“Shit… he’s a wraith,” she murmured to Altav. She thought she’d kept her voice down but Sparky grinned.
“Guilty as charged. Four years. They let me out for good behavior.”
She blinked. “No one gets out of Mirax Ruas. It’s a death sentence…”
He winked. “Well… they might not actually realize I let myself out. Don’t tell anyone. Will you, sweetheart?”
“My lips are sealed. Honest.”
Shaking her head, she looked at the last remaining person in the room. The mercenary leader, T’Raal, leaned against a counter and for a moment she sucked her breath in. There was absolutely no way he was human. Surely? She shook off the fanciful thought. He just looked very… other, with his long hair, leonine looks and strange eyes. Perhaps Edanians wore contacts as well?
“And T’Raal you already met,” Altav said behind her, which made her frown as she looked around the room.
“You all have nicknames.” She looked back at T’Raal. “Apart from you.”
And the doctor’s wife… mate, of course, but from her dress it was easy to see that she was a noncombatant. The rest were all dressed like mercs and had callsigns.
T’Raal smiled slightly, arms folded over his massive chest. “I did, but not anymore. Gave it up when I took command of the Warborne.”
“You did?” Several sets of eyes turned toward the long-haired mercenary. Obviously, that was news to them as well.
“What was it?” Altav demanded from behind her.
T’Raal shook his head. “Long gone to the mists of time. Also known as I’m not fucking telling you.”
“Right on, boss. Own it,” Sparky thrust an arm in the air, his fist clenched.
T’Raal flicked him a glance and then looked at Marika. “We are going to be helping Miss Ingrassia escape her father’s clutches.”
All eyes turned back to her. It was somewhat unsettling being the focus of so much attention. She had nowhere to retreat, no corner she could sit in and “switch off,” a tactic she often used with her father, so she went to Plan B. Her back straightened and she clasped her hands in front of her, becoming the perfect Ingrassia princess.
Beautiful and elegant, she knew how to move in polite… well, in the kind of society her father moved in. It had a veneer of civilization but with dangerous undercurrents she was careful not to get caught in. Her father might have been the biggest shark in the waters, but that didn’t mean there weren’t other predators.
“My father is a dangerous man—”
“No shit. Anton Ingrassia is as dirty as they come and then some.” Sparky snorted.
“Let the lady speak,” Fin ordered, reaching out to slap Sparky around the ear. The wraith easily blocked and then made kissy faces at the big, dangerous-looking mercenary.
She cleared her throat, looking around the group and hoping she managed to conceal her nerves. They were all hard faced and used to violence. Perhaps they would see nothing wrong with what her father was doing?
No, she couldn’t believe that. She wouldn’t believe that. She couldn’t have come this far only to fall at the first hurdle.
“He’s right,” she agreed, nodding to Sparky. She’d always known her father was a bad man, that they were different from other families, but she hadn’t been able to truly appreciate how evil he was until she was older. How far outside the law… How feared the Ingrassia name was.
“Among his other illegal and immoral activities, he’s fond of marrying me off for financial or strategic gain.” Her voice went cool and unemotional. “The problem is, he only has a finite resource there. Each time he’s married me off, the groom has been killed…usually poisoned, which is then given a PR spin as an unfortunate accident and I have to play the grieving widow.”
“Asshole!” Red growled.
She inclined her head at the tall female mercenary.
“Now, though, people have realized that my grooms tend to die in unfortunate circumstances,” she continued, holding her hands perfectly still, “which means he can’t find anyone willing to marry me. So, his solution is to offer me to Maxim Martell.”
The mood in the room changed, the smile falling from Sparky and Tank’s faces. The wraith looked directly at T’Raal.
“Drop her off at the nearest planet and get us the fuck out of Terran space,” he said in a no-nonsense voice. “Maxim Martell is a level of don’t fuck with we do not need.”
Tank looked equally serious. “Sorry, boss, I have to agree with him. The Ingrassias are one thing, but Martell is an entirely different kettle of fish. The authorities have been trying to put him away for years. He’s been known to nuke entire colonies from orbit if they don’t concede to his demands. We’d need a death wish to take him on.”
“No! We are helping her!” Skinny snarled, dropping into Latharian as fury flared. They were not dropping Marika off and leaving her to the wolves. He didn’t want her hearing this argument.
“Last time I checked, I command the Warborne, not you,” T’Raal answered in the same language, his voice a whip in the air.
Skinny snarled. “What is this? The fucking empire and you’re the emperor? I thought we all had a vote.”
It was the wrong thing to say, especially to T’Raal. The temperature in the room dropped and somehow the big Warborne leader went from lounging nonchalantly against the counter to looking ready to go to war without moving a muscle.
“Look at my hair,” he ordered in a dangerous voice. “What do you see?”
Skinny frowned.
“Long, mid-colored hair. Humans call it dark blond brown.” The Lathar didn’t have a name for it. Hair color wasn’t important to them.
T’Raal nodded, that same hair sliding over his shoulders. For saying he was smaller than Skinny, he was still on the upper end of the scale size-wise for a Lathar who wasn’t a heavy-worlder.
“And what don’t you see?”
That confused Skinny. How could he name something that wasn’t there? It didn’t make sense…
“Braids, you draanthing numbskull,” T’Raal bit out. “You’ll never see me with draanthing honor braids. I’m not imperial and don’t you draanthing forget it.”
He switched back to Terran. “We’re helping the girl. Anyone wants to argue, you can challenge me for leadership.”
He looked around the room, his gaze icy. “Anyone? No? Good. That’s settled.”
Skinny’s hands closed over Marika’s upper arms in a silent show of support. She’d been the epitome of calm and collected through the impromptu meeting, but he’d been aware of the tension running through her all the time. It was so high he was sure it would snap at any moment.
“See?” he leaned in and murmured in her ear. “Told you we’d help.”
“You did,” she agreed, leaning back against him slightly. It was the smallest of movements—likely because of all of them, he was the one she knew the best. It didn’t matter to the male animal within, though. It preened and beat its chest at the small sign of favoritism from the beautiful and delicate female. Signs he wanted more of. Much more of. If he could get her under his sway before she discovered what he was, he might have a chance of keeping her.