Lord of Capra (24 page)

He’d miss her
presence in his shower and his bed, but staying in her quarters would be pure
torture without her there. Although she’d satisfied his hunger, he craved to
hold her body against his and make passionate love to her. The vampire part of
him could barely contain its desire to claim her once again.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

The sun was
directly overhead, indicating it was time for the midday meal on Capra.
Accordingly, the road from the north township to the settlement was almost
deserted since most travelers, especially those on foot, had stopped along the
way to eat and relax in the shade afforded by the surrounding forest.

A lone cart pulled
by a single strider rumbled slowly down the road. The driver slouched against
the bench seat’s backrest and finished the last bite of his meal. He’d looped
the long reins loosely over the seat, obviously trusting the strider to walk
down the road without any assistance.

Typical of most
natives, the man had shaggy dark hair, and his olive complexion had a slight
green cast, which was more evident in the bright sunlight. His slightly rotund
body indicated he did more cart riding than walking during his day-to-day
activities.

The cart’s wheels
and axles turned freely. As a result, the strider move at an easy gate as it
pulled the heavy-laden burden without breaking so much as a sweat. The driver
yawned lazily, not a crime on Capra.

Grendhal watched
the approaching conveyance from his well-hidden position in the forest. Bayal
had sent him down to the planet moments after their arrival. The wraith had
scanned the single land mass in search of the most likely place where the Pilot
Evana and her mate might dwell. An energy shield surrounded the entire planet,
but it was particularly re-enforced above one certain settlement. A large stone
structure placed strategically on a hill stuck out more than any other
building.

Bayal had slipped
Grendhal through a thinner area of the shield just beyond the small settlement
near the road. Bayal had been grudgingly impressed with the power of the
defense shield. There was nothing in the normal universe that could have
penetrated it. Only a wraith or a ghost ship had the ability to overcome the
dark energy that gave the shield its strength.

Knowing he needed
to find his way into his enemy’s territory quickly, Grendhal decided to stop
the vehicle and extract information from the driver. From his hidden position,
he shifted into the form of Evana’s mate. He’d studied the images obtained from
Taneth tirelessly and knew he was the exact image of Drake. The boots, trousers
and vest he fashioned were just accessories that Grendhal had taken a chance
on. This wasn’t his first impersonation, and he was sure the native attire was
the most appropriate choice. He knew better than to copy the black formfitting
suit Drake had worn on Taneth.

Confident, he
stepped onto the road, surprising the beast and driver with his sudden
appearance.

“My lord!” The man
jerked upright in the seat and reached unnecessarily for the reins. The strider
had come to a full halt without any help from its driver.

Drake/Grendhal
smiled warmly at the flustered native male.

“Forgive me, my
lord. You surprised me. You’re so far from the palace. Can I be of service?”
The man babbled.

“Could I trouble
you for a ride back to the…palace?” Grendhal hoped his request for a ride to
the palace the man had mentioned wasn’t too much out of character.

The native man
smiled pleasantly. “No trouble, my lord. I’m traveling there myself to deliver
these gifts. Please, ride with me.”

Drake/Grendhal
climbed onto the cart and took a seat beside the man. At the driver’s urging,
the cart rumbled down the road at a faster clip. Grendhal kept silent, waiting
for the man to offer more conversation so he could gather as much information
as possible. He didn’t have to wait long.

“My name is Garth.
I’ve been traveling this road almost daily. The people are very happy for you
and our lady. Suri says the nursery is overflowing and soon there won’t be any
room left for the babe.” Garth paused to laugh goodheartedly.

Grendhal joined
him, laughing in a practiced deep voice. The Pilot Evana carried a child? No
matter, he steeled his resolve. He concentrated on Garth’s babbling once again
and hoped to find out how far away they were from the palace. Bayal couldn’t
contact him. If he did, Nemesis would locate them both. The wraith hid behind
Capra’s moon and had gone into a light hibernation. Any movement or use of dark
energy would expose him. Grendhal was on his own, no use of power for fear of
being targeted, but he could use his own natural born talent without fear of
discovery. He could shift.

“We’ll have a good
view of the palace just ahead, right around the next curve,” Garth told him. “Many
of us think you should expand, make your home here on Capra larger, especially
now since you’re having a little one. I heard some of the tradesmen from
Central City are circulating a petition for your approval, of course.” The man
laughed.

Grendhal responded
with another deep laugh. He was unsure how to answer the man. No matter though,
the native had given him all the information he needed for the time being.

Grendhal took a
quick look at the road behind them and then up ahead. He checked the forest on
either side for witnesses. Satisfied they were alone, he turned to face the man
sitting beside him. The man stared back at him, his expression uncertain. As
Grendhal shifted, the man’s eyes first widened in fear before his expression
changed and a look of horrified recognition came over his face. The man stared
at his own perfectly rendered reflection. Garth/Grendhal sneered back at him,
and with one powerful blow to the native’s head, struck the man so forcefully
he flew from the cart seat and landed on the grass beside the road.

Grendhal grabbed
the reins, stopped the strider and leaped from the cart. He hefted the
unconscious man’s body and carried him effortlessly toward the forest, far
enough off the roadway to avoid discovery. The one blow to the head hadn’t
killed the man, and Grendhal contemplated if he should finish him off. A part
of him wanted to silence the male for good, another part of him said to leave
the man to the forest. If he lived, he lived. If not, it was no concern of his.
He chose to leave the male.

Garth/Grendhal
rushed back to the cart, slid onto the bench and slapped the reins. The strider
moved forward, straining against the harness to increase his speed to a fast
trot at the urgent request of his driver. His window of opportunity was slowly
closing, and he needed to be in position before Nemesis arrived.

After following the
winding road through the forest for almost an hour, he came to an abrupt halt
at a junction. He had to choose one direction or the other. Since the path to
the right seemed to gradually climb a slight incline, Grendhal urged the
strider in that direction. The palace sat on a hilltop so he hoped he’d chosen
wisely.

The few natives he
saw along the way smiled or waved at him in recognition. Garth seemed well-known,
which meant he’d have to be more cautious in his interactions with them.

After another mile
or so down the road, he was rewarded with his second glimpse of the stone
building. He directed the strider around two more curves before they approached
the palace straight on. To Grendhal, the sight was less than palatial. His
people would describe it as a cross between a keep and a minor castle devoid of
decoration. He was pleasantly surprised there were no guards or attendants
waiting outside the large wooden doors to prevent him from entering. In fact,
the surrounding area was deserted. Splendid.

Garth/Grendhal directed
the strider as close to the entrance as possible before halting the exhausted
beast. He ignored the animal’s complaining huffs for attention, leaped from the
seat and landed gracefully on the ground, a feat the real Garth could never
have accomplished. He rushed up the steps and came to a stop in front of the
doors. He placed an ear against one of the wooden doors and listened intently
for a few seconds. He detected no sounds of movement or voices coming from
inside.

He shifted forms
once again and resumed his impersonation of Drake before he pushed the doors
open. Drake/Grendhal strolled into the great room with an air of confidence and
ownership. The vast chamber appeared uninhabited. Puzzled, he remained quiet as
he listened impatiently. A muffled curse, feminine in tone, then the sound of
falling objects came from a second-story room at the far end of the courtyard.

Taking a chance, he
called out in Drake’s deep voice. “Evana!”

There was a loud
rustling and hurried footsteps. A door opened and a female called out. “My
lord, she isn’t here. Has she not returned with you?” A young native woman
appeared, overlooking the upper banister wall.

Drake/Grendhal
smiled. “Yes, but I was delayed. I thought she might be here before me,” he
lied.

The woman was a
problem. She was obviously well-acquainted with the Pilot Evana and her mate.
Any mistake on his part would arouse suspicion.

“I haven’t seen her
yet, but I know she’ll want to see all the things that have arrived for the
babe. The nursery is overflowing! I was about to leave and bring Ronnan back to
help me with the heavier things.”

“No need!” Grendhal
assured, hoping he didn’t sound too forceful. He didn’t want to frighten her. “I’ll
help you while we wait.” His offer to help brought a smile of relief to her
face. She looked very grateful. Perhaps she might be of some use, after all, he
thought.

He headed for the
stairs near her location. They spiraled upward to the second level. He climbed
quickly, reached the top and followed her into a room. It was a bedchamber. The
woman hurried ahead of him and went through another doorway.

Grendhal stayed
close behind her, and when the woman turned to face him, she threw an arm out
to indicate the contents of the room. Her smile was radiant, her body ripe with
unborn life. He tore his gaze from her and looked at a room full of baby gifts.
His breath caught in his throat as waves of hatred washed over him. Hatred for
Bayal and himself.

“I was trying to
move the cradle into your bedchamber to make room for other things. Do you
think Evana would like that?”

Unable to speak,
Grendhal nodded. He knew his imitation of Drake was flawless.

“Good!” Then in a
voice filled with false apprehension, she teased. “Oh no. My lord, I see you’ve
misplaced your sword…again. Lady Evana won’t be happy.” She giggled.

Apparently,
something about Drake’s sword was a cause of concern. It worried Grendhal,
since he’d not thought about producing one. “Most likely she won’t,” he
muttered, keeping his voice deep but pleasant.

The woman had
turned away and tugged on one end of a massive cradle. He thought it could
easily hold three infants. He gently pushed her aside and grabbed it, easily
lifting and carrying it into the bedchamber. He placed it alongside a vacant
wall near the bed. The woman came behind him, her arms filled with small linens
and blankets. She placed them in the cradle before looking at him. Her eyes
narrowed as she stared at him curiously.

“I just noticed.
You cut your hair. I thought there was something different about you.”

Grendhal was about
to ask her if she thought Evana would approve when another voice rang out from
below. It was female. He’d only heard it on a vid image—the Pilot Evana.

“Suri!”

Grendhal shoved the
woman against the wall, holding his hand over her mouth to prevent her from
answering. He felt her scream of shock fighting for release against his palm.
She struggled against his arms in vain, trying to escape. His shook his head,
silently warning her to stop fighting. Knowing she saw him as Drake, her eyes
lost some of their fear, her trust in her lord overcoming some of her fright.

“Suri!” Evana’s
voice called again. “Are you there?”

Grendhal regretted
what he had to do, but the time had come. He shifted once more, taking on the
form of the native woman. Terror flooded into her eyes as he changed. Her
reaction enraged him. He gripped her neck, pressing his fingers firmly against
her throat.

“I’ll be right
down, my lady,” he called in the woman’s voice. She moaned helplessly, the
scent of her fear filled the entire room before her eyes closed and she went
limp. Grendhal released her, allowing her to collapse to the floor as he rushed
through the doorway to greet the other pilot.

Chapter Thirty

“Nemesis, what the
hell have you done?” Drake shouted his question to the ceiling of the control
room. He was fully transformed and seething with anger. “You can’t let her do
this alone!”

“Drake, stay calm.
Conserve your energy and prepare yourself. I will send you to the surface when
the time is right.”

“That’s bullshit!”
He howled the ridiculous description, unable to come up with any other curse he
hadn’t already hurled at the ghost ship. Nothing would make him feel any better
about his circumstance. If Nemesis had an identifiable appendage, he’d bite it.

He hated times like
these. They didn’t happen often, but when they did, he was left with such a
feeling of worthlessness. Normally, he was an integral part of their team. He
felt needed. Nemesis protected Free Space and he and Evana were her ground
soldiers. They battled armies, negotiated with planetary leaders, fought
unwelcome alien invaders and enforced the laws that kept Free Space, well, free.

Since most planets
were predominantly ruled by males, he was invaluable. Evana didn’t like taking
a back seat, but males were males and didn’t appreciate being told what to do
by a female, even if she was more powerful and could kick their chauvinistic
butts to hell. He was considered a liability when it came to abominations and
apparently other pilots. He was the weak link in their chain. Fact was, he knew
it was true. It didn’t matter. He still hated being left behind like a coddled
pet. His male ego took a beating this time.

Without alerting
him, Nemesis had sent Evana to the surface of Capra, placing her inside the
palace. It was the most logical move, the ghost ship told him afterward, trying
to defend her decision. Faulty logic, in Drake’s opinion, but his hadn’t
mattered to Nemesis. She’d accused him of being overly emotional and not
thinking clearly. He’d thrown the same accusations back at her. She’d simply
ignored his objections.

Hours earlier, when
their enemy had approached Capra, he’d decelerated to sub-light speed and had
disappeared from the ghost ship’s scans. She’d continued to search, but found
no trace of their enemy. From then on, Nemesis had spoken very little. Her
whole attention had been focused on scanning the solar system for any sign of
the wraith.

Drake had paced the
length of the control room like a caged lion, itching to catch a glimpse of its
prey. Just the briefest use of dark energy would have revealed the wraith, but
nothing had happened. It was as if it’d vanished from the universe, which
Nemesis had assured him was impossible. She’d been certain he was still near
Capra, hidden from her scans.

“Run silent, run
deep,” Drake had muttered quietly while she’d searched.

“What does that
mean?”

“It’s a saying on
Earth that refers to submarines and how they elude discovery. Maybe that’s what
Bayal is doing somehow.”

“You believe the
wraith limits the use of his power in order to avoid detection. I agree. There
is a method my kind use to grow stronger in size and strength. We call it
hibernation. The wraith would be wise to do this. It would explain why he seems
to disappear for years at a time. If so, I will not be able to locate him
anytime soon.”

“Can’t you search
for his ‘body?’ You know, the dark matter stuff?”

“Certainly, but it
is a large solar system. He is small, and there is dark matter everywhere. It
would take too long.”

“Does the pilot
hibernate with him?” Drake had asked, just out of curiosity.

Nemesis hadn’t
answered. He guessed she’d just blanked out and done the human equivalent of “squirrel,”
which meant she was having a distraction attack.

“Nemesis, have you
found something?”

“If the shield
around Capra has been breached even slightly, then the wraith pilot is on the
surface.”

“I’d say that was
something. Why do you think that?”

“Pilots do not
hibernate.”

So, in a convoluted
way, it was his own fault he was stuck on the ghost ship while Evana was down
on the planet searching for an intruder. His fault she was about to face
another pilot, alone. Damn his curiosity. She’d never fought another pilot. And
he suspected Nemesis knew more about how pilots fought each other than what she
was telling him or Evana.