Somewhere in space…
If he wanted to claim the lesser Jaxian solar system as his birthright, he had to do something so supernova crazy it would destroy what was left of his battle-hardened body, his rational mind, and what used to be his moon-charmed life.
He had no choice.
No other choice but to take a bride.
Despite the frenzied fury and frustration churning in his guts, Sinclarion Fifth-Moon Jax—Sin to his friends, his lovers, and his enemies—carefully opened the delicate glass carafe. It was his grand-matriarch’s favorite celebratory drink, and Gre-Gre had gifted him the last bottle of the rare swill with the command that he celebrate this special occasion.
Surviving the Battle of Anglorn—not just surviving, but grossing the highest mercenary bonus in that system’s bloody history—with ship and crew intact was without doubt a very special occasion.
Sin looked down at his hand, wrapped around the thin, breakable glass.
Mostly intact.
“To surviving, Gre-Gre,” he muttered as he tipped the bottle toward his lips. “At least all my important parts are still here.”
“And by most important, of course you mean me.” Two tumblers clacked down on the arm of the command chair beside Sin’s elbow.
The beveled blast-crystal glinted in the scintillating wormhole light rendered on the holographic display.
Sin peered sidelong through the gloom. “I gave everyone the night off.”
“It’s never night in space since there’s always sunlight somewhere,” said his first officer. The drakling’s name was such a pain in the thruster to pronounce even through universal translators that he just went by Honey, short for the volatile plastics-bonded explosive compound that was his preferred method of dealing with problems. “Or maybe it’s always night in space.” He shrugged. “Whichever. Not leaving you here to drink alone.” He glanced at the bottle. “Especially when it’s something from your Gre-Gre. You’ve been holding out, Captain.”
“Gre-Gre’s taste is…questionable, at best,” Sin said, thinking of the mate clause in his inheritance. “It’s probably larf piss.” But he obligingly poured it into both tumblers. The semi-translucent amber liquid splashed, wafting a strong, acrid scent.
Bitter. Like the rest of his life.
The fact he hadn’t heard the big, unsubtle drakling male sneaking up behind him was just another reason why he had to give up the Sinner’s Prayer. The Nova-class fighter had been his home when he had nowhere else to go. But after this last battle…
He refused to brood anymore. Maybe that had been burned out of him along with those other pieces and parts. He had a place now, a real home he could give to Honey and all his people. A place where they could finally find peace.
Once he found a damn bride.
They clinked their tumblers and swallowed. Sin sputtered when the hot, caustic brew hit the back of his throat.
Honey’s spindle-shaped pupils dilated, and the faint pattern of scales on his skin flushed bright crimson. “What in all the worlds is this?” he choked. “Your Gre-Gre has had enough of you blasting around the universe and decided to poison you?”
Sort of. Sin let out a harsh breath. “She called it coffee. From some nowhere planet on the outer edge of some nowhere galaxy.”
“Vile,” Honey declared. “It burns my tongue and my belly.”
Sin’s lips quirked. “You’re a drakling. I’m fairly sure you’ll survive a burn or two.”
Honey grunted. “True. Pour me another.”
An even bigger hand precisely spun a third tumbler to land beside the first two. “Pour one more.”
Sin scowled at the new arrival even as he sloshed around the coffee for all of them. “Don’t trust me to fly my own damn ship?”
The hulking vrykoly pilot with his deadspace eyes nodded once. “I have guided the Sinner’s Prayer since her first flight. To abandon her on our last voyage together would lack harmony.”
Honey stiffened. “What do you mean last voyage?”
The pilot studied Sin with his usual impassive expression. “I’ve not been given nav codes for our next wormhole passage. Which indicates to me there is no next pass.”
Sin huffed out an aggrieved breath. “I was going to explain…” he mumbled while he distributed the three tumblers.
“Explain what?” Honey demanded. “Hull it, Sin, we’re your friends—”
“My crew,” Sin snapped back. “My responsibility.” He guzzled the coffee, grimacing at the taste, both caustic and electric. “You deserve more than this endless dance on the edge of death.”
“No we don’t,” Honey said flatly.
Ivan drank then looked down at the tumbler, his peaked brows furrowing. A faint tremor quivered through his colossal body before he directed his fathomless gaze to Sin. “The dance will end, inevitably,” he said. “And all souls on board—and even I—will follow you there freely.”
“But I don’t want that.” Sin poured himself another shot of the ghastly yet strangely irresistible beverage. “I never wanted to be answerable to anyone.”
Ivan took another drink. “So your Gre-Gre has repeatedly lamented.”
Honey snorted. “And yet one roll of a hundred-sided dice won you the Sinner’s Prayer and all of us. You lucky bastard.”
“If I was—a bastard, I mean—I wouldn’t have inherited a solar system too,” Sin said.
When his bridge crew stared at him, he sank deeper into the command chair. The damn thing had never fit him right. Despite the density of his heavy-gravity frame and thick pads of muscle, the chair felt a little too big, the edges a little too hard. He’d never bothered replacing it since he’d never believed he’d last this long.
None of his crew had believed either, not in his future, not in their own. But now he had a chance to give them everything.
He just had to sacrifice his freedom.
“It’s a lovely system,” he said. As if he could convince himself. “Stable binary suns, three H20L planets, a really pretty gas giant, ore-rich asteroid belt…” He rubbed a hand over his mouth. Were his fingers tingling? Must be the thought of binding himself forever with the mating rings. “Per Gre-Gre’s ultimatum, though, the system isn’t mine until I mate.”
Honey spewed out a mouthful of coffee in a sputtering laugh. The pattern of his scales flushed brighter yet. “You lie.”
Ivan blinked at his captain. “If I recall correctly, you swore never to take a mate.”
“I was drunk,” Sin said.
“You’re drunk now,” Honey noted.
Sin looked at his empty tumbler. This backwater bilge beverage was stronger than it looked. “Maybe. Doesn’t change the truth: I need a bride. If I can’t find one to win my mating rings, the system goes to my next eldest brother.”
“Oh, hulls and hells no.” Honey narrowed his eyes to dangerous slits. “Not that larf-licking Fourth-Moon Jax. We’ll blow the whole system rather than see it in his hands, just on principle.”
Ivan tilted his head. “You have principles?”
Honey waved at him dismissively. “But who’d want you, Sin?”
Though he’d been wondering exactly the same thing, Sin slouched lower in his chair as if he could avoid the sting of that too-honest assessment. “To think, I’ve trusted you at my back all these lightyears.” His fingers clenched on the tumbler, and he had to deliberately remind himself not to crush it.
“You’re still alive,” Honey pointed out. “But this…” He whistled a three-note harmony through his teeth. “I just don’t know.”
“Gre-Gre sent a suggestion along with the coffee.” Sin jerked his chin at the data-cube that had been sitting on the arm of his chair like a small, square angel of doom.
When he made no move to trigger it, Ivan did the honors.
“Greetings, lonely ladies of Earth,” intoned the mellifluous voice.
Honey leaned closer. “We’re not ladies.” He paused. “What’s Earth?”
“Where the coffee comes from,” Sin told him. “Gre-Gre visited a couple times in her younger days, said it was…quaint. As for the ladies, I think Ivan activated the wrong message.”
“They call their planet ‘dirt’. I hate it already.” Honey drained the coffee from his tumbler and shuddered. Scarlet flames flickered in his eyes. “Or love it. Love it or hate it, definitely.”
Ivan hushed him, staring raptly at the projection from the data-cube. A simple logo beamed through the wormhole light.
“In a universe with approximately one hundred billion planets in each of five hundred billion galaxies, how will you find love?” queried the little cube. “Especially considering most of those planets are barren wastelands of frozen rock and/or gas. If your love life lately is as empty as the void between stars, then the Intergalactic Dating Agency is here to help.”
“I’ve heard of Earth,” Ivan said. “The stories…” He shook his head. “That is not a place for the Sinner’s Prayer.”
Honey’s red eyes glinted. “We came out of Anglorn awash in glory and credits. How bad could this Earth be?”
Ivan just shook his head again mutely.
“Big Sky Alien Mail Order Brides seeks adventurous, open-minded ladies to meet—”
The voice cut out as Sin selected the other option.
“Hey,” Honey objected. “I wanted to hear who they’re meeting.”
“Me,” Sin grumbled. “Unfortunately.”
Honey grunted. “For them.” He rubbed one hand over his red hair, which was bristling belligerently. “Whoo. That coffee is…”
“Greetings, lonely gentlemen of Earth—”
Sin cursed and tapped the cube again.
“Greeting, lonely beings of Earth—”
“Earth appears to have many options,” Ivan said thoughtfully. “Lonely options.”
Sin smacked the data-cube once more and it finally chirped, “Greetings, lonely traveler. To record your profile for Big Sky Alien Mail Order Brides, begin speaking at the tone. Please remember to engage your translator. We suggest a natural, friendly tone. Be honest but, ah, not too revealing. A little mystery is exciting! While the planet of Earth is considered somewhat provincial by astronomical standards, we at the Intergalactic Dating Agency believe wholeheartedsly in the unions we arrange. With love, anything is possible! Contracts non-negotiable. Waiver implied by recording of profile. Not responsible for unforeseen emotional or genetic incompatibility. See full list of conditions and exclusions—”
Sin clamped his hand over the cube, and silence settled on the bridge, deeper than the silence of space.
And more dangerous.
Ivan’s rumbling voice was barely louder than the subliminal hum of the core vibrating through the ship. “You are committed to this path?”
“I am.” Sin grabbed the carafe and hefted it high. “After this…”
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