3013: REMEDY: A 3013 Novella (3013: The Series) Page 2

  “It’s barely after breakfast,” Shay called over her shoulder. “Not a lot of day drinkers, but things will pick up after lunch. By dinner, the place will be packed.”

  “As will the med-bay,” came a sarcastic reply from the entrance. Commander Olivia Tavish looked as polished and put together as ever in her Alliance uniform. “So, I found these guys wandering around the station.” She flicked a hand over her shoulder to indicate the six Krytos males behind her. “I thought you might want them back.” A visible shudder rippled through her. “Please take them back.”

  Slade, Bastian, and Knox Cadell ignored her jibes as they marched across the bar to surround their mate. For her part, Isla took it all in stride, greeting each of them with a smile and a kiss.

  Kylir couldn’t remember the other males’ names, but he recognized them as Shay’s mates. Stars, it felt like everyone he knew was falling in love and living out some fairytale romance. Everyone except him. His mother often reminded him that at twenty-nine, he was still young, but the truth was that no one knew for sure if he’d ever have a true keeper like other D’Aire, or if he’d find and bond with a confrere like the Reema.

  Sometimes, late at night when he was all alone, he prayed fate would intervene and send him a keeper. It was a desire he’d never voiced aloud, not even to his parents, but he doubted any female would be able to look past his oddities otherwise.

  On the other hand, he wanted real love, not some mythical fabrication of the emotion. He couldn’t decide which would be worse—mating someone who was with him because she didn’t have a choice, or finding his keeper, only to have her reject him.

  “Kylir.” Olivia barked his name as if she’d already repeated it a few times.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled, shaking off his melancholy. “What can I do for you, Commander?”

  “Could I speak with you in private for a minute?”

  He glanced at the happy trios by the bar, but no one seemed to be paying any attention to him. “Sure. Is there a problem?”

  “No problem.” She tapped at her wrist unit while she spoke. “Wait for me in that back booth.” Without looking up, she waved her hand in the vague direction of the far corner. “I’ll be right there.”

  He did as he was told without comment, although “right there” turned out to be more like fifteen minutes. Just long enough to spike his anxiety while he flipped through everything he’d ever done wrong in his entire life. Maybe she didn’t want him on the space station anymore. From what he knew about the commander, that didn’t seem likely, but it wouldn’t be the first time he’d been kicked out of some public place.

  “Sorry about that.” Appearing beside the booth, Olivia gave him a friendly smile. “Thanks for waiting.”

  Mouth hanging open, he nodded dumbly, all of his attention fixated on the female at the commander’s side. Tall and slender, with luscious curves in all the right places, she was the type of beautiful that races throughout time had written sonnets, poems, and entire books about.

  Long, soft curls cascaded over her shoulders like strands of spun gold, framing a heart-shaped face dominated by the biggest, bluest eyes he’d ever seen. Her flawless skin glowed in the dim lighting, marred only by the twin tattoos at the corner of her eyes.

  The one on the right designated her as a scroll—a fertile, human female. The other he recognized all too well, and his stomach sank with disappointment, because the tattoo near her left eye meant she’d already been claimed by another.

  “This is Lieutenant Astrid Strong. Astrid, this is Kylir T’Kari.”

  The female graced him with a shy smile that went straight to his dick. “Hi,” she breathed, her voice almost musical. “Thanks for meeting with me.”

  “I’ll do it,” he blurted.

  Olivia laughed. “You don’t even know what I’m going to ask.”

  “Is it for her?” He inclined his head toward Astrid.

  “Well…yeah, but—”

  He nodded firmly. “Then, yes. Whatever you want, my answer is yes.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Seated in one of the Storm Rider’s eight-person emergency shuttles, Astrid ran her hands up and down her bare arms, trying to warm them. “Thank you again. I know this isn’t convenient for you, but I’m really grateful.”

  It had been more than three months since the Ministry of Nations meeting that was supposed to give her permission to travel to Xenthian to study the curative properties of the water. While no one knew exactly what had happened—other than those in attendance—rumor had it that the Delta Station had been infiltrated, and those on board had been attacked. By whom and why was still the subject of debate, but she’d heard dozens of theories, each one more colorful than the last.

  The Alliance had remained tight-lipped about the incident, which was to be expected, as were the current travel restrictions to certain parts of the galaxies. Still, being shuffled from space station to space station while the bureaucrats worked out what to do with her had been frustrating.

  Technically, she had clearance to land on the planet. She just didn’t have the means. Travel to Xenthian was still banned since the meeting had been interrupted before the Alliance had concluded their negotiations with the race. Commander Tavish had spoken to her contact on Xenthian about an escort, but the Xenon had temporarily grounded their ships as well.

  The only silver lining had been receiving permission from the ruler of the planet to make the journey to conduct her research. She just couldn’t arrive in an Alliance vessel. For weeks, she’d done everything in her power to persuade merchants, mercenaries, and even a few smugglers to take her, but she’d been denied at every turn. Some of the people she’d talked to had been outright terrified at the prospect.

  So, when the commander had mentioned that she might know someone who would be willing to escort her, Astrid hadn’t hesitated. The identity of the person hadn’t mattered. Yet, in all her imaginings, she couldn’t have anticipated the likes of Kylir T’Kari.

  “That’s about the ninth time you’ve thanked me,” the pilot mused. His voice was smooth as bourbon and filled with amusement. “I told you, it’s not a big deal. We just finished up with a job, and the rest of the crew is headed to X4 for a couple of weeks.”

  Yes, he had told her. He’d also refused to accept any form of payment from her, although she’d offered him a small fortune in credits for his service.

  “How will they get there without a pilot?”

  He chuckled. “Autopilot. If something goes wrong, Alpha Cadell can fly the ship. He just doesn’t like to.”

  She frowned. Kylir was obviously a hybrid, but she didn’t think there was any Krytos mixed in with the Reema and D’Aire. “Alpha?”

  “Slade Cadell.”

  “I know of him.” That hadn’t been what she’d meant, though. “Why do you call him ‘Alpha’ if you’re not a Krytos?”

  He shrugged good-naturedly. “The same reason I call Olivia Tavish ‘Commander,’ even though I’m not human. Our crew may not all be Krytos, but we’re still a pack, and Slade is our leader.”

  It made sense, but still, she pressed for more. “He takes care of you?”

  “We all take care of each other.”

  “You love them,” she deduced. “The crew.”

  “We’re family,” Kylir answered simply. He turned to look at her from the pilot’s seat, his brow furrowed over his soft green eyes. “Are you cold?”

  She’d donned her uniform for the trip, but she’d foregone the standard black-and-gray jacket with its off-center zipper. Unfortunately, she hadn’t anticipated how cool the pressurized air would be inside the shuttle.

  “Oh, I’m okay.” According to the readout on the console, they’d be landing on Xenthian’s central island in less than an hour. She could tough it out until then.

  “You’re shivering.”

  She’d shivered once.

  “And you keep rubbing your hands up and down your arms.”

  That, she’d done twice.r />
  “Here.” Leaning forward in his seat, he peeled off his black, hooded jacket and pushed it into her hands. “It’s nothing fancy, but it’ll keep you warm.”

  “Oh, I really couldn’t.”

  “You really can,” he countered. “Just put it on, Astrid.”

  The way he said her name did all kinds of fun things to her pulse, and she shivered again. Only this time, it wasn’t from the cold.

  “Thank you.” The fabric was still warm from his body heat, and she sighed in deep satisfaction as she pushed her arms through the sleeves. “Stars, it smells amazing.” Pressing her nose against the collar, she inhaled deeply. “What is that?”

  Kylir looked at her as if she’d grown a second head. “Uh…soap?”

  The scent was a mixture of sweet and spicy with a hint of musk. Not like any soap she’d ever smelled.

  With one, brief conversation, she’d learned a lot of important things about the pilot. He didn’t just give respect, but once it was earned, he was fiercely loyal. Whether by blood or by choice, family was family, and on his list of priorities, family ranked right at the top. He was open and honest, kind and generous, and he paid attention to the little things that most people either dismissed or overlooked entirely.

  If he said he would protect her, she wouldn’t question him. If he told her he’d die for her, she would believe him. If he told her to leap out of an airlock, but promised her everything would be okay, she’d probably jump, because for fuck-all reason she could explain…she trusted him. She had known him for less than twenty-four hours, and despite the fact that she was suspicious and cynical of everyone, she trusted this stranger.

  It didn’t make any sense, and frankly, it scared the hell out of her.

  She’d spent months locked inside her own head, courtesy of the xili coursing through her veins. Thanks to the plant-based drug, she’d also been forced to bond with a despicable excuse for a human being, to smile and tell everyone who asked that she was madly in love with Henry Atwood.

  The drug had made her into a blank canvas, susceptible to the most minute manipulation. Henry Atwood had made her into a pathetic, simpering fool.

  It had been almost two years since she’d been freed of the compulsion and Henry had been given a one-way ticket to the Mars penal colony. Two years, and she still approached everyone she met with wariness and doubt.

  Everyone, it seemed, except the male sitting beside her. She just didn’t know why.

  Angling toward him in her seat, she leaned back against the armrest and watched him as if she could ferret the secrets from his mind if she stared hard enough. Reclined in his own chair, arms crossed over his broad chest, he looked relaxed and comfortable. He wasn’t as bulky as the Krytos males, or as stocky as the Helios, but his muscles were solid, well-defined, and his biceps strained the integrity of his plain, white T-shirt.

  She imagined he hadn’t been shown much kindness in his life because of the circumstances of his birth. The tail had been unexpected, and she hadn’t known what to make of the patches of scales at first, but he wasn’t unattractive. In fact, he was quite handsome, strikingly so.

  His shiny locks fell to the middle of his back in a silky curtain of pure white, a lovely contrast to his darker eyebrows and thick, envious lashes. The pale green of his eyes was as unique as it was beautiful, and the iridescence shifted the color across a wide spectrum of blue-greens depending on the way the light hit his face. His jaw was too soft to be considered masculine, but too square to be called feminine, and his high cheekbones were sharp enough to cut diamonds.

  His lips, pale pink and slightly fuller on top, quirked into a crooked grin. “Take your time. I’m used to it.”

  Heat crept up her neck and into her cheeks, and she lowered her head, embarrassed at being caught staring so inappropriately. “I’m sorry.”

  “Like I said, I’m used to it.” He still smiled, but there was an edge to his voice now, a coolness that hadn’t been there before. “Yes, I have wings. Yes, my tail has nerve endings. Yes, it will grow back if you cut it off, but it hurts like hell, so don’t hope for a demonstration.”

  Astrid’s hand flew to her mouth to stifle her gasp. “Someone cut off your tail?”

  Clearly, that wasn’t what he’d expected her to say, because he sat upright and stared again, as if he’d never seen anything like her. “I was twelve, and it was an accident. Caught in a malfunctioning door on a shuttle.” He shrugged. “Just the tip. Hurt like a bitch and bled everywhere. Scared the piss out of my mom, but it grew back.”

  While horrified by the story that he retold so nonchalantly, she marveled at the way he spoke. She’d never heard a D’Aire talk like that—or a Reema for that matter. Then again, she hadn’t encountered many bounty hunters, either. She kind of liked it. At any rate, it was better than the elevated speech most D’Aire employed that always made her feel somehow inadequate.

  Swiveling toward her, he tilted his head to the side, baring his neck. “Yes, I have scales, but just patches here and there. Yes, I can fly, but I don’t much care for it to be honest. No, I don’t eat bugs. Yes, I can see in the dark, and even in ultraviolet.” His tone had turned mocking by the time he finished. “Anything else you want to know?”

  Everything he told her was fascinating, and as a scientist, she had a hundred questions about his eyesight alone. As a human being capable of complex thought and fully functioning emotions, she’d never heard anything more heartbreaking. These were the types of conversations he had. These were the kinds of questions complete strangers thought it was okay to ask him, just because of his appearance.

  Of course, he expected the same from her. He had no reason not to, and in a lot of ways, she understood him. After all, she had the unfortunate habit of always expecting the worst from people as well.

  “I do have one more question.”

  “Let’s have it.” He sounded resigned, but also…disappointed.

  “What’s your mom like?”

  “I—” He stopped abruptly and snapped his mouth closed. His lips parted, and he tried again, only to stop just as suddenly.

  “Come on,” she encouraged. “Tell me. What’s her name?”

  Finally, the steel in his eyes softened, and the tension in his shoulders melted away. “Her name is Soira. She’s smart and funny, and she has the best laugh. She’s a bit of a neat freak, but a terrible cook. She packs too much every time she leaves home, and yet, she always forgets something important. She always sang to me when I was little, and she still makes me soup when I’m sick.”

  Astrid smiled, and her eyes welled with unshed tears. “She sounds amazing.”

  “She is.”

  “What about your father?”

  “Ah, I thought you said just one more question?”

  She laughed. “It’s more like 1-B.”

  “All right, then,” he allowed.

  It took him much longer to gather his thoughts about his dad, which told her a lot right there. “Start with his name.”

  That got a small smile out of him. “Kasar. He’s smart, like my mom, but more disciplined. He’s fluent in three languages, and he’s embarrassed by the fact that he needs a language converter for the others.” His expression turned thoughtful, indulgent. “He’s competitive, but he always lets my mom win—games, arguments, it doesn’t matter. Every time he contacts me, before he says goodbye, he always tells me he’s proud of me.”

  There was no stopping the tears this time. “You’re very lucky.”

  “I know.” Sitting up straighter in his seat, he cleared his throat. “What about you? Are you close with your parents?”

  Astrid used the sleeves of the borrowed jacket to wipe her eyes as she shook her head. “Not really.”

  She didn’t have memories of her mother singing to her, and she had very few recollections of her fathers at all. They spoke on occasion, and she saw them during holidays. They didn’t even know about the hell she’d been through with Henry, and if she did tell them, t
hey would no doubt blame it on her for being so weak.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  It was nice of him to say, but her reality didn’t sadden her. “We don’t hate each other or anything. They didn’t dump me at the Academy and disappear like a lot of other parents.” That had to count for something. “We’re just not that close.”

  She wasn’t close with anyone. She knew people, worked with them, but she wouldn’t call them friends. Maybe that was why no one had noticed when she’d had a personality transplant while under the influence of the xili drug. No one knew her well enough to tell the difference.

  Either way, dwelling in the past wouldn’t change anything, and she didn’t want to talk about her family anymore. Time to change the subject.

  “Okay, if anyone can engage the autopilot to get from point A to point B, why do I need a pilot to take me to Xenthian?”

  “Well, the most obvious reason is that it’s not your vessel.” He winked at her. “Otherwise, there are a couple of reasons. First, in case something goes wrong or the autopilot fails. Second, because Xenthian doesn’t have automated docking bays, so someone—meaning me—will have to set us down outside of the citadel.”

  “They don’t have docking bays? What about landing pads?”

  “Nah, nothing like that. Well, not yet,” he added. “Just a big, grassy knoll.”

  Astrid frowned. For some reason, she’d expected the Xenon to be much further along in their technological advances. “You know a lot about it. Have you been to Xenthian before?”

  Swiveling back to the console, he dipped his head. “Just once.”

  “Oh, good.” She’d done as much research as she could, but there still wasn’t much information on the race. “What’s the protocol when I meet Vasili Blackthorn?” She inched to the edge of her seat and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Do I offer my hand? Lower my head? Not make eye contact?”