Free Moonstruck by Susan Grant Page A

center, the clean lines of the pilot and weapons stations. Outside the generous banks of viewports, the graceful arc of the Ring could be seen. She walked to the forward view window at the very bow of the ship, her heart singing despite her reluctance to take this position and all it demanded of her, and placed a hand against the cool, clear surface. She imagined a vista of stars. Ah, gorgeous.
    Her hand closed into a fist. Damn Zaafran. He must have known how she’d react to this ship with the absurd name. It felt right here. Yes…She brushed fingertips along a polished railing. It was almost like coming home.
    Rorkken stopped beside her, shattering the moment. The scent of his skin came to her, unwelcome, generated by the heat of his barely clad body. She’d ordered everyone to don their new Triad uniforms. Rorkken would, too, after their tour was complete. His transformation couldn’t come fast enough. It was bad enough being constantly reminded he was Horde that she didn’t need to keep being reminded he was a virile, well-built male, too.
    She blocked the very thought.
    “Gods, she’s magnificent,” Rorkken said. “The heavens have surely gifted us.”
    “You’re a believer.”
    “You sound surprised,” he said.
    “You’re Horde.”
    “Trillions of Drakken have been worshipping in secret under the warlords’ rule.”
    “For all the good it did them,” she muttered.
    She sensed his surprise in the tensing of his body. “You’re not a believer?”
    She snorted softly, bitterly. “No.”
    “I didn’t know there were those in the Coalition who weren’t.”
    “Well, we’ve learned a little more about each other’s cultures today, haven’t we?”
    “Aye…” His eyes, Seff’s eyes, found hers. To her dismay, they glowed with gentleness, and that look of curiosity, the desire to know more—more about her. When was the last time any male wanted to know her? To know Brit? Shivery bumps raised on her flesh. Damn him. Damn him to the dark reaches and back. Murderers, all. “There is little time to waste, waxing poetic about a ship. Let us continue with our tour.” She turned away from the viewport just as her PCD beeped.
    “Incoming urgent message,” a dulcet artificial voice announced in her ear.
    Rorkken brought his hand to his ear, as well. Apparently he’d been fitted with a PCD, too—and didn’t quite know what to make of the interruption, judging by his startled expression. Welcome to the world of no privacy, she thought, remembering her aborted shore leave. Wherever you are, the Coalition Military will find you.
    Or, rather, the Triad.
    The comm screens burst to life. Each one framed an image of Prime-Admiral Zaafran’s face. Secured transmission scrolled underneath the image. “There you are,” he said, finding them. It was a visual only. His voice came over their PCDs. “There’s been a change in plans.”
    Brit knew him well enough to discern the tension tightening his mouth, and the fear—the fear —in his eyes. The man didn’t scare easily. Neither did she, of course. Then again, when you had nothing left to lose, fear was rather futile.
    Rorkken must have read Zaafran’s anxiety, too. He walked closer to one of the screens in his heavy boots. “Sir?”
    “We’ve already received reaction to the galactic press release sent out a short time ago announcing this ship and its diplomatic mission. That reaction came in the form of a generalized terrorist threat against the Unity. We have to take it as legitimate.”
    Brit sent a sidelong glare at the warleader. Don’t you people ever stop?
    “Intelligence is working on tracking the source of the threat. In the meantime, I don’t want us sitting here, vulnerable—the entire Ring vulnerable. The Ministry of Intelligence and the Reunification Assembly approved an accelerated launch schedule. I realize we’re shy of the mandated numbers of personnel. We’ll deal with that, but not now. As long as you have exceeded the