Shieldbrothers: Pride of the Kodiak

Chapter Nine: Masks, Disguises, & Bodyguards

“I won’t do it.” Möbius insists. He stands in the middle of his quarters on the Singing Possum, glowering at the pile of silks neatly folded over Tyr’s arm. One might wear silks with leathers but no proper Nietzschean wore only silks in public. In private with a lover, silks are acceptable but not in public. He turns a brooding stare on Tyr. Tyr might be wearing a long tunic over loose pants instead of leathers but the garments are dark blue and made from a comfortable looking cotton fabric. Nothing shiny about him. “I am not wearing that.”

“I don’t have time to argue with you, boy.” Tyr holds out the garments with an impatient gesture. “Just put the thing on so we can be on our way.”

“Why do I have to wear silk to approach this…Yen person?” Möbius picks ups a mint green length of silk; threads of gold embroidery glint from the rich fabric. His nose wrinkles. He’s surprised that Tyr has not thrown in a few chains and big, sparkly rings to wear as well. “My leathers should be…sexy enough. I want to save him not fuck him.”

“You will wear the silk because you’re posing as a fop.” Tyr radiates delight at the idea. He leans against the wall, smirking. “That should be no stretch for you.”

“What did you say, Anasazi?” Möbius growls. He scowls at the other man. “I should just kill you now. I’m sure Harper would forgive me. Come to think of it…my leathers were sexy enough to win Harper from you and bring him to my bed. If you met with an unfortunate accident on this mission Harper would need comforting and I will be more than happy to provide it.”

“You’re welcome to try.” Tyr responds mildly. The calm in his amber eyes and his flattened bone blades give proof of his lack of concern at the threat. His lush lips curve smugly at the memory of his reconciliation with Harper. His body is covered with passion marks and his ass aches wonderfully from Harper’s relentless claiming. “You do remember that Harper returned to my bed after rejecting yours.”

“I still can’t see the attraction.” Möbius sighs as he stares quizzically at Tyr. “He chose you over me. ME!”

“When one becomes accustomed to disappointment; one becomes stronger of character, yes?” Tyr arches an eyebrow.

“Don’t patronize me, Kodiak. Let’s just get this done. Give me the damn clothes.” Möbius jerks them out of Tyr’s hands. He piles the clothes on his couch, sorting out the different garments. He yanks off his vest, ignoring Tyr’s presence.

Tyr smirks. “According to Charlemagne…your name, for this mission, is Omar Hakim of Iroquois Pride. Apparently you are fifth in line to the throne. Is there such a pride?”

Möbius’ voice is muffled as he pulls the long, dark green silk tunic over his head. “No idea.”

“Probably not. This is another of the Archduke’s jokes no doubt. I am to be called Sharif Mohammed also of Iroquois Pride. Your trusted and loyal bodyguard.” Tyr grins widely at Möbius. “You do trust me don’t you?”

“Not for a nanosecond.” Möbius replies as he tugs off his tight leather pants and trades them for loose silk pants in mint green. The slits in the sides of the dark green tunic will give him freedom of movement in a fight as well as showing off the length of his strong legs. The mint silk pants clung to the hard muscles in his legs. Möbius sits down to pull on the dark green boots. At least those were leather.

“You’re smarter than you look.” Tyr laughs.

“So this Yen is expecting us?” Möbius picks ups the last length of fabric. He stares at the length of mint silk and gold embroidery. What is he supposed to do with this? A belt, perhaps? He twines the length of fabric around his narrow waist and tucks a garrote and a deceptively dainty looking blade into it. There. He feels much better. He poses. “Is this ‘fopish’ enough for you, Anasazi?”

Tyr looks Möbius up and down. His eyes gleam with amusement. “I suppose it will have to do.”

Möbius makes a show of looking around. “Where is your disguise? You can’t possibly think you’re going to stalk up to the door looking exactly like…you look. We won’t get five feet from the ship before the Dragans shoot you on sight.”

“I will wear this headdress and this outfit.” Tyr wraps a length of dark blue cotton over his hair and across the lower part of his face, leaving only his eyes exposed.

“Well…I must say it’s definitely an improvement.” Möbius smirks as he slips knives into his boots.

Tyr slides the veil down enough to uncover his mouth. “Don’t make me kill you, boy. I’d hate to have to explain to Charlemagne, but it may be worth it.”

Möbius snorts disdainfully at the idea. “Let us be on our way, Kodiak. The sooner we retrieve this Troy Yen; the sooner we can be free of each other’s company.”

“Agreed.” Tyr adjusts his veil. The sooner the mission is done, the sooner he can go back to Harper. He sighs with longing, remembering how it felt to lie under Harper…the cool, strong hands…the relentless, deep thrusting driving him to both release and renewed desire.

****

Troy Yen sits at his usual table at the Evening Star Sidewalk Café, watching the crowds of pleasure seekers drift by. A few knew enough to point him out to their companions but Troy regally ignores the curious. He sips a cup of steaming green tea and toys with the plate of fruit and cheese that serves as his dessert. He relaxes, lounging back against the teal cushions of his white wrought iron chair.

He nibbles on a strawberry. He is rather bored without clients of any kind to amuse himself with but he must keep his schedule clear to accept whatever arrangements Charlemagne has made for his extraction. All Charlemagne had revealed in his coded message was that two men would meet him at this café. One of the men would pose as a client. The supposed client would reveal himself with certain code words. Troy sighs. Lately his only entertainment had been dealing with assorted attempts on his life by assassins of varying skill levels.

He glances casually around. His bodyguards flank him at two nearby tables. A few gawking tourists are scattered at the other tables indulging in a late lunch. He hopes that Charlemagne’s men will provide him with some amusement on the journey when they finally deign to show up.

Two tall Nietzscheans stroll into view, pausing frequently at the various shops. One is a rather handsome boy with dark chocolate eyes. Silks in shades of dark green and mint green cling to his muscular frame. A long thick braid of black hair hangs over one shoulder past his waist. Troy notes with amusement that a gold chain with charms that jingle merrily is woven into the braid. A taller man stalks silently behind the boy; his face obscured by a blue veil. An interesting couple.

Hmmm. Troy cradles the delicate porcelain of his teacup, enjoying the warmth of it against his palm. The two are slowly but definitely working their way toward him. Well, well. Things are beginning to look up. Perhaps the evening’s entertainment is about to commence. Troy slides a black silk cord from his black leather pants and languidly ties his long hair back at his nape. Silver half moons and stars dangling from the cord, brush coolly against his throat.

Troy watches as his bodyguards move into position to block the two men. The young man in green silks glares at the guards. His full lips lift in a magnificently sexy snarl. The dark eyes scan the guards with open disdain. “Out of my way, betas. I will speak with Troy.”

“Mr. Yen is not entertaining clients this evening.” Broadus growls. He snaps his bone blades out in a showy gesture and poses. “Be on your way or I’ll have to…encourage you to move along.”

Troy suppresses a snigger at the gesture. Mustn’t laugh since he isn’t supposed to have any idea how bad his so-called guards are but, really, what holodramas has Broadus been watching lately? Where had the management found this bunch? He turns interested eyes on the youngster; does the boy know enough to see that Broadus is all show and no substance? Can the young man back up that ever-so sexy snarl with force?

The young man lifts an elegant eyebrow. He looks Broadus up and down in disbelief. “Are you threatening me?”

Broadus glances over his thick shoulder at Troy who continues to sip his tea and watch with an air of faint interest. Broadus turns his best scowl on the slim young man and takes a menacing step forward, growling.

The young man sighs elaborately. He turns an exaggeratedly pouty look onto the veiled man looming behind him. “Sharif…I think this one is threatening me. I don’t like threats. Make him stop.”

Broadus takes the chance to charge but the young man deftly sidesteps. The blue veiled man grabs Broadus and throws him hard into the wall. The young man walks confidently over to Troy’s table, trailed by the veiled man.

The veiled man first then, if this comes to a fight. Troy weighs his delicate teacup. It is still mostly full of hot tea. An effective distraction if he needs it. He gestures the rest of his guards to stand down then slides his hand under the table cloth close to the tiny pistol hidden in his boot. He looks up into the youngster’s dark brown eyes and waits to see what will happen next.

“There now…all quiet. So much more conducive for conversation.” The young man waves toward the chair across from Troy and flashes a tight insincere smile. “May I?”

“Who are you?” Troy asks in a mildly curious tone. The young Nietzschean is smoldering deliciously with ire and barely suppressed aggression. Oddly enough the boy reminds him a little of Marius…not in looks, those couldn’t be more different but something about the dangerous set of the full lips, the snarky, sullen spark and snap of the dark eyes. The idea that there may be some substance to the aura of menace sends tingles of delight down Troy’s spine.

Only someone who is truly dangerous like Marius intrigues him. Too bad Charlemagne didn’t desire humans --- all that delicious, decadent silken menace going to waste. Troy shivers at the thought of what a challenge a man like Charlemagne would be. Still, it was probably best not to mix desire with business. Troy studies the hard muscles sliding easily beneath the clinging silk; the lithe, light movements. Hmmm. He may be underestimating the young Nietzschean’s abilities. The boy obviously invested a serious amount of time in training. Now that he no longer has to hide his abilities…the young Nietzschean might be interesting to…spar with.

“I am Omar Hakim of Iroquois Pride…out of Laliyah by Khaled.” Möbius recites with an air of complete boredom. He sprawls in the chair, scowling at the jingling of charms in braid that accompanies the motion.

“Iroquois Pride?” Troy sets his teacup down on the saucer. Those are the code words that he had been told to listen for but…he raises a sleek eyebrow…could Charlemagne have sent this young man to extract him? He can only hope that the youth is more than he seems or that the large, silent man behind him is really in charge of the operation. No, Charlemagne would not send anyone incompetent on a mission unless he wanted it fucked up. With Charlemagne one always had to consider all the levels to the game; that was one of the things that made working for the Archduke so exciting.

Troy tilts his head, feeling the moons and stars sliding coolly against the arch of his throat. He hides a smile at the way the young Nietzschean’s reluctant gaze is drawn to smooth, unmarked skin of his throat and the curve of his shoulder. That was one of the things that Marius had taught him; that interested Nietzscheans found bare, unmarked expanses of skin highly provocative. He had not allowed anyone but Marius to mark him as a lover. Well, there had been one client who had…forced the issue then met with a most unfortunate and spectacular accident. Amusing really that it never occurred to anyone that one of Morgana’s Drift’s most famous courtesans might have deliberately chunked someone off his balcony. The management had even offered him the services of a counselor to deal with the trauma of it all. Playing with the counselor had been most entertaining.

He sighs wistfully. He had never encountered anyone else worthy of marking him after Marius died. He missed marking and being marked and flaunting the marks, proof of what heights he had driven his lover to. He missed not having to hold back like he does with his clients. Troy admires the haughty lines of young Nietzschean’s full lips, the sullen glower in the fine dark eyes. There is an intriguing, satiny sheen to the rich, copper skin that makes his hands ache to touch it. Could there be something truly dangerous lurking under the beauty and smolder of temper? A worthy sparring partner? The only way to find out is to begin provoking the boy and see what happens. Troy raises his teacup to his lips. “I have not heard of this pride.”

Möbius waves his hand dismissively. His dark gaze lingers on the moons and stars dancing against the smooth, gold skin. “I’m not surprised. We are a small pride.”

Troy puts the teacup down and picks up a napkin, touching it to his lips. The young Nietzschean’s eyes are tracking every motion. Such responsiveness is promising, leading to memories of Marius. Marius was also very responsive to him; he used to find the most amazing pleasure in driving Marius into a feral frenzy of need. Has the universe dropped another such Nietzschean in his path? He can only hope. Troy stares openly at the veiled man. Where does the mystery man fit into Charlemagne’s plans? Is the youth the front and the mystery man the one in charge of things? “Who is your muscle?”

Tyr moves as if to answer but Möbius holds up a hand. He smiles benevolently over his shoulder at the guard. “This is my bodyguard Sharif Mohammed. He’s totally devoted to my safety. Aren’t you, Sharif?”

Tyr growls menacingly as Möbius reaches up to tug playfully at the hem of long blue veil. “Unfortunately, he’s mute.”

Troy looks Tyr over carefully. Now, isn’t that interesting? Who could it be under there? Someone with a distinctive voice and appearance. He is now looking forward to boarding their ship and seeing who lurks under all that blue fabric. Anyone he knows? “Pity.”

“Yes. Sometimes, he almost seems capable of speech.” Möbius settles comfortably back on the teal cushions with a complacent air, seemingly paying no heed to the big man looming at his back.

“A genetic defect?” Troy asks blandly.

“No…no…unfortunately I had to cut out his tongue for insolence.”

Tyr frowns and grunts derisively.

Möbius looks Troy over with a faintly derisive glint in the fine dark eyes. His husky voice is bored and indifferent. “Now then. I have heard so much about you, Troy Yen. It is said that you are quite good. Many feel you are the best courtesan on the Drift. I must have you. I want to experience everything before I return home to be wed. How much?”

Troy runs a considering finger over the rim of his cup but, no…tempting as the idea of flinging it at the patronizing snip is, he has better ways of getting under that rich, copper skin. Much more subtle, effective and pleasurable ways. Oh, yes, he will be getting under that beautiful copper skin in every way that he can if this young one holds the potential that he suspects. Troy looks the Nietzschean over thoroughly then he shrugs, sending the open collar of his shirt sliding over his shoulder. “Don’t be crude, young one. As my bodyguard informed you…I am not entertaining clients this evening. And if I were entertaining; you…are not my type.”

Möbius glares at Troy. His bone blades flutter as he stares as the graceful arch of collarbone, muscled line of shoulder and just the hint of dark nipple at the edge of the silk shirt. “What do you mean I’m not your type? Everyone adores me.”

Troy looks down, hiding his amusement under the long sweep of lashes. So someone had rejected the youngster recently. Very recently for the young Nietzschean to still be so sensitive about it. He can work with that. Troy allows his gaze to drift past the boy to linger with open appreciation on the powerful frame of the veiled man. “Not everyone.”

There is a faint snort of amusement from the veiled man.

Möbius stiffens and forces a smile. His dark eyes glow balefully. “Have I offended you? If so it was not my intention. Please allow me to make amends.”

“That won’t be necessary. I’m sure there’s nothing you can do that will interest me.” Troy selects a juicy piece of pineapple. He stares directly into the youngster’s eyes, watching as those fine eyes darken and begin to smolder as he closes his lips over the bite of pineapple and slowly slides it off the fork into his mouth. Still staring boldly into the Nietzschean’s eyes, Troy languidly licks the juice from his lips. He glances discreetly at the tremble of bone blades. Ah-hah. Gotcha. .

“I am told that I am quite skilled in the art of giving pleasure. I have several talents that might interest you…if you were to reconsider and spend time with me. But, alas, you are not entertaining this evening.” Möbius puts a faint emphasis on the words ‘not entertaining’.

Troy laughs. So he is ‘not entertaining’ is he? Too bad. He is finding the evening quite entertaining. “You are still a youth. What you think you know is barely a fraction of what I do. Run along home. Come see me when you are dry behind the ears and your boneblades don’t betray every emotion.”

“How dare you!” Möbius snarls at the beautiful man sitting across from him. His hands tighten on the arms of his chair as he forces his bone blades flat. How dare this glorified prostitute patronize him? Troy should be grateful that Charlemagne sent his best man to get him out…Möbius’ gaze dropped involuntarily to the sensual sculpted lines of the human’s mouth. There is a taunting, arrogant set to the rich curves that makes him burn to…A fine shiver runs down his spine as the image of Troy slowly eating the pineapple rises in his mind again. Such a simple act yet he is fully hard and aching under his silks. His bone blades throb with the urge to snap erect. No. No. He will not let this human know how aroused he is.

The warm weight of Tyr’s cautioning hand on his shoulder brings Möbius back to the immediate task. Damn it. The Kodiak can scent just how badly he wants to take the infuriating human right now and leave his marks all over every inch of the smooth gold skin. He doesn’t need the old fossil attempting to keep him in line. It will take more than getting hard to distract him from his duty.

Two can play that game. Möbius leans forward, brushing a fingertip caress over the back of the human’s hand. There. Harper had responded to strongly to that fingertip caress move so it ought to arouse this human as well. His voice is husky and seductively pleading. “Forgive my…impertinence. I am hosting an intimate gathering on my ship this evening. Please join me and let me change your mind about the vagaries of youth.”

Troy’s long, black eyes glitter with amusement as he slides his hand away and picks up his cup of tea. His cool tone says that he is not so easily beguiled. “I’m not sure I will be able to attend.”

“I simply won’t take no for an answer.” Möbius glowers. His nostrils flare, testing the air. There is no trace of arousal in the human’s scent. He breathes in again, deeply before he can stop himself. He had thought that Harper’s scent was delicious but Troy’s…damn the courtesan. Möbius can feel himself swelling harder merely from the scent. His mouth sets in grim lines at he slips his arms under the table before his bone blades betray the extent of his arousal. This will not do.

Troy sighs with boredom. There is a mocking glint in the beautiful black eyes that says that he knows very well exactly how badly he is desired. “Well…I don’t have anything better to do. I may as well spend my evening on board your ship.”

“Excellent. I’ll send Sharif ‘round to fetch you in…an hour? I look forward to changing your mind.” That’ll teach the ancient Kodiak to doubt his control. See how Tyr likes being an errand boy. Möbius inclines his head and stands up. “Come Sharif. I’m fatigued. I think I need a nap before the party.”

Troy shakes his head as he watches the two Nietzscheans leave. Those two should liven up the trip. A smile curves his lips. He would bet that Möbius was used to leathers; those silks didn’t conceal much. A cold shower for one coming up. Troy laughs softly. Perhaps later he might be willing to show some mercy. Or perhaps not. Perhaps this Nietzschean will be like his lost Marius and not want any mercy granted. Troy can feel his own desire rising higher at the thought.

Well, he’d better gather up his bodyguards and send them back to the idiots that hired them. He’ll have to leave a resignation for his agent to find. Then he will find a new place and life. Troy looks around the restaurant and the street. Well, it’s time he left Morgana’s Drift. He had become much too comfortable here. It’s time for something…new and perhaps…someone new.

****

Tyr walks down the corridor of the Singing Possum with Troy Yen strolling languidly behind him. He is reluctantly impressed. If he had not already known that Troy was in serious danger, nothing in the human’s manner would have given it away. The human had taken his sweet time deciding what to pack and what to leave behind, chatting in the hall with curious colleagues. Troy had behaved as if he had all the time in the world to get to the ship. He might even like the human…if not for the mystery of exactly how well the beautiful man knew Harper. Tyr stops in front of the quarters that Troy will occupy on the trip back. Tyr opens the door and curtly gestures for Troy to enter.

Troy walks past Tyr and looks up at him quizzically. The deep voice is laced with mischief. “Thank you…Sharif.”

Tyr places the bags by the doorway to the bedroom. He turns and nods at Troy. Tyr moves past the courtesan toward the open door to the corridor.

“Sharif?” Troy lounges on the couch, watching with open curiosity.

Tyr pauses in the doorway. He glares at the man, waiting.

“Are you really mute?”

Tyr shakes his head silently in a negative motion.

“Who are you?” Troy studies him thoughtfully.

Tyr unwinds the veil and headdress. He shakes his braids free. It feels so good to be out of muffling folds of cloth. “I am…”

Troy’s eyes widen as he takes in the tall muscular frame, the beard and long braids. The Drago-Kasov had left him standing orders to seduce and kill this man if he ever appeared on the Drift. “…Tyr Anasazi, the Kodiak assassin and mercenary.”

“Yes. You know of me.” Tyr narrows his eyes in menace. How does Yen know him? Has Harper been in contact with Yen since or before he left?

“The Drago-Kasov have a price on your head. You came here to extract me knowing this?” Troy leans forward. His elbows rest on the brown leather covering his hard thighs.

“I did.” Tyr watches the human carefully, keeping an eye on the elegant hands dangling so close to the weapons that he suspected were tucked into the boots. “My associate and I will talk with you as soon as we get the ship off the drift. Make yourself comfortable.”

“What is your relationship to Archduke Bolivar? Why did he send you to get me? Are you going to take me to him or kill me enroute?” Troy asks softly as his long fingers brush his boot tops.

“So many questions.” Tyr smiles coldly as he swaggers out the door. “The answers will come soon.”


****

Tyr and Möbius sit in chairs on opposite sides of a low table. Both men have changed back into their leathers. Möbius sips from a cup of steaming coffee. Tyr is eating a crisply sweet snowpea pod. It makes him think of Harper. Harper is very fond of a stir fry dish made with snowpea pods. Tyr selects another snowpea pod from the platter of fruits and vegetables sitting on the table.

“Well…where is he?” Möbius set his coffee cup on the table. He frowns as he glances impatiently at the door. “I told him to meet us here twenty minutes ago.”

Tyr shrugs, concealing his own impatience for the human’s arrival. He has a few questions of his own for Mr. Yen. “He’s trying to decide if he can trust us. He’s probably tried to contact Charlemagne.”

“It won’t do him any good. I’m having the ship block communication until we’re done with this little question and answer session.” Möbius leans back in his chair.

Troy Yen saunters into the room. He wears a green silk shirt that matches the jade beads woven into the handful of tiny braids mingling with his loose hair. His black leather pants hug every hard curve of his body. He slips into the seat in the chair facing the two Nietzscheans and studies both men.

The young one still looks…young. Troy sighs. He doesn’t remember being that young and fresh even when he was younger than the handsome youth is now. What did the boy say his real name was? Oh, yes…Möbius. The young man looks delicious in those tight, dark green leathers. It rather brought to mind visions of peeling the rind away to find luscious, sweet flesh beneath…like eating pineapple. Troy’s gaze flickers over Möbius’ beautiful face. The full lips are set in a most provocatively sullen line. The dark eyes sparkle winsomely with ire.

“You’re late.” Möbius snarls.

“I didn’t realize we were keeping a tight schedule.” Troy fingers the jade beads in his hair. The boy did have a lovely snarl. Precisely the reaction he had hoped for when he chose to make the young one wait for him. Troy offers a smile, slow and full of sensual promise as the angry gaze drops to his mouth and remains there for a long moment. Troy parts his lips. He can almost feel the heat of that stare on his mouth.

“I…we…have some questions for you.” Möbius leans forward. The anger in his eyes mingles with desire.

“I have questions of my own. The first is who is in charge of this operation? Surely not you.” Troy raises his eyebrow in a silent taunt, hoping for another snarl.

“What do you mean by that? Are you insinuating that I cannot command a mission?” Möbius scowls. “Anasazi and I share responsibilities here. Now tell me why is that important?”

“The importance of that fact will be determined later.” Yen looks at Tyr who sits silently watching him with cold eyes. He knows why Möbius is reacting to him with a mix of ire and desire. Why is Tyr verging on the hostile? “You have questions, Anasazi?”

“Yes.” Tyr glances thoughtfully at Möbius. “But they can wait. My associate has further questions I believe.”

“No…please ask your questions.” Troy pretends to ignore Möbius, all the while thrillingly aware of the seething Nietzschean’s dark eyes on him. “I will entertain the boy’s concerns in a moment.”

“Very well,” Tyr stares coolly at him. “You know one of my crew…Seamus Harper…how?”

Troy raises an eyebrow. Seamus is the last thing that he expected to be asked about. How had Seamus attracted Anasazi’s interest? Troy glances at the Helix band on Tyr’s left bicep. The Nietzschean’s black leather vest reveals an impressive chest covered with an envious array of passion marks and bite marks that extend all the way up the Kodiak’s throat. Perhaps Anasazi’s concern is just curiosity…no, Nietzscheans were never idly curious but what is Tyr up to? If the Nietzschean has or intends to harm Seamus…that’s one job he will do for free.

“I knew Seamus when we lived on Earth.” Troy answers in an indifferent tone while watching Tyr carefully.

“Why did you address your message to him? When was the last time you communicated with him?” Tyr leans forward; his amber eyes lock onto Troy’s face.

Troy is silent for a moment. There will be no harm in the truth for that question. “I have not talked to Seamus in over three years. I heard he was on the Andromeda Ascendant and thought he might be able to help me. Plus he owes me.”

“Owes you? How?” Tyr asks quickly.

Troy shrugs and waves his hand dismissively. That is Harper’s secret to reveal or not. “Just a favor from a long time ago.”

“How close were the two of you?”

Troy sweeps his long hair over one shoulder as he studies Tyr. These questions have no possible bearing on the mission. These are personal questions and the Kodiak’s manner is intense as if the answers are very important to him. What has little Seamus gotten himself into? Surely he and the Kodiak are not…no. Seamus hates Nietzscheans. He would not enter into a relationship with one…would he? What if Tyr is asking these questions because he’s Seamus’ lover? Troy leans back in his chair, holding Tyr’s steady gaze. “Why are you interested in my relationship with an old friend?”

Tyr stiffens. His voice is bland but there is a warning flutter of bone blades flexing. “Harper is my crew mate. I am concerned about his safety.”

Möbius snorts. His gaze lingers over the strong lines of Troy’s throat and shoulders. He asks bluntly, “So…were you and Seamus Harper lovers?”

Troy glances between the two. What has Seamus been up? Here are two handsome Nietzscheans wanting to know the exact nature of his relationship with Seamus. He must find Seamus as soon as they get to the Jaguar home world and pry the full story of his old friend. Right after he pacifies Tyr, Troy thinks, noting the predatory glitter growing in the amber eyes as he hesitates over his answer. Tyr growls deeply, menacingly at him. Troy smiles brightly back.

So, Seamus is the Kodiak’s lover. How fascinating. He can’t wait to find out the details of that little alliance. As entertaining as it might be to lead the Kodiak on, he better clear the matter up. If Seamus is involved with a Nietzschean then the relationship will be a very important one to his friend. He better defuse this situation right away so he can socialize with Seamus in peace. Don’t want the Kodiak thinking he has a rival for Seamus’ affections. “No. We were never lovers. Just childhood friends.”

Möbius refills his coffee cup. “Why did you send the message to the Jaguar home world?”

“Because the message was really for Charlemagne. The cover message was for Seamus. I sent a similar message to the Andromeda.” Troy lifts an eyebrow and looks at Tyr. “Is he always this slow?”

Tyr laughs. “No, not always. But he does have his moments.”

“Don’t start with me Anasazi. I still might kill you and offer to take Harper back to my bed.” Möbius scowls at Tyr over his coffee cup.

“That is not a choice you can make or a threat you can fulfill.” Tyr growls at Möbius.

Troy’s eyes widen. Seamus has bedded both Nietzscheans? Seamus…Seamus. You’ve been a busy boy. Way to go, Seamus. They really do have some serious catching up to do. The moody Möbius should provide some entertainment on the journey even if the boy isn’t really a big, bad Nietzschean but if Möbius is…Troy unfastens the first couple of buttons on his shirt, baring the base of his throat and part of his chest, flaunting the smooth, unmarked skin in provocative challenge. Will Möbius accept the silent dare to just try and mark him? Troy lounges back in his chair, watching Möbius. “You have questions for me…what was your name again?”

“Möbius, out of…” Möbius begins, his voice trailing off as his gaze slides down the elegant line of throat to the flawless skin of the human’s chest. His bone blades flutter restlessly.

“Yes…yes…I got the lineage the first time.” Troy sighs with apparent boredom. He languidly stretches, drawing attention to the lean, strong lines of his body. He catches the young Nietzschean’s dazed stare and gives him a go-ahead-I-dare-you smile. “Now. What questions do you have for me?”

“Tell us how you came by the information you wish to pass on to the Archduke.” Möbius shifts restlessly in his chair. His gaze does not move from Troy.

Troy holds the taunting smile. A shiver tingles down his spine at the dark predatory stare locked on to him. Nothing gave him a bigger rush than playing with Nietzscheans. “I have some discreet sources.”

“Can these sources be traced back to you?” Möbius asks. “If so they can be traced back to Jaguar Pride.”

“Please!” Troy laughs. This Nietzschean’s full attention is not on the little Q&A session or he would not be asking such an obvious questions. He glances at the sharp bone blades quivering with tension. How exquisite…he has driven Möbius to the edge of control with so little effort. It is intriguing.

How fine a frenzy could he provoke the Nietzschean into with if he put some real effort into it? The idea is most intriguing…such possibilities…if Möbius is what he needs. One way to find out. With a little more provocation, the Nietzschean will be all over him. Troy allows his gaze to travel boldly over the young man, lingering over the wide shoulders and rich, copper skin. Only the faintest of marks showed on the chest. Seamus’ work perhaps?

“That does not answer my question.” Möbius unfastens his vest, allowing the green leather to slide open as he leans back in his chair, displaying his defined muscles and the tight dark nipples.

Troy picks up a grape and slides it between his lips. He swallows and licks his lips. “What, exactly, is your position with Jaguar Pride?”

“I’m the Chancellor of Protocol for the Archduke.” Möbius replies with a trace of pride in his voice. His bone blades flutter as he stares intently at Troy.

Promising. Very promising. The young Nietzschean has considerable skill or Charlemagne would not have appointed him to so high an office but that still doesn’t explain why the Archduke sent Möbius on this mission. Is there more to this boy? Troy pushes his chair back from the table as he considers. “I see. Is that your only job you do for the Archduke?”

“No.” Möbius replies curtly, tensing with Troy’s sudden motion. The predatory glitter in his eyes deepens.

Troy shivers at the hot stare. What is hidden behind that one word answer? Troy gives his attention to Anasazi who is quietly watching him and Möbius with a thoughtful expression. “Tell me, Anasazi, what are you doing on this mission?”

“I’m here because the Archduke asked me to accompany Möbius.” Tyr replies.

“So, you also work for Charlemagne. Is that employment in an official, or…unofficial capacity?” Troy runs a hand through his long hair. A quick glance tells him that he is holding Möbius’ complete attention still.

Tyr frowns slightly. His amber gaze flicks in assessment between Troy and Möbius. “My relationship to the Archduke is personal. I am First Husband to Charlemagne’s sister, Diana.”

Troy sighs. Seamus…Seamus. What were you thinking? You bed not just any Nietzschean assassin…a married one as well. Tyr is Diana’s First Husband. Hmmm. Charlemagne must think very highly of both his sister and Tyr Anasazi to arrange such a match but how does his old friend Harper fit into this arrangement? Troy glances at the marks covering Tyr’s torso and throat. Do those marks come from the Kodiak’s wife, or from Seamus? If the marks belong to Harper then his old pal is not a casual lover…he is a shieldbrother…that is a serious development. Troy smiles and inclines his head. “May your union produce many strong children, Tyr Anasazi.”

“Thank you.” Tyr smiles coolly. His amber gaze narrows on Troy. “I have another question for you. How is it that you came so readily by information on Elssbett’s assassination plot? Are you working both sides, Mr. Yen?”

“A valid question.” And a good one but one that tells him that Charlemagne has not revealed everything to these two. Charlemagne is the last person whose toes he wants to step on. Better leave this unanswered for now and until he finds out what story the Archduke wants put out. Troy stands, ignoring the way the two Nietzscheans tense at the move. He turns his back and bends over the counter, peering into the depths of the cooler.

“I see. Both sides it is.” Möbius purrs. “Did the lovely Elssbett pay you well, Yen? I hope so since you will pay the ultimate price for treachery.”

“A moment, Möbius. Let us allow our guest to answer the question, shall we?” Tyr watches Troy closely.

“I can’t tell you how I came by the information. I will only tell Charlemagne.” Troy makes a show of considering the drinks lined up in the cooler as if he was no weightier concern than selecting the right one. Through the long strands of his hair, he can see Möbius staring at the curves of his ass. Troy leans a little further, feeling the black leather tighten over his ass. He holds the pose for a moment before straightening with a bottle of fruit juice in his hand. He turns, leaning back against the wall.

“He is bluffing. He has nothing of value for the Archduke. He just wants to get close enough to try to kill him for Elssbett.” Möbius sneers.

Tyr nods. His eyes are cool and considering. “The thought had occurred to me.”

Troy considers both men as he sips at the tart pink juice. Unless there is more to the boy that he has seen so far, he can take Möbius. The Kodiak, on the other hand, may prove challenging. The pair of them together…no, his chances against both are not good, however exciting the fight might prove to be.

Besides, his instructions are to get to Charlemagne without incident. To do that he needs to get these men to listen. So, concentrate on the man that he already has a hold on… Möbius. No need to disappoint the hordes who had predicted that his wicked ways would get him into big trouble one day. Perhaps, if he is very lucky, Möbius will prove to be…big trouble.

“I have no ulterior motive.” Troy touches the tip of his tongue to his lips. He sets the drink on the counter and smiles at Möbius. “I only need to get to Charlemagne…”

“Tell us the information. We’ll relay it to the Archduke.” Möbius slides his vest completely off and tosses it onto the table. He offers a seductive smile as he stretches back in a ripple of hard muscle.

Very nice but he still isn’t telling them. Troy tosses his hair back and laughs softly. “I’m not naïve or a fool, my young Jaguar. If I tell you what I know you will try to kill me.”

“Try?” Möbius growls. His bone blades quiver and snap erect. “I could rip your heart out before you draw your next breath.”

Troy’s lips part as he meets and holds that dangerously intent stare. Oh, yes. Being stalked by a hard, feral Nietzschean is such fun. Troy’s deep voice is clear and challenging. “Better men than you have tried that…and failed.”

Möbius lifts his chin proudly. The chocolate eyes narrow dangerously. “There are no better men than me.”

“You are a youngling…a boy.” Troy shrugs dismissively. His black eyes linger on the width of Möbius’ shoulders. A few more taunts and he will be able to test the texture and taste of that satiny, copper skin. “I have had some of the top assassins in the known worlds try to kill me. They failed. I am still here.”

“You have never faced me.” Möbius growls.

Troy shivers with anticipation. Oh, yes. That sounded almost feral. Almost there. “Don’t make me hurt you, boy.”

“You wouldn’t be able to do so. I am the chief assassin of Jaguar Pride.”

Perfect. He may just keep this one. Troy tilts his hips forward. His body is hard and throbbing with need for what Möbius can give him and take from him. His full lips curl as he gives the young Nietzschean a taunting look. “That means less than nothing to me. I can still hurt you and there would be nothing you could do to stop me.”

Möbius surges to his feet. He shoves Troy hard against the wall; wrapping his fist in the long, black hair. He yanks Troy’s head back, exposing the elegant line of throat. Möbius presses the tip of his knife against the smooth skin, just hard enough to draw a droplet of blood down the edge of the blade. Möbius presses closer, crowding his hard body into Troy’s muscular frame; his breathing is ragged with desire.

“What if I want you to hurt me?” Möbius growls. He drops the knife and takes the human’s mouth in a brutal kiss, forcing it wide open and filling it with his tongue.

Troy eases the knife he had drawn back inside the sheath hidden by his sleeve as he yields his mouth for a moment to Möbius’ hard demand before he begins trying to wrest control of the kiss, aggressively filling the Nietzschean’s hot mouth with his tongue. Yes. This is a man who can give him exactly what he wants. And right now, he wants to be taken and to take; to be mastered and to master. Troy slides his hands up the bare, muscular back, then down, roughly filling his palms with the hard curves of Möbius’ ass.

“Then I will hurt you…just as much as you want.” Troy breathes against Möbius’ lips as the Nietzschean finally pulls back. “…as much as you need.”

He can read the hot need in Möbius’ dark eyes. It is the same need that burns in him. Troy gasps as Möbius roughly yanks his head further back exposing his throat. He trembles as Möbius licks the small scratch left by the knife. His hands tangle in the Nietzschean’s long silky hair, urging Möbius on.

Möbius rips the silk shirt open and spreads his hands over the smooth skin. The smoldering darkness of his eyes says that he is already planning where his marks will be left. “You can be as rough with me as you like, Troy. I will enjoy it.”

“As will I.” Troy moans as the erect bone blades scratch him. He yanks his open shirt off and drops it to the floor. He bites the hard curve of Möbius’ shoulder and pinches the dark nipples hard. Möbius moans, arching against him.

Tyr exits the room quietly a satisfied smile curving his lips. Now there are no rivals left casting out lures and displaying for his shieldbrother. If his reading of Troy’s character is correct, the courtesan will keep Möbius fully occupied.

Tyr pauses outside the door at a loud crash. Hmmm. Are they fighting or fucking or both? Probably that was the fruit platter and coffee cups. He can hear the smack of flesh on flesh. A loud gasp and then a throaty moan of pleasure. Mobius’ voice, hoarsely pleading for more and harder. Excellent. He will leave the two to their diversions. He is more than happy to encourage Möbius in this direction. Tyr turns toward the command deck. He can’t wait to get home to Harper.

TBC