Romancing the Alpha: An Action-Adventure Romance Boxed Set (30 page)

Marat led the way into a briefing room with a large, old wooden table taking up most of the space, a surprising contrast from the textured metal and drab gray of the rest of the ship. A single man waited inside the room, standing near the portholes rather than sitting at the table. It was Ying’s first time seeing Captain Mandrake outside of combat armor. He wore a black short-sleeve T-shirt that accented brawny arms and broad shoulders that appeared capable of snapping men in half. He wasn’t as old as she would have guessed from his gruff, humorless commands, but he did have some flecks of gray at the temples, and nothing about him left her doubting that he was in charge.

“Sir,” Marat said, coming to a Fleet-style parade rest with his hands clasped behind his back.

Ying leaned against the wall and folded her arms over her chest. When Mandrake glanced at her, she stared back at him, her chin up, her expression unyielding.

“Four weeks of double shifts, Azarov,” Mandrake said, “and in your free time, you’ll help Striker clean all of the weapons and armor on the ship.”

“Sir?” Marat looked like he wanted to scratch his head, but he kept his hands behind his back.

“You have a problem, Sergeant?” Mandrake’s tone said he had better not.

“No, sir. I just thought you might kick me out.”

“Nobody gets out of my outfit that easily. You’ve got twenty months left on your contract.”

“I... Yes, sir.”

“But if you disobey my orders again, I’ll shoot you. Understood?”

“Yes, sir. Uhm, out of curiosity, will you be keeping the ship? Or selling it?” Marat glanced at Ying. “Since she killed Wolf, she should get at least part of the spoils.”

“Selling it,” Mandrake said. “I have no interest in becoming a fleet admiral. The spoils will be split fairly. Dismissed.”

Marat looked at Ying. “Uh, both of us, sir? Or...?”

“You.”

“Oh.” Marat frowned and opened his mouth.

Ying waved for him to leave. She doubted she had anything to fear from the captain, no matter how gruff he seemed. She might never have been a soldier, but even she knew he was getting off light for what he had pulled.

Marat closed his mouth. She thought he would march straight out, but he did pause to clasp her hand before leaving. Even if she didn’t consider herself the type to need comfort or condolences—at least not often—she appreciated the gesture. The warmth of his strong, callused palm made her think of their night together, and her cheeks flushed at the memory. It was too bad he would be busy with all of these double shifts. Not that she knew how long she would be allowed to stay on board. Hadn’t Striker said something about only crew being allowed? No wives or girlfriends? Marat had implied there was a cook’s position that she might apply for, but would Mandrake offer her a job if he knew her past? He might not believe someone with a history of poisoning people through her food would make a desirable cook for the ship.

The door slid shut, leaving Ying alone with the captain. His expression hadn’t changed, though he couldn’t have missed the handclasp, even from the other side of that massive table.

“Bryony Brooksmouth?” Mandrake asked.

Ying shifted uncomfortably, remembering she had given Marat her birth name to share with the captain. “Not for a long time.”

He nodded. “Understood.” His voice and demeanor were different than they had been with Marat. Not gentle, exactly, but less intense. “I’ve never had a cook for the ship before, but I’ve been informed it would be good for morale. I agreed to it if we could find someone with combat experience.” He raised his eyebrows.

“I was never professionally trained as a soldier, if that’s what you’re asking, but someone comes in my kitchen and has a problem with my food, I have no trouble killing him.”

Mandrake gazed blandly at her, perhaps not certain what to make of the comment. Maybe he wanted a more straightforward answer as to her qualifications.

“I can pilot a shuttle in a pinch, make up poisons for assassination missions, and I’m proficient with a number of pistols,” Ying said.

“And knives?” he asked dryly.

“If need be.”

“You want the job? If not, we’ll let you off at the next safe stop.”

“If you’re offering, I might give it a try on a trial basis. If I don’t have to yes-sir a bunch of idiots and I can be queen of the kitchen.” She might want to stay with Marat, but she also wasn’t ready to sign away her life for X number of years, nor volunteer herself to be on the bottom rung of some irritating military chain-of-command.

The corners of Mandrake’s mouth turned down. She had a feeling he liked irritating military chains-of-command. Mercenaries weren’t quite the same as pirates.

As Ying was wondering if she had just talked herself out of a job, the door opened. She half-expected Marat returning to check on her, but a woman strolled inside, dark wavy brown hair bouncing around her shoulders. She had a lithe, athletic form, but didn’t look like one of Mandrake’s soldiers. She wore light makeup, a blouse that accented her breasts, and her eyes twinkled without wariness or fear when Mandrake squinted suspiciously at her.

Before the captain could say anything, the new woman spun toward Ying.

“Is this the new cook?” she asked, spreading her arms. “Can I hug her?”

Ying didn’t know whether to step back or to just stare in horror. She didn’t want a hug from a stranger.

She glimpsed Marat standing outside in the corridor and peering in her direction before the door closed. The pleased smile on his face kept her from scurrying backward.

“That’s still up for debate,” Mandrake said.

“Whether she’s a cook? Or whether I can hug her?” Thankfully, the woman lowered her arms and stuck one out for a handshake instead. “I’m Ankari. I loathe food logs. Please join the crew and become my savior.”

Mandrake issued a noisy snort.

“Whatever he’s offering to pay you, I’ll double it,” Ankari added.

Ying blinked. She hadn’t been thinking about money, but getting paid would be an added perk to having her food and lodgings taken care of again.
This
time she could save more and plan better for her future.

“That better not be out of my twenty percent,” Mandrake grumbled.

Ankari grinned and walked around the table toward him. “Didn’t you just get a new ship to sell?”

“It’s full of bodies and has a hole in the hull where some combat team drilled its way in.”

“Well, whose fault is that?” Ankari stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the lips. Mandrake didn’t exactly melt into goo at her gesture, but he did look faintly pleased. He patted her on the back before she walked back toward Ying. “Let’s get this negotiation wrapped up, shall we?” Ankari asked. “You’ve been offered double pay. Do you accept?”

Hm. Did she accept? The idea that not everybody here was a mindless soldier drone marching around with guns and grenades reassured Ying somewhat. And she would have Marat too. She smiled to herself, remembering him hefting her over his shoulder and “rescuing” her from the androids. He certainly wasn’t a drone.

“I told him I’d cook for the ship on a trial basis,” Ying said, “but that I wouldn’t sign a contract or yes-sir him.”

“He agrees,” Ankari promptly said.

“Ankari,” Mandrake warned.

Ankari didn’t even look at him. She waved at Ying, then strode back through the door. “We have a cook,” she announced in a loud, cheerful voice.

The round of cheers and applause that erupted from the corridor surprised Ying. She hadn’t realized anyone except Marat was out there. His eyes were only for her as he gazed past Ankari and through the doorway. He gave her a shy wave and a big smile.

The door shut, not quite drowning out the continuing cheers and exuberant shouts.

“In the past, I’ve had nightmares of mutiny,” Mandrake said. “This wasn’t quite how I imagined it unfolding.” Shaking his head, he rounded the table and headed for the door. Before walking out, he offered Ying his hand. “Welcome to the outfit, Ms. Brooksmouth.”

Though Ying felt a little dazed, she accepted his firm handshake.

Marat rushed in as soon as he could squeeze past the captain. He engulfed Ying in a hug, one she did not try to reject. She met his kiss with enthusiasm.

“You’re on duty, Azarov,” came Mandrake’s voice before the door slid shut.

“Sorry I won’t have time to give you a tour,” Marat said, though he did not rush to release her. “I’m sure Ankari will show you around.”

“Or she’ll show me straight to the kitchen where she’ll tie me to a pot rack so I can’t escape.”

Marat grinned. “That is a possibility.”

As Marat kissed her again, she found herself grinning back, realizing she was pleased by the new situation. The fact that people actually
wanted
her here. This might just work out.

—THE END—

Thank you for giving
The Pirate Captain’s Daughter
a read. I agreed to submit a story for the
Romancing the Alphas
anthology before it had a title, and realized as I was finishing this one that Marat isn’t much of an “alpha.” As Ying says, he’s more of a nice guy. Ying may qualify as an alpha in her own right though! Either way, I hope you enjoyed the story.

If you would like to read more of the Mandrake Company adventures (and find out how Ankari and the captain ended up together), you can start with
Mercenary Instinct
. The novel is available for free in all of the major online bookstores.

Want to get in touch? Or learn more about the books? Find me at:

rubylionsdrake.com

[email protected]

ZARA KEANE

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GENRE: Underwater Adventure Romance

DESCRIPTION: Book 1 in the Ballybeg Bad Boys Series

She’d left him in the past. He’s about to blow up her future.

Underwater photographer Katy Ryan snags the assignment of a lifetime—the chance to explore the wreck of
RMS Lusitania
. But there’s a catch: Her infuriating ex-fiancé is on the exploration team.

Declan “Dex” Fitzgerald is a treasure hunter on a mission. Priceless necklaces are hidden in the wreck of the
Lusitania
. With a loose idea of where to find the gems, and even looser morals, Dex wrangles a last-minute job on the exploration team. And realizes he’ll have to work alongside his uptight-but-sexy-as-hell ex.

And they’re not the only ones in pursuit of the treasure. With sparks flying and oxygen tanks running low, can Dex and Katy retrieve the gems before the bad guys?

Turn the page to begin reading
Her Treasure Hunter Ex
, or
click here to return to this anthology’s Table of Contents.

Dublin, Ireland

The pockmarked man leaned back in his leather chair, his hard obsidian gaze pinned on Katy. “So, Dr. Ryan,” he said in his clipped Oxbridge accent, “are you interested in the job?”

Was she interested? Hell, yeah. He was offering her the chance to explore the wreck of RMS
Lusitania
up close. Growing up with Grandma Ryan’s vivid tale of how her parents survived the torpedoing of the ship in 1915 had given Katy an early interest in the topic—an interest strong enough that she’d written her doctorate on its ramifications for the First World War. Given how stingy the Irish government was about handing out dive permits to explore the wreck, this was quite literally the opportunity of a lifetime.

And yet
…Something didn’t smell right.

Katy returned the man’s stare, equally hard and unwavering. “Don’t bullshit me. You were sure you’d hook me with your offer before you opened your mouth. What I want to know is this: where’s the catch?”

Mr. Devon—or whatever he was called when he wasn’t using a pseudonym—cracked a hint of a smile. “I was warned about you,
Dr.
Ryan.”

Katy jutted her chin, irked by the emphasis the man placed on the academic title she’d gained only recently. So what if it had taken her a couple more years than most to finish her doctorate? She’d done so with distinction, so screw him. “What did they say? That you can take the girl out of the Navy but not the Navy out of the girl? Or is it a class thing like you Brits are obsessed with? Brooklyn-girl-goes-to-Trinity-College and all that crap?”

“I was told you were as street-smart as you were academic, and possessed of razor-sharp instincts. In short, precisely the sort of person we need for this mission.” The smile broadened to expose a set of teeth so blindingly white they had to be veneers. “Plus I understand your mother is ill. The money from this venture would allow you to cover her medical costs in America.”

Whoa…
Bringing up her mother was a low fucking blow. Glaring at her visitor, Katy drew a pack of chewing gum from her desk drawer, popped a piece into her mouth, and engaged in some ostentatious mastication. She didn’t much care for gum but she loved screwing with people’s stereotypes of the dumb American abroad. The man on the other side of her desk was a cool customer but he was a millisecond too late in disguising his distaste.
Score to Katy.

“The word ‘mission’ doesn’t conjure up thoughts of a staid academic project,
Mr. Devon
, and you don’t strike me as the kind of guy to fund one.”

He opened his mouth, as if to protest but she cut him short.

“Wherever you work, it’s not Oxford. Yeah, you might have gone to college there—in another lifetime and under a different name—but I don’t believe for an instant that you have any academic or scientific interest in the
Lusitania
.”

His crater-ridden jowls wobbled. “I—”

“Yet here you are offering me a ridiculous sum of money to join a research project and take underwater pictures of the wreck. Why? More importantly, why
me
?”

The large man stiffened. “You’re an experienced deep sea diver and you’ve photographed numerous shipwrecks in the Pacific and around the British Isles. Your specialization in the sinking of the
Lusitania
makes you the ideal candidate for this job.”