Enemy Within (3 page)

“Too late to pretend you don’t know your way around a blade grid,” he chided. “We both know you’re no scientist. Military, maybe.”

“You obviously don’t know as much as you think you do,” Jayleia shot. Her attempt at an iron tone wobbled. “Ari holds a master’s in xenonanobiology. Those samples she tricked you into transporting aboard are her PhD thesis.”

“Oversharing, Jay,” Ari sang through a tight smile as she donned her jacket.

The younger woman flushed again, but anger and determination sparkled in her eyes. By the Twelve Gods, Ari hoped she wasn’t inspiring her father’s crew with this idiotic display of bravado.

Seaghdh plucked the weapon’s locker key from her fingers, his eyes dancing with suppressed mirth. He handed the key to one of his men with a flourish. The man opened the locker, zeroed in on the best blade in the collection, and handed it to Seaghdh. He grabbed the most ragged, beat-up hilt and brought it to Ari.

Seaghdh tested the blade in his hand and glanced in appreciation at her father. “This is a fine weapon.”

She swallowed a laugh. Bless her father’s stony countenance. Ari trusted only she could see the confusion in his eyes. He couldn’t work out why Seaghdh was complimenting him on the weight and balance of a competition-grade energy blade that belonged to her.

“That’s . . .” Pietre began.

“Shut it,” Ari commanded, not wanting Seaghdh tipped off to the fact that she had a competition ranking. If the man was any good at all, he’d figure it out the moment they crossed blades.

“I hope he skewers you,” Pietre snarled.

“Pietre!” her father snapped.

The sound of a pistol being whipped from a holster drowned out anything else her father might have said. Ari saw the gun Seaghdh had taken from her pointed at Pietre’s face. She raised an eyebrow at Seaghdh, silently urging him to pretend that neither of them noticed the stain of rage in her cheeks. He studied her as she sealed her jacket. What the Three Hells had she let him see in her to make him rise to her defense like this?

“Why don’t I kill him for you?”

She glanced at Pietre and for a long, pleasurable moment contemplated agreeing. The thunderous expression on her father’s face drained her.

“If you’re in the trouble I think you are,” she said, accepting the ratty but oh so comfortable hilt of her practice blade from Seaghdh’s man, “you’re going to need all the ammo in that pistol.”

Seaghdh laughed and holstered the weapon. “You’re a right thoughtful girl, Alexandria Rose Idylle. Ah. A-R-I. A ready-made nickname, courtesy of boot camp?”

“Congratulations.” Damned pirate. Should have known he’d guess right.

“Clear the floor,” Seaghdh commanded and gestured at her father’s crew. “At the slightest sound from them, shoot her.” He pointed at Jayleia.

ARI
caught in a breath, but didn’t dare protest as the Shlovkur closed in beside the tech. She stared at Jayleia’s suddenly pale face and tasted the first bitter edge of panic.

“Care to concede?” Seaghdh murmured at her shoulder.

Breathing too quickly, her heart beating too hard, she stumbled into the center of the cargo bay and took position on her end of the floor. Seaghdh sauntered into the grid, his sharp gaze taking in every thought plodding through her head and across her face.

“You know how to use that thing?” He nodded at the energy blade in her hand.

She swallowed outrage and awarded him a tight smile. “I am proficient.”

He grinned. “Ever fight for your life?”

“No,” she said, pleased her tone remained steady.

His smile deepened. “Then this isn’t so different. We aren’t fighting for your life, are we? We’re fighting for theirs.” He gestured at the knot of scientists.

Fear gripped her. She’d won matches. She had awards. She practiced religiously. Sure, she’d fought Chekydran with the might of an Armada Prowler at her disposal. But energy blade combat had always been a highly regulated sport, a dance with specific choreography designed to minimize injury. She’d never dueled for anything of more value than a bit of metal or a piece of paper to hang on her office wall. Swallowing hard, she eased into guard position.

Taking his time, he matched her stance. Ari did her best not to frown at the avid smiles on his men’s faces or at the effortless way he sank into position and crossed his blade with hers.

Her mind raced. She had to find a way to keep everyone alive. No matter the cost.

Captain Cullin Seaghdh tapped her blade with his, bringing her attention back to her predicament and his damnably cocky grin.

“You’re willing to trade your life for theirs?” he asked, his question pitched for her ears only, his smile gone and his gaze searching.

Troubled, she shook her head. “Are you intimating I have a choice?”

“Then fight.” He lunged.

Ari scrambled back, her parries thrown off by the aggressive attack. He didn’t press his advantage. That maddening grin flashed at her as he backed off. One step. Two.

Charity. She wanted to scream at him. She clamped her jaw shut and advanced the ground he’d offered.

“Out of practice?” He opened his defenses, daring her.

She accepted, ignoring the taunt. She had no intention of explaining that she’d had a hard time keeping up on weapons practice while a prisoner of war. Her attack wavered, but she pulled it together and forced him back a step to avoid her blade. He drew her in and then pushed her back, like a teacher hearing lessons. She ached to wipe that smile from his face.

“Point,” he said, nodding at her chest.

She glanced down. The bastard had sliced clean through her jacket and the buttons of her shirt. A shiver ran through her. One millimeter more and she’d be bleeding, probably on the floor. A slice like that one took enough control and skill to scare her.

“Lesson one,” he said. “Watch the man wielding the blade, but never lose sight of the business end.”

Lessons? Or something more? From the shock of physical awareness twining through her blood, she suspected they were no longer discussing energy blades.

Snarling to cover the grudging admiration at Seaghdh’s skill welling up within her, Ari charged him. He did not retreat. They locked, body to body, blade to blade. Feeling the leashed strength coiled in him, she knew instantly that she’d made a mistake, one that in any other circumstance would have been fatal. Scorched where their bodies strained against one another at chest and hip, she struggled to control the rush of yearning crashing her defenses. What was wrong with her?

She met his hooded gaze. Desire glittered in the golden depths of his eyes. Pleasure rocketed through her, almost painful in its intensity. She’d forgotten what it felt like to be appreciated as a woman and the want in his eyes, shadowed by surprise, took her breath away.

He smiled in pure masculine satisfaction.

Ari whispered a curse.

His gaze dropped to her mouth and the fire flared in his eyes. He whipped his off hand around, grabbed her by the hair, and fastened his mouth on hers. She tasted exotic spice and the faint trace of salt. Fire shot through every fiber to her core, urging her to melt into him. Before she could rouse the least bit of bracing rage, he released her and danced away. She wiped a sleeve across her mouth, as much to erase her mortifying lack of alacrity—she should have shoved her blade through his chest—as to obliterate the feel of his lips on hers.

His men guffawed.

“Lesson two,” he said. “Never offer what you cannot afford to lose.”

She’d lost everything that had mattered the day the Chekydran had captured her. She’d be damned before she’d let a too-handsome pirate destroy her self-respect. “One to zero,” Ari countered, pressing her voice and her body under iron control before coming back to center.

Seaghdh’s men stood relaxed, grinning, eyes dancing. The glimpses she caught of her father’s crew showed green faces and averted eyes. Except for Pietre. He watched with spiteful vindication in his face. Her father wore a patently neutral expression, one she knew all too well. It masked a wealth of disapproval. Her heart froze. The damned pirate making her look like an imbecile must be having the time of his life. She glared at him.

Cullin Seaghdh returned to center to tap her blade with his. Ari met his gaze and paused. A grim light in his eyes belied his taunting smile. Was it possible he wasn’t enjoying belittling her in front of his men and her family? Or was it possible she was getting to him? His gaze still centered on her mouth. Maybe she had another weapon in her arsenal after all.

Buoyed by the possibilities, she lunged.

He gave her the point. Her blade grazed the shoulder of his jacket and shirt as he turned aside. Practice jackets had notoriously weak shields at the seams. The blade had no trouble penetrating. She pulled up short as the fabric of his shirt split. More charity. She hadn’t counted on it. Ari stumbled past him, struggling to keep the point of her weapon out of his flesh. It was a point as graceless as his had been elegant. He slapped the flat of his blade against her backside as she passed. She yelped at the sting and heard an instructor’s voice say in her head,
Get mad, get dead
. The Art of the Blade had always taught,
control your anger or be controlled by it
.

They were wrong. Anger dumped a powerful cocktail of drugs into the human body. Eyesight sharpened. Hearing became more acute. Thoughts sped up. Heart rate increased delivering more oxygen to muscles, making them supple and fast. It was a dangerous, heady high; a bloody, razor-sharp, double-edged sword that a fighter learned to control or was disemboweled by.

Somewhere in the past fifteen years, she’d learned to dance that razor’s edge. She craved it, thrived on it. And she’d had enough of playing games. It was time for Cullin Seaghdh to learn a few lessons of his own. At the tip of her blade.

“Lesson three . . .” he began.

Flush with ire, Ari launched a smooth, fluent attack that instantly wiped the smile from his face. Lesson three. Never, ever challenge someone to a fight until you ask how many first-place medals she has in the weapon. Seaghdh gave ground and kept giving. She drove him. She’d have been lying if she didn’t say he made her work for it. He did, but savoring the play of muscle, the coordination, the flash of the blades, and the sweat beading on his upper lip, she relished every last millimeter. She felt the smile on her face. She’d taken his measure while he’d mistakenly thought he’d taken hers. He was good, very good. With lives at stake, Ari had to be better. Lucky for her. She was.

Her father’s look hadn’t changed one whit at the sudden reversal of fortunes, but Seaghdh’s men stood tight-faced, fists clenched. Concentration lined Seaghdh’s expression and a gleam of appreciation lit his eyes. Uneasiness flashed through her. How could he appreciate being beaten? Or was he still dueling with more than one weapon and willing to sacrifice victory in one for an advantage in the other? Blood and awareness rushed low. Ari faltered.

Seaghdh riposted, meaning to beat her blade out of his way and take his point. She made sure her weapon wasn’t where he expected. Ari lunged, dropping to one knee, and swept her blade up. It hit and bent against the heart symbol on his jacket.

They froze. A flick of her wrist and the tip of her energy blade would slice through force field, muscle, and bone and embed itself in his heart for real. A click sounded at her ear.

“Back off,” one of his men growled.

She eased the pressure on the blade and raised her eyes to Seaghdh’s face as she rose. He stared at the hole in the heart on his jacket. His crewman plucked the weapon out of her hand. Anger drained from her, leaving behind a familiar, sticky residue. Even the drugs supplied by one’s own body produced unpleasant side effects.

Cullin Seaghdh turned his gaze to her. At the glitter of intensity in his eyes, Ari backed up a step. He closed the distance in two strides. He had a blade. She was unarmed, but she refused to run. If he meant to kill her, she preferred to see it coming.

He clapped a hand to her shoulder and shook her once.

“You played me,” he accused.

“Yes.”

“Well done!” he rasped. “Few blade masters of your skill would have let me humble them before family and friends.”

Surprise fluttered through her. She flushed at the unexpected praise and at the heat of his touch, cursing at the same time how badly she craved both.

“Well done,” he repeated for her ears alone, squeezing her shoulder.

Ari studied his face, the thread of unease twining within her once more. The Art of the Blade was a game, one designed to make your opponent underestimate your skill. Could she ever know for certain that Cullin Seaghdh hadn’t just played her?

Had that been what the delay in decon had been about? He’d been trying to manipulate her emotions? Didn’t he know the Chekydran had beaten them out of her?