Consorts of the Red King, page 23
Jorvik nearly dropped the mug. It tasted like what?
“He didn’t mean literally,” Tayn tossed in. “It’s another one of those figures of speech.”
Oh. For a minute there…Jorvik ate and drank in silence, refusing to make a face at the bitter drink. Actually, the greenish liquid tasted more like rotten fruit.
Although Van stayed and sat on the bunk, he held himself stiffly. As the meal progressed, he relaxed.
“I don’t mean to keep you if you have things to do.” Jorvik’s heart didn’t agree with his words. He’d been alone far too long on this ship, with only Tayn’s voice for company. If Van were off the ship, Jorvik would race for the pod and go visit.
“You’re not keeping me. Hey, have we ever really showed you the ship?”
“No. Tayn’s told me where to find everything. What else is there to know?”
Van grinned. “I’ll show you.”
Not the wild, passionate sex Tayn hoped for, but at least the guys were in the same room, Van showing Jorvik the emergency overrides and explaining how certain systems worked.
Maybe if he faked a power outage, turned off the lights and made them huddle for warmth…
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Jorvik sat on the deck plates, peering over Van’s shoulder. In all likelihood, Van would regret showing him the arsenal hidden in a false floor at the back of the cargo hold, but it wasn’t like a pampered prince knew how to use the weapons—many illegal—the Cormorant’s crew built up over time.
“What about…” Jorvik lapsed into his native language and assumed a fighting pose.
What? “Like, hand to hand?” Suddenly, the new addition to Van’s life merited more attention than the contraband acquired from a shady arms dealer—and trying not to picture Jorvik leaning over the cannon. Van turned enough to run his gaze up and down Jorvik’s body. While by no means frail, he couldn’t take on someone of Van’s strength and hope to win.
Jorvik met Van’s assessing gaze with one of his own. “Yes. Do you have a problem with…” He paused, a wrinkle forming between his brows. The wrinkle smoothed, along with his frown. “Unarmed combat.”
Van narrowed his eyes. His opinion of Jorvik remained a work in progress, but… hand to hand fighting? Shrugging off his shock, he strove for a neutral tone. “If you shoot them, they don’t get close enough to touch you. They use fists and not guns on Akiak?” A waste of technology if you asked Van, though he’d certainly settled his share of problems with a good right hook.
Jorvik nodded. “We have weapons, but not guns. From birth I’ve learned many things: diplomacy, economics, mathematics, and fighting skills.”
So not the image Van built in his head of Jorvik. “Doesn’t a prince have guards to protect him?”
A long silence and Jorvik glancing away spoke louder than words. “No one will protect you as fiercely as you protect yourself.”
Who was the guy quoting? But… Wait a minute. “The night we met, a guard came after you. Why didn’t you defend yourself?” Had the whole “in distress” act been a ruse, as Van once suspected?
“Common servants aren’t taught to fight.”
Oh. “Defending yourself would’ve given away your identity.”
Jorvik nodded. “Like the night they killed my father. I could have fought back, but the odds were too great.” He hung his head, the loose white strands of his hair falling forward to conceal his face. “Instead, I hid in the closet while the guards ended two innocent lives. I’ve asked myself so many times over, if I’d have acted, could I have saved them. Could I have saved my father, or had the guards killed him before they came after me?”
Survivor’s guilt and Van were old acquaintances. Damn, how watching people die and being powerless must’ve eaten at him, someone who swore to put his people first. “Was one of them your lover?”
Jorvik’s hesitation, the way he’d stared at the floor in Van’s room in the palace.
No. Not Van’s room, but Jorvik’s. He’d heard rumors he’d been given the prince’s old rooms, forgotten until now. He’d disregarded the tales as idle gossip. By the gods, had Jorvik’s distress been more about prior trauma than being with a stranger?
Fuck. Van never should have taken him to bed. But if he hadn’t, Jorvik wouldn’t have found a way off-world and might be dead now himself. Or hitched a ride on the wrong ship and wound up a pawn in some government game.
What an ass Van had been for threatening to leave the desperate man behind. No wonder Jorvik fought so hard to get aboard. The Cormorant likely saved his life.
Again, Jorvik nodded. “Both. Just for the night. They meant a great deal to each other, I believe.”
Fuuuuuuck. “You watched them die.”
“And did nothing,” Jorvik said, measuring his words, keeping his emotions carefully in check. Something else he’d likely been taught from birth. “I told myself that I cannot save my people if I am dead, but what kind of king am I if I let them die and don’t try to stop their killers?”
“How many guards?”
“Six. And my uncle.”
If he’d tried to take them on, three men would’ve lost their lives in Jorvik’s room instead of two. “You did the right thing.”
“I live with the shame of my cowardice. When I am king…”
Back to sour dreams again. “You do realize we don’t have any allies, and there’s no way the three of us and one ship can take on the Federation, don’t you?”
Jorvik lifted his chin, gaze hardening to steel. “Then we’ll have to find some allies, won’t we?”
Van lay on his bunk, staring up. Old Terran constellations danced across the ceiling, courtesy of Tayn. Sleep flirted, caressing his mind, only to dart away.
From the moment they left the remnants of their colony, Tayn and Van looked out for themselves and each other. They drifted from one port to the next, with no real purpose in life but to piss off the Federation whenever possible, survive long enough and make enough credits to one day live an easier life.
They’d never thought of the greater good, or put the needs of others over themselves.
Then came Jorvik, carrying his own baggage, yet still determined to right the wrongs done to his people.
Van’s conscience chided him for all the wasted years spent in search of credits instead of accomplishing something worthwhile.
Quiet noises pulled him out of bed and down the corridor toward Tayn’s room. The whole time he’d lived there Tayn never shut the door. I’ve got nothing to hide, he’d always said, usually while flashing his junk.
Tonight, the door panel hid the room, but not the soft snuffling from within. Van hovered his hand on the entry panel. What should he do? Give Jorvik privacy? Offer a shoulder to cry on?
Not his strong suit.
“Get in there and talk to him, numb nuts!” Tayn growled from the speaker above Van’s head.
Van pictured Tayn perched in his chair, hands behind his head, insufferably smug. Bastard. The door hissed open, taking the decision out of Van’s hands. Oh, he’d so pay the asshole back for this.
Jorvik lay on his side on the bed, knees drawn up toward his chest.
If Van stayed really quiet…
“What do you want?” Accusation laced the words.
“I… I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.” Ceiling constellations provided little light, but in that moment, the white-blond man with the pale skin changed in Van’s vision to someone younger, with brown hair and sorrowful eyes.
Why, Van, why? My parents were farmers. Yours were making this colony livable. Why would the Federation want them dead?
For ten years Van and Tayn sought answers, and still didn’t know. Surely a viable, tax-paying colony meant more to the Federation than a handful of military recruits. The children the colonists refused to give up formed the next generation to keep the community going, make it more profitable, equaling more taxes.
What an idiotic way to run a government. The same government wanted to conquer Akiak, provide the same insensitive treatment to her citizens.
One determined man stood in their way.
Seeing the mighty and proud king brought so low tore at Van’s insides. He crossed the floor and sank down on the bed. Like he’d done all those years ago, he pulled a grieving man into his arms, saying nothing, merely holding him while he cried himself out.
Normally stoic, with Van, Jorvik smiled, laughed… cried. Let Van see the true him.
Like the night long ago on a now-abandoned colony, each tear took another piece of his soul.
The room vanished, leaving Van in the darkened skeleton of his home. Nothing remained of the front of the house, only one wall and a bit of crumbling ceiling. The kitchen and dining areas were blackened ruins.
Stumbling step by stumbling step, he’d clung to Tayn’s hand, sifting through the ashes of his life.
Nothing. Nothing remained but what he’d taken with him to university.
For long moments they stood in the charred doorframe of Van’s former bedroom. Hardened pools of plastic showed the ravages of fire.
C’mon, Van. It’ll do you no good staying here. Tayn tugged on his hand, leading him away.
They lay on their backs on a hill overlooking the colony, black smoke burning their lungs and blocking their view. Wails rose from down below where machinery and water filtration systems once tapped out a steady beat.
Many times before they’d lain here, talking about the future, what holovid actors they found hot, and who they’d hooked up with at school.
They’d said nothing that day. There was nothing to say.
Never again would Van run down the hill toward home to enjoy dinner with his family. Never again would he work on the temperamental irrigation system his father regularly cursed.
In a way Jorvik now lay on their hillside with them, having lost everything, and with no real hope for a future.
Not quite realizing when he’d made the decision, Van stroked Jorvik’s back and whispered, “You have a place here with us.”
Jorvik choked out a sob. “You don’t understand. If I don’t save my people soon, it will be too late. All will be lost. I’ll be lost.”
Van felt the same way the day his family died. He’d clutched Tayn the way Jorvik clutched him, frantic for any ounce of consolation.
Jorvik glanced up in the same instant Van glanced down, Jorvik’s dark eyes pulling Van into an abyss he might not escape. Soft music played in the background—Tayn adding his stamp of approval.
He should be here, adding his comfort.
Van covered Jorvik’s mouth with his own, a brief touch of lips. With little to offer, he’d give what he could.
Jorvik clasped Van’s head and plundered his mouth like an invading army. A whirlwind of touches, kisses, bites, and moans, he attacked as Van and Tayn had buried their own sorrow temporarily in each other’s arms on their hilltop long ago.
The taste of salt tears nearly made Van stop.
“Please. Make me forget. If only for a little while,” Jorvik whispered.
Van shifted them on the narrow bunk, putting Jorvik on top. Being in charge of the action might help him fight the terrors of helplessness and lack of control in other parts of his life.
Taking Van’s face between his hands, Jorvik kissed him, deep, hard, and demanding, while writhing on top of him, pressing their hardened cocks together.
Harder and harder Jorvik shoved against him, sliding their lengths between their abs. Van should have loved Jorvik during their night on the beach, a happier joining than now.
He’d fucked many men over the years, in many different situations, turning off his mind and giving in to the feelings and release.
Only once before had the man been sobbing.
He stroked his hands over Jorvik’s back, humming into his ear as Tayn sometimes did, probably without realizing.
Harder, faster, the pressure in Van’s groin grew along with the pressure in his heart.
With a final thrust Jorvik cried out, convulsing and coating Van’s stomach with warmth. Still shaking, he collapsed, his tight hold not lessening.
Slowly the trembling eased and Jorvik’s breathing evened out, head on Van’s chest, leaving a patch of dampness from his tears.
Gods, the poor guy must be hurting.
Van understood.
Shifting Jorvik into a more comfortable position beside him, Van pulled the blanket over them both, tucking in the sides so a roll in the night wouldn’t put one or both of them on the floor.
He’d not reached his own release. Somehow, Jorvik’s seemed to soothe them both.
As he closed his eyes, Tayn murmured, “You did good.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The Cormorant
The sharp staccato proximity alarm cut through Van’s dreams.
What the fuck? He shot out of his bunk, banging his leg twice while stumbling to the captain’s chair. “Tayn, what the hell’s going on?” He rubbed at his scraped knee and hit the viewscreen. Nothing. Sensor arrays showed… nothing.
Nothing? Those alarms never sounded for nothing. His heart took a dive into his stomach, sprang back, then began beating against the walls of his chest, seeking an exit to run and hide. Planet-side or on a station, he could evade any threats. Here, on the ship, he’d nowhere to run.
They could hyperjump, but wherever they went, if they’d picked up a tail, they’d be found in short order.
Fucking technology.
Images flashed through his mind of cut cables, an empty chair… No, he couldn’t let the horrors of losing Tayn haunt him now. One more check showed no Federation marauder ships approaching.
Still…
Thud, thud, thud, went his pulse in his ears.
Or maybe heavy footfalls charging up the corridor caused the thudding. Jorvik darted forward in all his naked glory, interesting bits swinging. He slammed into the pilot’s chair. Van thrusting out an intercepting arm kept him off the floor.
“What’s wrong?” Jorvik cried, face pale and eyes wide. For a moment Van’s heart clenched painfully. More than anything he wanted to hold the man and tell him nothing was wrong, reassure him all was right, and he’d protect Jorvik with his dying breath. The king had been through too much already.
He kept his mouth shut. Life didn’t deal any of them a fair hand. Coddling wouldn’t win Jorvik’s appreciation—more likely his ire.
Besides, if Jorvik planned to retake his home world things were going to get all kinds of worse before they got better, for Van, Jorvik, and Tayn.
If they got better.
Van clutched Jorvik as much as he dared to his side. The claxon silenced. “Tayn?” Surely something hadn’t attacked the innerworkings of the ship.
“Van?” Tayn’s voice lacked any of its usual playfulness. “I think you need to get in here. Bring His Lordship or whatever with you.”
Bring His Lordship? Van shot Jorvik a questioning glance. “What does he mean? You can’t jack into the circuits.”
Faint hints of pink crept up Jorvik’s cheeks and he stared down at the deck plates. “Umm…”
The ship let out a snort. “Quit wasting time. Toss him into my pod and get your asses in here.”
“The ship’s safe? What about the alarms?” They wouldn’t have been vulnerable before if they’d kept one person on the outside at all times, standing guard.
“Don’t make me hurt you once you get in here,” Tayn growled. “Yes, I’ve run checks, and diagnostics. No asshole’s gonna sneak up on us. Promise.”
Someone better start explaining, but when Tayn summoned, Van knew better than to resist. Clamping a hand on Jorvik’s shoulder, he hauled the slightly resisting bit of one night’s intended amusement along with him. The door slid open and he thrust the wriggling man inside.
“But—”
“Get in there.” Something wasn’t right in the universe, and someone needed to start talking. Their nakedness at least took a few steps out of the preparations. Van eased down into his chair, flinching at the coolness against his bare back.
He held his breath, anticipating the pricks against his skin, his mind already clouding, thoughts spinning awry, much like dreaming.
The moment before he went under, Jorvik clutched his hand.
Van sat on a couch, far more formal than the usual Tayn conjured. Tayn’s skills at controlling the virtual environment increased daily. His tastes grew more refined too, it seemed.
Jorvik sat next to him. Van did a double-take. Jorvik wore his formal kingly attire, wiping out any hint of out-of-his-element youth, or predatory monster he claimed he’d soon become. He held himself proudly, wearing a neutral expression Van labeled “diplomat face.”
How the hell did he get here, and not be shocked to suddenly find himself existing in the artificial environment of the ship’s circuitry? Sure, he claimed Terran ancestry, but how could heredity allow him to jack into the ship via Tayn’s pod? Especially after all the genetic engineering his kind underwent to call Akiak home.
Nothing about this situation made sense. Was Van asleep and dreaming? Sometimes the lines between dreaming and virtual reality blurred to the point of being indistinguishable.
Van glanced down at a trousers and shirt combo much nicer than he normally wore. What the fuck was going on? Normally he appeared as he saw himself. This wasn’t his doing. Tayn sat across from him, similarly attired on a matching couch. Tayn? Dressed? He’d changed his chin stubble into a well-groomed beard.
“Tayn, what the fucking hell is going on?”
Tayn gave him a playful smile. “Watch your language. We have guests.”
“Guests?”
In the blink of an eye two men appeared on the couch beside Tayn, one small and dark with close-cropped, tightly curled hair, the other powerfully built.
Genetically built. Van had seen many of his kind over the years—usually pointing a weapon his way.
