Epilogue
Ysathea
It had been several months since we’d last seen the gladiators of the Vagabond and collected the bounty on that escaped pair.
It had been a weird transition period ever since, while I adjusted to having Thatcher as my mate, and a permanent shadow in my life.
Mostly, it had been an adjustment for Ivo and Grunn, now that Thatcher hung out in my workroom all the time.
Admittedly, I had to adjust a little, too, now that he’d moved into my quarters.
He took up too little space for a male as big as he was, but he’d agreed to offer his tattooing skills to the rest of the crew, and to my surprise, Flack had gone first. Okay, maybe Flack was the only one so far, but there’d be more, because I’d seen how much Thatcher had enjoyed doing it.
Flack had claimed it was his payment for getting me the traditionally priest-blessed book for our family history.
It sat pride of place on my dresser, already filled out with our names as well as Grunn and Ivo’s, and a few stories of places both of us had been, too.
When you got Thatcher talking, he was surprisingly eloquent, a discovery that still made me smile and glow with love.
“Are you ready?” he asked, stalking silently into the bedroom.
The bed was a bit of a mess because he’d fucked me on it not that long ago, and the bathroom was still wet after my shower.
He, of course, looked just like always in the black armor I’d custom-made for him.
On the front, at his request, I’d painted a replica of the mark I’d left on his chest. It had made Ivo and Grunn demand their own painted marks on their wrists, because they seemed to think they were in direct competition with Thatcher sometimes.
I kind of liked it, though, having my family be so eagerly blatant about showing that off.
The Varakartoom was my home, but Thatcher was my heart, and now everyone knew it.
“I think so. I really want to see if I can’t convince Da’vi to give up the specs on his super engine.
” That’s how they’d made it around the planet and back to us as fast as they had, with a crazy-dangerous FTL jump that turned travel from minutes into seconds.
That trick had rescued me from floating endlessly in space until my air ran out and proved that they were good allies to have at our side.
Today, we were meeting to celebrate the success of that first mission together, and the start of a new one.
We’d landed both our ships on one of the many Rummicaron colony worlds.
This one was another outpost with next to nothing to do except drink the ale the emotionless species liked to drink.
They threw terrible parties too, but that didn’t matter.
We’d set up camp right outside our ships and were mingling on the grass right there.
I kind of liked that, a party in the shadow of both these flying homes.
Two ships that were home to unusual crews, and the humans and others they’d picked up along the way to make families with.
Like my family, with Thatcher and the pair of brothers I’d adopted.
Like the family Captain Asmoded had created with his human mate, Mandy, their young child, and his adult son, Saisir.
Thatcher brought me back to the moment when he grunted, “I can beat it out of him, if you want…” His hand went to the knife sheathed on his thigh like he was ready for more than just a few slaps.
I laughed and shook my head, aware that he was only half-joking.
I took that eager knife hand and dragged him with me out of our quarters, then down the hall to exit the ship—my veins bubbling with happiness, and my mate following silently like the menacing shadow he was.
“There will be no violence at this party, got that? We’re going to drink, dance, and have fun…” His mouth curled into that sexy half-smirk he reserved just for me. It promised nothing, and he was right about that. A party wasn’t a party for the mercenaries unless there was a brawl or two.
Mitnick had his drones flying silently above the party, and they projected dancing little lights everywhere to chase away some of the darkness.
Brace and the chef from the Vagabond, Tori, had worked together to create a veritable feast. Tables were laden with treats, and several kegs of Rummicaron ale were piled high.
Nearly everyone was already there, so the clearing between the two ships was filled with the sound of voices, music, and laughter.
I waved at the cluster of human females to my left, a perfect blend of females from the Varakartoom and the Vagabond.
Asmoded and Ziame were huddled in a darker corner, clearly discussing important things not meant for parties.
Just as I spotted them, their mates showed up to drag them into the light at the center of the clearing for a dance.
I nudged Thatcher’s ribs with a laugh and pointed when I discovered the Sineater with his mate, Frederique, already there.
“Oh, this promises to be so much fun!” I crowed in pleasure.
I knew Thatcher didn’t like crowds; he hated Strewn or the Yengar space station for that reason, but even he wore a soft expression now.
The open space meant it wasn’t as crowded or noisy as it would be indoors, and I was certain that helped.
A pair of Sune trotted by in their four-legged form, one white like a ghost and one orange with three tails.
We mingled, ate, danced, laughed, just like I’d asked for. Da’vi did not give up his secret about the Vagabond’s engines, but I thoroughly enjoyed trying to convince him. Dancing with Thatcher had been magical. Truly, the evening couldn’t have been much more perfect. Then the brawl happened…
Aramon and Solear took offense at a pair of party crashers from a different ship hanging around the perimeter.
We had sent them away a few times already, and Grunn had gored one persistent guy’s arm once.
The all-out fight happened just as I’d decided I’d had enough and wanted to retreat with Thatcher for a private party.
My mate had his arms around me, his mouth close to my ear and one thigh pressed naughtily between mine.
All my senses fired up, and desire began to cloud my judgment.
“Where is he!” Aramon shouted, followed by a furious roar that could only be Solear.
Confused, I looked, everyone looked. Abigail was in the arms of her giant green beast, his tail whipping back and forth, the spikes all over his body raised.
The Sineater stormed forward in a wave of black, his symbiont loping at his side, shaped like a growling hound.
More mercenaries and gladiators around us were responding in similar ways.
Thatcher yanked me behind him protectively, and I discovered Grunn and Ivo closing ranks in front of Thatcher.
A group of various alien species stood on the edge of the clearing, facing off against the twins and the rest of our crew.
The majority of the group were Rummicaron, possibly native to this planet.
They looked menacing and ragtag, but definitely not a match for anyone here.
Especially not when my half-drunk crew started lining up for a fight, and the gladiators weren’t far behind.
“Where is he, indeed?” Asmoded demanded over the music, and someone quickly shut it off.
The ragtag group didn’t want to fight now that they were seriously outnumbered and began backing off.
Aramon wouldn’t let them, and with a roar the brawl erupted.
In that confusion, Thatcher threw me over his shoulder and hauled me off to safety, dragging me aboard the Varakartoom so I never got to see the conclusion of the fight.
It wasn’t until the next morning that I learned who the “he” Aramon and Asmoded had been talking about was: Flack. He’d gone missing. The ship—likely pirates—from the crew that had tried to crash the party had flown off, and our quartermaster was simply gone. Vanished into thin air without a trace.
THE END