He shied away from thinking about how it felt to have met a match for his gifts at last. He wanted to shy away from any thoughts at all for a while, but couldn’t.

“You’ve won,” the Terran who was not a telepath but was very perceptive said. “You deserve to rest.” Martin gestured toward the bed. “As soon as they wake up, of course.”

Roxanne stirred as Martin spoke. She lifted her head and turned it toward them, and blinked. He didn’t think she recognized them for a moment. Pyr helped her to sit up, then to her feet. She was warm and solid beneath his hands, exhausted but very alive. She looked at him with annoyance in her dark purple eyes. “You Kaddanis are a pain in the ass about getting fixed. Physically, Axylel is now perfect. Except for that drop of organic explosive implanted next to his heart. It’s neutralized but needs to be taken out.” She glanced at Martin. “Now it’s your turn, Dr. Braithwaithe.”

Pyr saw that Martin’s attention was focused on Axylel. Pyr moved to touch his son. He stroked Axylel’s forehead. He was asleep, deep, dreamless, Pyr could feel that, and the disturbance beneath the sleep. “What can you do?” he asked Martin. “What does he need?”

“I’ve told you about Martin,” Roxanne reminded. “He specializes in taking care of telepaths. Axylel needs someone to talk to.”

“He has me.”

“There will be things he can’t say to you,” Martin said. He spread his hands out before him. “But to a stranger… ? Sometimes it’s easier to talk to a stranger.”

“Especially Martin.” Roxanne looked at her brother-in-law with pride and utter confidence. “He fixes people like you and me all the time, Pyr.”

“Axylel might be comfortable talking to someone near his own age,” Martin added. “Like me.”

“How old are you, really?” Pyr asked.

“As old as I need to be to help your son.”

Pyr liked the answer. He liked Martin. He suspected everyone did—if Martin wanted them to—but didn’t resent this gift of the Terran’s. “Whatever Axylel needs,” he said. “He will have.”

“I’ll do what I can. We’ll talk when he wakes up. Speaking of sleeping…” Martin looked at Roxanne. “Get some rest.”

Pyr put his arm around her shoulder. She leaned against him. They fit together, comfortable and comforting. Rest sounded wonderful. He couldn’t stop the yawn, so wide it made his jaw hurt. “Sleep,” he said, and Roxanne sighed her agreement. He turned her toward the door. “I want to sleep with you,” he told her.

Roxy’s sleep was delicious, totally restful. Maybe not altogether dreamless, but no specific memory of dreams tickled against her rising consciousness. Waking up, now waking up was a different story. She knew what waited upon waking up, so Roxy put it off as long as possible and tried to allow in only sensory impressions. This didn’t completely work, of course. The world waited beyond the comfortable, comforting bed, complex and confused and completely unfair.

Big deal
, she thought,
that’s life
.

No, no, don’t think yet
. She let herself be aware of the warmth of the wonderfully hard body beside her—beside her, draped over her, peacefully breathing, heartbeat matching her own, naked flesh against her own, surrounding and shielding her. She sighed, and heard the gooey contentment in the sound. She snuggled closer and buried her face in the thick darkness of his hair. Felt good. Smelled good. Heavy. The man was heavy. She liked that. Knew where to find him in a bed.

Hadn’t they agreed that they didn’t want to do anything so intimate as sleep together? Why then, damn it, had sharing her sleeping hours with this man been the best time she’d ever had?
And I wasn’t even awake for it
.

You’re thinking, Roxanne.

No, I’m not.

Better than snoring, I suppose.

Go back to sleep.

I’m not awake.

You’re conscious. Same thing. Maybe we should have done more than sleep.

Maybe
. “Damn!” Her eyes flew open to find him looking at her, grinning. She hadn’t felt him move, but Pyr was half-rolled onto his side, his head propped up on his hand. “You look disgustingly well-rested,” she told him. Smug, too. As self-satisfied as if they’d made love a dozen times in a dozen different ways.

He slowly and thoroughly proceeded to scratch his chest and flat stomach. Her gaze followed the movement. His gaze moved slowly over her. Funny thing was, she was wearing clothes, but didn’t feel like it when he looked at her like that.

“I feel naked,” Pyr said. “You’re an empath.”

She was willing to accept his explanation. Why not? He had only stripped down to his trousers, but he seemed more naked half-dressed than any man she’d ever seen completely bare. Roxanne shook her head, and wondered when her hair had come unbraided. “It has a mind of its own,” she said as she pushed thick strands out of her face. “More than I can say for the rest of me.” She blinked. “Which makes no sense, of course.” Pyr kept smiling. “I am generally an inane person,” she warned him. “Really. You wouldn’t want to wake up beside me every day.” Which sounded exactly like an admission that waking up with him was exactly what she wanted. She pressed her palms against her temples. “Let’s start this day over again, shall we?”

Pyr sat up and glanced at the table next to his bed. Not just at the chrono, but at the holos of his family resting there. Roxy slipped out of bed and stood watching him look at the pictures of his grown children and dead wife. This was a man who did not want or need to start over, she thought, and that was good. It tore into her, but it was all right. Necessary.

“The pirate and the prisoner,” he said, still turned away from her. “I cannot call you an enemy or an alien, but I understand why you need to think that way.”

“It would be best if I could keep thinking that way. It would make Martin happier.”

“Fuck Martin.”

“Reine would kill me if I did.”

He chuckled, not a pleasant sound. The muscles of his broad back were tensed. “I’d kill you.” He gave another low, dangerous laugh. “It’s come that far, that I’m jealous of even the thought of you with another man.” He turned his head. “I sound ridiculous.”

She caught her breath at the sight of his sharp-planed, high-nosed face in three-quarter’s profile. “But you look damned good.” His hair was sleep-tousled, with the tip of his sharply pointed ear showing through. She wanted to touch his ears, and run her hands through his hair and across the smoothly defined muscles of his shoulders. He had beautiful skin. “Why’d you have to be so damned handsome?”

He stood and faced her, heavy arched brow lifted sardonically, hands on his narrow hips. “I notice that you are not affronted to hear that I can be jealous of you.”

She tilted her head to one side. “I’m worth it.” She was used to it. Eamon was a jealous man; they’d fought over it a lot.

“A woman should know her worth.”

“Besides, we both know you don’t need to be jealous. Somehow that makes it flattering. Ought to irritate the hell out of me.”

“Perhaps it will another time.”

There shouldn’t be another time. “Perhaps.” She stepped back with a sultry, arrogant smile and looked him over with completely blatant interest until she had him blushing. The line of hot color that spread across his face and throat fascinated and attracted her. “I notice you don’t take affront at being considered gorgeous.”

“I’m used to it.”

She snorted. “Yeah, but I’m prettier than Linch.”

“Sexier, too. To me.”

There was the bed and much of the width of the room between them, but she doubted the distance would last long. “I’m not quite sure what we’re doing, Captain, but I think we ought to stop.”

“We know what we’re doing.” His face changed, the smile and life going from his eyes. “And we will stop.” He went completely still, his shields tightly guarded. He gave her a stiff nod. “My apologies, Roxanne.” He turned away, toward the holos.

And apologies to Siiyel, the beloved late bondmate, Dhakynn
? she wondered, and wrestled with her own bout of intense, unreasonable jealousy. If Pyr picked up her thought he did not react. She was sad and guilty as well. It would be good to have her love for her husband as a shield against her attraction to Pyr. She could no longer think of one good thing about Eamon Merkrates, and she knew that wasn’t fair.

Nothing unreasonable about being jealous of Pyr, she decided, but it was not acceptable behavior for Physician Roxanne Shirah of the United Systems. Dhakynn was not a name she had any right to call him. He had never spoken or thought it to her, though she had the feeling she’d known it all her life. She told herself not to care. She was a citizen of the Systems, and the Systems needed her very badly. All the blessed sweetness of resting beside him, all the bright joy of teasing and talking to him was gone now, replaced by tension and the knowledge that her connection to this man stood between her and sworn duty.

“I don’t suppose you have any intention of letting me return to the United Systems?”

“No.”

“Then let me send the medical data back with Martin.”

“No.”

“Countless lives are at stake.” She pointed a finger at him.

“I know what is at stake, and I wish it could be as simple as sending you home to save the universe all by yourself. But saving the universe is my job. Glare all you want, Roxanne, and protest, but I need that data and you to help me find the source of the plague.”