Beyond the Shadows Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Berkley Sensation titles by Jess Granger

  BEYOND THE RAIN

  BEYOND THE SHADOWS

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

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  Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India

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  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This book is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  Copyright © 2010 by Kristin Welker.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions. BERKLEY® SENSATION and the “B” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Berkley Sensation trade paperback edition / May 2010

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Granger, Jess.

  Beyond the shadows / Jess Granger.—Berkley sensation trade paperback ed.

  p. cm.

  eISBN : 978-1-101-18755-5

  I. Title.

  PS3607.R36285B495 2010

  813’.6—dc22 2009053187

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  To my friend Rose.

  Keep fighting. I have many more stories to tell you.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  First of all, I’d like to thank my critique partner Angie Fox, my agent, Laura Bradford, and my editor, Leis Pederson, for their hard work and dedication. I feel very blessed that I have such talented people working with me to bring my words to life. I’d also like to thank the staff at The Berkley Publishing Group for all their efforts on my behalf. Your work is greatly appreciated and never taken for granted.

  I’d also like to thank fellow author Linnea Sinclair for tying a much-needed knot in my tail. I wrote a book I was proud of, but your guidance took it to the next level. I’m very grateful for your support.

  I give thanks every day for my wonderful family and friends, whose enthusiasm and praise for the first book warmed my heart. That includes you, Uncle Jim.

  Finally, I’d like to thank all those deployed, who served with my husband while this book was written. Stay safe and come home soon.

  1

  CYN ALWAYS LIKED WATCHING WOMEN MOVE, BUT THERE WAS NOTHING SEXIER than an angry woman moving with a purpose. Commander Yara cut across the dingy pub with the swift efficiency and cold grace of a falcon.

  Perfect.

  He tapped his fingers on the crooked table. The staccato rhythm punctuated his thoughts as he watched his adversary from the corner of the Freedock bar. On the far side of the base from the military platforms, the Freedock, or Scum, as the base personnel liked to call it, was the dock for traders without supply contracts looking for surplus or to fill trade gaps with the Union base.

  Perched high over the platforms, the pub had a nice view of the desolate oceans of rock beyond the atmosphere shields. The sharp, metallic smell of cooling starships mingled with the scent of hot gear grease. It wafted into the pub in spite of the wheezing filtration system from where the automatic haulers shuffled empty freight containers like square-backed beetles. This was his world, and she had just stepped into it.

  From the look on Commander Yara’s face, she seemed keenly aware she’d just stepped in something. Cyn chuckled. She had a commanding enough presence in her uniform, but he couldn’t forget his very first impression of her. She reminded him of a lovely pixie with short, flyaway green hair. Now that pixie was pissed.

  This was going to be fun.

  “What do you mean there’s only one ship?” Her voice carried through the bar as she leaned toward the bartender, giving Cyn a healthy look at her ass.

  He eased deeper into the shadows, kicked his boots up on the table, and enjoyed the show. He knew who he was messing with. He’d been studying her for months. She was a Union commander, next in line to the throne of his home planet, and the only thing standing in the way of the revolution brewing on Azra.

  But right now, for all her power and prestige, she was nothing more than a traveler searching for stage passage in the Scum. Lucky for her, he was the only one around with a ship. He’d made damn sure of that.

  The encrypted nano-link he’d injected into his ear buzzed.

  Through the low hum of interference, he heard Quad Sergeant Nalora’s voice as if she spoke directly into his head. He scratched his neck below his ear to try to adjust the damn thing. “You got her yet?” she asked. Even though she was somewhere on the base, the link sounded weak. The temporary transmitter would probably cut out soon.

  “I’m on her,” he answered under his breath. His fellow revolutionary had risked much to help facilitate this meeting.

  “Good, don’t crack this out, or we’re all dead.”

  “It’s war, Sergeant,” he warned. It wouldn’t be pretty. It wouldn’t be nice, and there would be blood.

  Azra was at the brink. The lower classes were about to rise against the high cities, but so far, the upper classes knew nothing. He intended to keep it that way. Yara was the linchpin. She was the clear popular choice for heir to the throne. If the Grand Sister chose to step down, Yara would ascend peacefully as the new Grand Sister of Azra in a seamless transition that left no chinks in their security system, no opportunities for his people to strike.

  He couldn’t let that happen. He needed chaos. He needed a blood duel for the throne to crack open the Elite’s defenses and hopefully their unforgiving control over the planet.

  “Any news on Palar?” he whispered. Yara’s rival had a solid following and a bloodthirsty nature, but a weak mind. She was just the sort of
person who could start a war without knowing it, and he wasn’t going to miss his opportunity to take advantage.

  “She’s edgy,” Nalora admitted. “She’s ready to take down the Grand Sister, but she doesn’t have the guts to face Yara for the throne. Yara would thrash her without blinking. You may have to hold on to her for a while before Palar has the confidence to strike. You think you can handle her?” Cyn waited half a beat. “Don’t answer that,” Nalora added.

  Cyn hadn’t stopped watching the lovely commander. It was a shame that his plans couldn’t include anything more than kidnapping. He didn’t need complications, yet her wild green hair made his palms itch to touch it, smooth it. He wouldn’t mind letting his hands smooth a couple of other things, too. It was impossible. He knew what it meant to be Elite. For as much as she looked like a pixie, the women that ruled his home planet were hard, brutal, power hungry, and cold. This one would be no different.

  According to his information, Yara was a talented fighter, driven, focused, absolutely dedicated to her bloodline, loyal to the Elite, but untested in true war. He’d use that weakness to his advantage.

  “Can’t we just kill her?” Nalora grumbled. What was it about future Enforcers that made them so cavalier about handing out death?

  “You elected me leader, so shut up and follow orders. If Palar strikes before I can deliver the goods and hack the com array, we’re screwed. The timing of this has to be perfect.” They only had one shot to breach the Elite security systems. Everything had to go according to plan.

  “So you’re going to use her like a piece in your game of chest?”

  “It’s chess, Nalora, and yes. We need to keep Yara talking with her allies on Azra. Palar won’t strike while Yara’s still a viable leader. She’ll have to eliminate Yara from the picture. That gives us time to deliver the weapons and hack the array. As soon as we let it leak that Yara’s been taken hostage, Palar will immediately challenge the Grand Sister. If we control Yara, we can start this war when we have the perfect advantage, like pushing a button.” The static deepened. The nanos wouldn’t last much longer.

  “You play too many games.” Nalora’s voice turned icy.

  “I’m good at games.”

  “You’d better be.” He listened to the annoying buzz as the nanos in his ear fizzled out, cutting off his communication. It was one thing to lead trained soldiers used to orders. It was another to try to band together thousands of individuals burning with pain and rage and little discipline in their lives. Still, they all looked to him as their one hope for freedom. Kidnapping the commander would be comparatively easy.

  Yara scowled with the cold expression of a future queen, but the Icanlen bartender’s face remained as hard as her bald head. He listened carefully to their conversation.

  “I am not going to pay some rankock-licking Earthlen scum for passage on a junked-together freight hauler that doesn’t even look capable of flying through the atmosphere shield. When will another ship arrive?”

  Cyn crossed his arms at the insult. At least his disguise was working. After living on Earth for more than a decade, he knew how to impersonate them. It didn’t take much to hide his Azralen heritage, just some hair dye; some antique Earthlen eye lenses; his alias, Cyrus Smith; and the bracers that covered his Azralen coloring and traditional tattoos. Sometimes the low-tech route worked best.

  He glanced through the dingy force-shield and down to the docks below. Steam rolled over the smooth black body of his I.S. Cruiser, illuminated by the glowing orange gravity generators. He’d busted the poor ship to make it to the base in time to intercept Yara, but it was more than capable of flying through the atmosphere shield.

  “We’re between trade cycles. Next ship is at least a month out.” The bartender grasped the sanitizer hovering over the worn bar and resumed her cleaning as if she’d heard it all before, and didn’t give a damn about any of it.

  “Shakt,” Yara cursed. Cyn smiled, enjoying her frustration. Now what was she going to do? She squinted as she looked around the dim interior of the bar.

  “How can a Union base be completely devoid of any free-trade traffic?” she lamented.

  How indeed. Cyn had pulled in a lot of favors to clear out the other transports, and Nalora had tied up the trade schedule with some perfectly timed rearrangements of the free-trade docking permission cycle. Because Yara’s return home was considered personal leave, she wasn’t allowed to use military resources to travel. Not that it would help. The military ships were too busy moving the fourth front to play chauffeur to a commander heading in the opposite direction. If she wanted off the base, she only had one choice—him.

  An enormous feline strutted out from behind a bench in the corner. It twitched its large tufted ears while its dark coat shifted over its chunky build. It was the type of cat that could take down prey five times its size, and for this cat, that equaled a small hippopotamus.

  Crap, not a korcas.

  “NOT NOW, TUZ,” YARA GRUMBLED, NUDGING HIM ASIDE WITH HER LEG. HER scout hissed, let out a low, irritated growl then he grabbed her by the ankle with his prehensile tail.

  She hefted the overweight feline to her shoulder and stroked his swirling black and gray fur.

  “Ona, give me patience,” she prayed as she turned toward the dark corner of the bar.

  A pair of black boots and the frayed cuffs of some old blue canvas pants from Earth propped up on a cracked synthwood table. Tuz growled and flicked his tufted ear against her cheek. She placed him on the floor and ordered a refill of whatever the guy was drinking from the bartender.

  The woman pulled a bottle of amber liquid with a black label out from under the bar.

  “You know anything about him?” Yara asked.

  “Cyrus is safe enough,” the bartender replied. “Could do worse. He doesn’t like to take on passengers as a rule, but he has his papers and I haven’t heard a word against him.”

  Yara flexed her fingers around the drink as she stepped back into the shadows of the bar.

  The man in the corner leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed over his honed chest. There was nothing soft or tired about him. He bore no evidence in his body of long stretches of time spent in macrospace as he delivered his goods.

  No, he was built like a cat, sleek muscle and lazy curiosity in his gaze as he watched her approach. She wasn’t fooled. Tuz always looked like that just before he pounced.

  “You Cyrus?” she asked, getting to the point as she placed the drink on the table near his large foot. She felt a tingle slide down her spine.

  “Commander,” he answered while tilting his head in a half-hearted acknowledgment of her authority. He had elegant, angular features roughened only slightly by the waving black hair curling around his ears from under his Earthlen ball cap. “What can I do for you?”

  “Don’t play games. You know why I’m here. What’s your price?” The faster they got in the air, the better. As it stood, she wouldn’t be able to leave the base until that night. If she didn’t reach home soon, a bloodbath could ensue.

  He leaned forward and wrapped his long fingers around the drink in a slow, deliberate fashion, teasing the crystal before surrounding it in the heat of his palm. Yara found her attention fixed on his hand.

  “Is this an attempt to butter me up?” he asked as he took a slow sip. The rat was sharper than she initially thought. Yara watched the muscle in his neck flex then lifted her gaze to his impossibly dark eyes. All thought melted away as she stared into his eyes. Black as space and just as deep, they seemed full of sexual fire as they met hers with blatant challenge.

  She wasn’t used to men meeting her gaze. Azra was a female-dominant culture and men knew their place. Here on the Union base with the myriad of cultures and people, her rank and reputation kept others from looking her in the eye. Her stomach fluttered.

  He lowered the glass. “If it was, I’m sorry to say you suck at it.” A wicked smile full of sin and promise spread across his face as those dark eyes lau
ghed at her.

  Rankock licking was an understatement. She wouldn’t stand for this. She couldn’t let him get to her. Even as she thought it she realized he already had gotten to her. She tried to stifle her irritation, but couldn’t manage to suppress it.

  “Listen, you . . .”

  “Rankock-licking Earthlen scum?” He tilted his head as he watched her. “I’ll concede the Earthlen scum bit, but I draw the line at rankock licking. Licking rankocks isn’t my idea of a good time, Pix.”

  Yara wasn’t sure what pix meant, but she was certain it wasn’t a term of respect. Her irritation blossomed into red-hot anger. “I don’t know who you think you are, but I am still a commander on this base. You will address me as such or I’ll watch you rot in confinement for a week.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched as he took another drink. “Yes, sir.”

  He placed the glass back on the table, never once breaking his eye contact. “I’m sorry. I don’t take on passengers. You’re out of luck.” He leaned back into the shadows, giving her a reprieve from his gaze.

  “Everyone has a price,” she hissed, unable to contain her ire. Did he think he could just dismiss her? “Name yours.”

  Tuz leapt up on the table and glared at him with slanted yellow eyes only a shade lighter than hers. The table nearly tipped under the cat’s substantial weight.

  “No deal, I’m allergic to cats.”

  “Take a pill,” she quipped.

  “There’s no pill for attitude.”

  Great, he thinks he’s smart.

  Tuz hissed, as if he agreed with her assessment.

  “Tuz wouldn’t disobey me,” Yara stated. Her cat growled and swished his thick tail. Which wasn’t entirely the truth, but she could be reasonably sure Tuz wouldn’t kill the bastard. She just couldn’t guarantee he wouldn’t bleed a little.

  Cyrus kept a wary eye on the cat. “Sixty thousand.”