Hero (2 page)

Micayla frowned. "What makes you say that?"

Shaking her head, Windura replied, "If you don't know that by now, then I can't help you." With a quick grin, she added, "See you at eleven," and was gone.

Micayla stood gazing blankly at the throng of children, unable to recall why she

had gone to the park in the first place. Ordinarily it would've been a cold day in hell, let alone Orleon Station, when a man distracted her that much, but then she remembered: Tea. You're here to get tea. Getting in line at Starbucks, she ordered a tall cup of hot, foaming chai and then headed off to work.

The communications center was a hive of bustling activity, and Micayla had to
squeeze past several other officers to get to her station, nearly spilling her tea as she finally plunked down in her seat. The guy from the previous shift had left his candy wrappers scattered about, and she gathered them up, grumbling as one of them stuck to the console.

"Sorry about that," he said from behind her. Reaching over her shoulder, he retrieved the last of them, his chest pressing lightly against her back.

Micayla shifted away from him slightly. Scott was Terran and an attractive fellow with a terrific smile, but he was getting a little too... chummy. As a female of an unknown species, if there was one thing Micayla had learned, it was that Terrans and whatever she was weren't compatible--at least, none she'd met so far--and having grown up on Earth, she'd met quite a few.

"That's okay, Scott," she said. "I'm sure I leave tea stains for Xantric to wipe up when she comes on duty."

"Not sure she'd notice," Scott said with a shrug. "And if she did, you'd never know it. Twilanans never complain about anything." He turned to leave, but then paused, adding, "Not much traffic on the system for the past couple of hours, but I'm sure it'll pick up for you."

Micayla took a sip of her tea and nodded. "It always does," she agreed. "Get some sleep."

Scott sighed. "Too bad you and I work different shifts. Otherwise, we could spend a little more time together--instead of me just going back to my quarters and dreaming about you."

Micayla felt a pang near her heart and wished she could have felt something other than regret when a man said such things to her. Steeling herself against his inevitable reaction, she purposely avoided his eyes, focusing instead on resetting the instrument panel with her fingerprint on the log entry. "Dreams will have to suffice, big guy," she said. "I'm not looking for a boyfriend."

"You always say that," Scott grumbled. "Sure I can't talk you out of it?"

"You could try," she said, wishing it really would work, just once, "but it probably won't do you any good."

"Ice Queen," he muttered.

"I've been called that before," she said wearily.

"Treacherous Temptress?"

"Been called that too."

"You're kidding me, right?"

"You'd be surprised." Micayla sighed. "And believe me, it's nothing personal, Scott. I have no problem with being friends, but if you want more than that, I'm simply the wrong species."

Seeming to take this as an invitation, Scott turned and leaned against the partition that divided the workstations. "What are you, anyway?"

"No idea," she replied. "But I'm not human, that's for sure."

"No shit," Scott said. "You're better looking than any Terran I've ever seen. I love those cat-like eyes of yours. The elfin ears are nice too, and the fangs..." His voice trailed off there as though indulging in some erotic fantasy.

"The better to bite you with, my dear," Micayla quoted. When her stepmother had first read her that story, she probably never realized that Micayla identified much more
with the wolf than with Little Red Riding Hood--though, in truth, she looked more like a lion or a panther than a wolf.

If Scott's response was any indication, being savaged by a lioness was the answer to his wildest imaginings. "Would you?" he asked eagerly. "Please? Pretty please?"

"Absolutely not," Micayla said firmly as a hail came through the system. "Get going, now," she added, shooing him away. "I've got work to do."

Scott withdrew with obvious reluctance, mumbling imprecations under his breath

as he went.

Micayla redirected the hail and wondered if it would be worth it to try to spend a little more time with Scott. He was a nice guy and it would take no encouragement whatsoever to--no, she decided. It wasn't worth the pain. Her lack of interest in the opposite sex wasn't her fault, but he would end up despising her for it and then she'd be right back where she started.

Her attitude wasn't precisely a lack of interest, however; it was more a lack of

desire, and though she knew what desire was supposed to feel like--she had one fantasy that never failed to elicit that response--it never seemed to work with a flesh and blood man. The man she'd seen in the park might have been different, though; she'd at least felt something for him, if only compassion. Had the little girl been his daughter, telling him good-bye as he left on a journey through space? Was she a friend or a complete stranger?

Micayla had no way of knowing, but the more she thought about it, the more she itched to find out.

She glanced up as Dana took her seat at the next station, apologizing to Roxanne

for being late. "I had such a tough time getting Cara out of the park!" Dana was saying.

"She started talking to someone and didn't want to leave. I'm surprised she didn't go running after him."

Micayla had never met Dana's daughter, but she knew the feeling. It had taken

every bit of her strong work ethic to remind her that running after men in cloaks wasn't in her job description. "A stranger?"

"Yes, and you'd think I'd have taught her not to do that by now, wouldn't you?"

said Dana. "But since I talked to him myself, I can't say I've been setting a very good example, can I?"

Micayla couldn't help but laugh. Dana was probably the friendliest person she had ever met. Talking to anyone--stranger or not--seemed to come very easily to her.

"And he looked so sad," Dana went on. "I think she cheered him up a little."

Micayla felt her pulse quicken. "Why? What did she do?"

"Climbed up in his lap and wiped away his tears," Dana replied. "She made him smile, too--she gave him a strawberry."

Her heart was pounding now. "What did he look like?"

Dana cocked her head to the side, gazing thoughtfully at Micayla. "You know, he looked something like you," she replied. "I don't know why it didn't occur to me at the time, but he had the same kind of cat's eyes, and his eyebrows were upswept like yours.

He even had fangs." Dana laughed softly. "And he could purr like a kitten."

"Did he say anything else--like who he was or where he was from?" Micayla asked breathlessly.

Dana's soft brown curls bounced as she shook her head. "No, he just got up and left."
"I--I think I saw him too," Micayla said. "He had long black hair and was wearing a cloak, right?"

Dana nodded. "Do you know him?"

"No, but I wish I did. There was something about him that got my attention."

"He probably gets plenty of that," Dana said with a giggle. "He was very handsome--especially when he smiled."

Micayla felt a surge of emotions. Regret for not having run after him, despair that she might never see him again, and envy that Dana had actually spoken with him--and all this because of a man she'd never even met. How very odd...

***

had prepared him for the way he'd felt that morning, and he'd spent twenty years of that life as a slave. The fact that he'd been a free man and the pilot of a starship for the past three years didn't matter--he still felt trapped.

"Inheriting" a fortune in jewels from his former master might have provided him with the means, but something was missing from his life and until that space was filled, he felt adrift. He'd opted to take the job as Lerotan Kanotay's pilot, mainly because he couldn't come up with a better plan. Living among Lerotan's rough, uncouth crew was nothing like he imagined freedom would be, though his years of slavery might have had something to do with why he felt that way. Lerotan had teased him more than once about having been the Darconian queen's pampered pet.

Unlike Trag, his brother, Tychar, had done something far more interesting with

his life, but he had talent as a singer and a woman who loved him. Trag could have gone on tour with Ty's band, but playing the flunky younger brother to a rock star didn't appeal to him in the slightest. There would always be a place for him aboard Jack Tshevnoe's ship, but Trag thought it was a bad idea for so many of the few remaining Zetithians to be together on one vessel. If the Nedwuts attacked and blew the Jolly Roger to bits, it would wipe out half of the six that were left of his species.

At least the six that were known. There could have been others in hiding, but with the increased bounty being paid on Zetithians, the Nedwut bounty hunters were more determined than ever to capture the remaining few. This meant that Trag often had to fight to stay alive and though he hoped to find other survivors--perhaps even a female--

the odds were slim. Just that morning at the breakfast table while their ship cruised toward Orleon Station, Lerotan had teased him that perhaps this was the day. Trag, however, had not been quite so optimistic.

"Maybe," he had said. "But knowing my luck, even if we did find a Zetithian woman, she'd probably already have a mate, or she'd be the wrong age for me."

"And she'd automatically want you if she was the right age and not taken?"

This comment hit Trag like a stun blast to the chest. "I hadn't thought of that."

Lerotan roared with laughter. "Let's say we do find one that's eligible, what's to say she'd be so desperate that she'd want you?"

"Well, I--if I'm the only one left that doesn't have a mate," Trag sputtered, "she'd have to take me!"

"Oh, yeah. I'm sure I'd want a woman who only took me because of a lack of

options."

Trag scowled at Lerotan but knew he was right. "I didn't mean it that way," he
said. "What I meant was that if she's Zetithian, she wouldn't want anyone but another Zetithian."

"Oh, so it's different with the women?" Lerotan said skeptically. "You can do the Terran female/Zetithian male thing but not the other way around?"

"That's right," Trag said, crossing his arms firmly. "Hell, they didn't want us half the time, and we're irresistible. What makes you think they'd want anyone else?"

"You cocky Zetithians," Lerotan said with a wag of his head. "Always think women will want you no matter what. Well, let me tell you something, Trag. The males of other species have cocks as big and fancy as yours--some even have more than one.

You aren't that special."

"Well, someone must've thought we were hot shit or they wouldn't be so set on making sure we were all dead," Trag grumbled. "That's Jack's theory, and I'd be willing to bet she's right."

"Suit yourself," Lerotan said, leaning back in his chair. "But I can do things with a woman that you can't, and you don't see anyone trying to crash asteroids into my planet, do you?"

Trag knew it was true but hated to admit it. Dark-skinned and handsome with a

long, black braid that hung over one shoulder, Lerotan looked human, except for the tail, and the rune tattooed on his left temple only added to his allure with women. Trag hadn't seen a woman turn him down yet; in fact, they tended to line up for the chance to be part of a threesome or get double-fucked when he used his tail on them. Trag had had the misfortune of walking in on him once; the tuft of his tail had opened at the point, enabling the erectile tissue inside to protrude, looking for all the world like a spare cock.

He had almost as much control of it as Trag had with his own penis--which was

considerable. Trag was good--and it was a given that no woman had ever complained--

but he certainly couldn't do two of them at the same time.

Still, he couldn't let Lerotan think he was better at pleasing one woman than he

was. It was a matter of pride. "I know you've essentially got two tools, but can your fluids trigger orgasms?"

Lerotan took a sip of his drink and smiled. "I like to think it's my own efforts that make women scream for more, rather than drugging them with some kind of orgasmic

cock syrup."

"Yeah, well, somebody else must have felt that way too, but trust me, it wasn't a woman!" And especially not Kyra. Trag pushed himself away from the table and lunged to his feet. "We're coming up on the space station."

"Well, be careful," Lerotan warned. "I don't want the paint scratched."

Trag rolled his eyes and headed off to the helm, not bothering to reply.

Orleon Station was about the size of a small moon but was shaped like a crystal

with points in every direction, its growth seemingly haphazard as new sections were added on. Once the pride of the sector, it had become seedier with age, and those of Lerotan's ilk frequented the dingier bars seeking the illegal goods that had been banned from the station in the beginning but were now the more common merchandise.

It was rumored that the new commander was attempting to clean up some of the

corruption, but Lerotan had made the comment that it was probably too late for that. Trag avoided arguing with Lerotan about what he sold, but also knew from having met Jack that it was possible to amass a small fortune by dealing in legal commodities.
Unfortunately, while Jack had a knack for knowing what would sell on every planet she visited, from medical supplies to exotic cuisine, Lerotan just knew a good weapon when he saw one.

The first hail from the station brought Lerotan to the communications console to

respond. "Captain: Lerotan Kanotay. Ship: The Equalizer. Cargo: weapons of all kinds for all kinds of buyers." He said this last with the same smirk as always, and Trag suspected he derived some sort of pleasure from putting it that way. No, Lerotan would never give up the arms game--at least not until someone killed him.