Free Dragonfly by Erica Hayes Page B

directorate, organizing his diary and making his arrangements and fielding ideas as he bounced them off me. He’d inspired me to transfer to Axis, back when my idealism still burned fresh and his words about honor and pride still meant something. He was that rare beast: a hard man with a conscience. A good man. People like him made the Empire worth fighting for, even if I now knew that to beat dirty rebels we had to play dirty ourselves, and honor wasn’t exactly an Axis buzzword. If Shadrin was officer in charge of the negotiations, these ex-rebel Santa Marians might even escape with their self-respect.
    An uneasy ripple made me swallow. First Malachite and Dragonfly, now Shadrin. So much of my past resurfacing, so many familiar faces. Something strange was going on here. If I wasn’t such a trusting girl, I’d suspect someone was setting me up.
    Why did Nikita want me to see this? An ugly thought struck me cold. Did he think I needed extra motivation? Everything in Axis is a test of some sort. Maybe he was warning me I was risking a flunk. Maybe he knew about my meeting with Surov the cat-man, and this was a threat to keep me on edge.
    Maybe he was just screwing with my mind.
    I slipped the ESE back into my shorts and stretched, vertebras popping. My skin felt grimy with sweat after the neurospace. My hair stuck to my neck, and salt flecks ringed my black top. I could use a shower and a night’s sleep. But the idea of stripping off weaponless to shower with Dragonfly right there made my stomach tighten. And the only decent place to sleep was his bed. Which had him in it. Naked.
    This train of thought was getting me nowhere.
    I stretched out on the sofa with a sigh, but my nerves twinged, tense. When I finally slept, I dreamed of Mishka and me at the infra-red range in that ultra-green forest, white rabbits scampering in the snow between black tree trunks.
    It’s the first time we kiss, and frigid pine-scented air sparkles fresh in my nose. Frost crusts his black hair as he folds me in his massive arms, gentle, ever holding back, afraid of his own strength. We’re the same height, Mishka and I, and our pistol holsters clunk together as we embrace. He tastes of snowmelt water, pristine, and I can feel his heartbeat.
    In my dream, I slide my hand inside his shirt, caressing tight scarred muscle, and fire shatterglass into his warm body over and over until the clip empties.

9
     
     
    When I woke, Dragonfly was sitting at the console, studying a stream of equations on the projected display, the blackness of slipspace stark in the clearview window beyond. He was dressed casually, a loose grey shirt over black combat trousers.
    He heard me get up and tossed a smile over his shoulder. “Sleep well?”
    I nearly didn’t hear him. My shatterjay was missing, and jacked into the glass console by his left hand sat his golden hyperchip.
    An angry flush crept up my body, and I risked a quick glance down at my clothes. Everything was still there. “How did you get that?”
    He shrugged, watching the display. “It’s what I do. You didn’t even move. You should be more careful.”
    Light fingers, then. Impressive. I imagined those fingers slipping down the front of my shorts, searching …
    My skin tingled, and my fist clenched in fury. “Don’t ever do that again.”
    “If you behave, I won’t have to, will I?”
    I whirled and stomped up the stairs before I could punch him. I clipped the plastic bathroom door shut, still swallowing my rage, and swiftly examined the turned-up seam at my thigh. Relief cooled me. At least he hadn’t found my ESE.
    I stripped off and endured a two-minute cold shower, washing off sweat and indignation. I had no clean clothes to put on, but it was better than nothing. I studied myself in the mirror, grey circles showing under my eyes, and took a few deep breaths to focus. He got under my skin, this Dragonfly, I could admit that. But if I wanted to play his game and win, I’d have to do