Grace Goodwin - The Commanders' Mate

At the same time, my second mate positioned his cock at my back entrance, carefully but with intent, pushed forward, opened me. Filled me.

I groaned into the kiss, shifted my hips, tried to anyway, so I could rock back and forth. Fuck myself on their two hard cocks.

Too big, too much. More.

Instead, my first mate’s hands clamped around my waist and he held me still. My second still had one hand around my throat, and I loved it, his other went to my breast, then nipple, squeezing. Tugging.

I was surrounded. Claimed. Safe. So full of cock I was going to scream if they didn’t move. Now.

As if they realized they’d pushed me to the edge of sanity, they moved, both of them, pulling in and out together. Slowly. Fucking me together. Filling me up.

Sex felt good. Yeah, just good. Usually. For me anyway, regular old Erica from Earth.

In. Out. Rub. Stroke. Caress. Orgasms, when done by hand… literally, were good. There was that word again. That was because it was good. Just that.

Until now.

Until this.

Holy shit, THIS.

Commander Karter, Battleship Varsten, Sector 438

“Ronan? Fuck, I thought you were dead. Killed five years ago on Latiri 4.”

My old friend stood, and I saw the ripped remains of his uniform, the blood on his temple and chest. He had not gone untouched in the battle, which meant he’d been on this ship when it had been attacked. Why had he been here, and why was he still here now? “Why did the Hive leave the dead? And how did you survive?”

He took a step toward me and Bard stepped between us, his ion rifle raised in his free hand. Ronan lifted his brows, a hardness I recognized in his golden eyes.

Ronan’s arms slowly lifted out at his sides to show his hands were empty and he meant no threat. “Really? You’re going to order him to shoot me?”

I didn’t move, didn’t even flinch. I’d seen things he couldn’t imagine.

Or perhaps, he could.

“I haven’t seen you in five years,” I countered, tipping my chin up. No matter how pleased—and stunned—I was to find him alive, there had to be a reason for his disappearance. “You were reported killed in action on Latiri 4. You might be contaminated, controlled by the Hive, your mind not your own. You could be full of Hive implants. In which case, you wouldn’t think twice about killing all of us and betraying your own people.”

He nodded once. “Too true. I can’t blame you, old friend, not after what just happened here.” The fire left his gaze and he slumped back, sitting once more in the chair, ignoring the ion pistol pointed at him.

Bard lowered his weapon but didn’t step back, remaining at the ready. With what surrounded us, we were all tense, all on guard, waiting for more destruction.

“What happened here, Ronan? How the fuck did the Hive get this close to a battleship?”

While any ship in a battlegroup was a potential target for Hive attack, no battleship had ever been hit this far inside Coalition space. Not like this. The standard orbital distance was—had been—too far for Hive weapons to be effective, our perimeter defenses and attack vessels making the main body of the fleet a difficult, if not impossible target. Until now.

Ronan ran his hand through his hair, inspecting the blood that clung to his palm as he lowered it. Stared at the dark stain. “They didn’t get through the defense grid. Not one forward scout ship was attacked. There was no warning. No ships. Nothing. The Hive weren’t even here, Kaed.”

He called me by my nickname, one I hadn’t heard in a long time. No one ever called me by my given name, Makaed. Not anymore. Not in years. That name belonged to an ambitious, hope-filled young Prillon male who had perished what felt like a lifetime ago.

“The I.C. knew the Hive were working on a long-range weapon of some sort, but we didn’t know what it was. Or where it was.”

I frowned, set my hands on my hips. “A long-range weapon? What are you talking about? There was nothing about a new threat in the command reports.” Those reports came directly from Prillon Prime and were sent to the active fleet commanders every day, sometimes twice a day, depending on how hot the battlefields ran.

“This isn’t the first attack. They took out the entire Battlegroup Hyrad ten days ago. Every single ship.” Ronan shook his head. “The I.C. didn’t have enough information to report or recommend any new course of action.”

“What?” An entire battlegroup had been destroyed and I knew nothing of it? “You must tell the fleet commanders. First Hyrad and now Varsten. You are risking thousands of lives on the other battlegroups if you don’t provide them with accurate intel.” Rage boiled hot for the I.C. and their constant games. “I’m going to contact Prime Nial. You’ll be executed for this.”

“Prime Nial knows. He’s the one who sent me here.” He looked up at me, and this time there was regret in his eyes. The I.C. had fucked up, royally, and he knew it.

“Tell me you’re lying. Why would he allow the I.C. to keep this from us?” Us, as in the commanders in the Coalition Fleet. The warriors responsible for protecting well over two hundred planets with billions of lives. Without consistent intel, we could do nothing to protect the people. This ship, this vessel that was barely holding together, was a perfect example of what could happen.

“He sent me here because they had intel that Varsten would be next. We hoped to lure the Hive into a trap.”

I lost my temper, and I never lost my temper. I was across the room, Ronan’s throat in my hand. When I lifted him, the chair tipped over and I turned, pushed his back to the nearest wall. I lifted him off his feet and squeezed.

“Commander Karter.” My second in command, Bard, placed his hand on my shoulder and pulled me back. Ronan was my oldest friend. We’d run the corridors of Battlegroup Karter when my grandfather had been in command of the ship. We’d sworn to be brothers, have each other’s backs. He had pledged to be my second if I ever took a mate.

Thank the gods that had never happened, and never would. Not now. I’d been tested for a bride years ago. No bride had ever appeared, and I was confident none ever would. I was a damaged man, mated to battle. Mated to war. I lived, ate, and breathed to save my people, not to sacrifice them to some unknown Hive weapon. And yet, here we were, death and the leftovers of evil strewn at our feet.

I loosened my hold but did not release Ronan from my grasp. “Tell me every detail, and I might not kill you.”

His face was a mottled purple and yet he smiled, but it held no humor. “Commander Varsten knew everything,” he said, his voice deep, raspy from my hold. “He knew the risks and that’s why he chose this ship as bait. That’s why he was flying. He made the call. They all did. They stayed and we sent as many as we could into hiding.”

Varsten knew his battleship was going to be attacked? I thought of the grizzled old Prillon commander. He’d raised two sons and a daughter, been mated for many years. He was stubborn as iron ore and impossible to break. If Ronan said he’d known, then he had. The risk would not have deterred him. And this information explained a few things. “Is that why most of his fleet is on the other side of this star system?”

Ronan nodded. “Varsten left the main battleship”—he waved his arm in the air to indicate this now-dead vessel—“to pilot an attack scout ship. He transported off all non-essential personnel after I arrived. All mates and children, civilians and medical staff. There was a skeleton crew on board these few forward ships. Maybe fifty warriors. Most of the ships were manned with pilots and weapons stations only. All volunteers. We told them everything, Kaed. We needed enough ships to bait the Hive into an attack.”