Burning Desires

Empire 2: Burning Desire Cat Marsters All rights reserved. Copyright ©2009 Cat Marsters WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this or any copyrighted work is illegal. File sharing is an International crime, prosecuted by the United States Department of Justice and the United States Border Patrol, Division of Cyber Crimes, in partnership with Interpol. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is punishable by seizure of computers, up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000 per reported instance. ISBN: 978-1-60521-232-6 Formats Available: HTML, Adobe PDF, MobiPocket, Microsoft Reader Publisher: Changeling Press LLC PO Box 1046 Martinsburg, WV 25402-1046 www.ChangelingPress.com Editor: Sheri Ross Fogarty Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

Empire 2: Burning Desire Cat Marsters "No one hides from the Empire. They see everything, they know everything." But what they don't know is that a very rare female dragon is living in the slums of the floating city of Carnalis, keeping quiet, staying hidden. They don't know that under the deep, dark seas that cover most of the world, an entire civilization of Mer is thriving. And they definitely don't know that when the two meet, sparks will fly. Libby is seeking revenge against the Empire for the death of her best friend. Swann is still healing from wounds the Empire inflicted on him seven years ago. When fire meets water, burning desires will set the world alight.

Prologue On the day she saw her best friend and former lover murdered, Libby Draycock surrendered her freedom for good. A life lived in shadows, stealing trinkets and hoarding gold, had never afforded her much in the way of freedom anyway. She didn't expect she'd miss it. Even as she felt her skin ripple with the change, her clothes rip and fire burst from her mouth, she heard Billy's words in her ears. "Don't change in public, Lib. For the love of God, don't ever do it. If word gets around that a girl can change into a dragon, they'll hunt you down and lock you up for the rest of your days." Libby had laughed. “I'd like to see ‘em try. I could incinerate ‘em all." "Not all of them, Lib. The Empire's got many arms, and they're longer than you could imagine. They'd find you. Swear to me you'll never risk it." But now Billy was dead, blindfolded and cut to ribbons by laser fire, and all for the theft of a few pieces of gold. Imperial gold, stolen from the fat, bloated coffers of the Empire, like stealing raindrops from the ocean as far as Libby was concerned. But Billy was still dead for it. His body lay slumped on the ground, charred and pale in the cold dark night. The bass beat from some nearby building thumped through the night, as fast and hard as her heart. Rain spattered on Libby's wings, and with every beat the pain grew until she couldn't bear it any more. She rose into the air, moving as if she were in a dream, her body heavy with anger, and breathed a hot stream of fire onto Billy's murderers. They screamed and danced in the flames, like puppets or characters on an entertainment vid. But that

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wasn't enough. Burning the men who killed Billy was no different than burning their laser rifles. The fingers didn't take orders from the hands, did they? She needed to cut off the head. Screeching with hot, burning rage, Libby flew over the slums of Carnalis, the rats and sewers and thieves and whores, the glowing hoards and the unblinking eyes of the Empire. Music thumped, lights flashed, and below her people carried on their everyday lives as if Billy weren't dead—but then how many of them had ever known he was alive? Searchlights and head beams from incoming craft lit up her scales, reflected off her wings, and Libby heard a siren wail into existence below her. But she didn't stop. She flew straight for the glass and neon structure of the Throne Room, the circular crown of the floating city of Carnalis, and crashed through the roof. Fountains of glass erupted all around, and sirens screamed as her claws touched down on the floor. The floor... The floor of the Throne Room was made of gold and diamonds. Everyone had heard the grandiose rumors, but not many got to verify them. Libby would never have believed it to be true, but the Song of gold enveloped her, nourished her, fed her power and her rage until her wings filled the room and her tail lashed the walls with the power of a siege tank. Libby roared, and the air shimmered with fire. It took a second for her eyesight to adjust to the relative stillness inside the Throne Room, empty as it was of people. Well, nearly empty. On the smaller of the two thrones sprawled a woman, her legs wide apart, her skirts pulled up to allow the man kneeling between her thighs to lick and suck at her plump wet folds. The woman had her eyes closed, her head lolling back and a smile curving her mouth, but at Libby's intrusion she jolted, head coming up but eyes remaining closed.

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The young man, who was naked but for a pair of high boots and a studded collar, leapt to his feet, spinning around in a fighting crouch. When he saw Libby, scales and wings and flanks heaving with anger, his eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. The woman on the throne, who Libby recognized as the Empress, frowned, her eyes still closed, and sniffed delicately. “A dragon?” she said. Her teeth flashed in an amused smile. “How very dramatic." The young man picked up a datapad, but the Empress shook her head and took it from him. "No, my darling, don't call for help.” Eyes still closed, her fingers flew across the datapad, probably telling the Imperial Guard to bring extra ammo. Libby tensed, readying herself for their arrival. The Empress smiled at Libby and handed the datapad back. “I don't believe she means us harm.” The cold, fierce wind whirling around the exposed chamber barely ruffled her hair. "She?” said the man. Young and inhumanly beautiful, stupendously wellendowed, he was clearly a member of the Empress's beloved harem. That collar was probably bionically linked to him, dozens of probes burrowing into his skin, monitoring everything he did. He didn't seem remotely embarrassed about standing there nearly naked and rampantly aroused. Even in the face of a huge, and clearly angry, dragon, his cock remained erect, although Libby thought she saw a ring around the base of it to keep him that way. Typical of the Empire that the wife of the Emperor was fucking her concubine in the Throne Room, totally oblivious to the seething masses in the city below. "I can feel her anger,” said the Empress. “Only a woman burns with anger like that. What is it, my dear?” She cocked her head. “A lust for blood. For pain. Someone has wronged you."

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Libby clawed the floor and considered burning the Empress to a crisp, just because she could, but she knew she'd have to change back at some point to seek out the Emperor, and she might as well do it now. The gold in the floor was singing to her, strengthening her power—and because of that her dragon shape had grown to proportions far too big to fit through a door. But also very easy to use as target practice. Pulling in her wings and concentrating, she turned herself human again, and stood naked, vibrating with anger, while the male concubine consulted something on his datapad. Or maybe called for help. Libby didn't care. "Dragon in the slums, my lady,” the concubine said to the Empress. “Killed some of the Imperial Guard." "They killed my Billy,” Libby snarled. "Your Billy? Who was your Billy?” the Empress enquired. “A friend? A lover?" "Both,” Libby said, fingers curled into fists, nails tearing her palms. “Six of ‘em with laser rifles, six of the swiving pigs, and Billy nearly too weak to stand. No trial, on the spot—for stealing some gold! He never hurt nobody!" The Empress appeared unmoved by this. She simply tilted her head, eyes still closed. In total contrast to Libby's heaving anger, her short breaths, the sweat cooling on her body, the Empress remained still and elegant, her skirts slid back down to midthigh. Her concubine waited silently by her side. "And now you've come to kill the Emperor,” she said eventually. "He will burn,” Libby spat. “He's a swiving bastard, and he doesn't care anything about us, not anybody in his precious Empire, so long as he can raise his taxes and pay his guards to go around killing people what don't deserve it! He never even had a trial, my lady. First I knew of it was Mickey the Snitch come running that Billy's in trouble, and by the time I got there they was already aiming." "And you believe my husband is directly responsible for this?” said the Empress coolly. "It's the head what gives out orders, ain't it?” Libby snarled.

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"Destroy that head and another will grow in its place,” the Empress said, her voice infuriatingly calm. The concubine's datapad bleeped. “Guard's on its way,” he said. “Emperor's command. They didn't believe you about the data anomaly." Data anomaly? Had the Empress told the Guard to stand down? It explained their late arrival. Libby tensed, readying herself to turn back into a dragon so she could blast them all to hell. "And then what will you do?” asked the Empress. “Begin a revolution, depose the Empire, devise a new system of government for the whole world? The Independents tried that, as I recall. There's not a single one walking free today." "Bloody Emperor killed ‘em all,” Libby growled. She jerked her head at the terrace to her left, heaped with bodies in various states of decay, now splattered with shards of glass. The corpses of the Independents were long gone, but the Empire could usually find someone to execute and leave out for the birds. “Killed ‘em and left ‘em to rot. Well, more grew in their place, my lady." "Indeed,” the Empress said. She raised her hand, and the concubine came to take it, his pale fingers lacing with her dark ones. The Empress straightened her head, and for the first time opened her eyes. They looked straight ahead at Libby, dark and intelligent, and focused right on her. "More will grow,” she said. “And you, little dragon, will have your revenge. But not today. The Emperor's troops are only a few rooms away, and they bring with them enough firepower to subdue even a dragon." "I don't care,” Libby said, burning with anger. “I don't—" "And when you're subdued, what then? Drugged and locked up somewhere, no doubt, while the Empire's white coats attempt to discover why it is that female dragons are so very rare, and how to extract the maximum number of eggs from you. After a while, I imagine they'll start experimenting with dragon hybrids. My lord husband is always searching for the next breed of super-soldier." Libby stared, aghast.

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"And a dragon who has killed members of the Imperial Guard has already surrendered most of her rights to freedom anyway. I shouldn't imagine there'll be much of a fair trial. Not if your friend Billy didn't get one." Heavy footsteps sounded in the next room. Overhead, she heard the whine of Imperial craft flying closer. The Empress, calm as ever, simply said, “There is a pirate ship. The Swift Revenge. I'd imagine you already know how to disguise yourself. Fly, little dragon, while you still can." The doors burst open, revealing half a hundred soldiers in biosuits, impervious to most weapons. For the first time since Mickey the Snitch had burst in, Libby experienced a moment of clarity. The future opened up before her like the blossoming of fire. Pain, misery, and the furtherment of the Empire's stranglehold on the world. She changed, leaping into the air and roaring as she went. Laser fire scorched the air around her, glanced off her flanks, and then in the space between the soldiers’ fire and the recalibration of their weapons, she flew from the wreckage of the Throne Room and into the night sky. Imperial craft blared sirens and warnings, and arcs of blue fire spun toward her, hitting raindrops and splitting into rainbows. Libby returned with her own fire, watched the first craft tumble into the darkness, and batted it away from the city to splash into the dark, deep sea. She soared out over the dark water, away from the glittering, putrid jewel of Carnalis, away from whatever freedom she'd ever had.

Chapter One Fire and heat, the burn of a laser against his skin, men shouting and the staccato burst of gunfire. The tortured screams of men in the heat of death. Red lips, black hair. That smile, the worlds of cruelty in those eyes, the casual delivery of ultimatums. Endless lifetimes of pain. The brands of fire and laughter. The fog of despair. Hands touching, stroking. Hot, wet mouths. Invading hardness. The pain, the shame, the humiliation. The screaming, the screaming— Swann gasped awake, cool air bathing him. Then he heard a sucking noise, felt pleasure shoot up from his cock, and jolted. A dark head was bent over his groin, and a practiced tongue swept over his balls. Rough stubble rasped against his thighs. Swann found it hard to breathe, and not in a good way. The screaming— "Oh Swann,” sighed an achingly familiar voice. “You have such a lovely cock. Why don't you ever share it with us?" Diver. It was Diver. Swann groped blindly for the light, and when it came on his second-in-command looked up at him hopefully, his lips wet, his pupils dilated. Behind him rose the familiar walls of the captain's cabin on the Swift Revenge. His own bed. Soft sheets, warm lights. Swann blinked hard several times, but the room stayed the same. He shoved a shaking hand through his hair and swiped the sweat from his brow as Diver dipped his head again. "Diver,” Swann said, “haven't we been over this?"

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Diver said nothing, his mouth otherwise occupied. Swann had to admit his friend was extremely good at the task in hand—but that didn't change the fact that Swann had made it perfectly clear he didn't want it. Not from Diver, anyway. Not from any of his crew. Diver's practiced tongue slid up and down the length of Swann's cock, which had a mind of its own and was already on its way to being fully erect. Diver squeezed his hand. Try it, he seemed to be saying, just as he'd already said it out loud plenty of times. You keep saying men aren't to your taste, but have you ever tried it? Swann closed his eyes despairingly. Yes, he had tried it. No, he didn't want to try it again. But every man on this infernal boat seemed determined that the only reason Swann preferred women was that he hadn't found the right man yet. He'd thought Diver knew better than that—after all, his friend had fought the Empire too—but apparently he was just as determined as the rest of the Revenge's crew to get Swann naked and gasping. If only he knew it was the wrong sort of gasping. Swann cursed himself, tried to enjoy it. Diver meant well. He wanted to give pleasure. Maybe if he pretended he was being touched by a woman... The handsome young Mer was doing a masterful job. Layering soft kisses over his thighs. Gently cupping his balls. Aside from the roughness of the fingers touching him, and the slight rasp of stubble every now and then, he'd never have known it wasn't a woman touching him. ...a soft, warm, wet woman, pressing her round breasts against him, sliding her wet pussy against his hands, teasing him with her plump lips... "You see, Swann,” said Diver, “you do like it." Swann blinked his eyes open. His cock bobbed, swollen and hard, as his friend knelt there, grinning. You do like it, don't you? You like having another man lick your cock. Tell me what the Prince's plans are, and you can have your dick sucked.

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Diver's pleased smile faltered slightly as Swann blinked him back into focus. "Well, you're very good at it,” Swann said, trying to concentrate on the pleasure and not the memories. “But I really don't think—" "Don't think,” Diver said. “You think too much. Just relax, and enjoy it." He smiled encouragingly and bent his head to kiss Swann's balls. His tongue was large and warm, sliding under to cup his captain's delicate sac, then swirling up to lap gently. Swann couldn't help a gasp of pleasure, which elicited a pleased sound from Diver. The other man began to suck and lick Swann's balls in earnest, wrapping his hands around Swann's rigid cock and pumping them up and down. Swann closed his eyes again and made himself enjoy it. Was it cheating to imagine he was with a woman? The whole point of the exercise was to see if he could enjoy being with a man. He supposed pretending that the hands and mouth which were so expertly pleasuring him actually belonged to a female was defeating the object somewhat. But if they did belong to a female, he could slide his fingers through her long hair, stroke her soft cheek, and murmur to her to turn around and kneel over his face while she sucked him. Then he could press his thumb into her slick pussy and feel her sigh as she wrapped her lips around his cock, part her folds and lick her clit while her hair caressed his thighs— Black hair, red lips, and that cruel smile. No. She'd never touched him. She'd stood and watched, taunting and demanding, over and over, demanding. Thank all the gods she'd never touched him, or he might have severe problems with women, too. Assuming he could ever persuade one of them he was straight. Hell and damn, he could forget the worlds of agony from pure physical torture. But did she have to take that away from him? Did she have to take sex from him?

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Diver sucked hard, swirling his tongue around the head of Swann's cock, and the shock of pleasure brought him back to the present. Now try remembering Diver wants to induce pleasure and happiness, not pain and humiliation. He was doing a really nice job of sucking Swann's cock, and his jaw was hardly rough at all, and his fingers were very stimulating on Swann's balls, and—holy crapping damn, very, very stimulating further back! Swann gasped as molten pleasure shot through him, all the way out to his fingers and toes before whooshing back to his cock, a whole bodyful of pleasure filling that one organ. It pulsed hotly, swelling inside Diver's warm, wet mouth, and he could almost let himself come, spurt his seed over Diver's rough cheek— Tell me where the Prince is, and I'll let you come. Swann's hands reacted of their own accord, shoving Diver's head away from his groin. "I'm sorry,” he heard himself pant. “Diver, I'm sorry." Diver licked his wet, swollen lips. “Why? I don't mind if you come in my mouth." Bitch. Bitch. Swann managed a smile. “It's not that. Diver, you're really, really good at this, but..." His friend looked up at him hopefully. "But I can't let you do it any longer." Diver tried not to let his disappointment show. “Well—well, maybe it's because we're friends. Maybe you should find a stranger—there are plenty of boys around the docks who would love to suck your cock—" Swann flinched, and Diver looked crestfallen. "I'm sorry, Diver. Believe me, you have no idea how sorry.” He swallowed, and looked down at the bulge in his friend's pants. “I could, maybe, er..."

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"If you touch me with that look on your face, our friendship really will be over,” Diver said, and Swann tried to wipe away whatever distasteful expression he'd been wearing. Diver got up, and pulled on his shirt. “Perhaps I'll go and find myself a pretty young man,” he said. “That new deckhand we took on in Venice is rather dreamy." "Don't you have work to do? Am I the only one on this ship who actually does any work?" "You're the only one who talks about it so much.” Diver ran a hand through his hair. “We're waiting on George reprogramming those nav files. He's almost done deleting the New Baltic." Despite himself, Swann smiled. Parts of the New Baltic were quite shallow, and in places the remains of skyscrapers and cathedrals still skewered the surface of the water. Deleting these shipping hazards from the Empire's nav banks would cause all kinds of disasters. And anything that caused problems for the Empire cheered Swann up. "All right. Let me know when he's done and we'll rendezvous with the contact in Dresden." Diver nodded, and left. Swann lay back on the bed until his friend had closed the door, and then let out a groan. It was the fifth incident this month. He hadn't planned on becoming skipper of a gay ship, but he hadn't seen it as an impediment to his own lifestyle, either. The Swift Revenge was the best ship in the waters, that was all there was to it, and he didn't care what sexual interests his crew had. Frankly, after his time in the Empire's dungeons, he'd thought he was off sex for good. He'd made it clear to the Revenge's crew that he wasn't interested in any of them, and he'd figured that would be an end to it. But he wasn't off sex for good. He still wanted it ... with a woman. Gods, how he wanted it with a woman. But there were none aboard his ship, and it was astonishing how fast rumors circulated on shore that every man on the Revenge was gay.

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Whereas other pirate ships docked to find scantily clad women vying for favors, and young men looking for work, the Revenge's crew found that the young men were looking for attention—and the women wanted to be friends. Even underwater he had no luck. The Mer women he caught up with thought his situation was hilarious, and even if he could persuade one to come out of the water and swap her tail for legs, and what was between them, then she usually only did it for pity. And Swann wasn't yet so desperate that he'd resort to pity sex. Yet. He sighed and got up, moving into the bathroom and tabbing on the water flow in the bathtub. At least being Swann of the ship had some advantages. The captain's quarters on the Revenge consisted of a master suite with an office, bedroom, and a bathroom with a huge tub: precisely what a depressed Mer needed to cheer himself up. He slid into the clean, cool water, and yelped. A woman's reflection stared up at him from the rippling surface of the water between his legs. "I really wish you wouldn't do that,” he muttered. "Well, I've been waiting all day for you to get wet,” she replied. “Honestly, call yourself a merman?" "No, I call myself a Mer,” Swann replied. He sketched a bow with his head and shoulders, which was the best she was going to get out of him. “What can I do for you, Imperial Majesty?" The Empress smiled. “Well, first of all you can tell me if I'm interrupting you." He shrugged. “Not really." "Oh?” She raised an eyebrow. “I'm surprised you can even see past that thing." Swann realized that from her angle she could see his swollen cock and probably tell if his balls were as blue as they felt, and swore. The Empress laughed. "Poor Swann. Still trying to persuade the girls you're straight?" "Still trying to persuade my men. Diver was trying to—well. I couldn't let him finish."

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The Empress made a sympathetic face. She alone understood why being with a man made him so uncomfortable. “Run some more water,” she said, and he frowned. “Just run some more, Swann of the Mer." Swann regarded her for a moment, then tabbed the water on. As he did, and the water began to rise, he felt a warm touch at the base of his cock. Tensing, he stared down at the Empress, who appeared to be reaching down from the water's surface to stroke him. "Uh, Empress?” he said. "Shh. I can't have a conversation with you in this state." He had no idea how she was doing what she did, but as the water rose and covered the tip of his cock, so did the touch of her hands. She didn't feel as if she was completely there, her touch insubstantial, but it was better than nothing—or his own hands, which were the alternative. And even had he used his own hands, he'd never have been able to do what she did next, which was take the head of his cock in her mouth and suck gently while she massaged his balls and the incredibly tender area behind them. Swann gripped the sides of the bath, breathing hard. His hips began to pump, sloshing water over the sides of the bath. He couldn't move too far, however, or his hugely swollen cock broke the surface of the water, which meant the Empress couldn't suck it any more. I'm getting my cock sucked by the wife of the Emperor, he thought breathlessly, and a grin spread over his face, because nothing he'd done so far in his life quite fucked the Empire like that. He wanted to touch her, to stroke her thick hair or her smooth, dark skin, but when his hands went beneath the surface of the water, she wasn't there. Only her image, and the feel of her hollowed cheeks working his pulsing shaft. Her fingers cupping and teasing his balls. Her fist pumping the base of his cock. He needed to come. He really needed to come. But if he told her she might withdraw, and he didn't think he could survive that.

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As if she sensed this, the Empress took him deep, right down the back of her throat, and Swann threw his head back and gasped as he came. Come shot right up past the surface of the water, into the air, to spatter on his own stomach. Panting, he kept his eyes closed for a moment or two while he recovered, then blinked down at the reflection of the Empress, serene and unruffled, looking up at him from the surface of the water between his legs. "How did you do that?” he said, breathing hard. "I am a woman of many talents,” she said, smoothing her hair. “And I think you needed that, Swann." He nodded gratefully. "Now. Business. What news of the vampire?" Swann screwed his eyes up while he tried to get his brain back in working order and figure out who the hell she was talking about. “Oh! Carver. Right. Yes. He's fine." The Empress looked dubious. “He was executed by laser in front of the entire court. And then eaten by carrion birds." Swann waved his hand. “Well, when I say fine, I mean alive. Sort of. As much as they are.” He ran a hand through his hair. “He'll recover, is what I mean." "Is he feeding?" "Wouldn't from us. But then I don't know if Mer blood is any good to them. What about the girl?" "The tiger? She's safe, for now.” The Empress nodded to herself, thoughtfully. “You must protect them, Swann. They're so very important." "To what?" She frowned, as if trying to see something that was obscured. “To someone ... someone who will rise. Someone who is hidden.” Frustrated, she slapped the surface of the water, and Swann felt the ripples against his skin. Someone who is hidden. Did she mean Edward? Did she know about the Prince? "It's coming,” the Empress murmured to herself. “It's coming." "What's coming?"

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Her gaze was faraway. “Everything.” Abruptly her tone changed. “I have a favor to ask,” she said. "Another one?" Ignoring his sarcasm, the Empress went on, “Have you seen a news feed recently?" "This morning in port. Why?" She shook her lovely head. “You won't have seen, then. Search for dragons and Carnalis, you'll find it." "Care to give me the clamshell version?" "Nutshell, Swann—above the surface we call it a nutshell." Swann rolled his eyes and waved his hand for her to get on with it. "Dragon. Attacked the Throne Room this evening in a very impressive blaze of anger.” She looked amused. “Apparently for all our security we're not dragon-proof." "What did he want?” Dragons were invariably male—Swann wasn't privy to their reproductive processes but he had some idea they operated in the same way as bees, with one queen bearing many children. Or maybe eggs. "Revenge. And to kill the Emperor." "Don't suppose he succeeded?” Swann asked with idle hope. "No. Or even you would have heard by now. Swann—I'm sending ... him to you. Sail east—I anticipate you'll probably meet somewhere in the New Baltic. The Carpathian shore. Aim for Krakow." Swann blinked. He had no idea how the Empress even knew where he was right now. “And how will we know each other? Dragons don't usually tend to wander the docks in their scaly shape." She shrugged. “You will find each other. You're resourceful like that." He rolled his eyes. “I know I am." "Until next time, Swann." He nodded, bowed his head again. “I am, as ever, your ladyship's faithful servant,” he said, and the Empress smiled and vanished from the clear water.

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Damned if he'd ever know how she did it. He didn't even know what she was, except for an ally. Swann slid under the surface of the water and changed to his Mer shape, the water soothing against skin and scales. He didn't have time to go for a swim, not if they needed to set sail for Krakow. Krakow. It was a city, these days, like any city. River docks, tower blocks, flashing lights and pumping music, targeted ads and the constant, endless surveillance of the Empire. A seething mass of life, human and were and vampire and fae and anything else he could think of. Except for Mer. There were a few Mer in the shallow New Seas, but even in the Deeps they kept themselves secret, hidden. Seven years ago, the Mer had nearly made themselves known. Nearly.

Chapter Two "Now then, my pretty lad,” said Big Sal, blocking the doorway with her extremely generous frame. “You've been avoiding me since you came aboard. And you've such a pretty little ass, I've a yearning to wrap my thighs around it." Libby cursed. She'd been aboard the Jolly Bunny for three weeks now, and so far she'd managed to avoid Big Sal, self-styled leader of the group of scantily-dressed women who seemed to have no discernable function on board the ship but to service the male crew. Five minutes after boarding, having successfully convinced the captain she was a young boy seeking her fortune, she'd walked into the quarters assigned to her, only to find Big Sal happily bouncing away on top of her new roommate, Joffy. "God, I'm sorry,” Libby began, backing away, but Sal, her large breasts freed of their tight bodice, only gave her a once-over and said, “No, no, my lovely lad. Why don't you join in?" Libby found herself momentarily speechless, while Joffy scowled and said, “Think I can't please you by myself, Sal?" "Oh no, my lover,” Sal said, leaning down to dangle her nipples over Joffy's lips, “I know you can. But you know I like two men in my bed, lover. If not more!" Libby had stammered an excuse and fled. It wasn't the first time she'd been propositioned by a stranger—not by a long shot—but now she'd disguised herself as a boy, and if Big Sal succeeded in tearing her pants off, she'd discover Libby was missing one vital component. The Empire had lost a girl who could turn into a dragon. Libby was determined to reveal neither side of that nature to anybody. She'd taken a job on the first ship

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looking for crew, determinedly not seeking out the Empress's recommendation. The very last thing she needed was the swiving Empress knowing exactly where she was. She spent her days working punishingly hard, and her nights listening to Joffy excitedly screwing his way through the female population of the ship, while she lay feigning sleep and trying not to think of Billy. Now she found herself cornered in one of the tiny tech service bays, Sal grinning lasciviously at her. "My poor wee mite,” the woman crooned, “you look scared half to death! First time, is it? Don't worry; Sal'll take care of you. Here,” she unfastened her bodice and let her magnificent breasts spring free. “Just lay your head here, ducky." "Uh. You know what, Sal, it's not that I don't want to, it's, er, I'm not—I don't really, uh, go that way,” Libby said frantically. Sal gave her a knowing look and advanced, her breasts swaying only inches from Libby's own bound-up chest. “Don't go that way, darlin'? I bet you've never tried!" The woman was upon her now, and Libby wondered desperately if she could slip out to the side, or crawl underneath Sal's legs, or— Too late. Sal's inquisitive hands were already clasping Libby to her bare bosom, and stealing down the front of her jacket to find the tab of her pants and— "I'm a eunuch,” Libby squeaked. Sal froze. “What did you say?" "A eunuch,” Libby gabbled. “There's nothing there,” she added rapidly as Sal strayed to investigate. “The Empire, uh, chopped it all off, um, as a punishment, and, um, that's what I'm running from. Don't tell no one, will you, Sal?" Sal looked horrified. “Oh my darlin'!” she gasped. “Oh, that's horrible! What did you do?" "I—I—” Libby began, hopelessly, but then a siren blared deafeningly, and she sagged in relief. “What's that for?" Sal's eyes were wide. “Empire,” she said. “Patrol ship. You'd best run, my love. Go hide in the hold."

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Sal backed out swiftly, letting Libby past, and she gasped thanks over her shoulder as she ran. She turned left past the nav banks toward the hold and then—no, wait. The Empress had known she was a dragon without even looking at her. Plenty of the Empire's troops had special abilities, like an enhanced sense of smell, or maybe even heat sensors, she didn't know. What if they found the contraband compartment in the hold and scanned her? Libby's fingerprints had been burned off years ago. But that was more to avoid leaving prints anywhere than to fool a spot check. Rumor had it that if the Imperial Guard found anyone with burnt-off fingerprints, they chopped off all the miscreant's fingers. Then again, they might run an iris scan. Libby was less worried about that, since she and Billy had hacked into the records at the Collective, shortly before they'd left, and swapped their data with someone else's. But she had no way of knowing if that data had already been sent to the Empire. Knowing her luck, it probably had. Or they could swab for a skin-cell test. She simply had no way of passing one of those. She could always change, of course, but with the total lack of gold on board the ship her power was going to be limited. A dragon barely five feet long wasn't going to frighten anybody. Libby reversed course, ran onto the deck and came to a skittering halt under the deep, dark shadow of the Imperial Cruiser hovering overhead. It was huge, black and chitinous, like a giant insect, beams of light and search probes skewing the air, sweeping every inch of the deck. "Oi!” yelled the captain. “Don't stand there staring, help us stow the gear!" By gear he meant contraband. The ship was crawling with it. She needed to get out, and get out now. With the captain's voice still ringing in her ears, Libby leapt overboard and into the cold anonymity of the ocean.

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The darkness and silence were vast. Libby had never experienced such a total blackout before, never been more than a few feet from the Empire's constantly glowing, bleeping, flashing tech. She could swim, of course she could. But the waves were choppy, especially with the Imperial Cruiser swooshing toward them at high speeds, and more than once her mouth filled with salt water before she gave in and dived beneath the surface to swim away as fast as she could. She swam until her lungs were bursting, then dipped up again, not even daring to check if anyone could see her, before going back under. She managed this three times before a sudden undertow dragged her down, further down than she wanted to go, further than she could come back up from. Libby's eyes were wide, her gaze darting around, and her feet kicked frantically. Changing would do her no good at all—dragons still needed air, and besides, bright red scales were surely more noticeable from the surface than dull-colored clothes. The only advantage it might give her was in strength to fight the undertow. Her lungs felt like they were about to explode. Terrified, she glanced about her, but the waters were deep, split by an underwater chasm that might at one point have been a river, and whatever was tugging her down was visible as nothing more than a huge dark shape. A shape too big to be anything friendly. A shape that was going to kill her unless she changed. Libby made one last, desperate effort to kick herself to the surface, and swam smack dab into the hard chest of a man who wrapped one arm about her shoulders and pressed his lips to hers. And breathed air into her mouth. Libby stared through wide, panicked eyes at the face of a total stranger, his skin pale and his hair floating in a dark cloud about his head. When she tried to jerk herself free, he resisted, then frowned and let her go.

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Within seconds her mouth was full of salt water, her lungs were on fire, and he gave a slightly crooked smile and brought her back to his mouth. Whereupon Libby found herself able to breathe, blissfully, through his mouth. But how was it possible? What kind of creature was he? The torso against which she was being held was strong, firm and bare. His cool skin was smooth. A vampire? But as her tongue tentatively slipped past his lips, she felt no fangs. Libby racked her tired, frightened brain for any other creature who didn't need to breathe—and realized that in order for her to be breathing healthily, she wasn't just sucking in recycled air from him, but oxygen. Moreover, he'd somehow breathed out the water in her mouth and windpipe. Libby stared at the mysterious floating stranger whose lips were locked to hers. His eyes were dark, so dark she couldn't distinguish pupil from iris. When she touched his face, she felt his unshaven jaw. He tasted salty, like the sea, but not in an unpleasant way. His teeth were even and despite the coolness of his skin, his mouth was warm, his lips soft. He smiled against her mouth, and despite the utter blackness of his eyes, there was a kindness in them that reassured her. He raised the hand he wasn't using to hold her against him, and pointed downwards. Fear stabbed through Libby. No—the further down she went, the less chance she'd have of getting back up in order to breathe. Not to mention the monster, that huge terrifying monster that had been dragging her down but which—wait, which he seemed to be able to resist the pull of. And what about the pressure? Couldn't a person be crushed to death under that sort of pressure? She shook her head, bubbles escaping from her mouth, but he nodded and tilted her in the water, turning as if to swim into the chasm with her, and over his shoulder she saw more clearly the big dark shape under the waves. It was a ship, sleek and neat. A shipwreck? A very recent one, judging by how strong and clean it seemed. Still floating. Coming closer.

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The man kissing Libby swam her toward it, and she protested, kicking back with her legs—which was when she realized he had a tail. And then Libby did something she'd never done before in her life. She fainted.

***

Swann kicked hard against the hull of the Swift Revenge, his mouth still fastened to that of the limp boy in his arms. They'd submerged as soon as the water was deep enough, somewhere in the New Baltic off the Carpathian coast, having totally failed to find the Empress's dragon in Krakow. And now this boy had fallen—literally—into his arms, apparently escaping a ship under inspection by the Imperial Cruiser gliding above them. Swann supposed this was the Empress's idea of a joke. The hatch opened up and Swann swam into the airlock, slamming the controls to close the outer door and drain the water away while he changed back to human form, steadying himself against the wall with the limp body clasped in his arms. The boy was still breathing. Thank the gods for that. Swann shook his wet hair out of his eyes and gazed down at the pale face. He'd only meant to help the kid breathe, but somehow it'd turned into a kiss. An unexpectedly hot kiss. Well, Diver would be delighted by that. Distantly, Swann supposed he ought to be delighted too—he'd kissed a boy and liked it!—but what reigned supreme in his head right now was concern. What if he'd been too late to save the boy? The light came on, and he shoved through into the dry area of the ship. A few Mer were present here, also in human form, and on seeing Swann approach with a sodden body in his arms they quickly cleared out of his way. He took the boy to his own quarters, stripping off the lad's jacket and shirt and finding tight bandages wrapped around his chest. Frowning, Swann touched the bandages with his fingertips, but sensed no injury beneath them. Nonetheless, the boy was cold, too cold to be healthy. Now that the Mer was back in human form, his blood was running a lot warmer, and the boy's skin felt icy to his touch.

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He yanked off the boy's boots, then unfastened his pants and caught something that rolled out of the lining as they were pulled down. A pair of rolled-up socks? Swann blinked, hard. Then he let his gaze slide from the sodden socks to the boy lying on the bed, stirring gently, wearing nothing but a very brief pair of briefs and a bandage wrapped tightly around the chest. Either this boy had been the recipient of a total castration, or he wasn't a boy at all. The figure on the bed shivered, and Swann dropped the socks to strip off the rest of the cold, soaking wet fabric clinging to—his? her?—clammy wet skin. Her. Oh yes, definitely her. Now that she was naked, Swann could clearly see that the person he'd rescued was a young woman, slender but definitely mature, with small high breasts and dark gold curls between her legs. Her pale hair was short and damp, and the fine bones of her face might have been mistaken for the features of a teenage boy. But now she was free of her shapeless clothes, he saw her breasts rising and falling with each breath. He saw the pink folds between her legs. She was girl. Oh boy, was she a girl. His cock stirred, and he told it to behave. Now was really not the time to get a hard-on, not when the woman on the bed lay unconscious and freezing. Someone rapped at the door. Quickly, he covered the woman with a blanket. "Swann?” It was Diver, wet and naked, clearly fresh from deck duty. “Everything all right?" Swann blinked again, jerking his head at the woman on the bed. “Fainted. Shock, I think, at seeing the ship. Or my tail. Not sure." Diver gave a wry grin. “Want me to keep him warm?" No! Swann restrained himself from shouting out loud and instead said, “No, you'll just take advantage." Diver made a face, but he left the room, and Swann stood staring at the small, pale figure on his bed. Take advantage.

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A sudden snort of laughter escaped him. He finally got a naked woman in his bed, and she was damn well unconscious. That about figured. Sighing, he climbed in beside her, his body considerably warmer than hers, and told himself he was on a mission of mercy. Keeping her warm. Sharing body heat. Helping her out. Her breasts pressed softly against his chest, and Swann sighed. If anyone needed help, it was him.

Chapter Three Libby woke from a cold, dark, panicked dream to find herself not only warm and dry but wrapped in the arms of a muscular stranger. Ordinarily, Libby wouldn't really object to waking up wrapped in a pair of muscular arms, but she'd really prefer to know who they belonged to beforehand. Sorting through her recent memories, she found nothing to fit into the category of Hot Hook-Up, unless she counted Sal's seduction attempt on the Jolly Bunny. Or—well, had she dreamed the handsome man who'd kissed her underwater, keeping her breathing, laughing into her eyes? She had to have dreamed him. He had a freaking fish tail, for God's sake. And since when did mermaids, or mermen, or whatever they were called, exist? Just to check she wasn't still dreaming, Libby shifted her legs, and found them tangled with a pair of perfectly ordinary—indeed, rather strong and appealing—bare male legs. Muscular, firm and longer than hers. And with a semi-erect penis to match. Mermen didn't have those, at least not in any of the illustrations she'd seen. Libby bit her lip and considered opening her eyes. But what if he was awake, and saw her? What would she say? She'd never woken up with a stranger before. In fact, the only person she'd ever woken up with was Billy, and since his sickness had worsened, she hadn't even done that for a good long while. They'd shared a room but not, at his insistence, a bed. The last couple of times she'd hooked up with anyone she hadn't stayed the night. Ashamed of leaving Billy so long, she'd slunk back to whatever cramped quarters they were sharing.

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Libby tried to take a deep breath without disturbing her sleeping partner. Tears burned behind her eyes, tears for Billy and the years he still might have had. Tears for the sudden, painful, frightening and pointlessly cruel death he'd suffered. She quelled them before they spilled out onto her cheeks. Whoever this man was, she didn't want him to find her crying in his arms. Better to make sure he understood, straight off, that she wasn't helpless and wasn't going to let him take advantage of her. Even if his warm, hard body did feel very nice pressed up against hers. Libby opened her eyes, lifted her head, and found herself looking at the fathomless black eyes of the merman who'd saved her life. She opened her mouth, and absolutely no sound came out. He grinned, an unexpectedly warm, wide grin, and kissed the tip of her nose. “Feeling better?” he enquired. She nodded wordlessly. It was the merman's face—pale, dark-eyed, gorgeous— and yet not his body. The man she thought she'd dreamed about definitely had a tail. She remembered the gleam of weak light on scales, the wide fin at the end, the roughness where his waist had given way to fish skin. Her hand slid over his chest, his ribs, his back. Down to his buttocks. His firm, smooth-skinned, definitely human buttocks. His smile widened. “I see you are,” he said, and his voice had a musical quality that was just as attractive as the rest of him. “Can you speak?” he asked, and Libby nodded. She cleared her throat, tasting seawater. “Yes,” she rasped. “I can speak." "Just checking,” he said. “You can call me Swann,” he added, before brushing his lips over hers as if asking permission. Permission! She was pressed up naked against him, her hands on his butt and his cock nestling into her belly. They were way past permission now. Libby touched his face, the way she had when he'd kissed her in the water, and touched her tongue to his lips. She didn't know who he was, didn't even really know what he was, except for a man, a strong, hot man with kind eyes and a warm smile.

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Alone, frightened, and in desperate need of comfort, Libby kissed the stranger. She tasted his lips, licked into his mouth and found traces of the sea, salty and hot. She shifted her body against his, feeling the firmness of his chest against her breasts, the light sprinkling of hair tickling her nipples. Her leg slid over his, enjoying the heat of his thigh, the press of his cock against her belly. The skin of his leg was uneven in places, scarred she thought, but with Swann's tongue doing intricately wonderful things inside her mouth, she didn't expend too much brain power on it. And this time she wasn't breathing through him. Still unsure if she'd imagined that whole episode, she pulled back and sucked in a lungful of air, staring at his face and trying to fathom if she knew him from somewhere else. He stared back at her face, the corners of his mouth turned up as if he found her intense scrutiny amusing, and she realized she was being pretty rude. "Libby,” she said, only he'd just slid his hand down to her hip and fitted her more neatly against him, his hot cock sliding against the inside of her thigh, so it came out as more of a gasp. "Libby?” he murmured. "Is my name. My name is Libby,” she babbled, toes curling as Swann stroked the back of her thigh, finding the soft skin where it curved into her buttock, then curving round between her legs. His fingertips touched the very edge of her pussy, and she let out a noise that was nearly a squeak. "Libby,” he laughed softly, “you have no idea how nice it is to meet you." Then that warm, smiling mouth touched hers again, and Libby wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him deeply, exploring his mouth with her tongue, tasting and testing him. Swann took her lower lip between his teeth and bit gently, then soothed the ache with his tongue. His eyes smiling into hers, he sucked gently on her lip, and Libby's fingers curled into his loose, waving dark hair as she gasped.

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Meanwhile his fingers explored her gently, slowly. After dipping inside her wet pussy, he slid around to stroke her from the front, teasing her folds apart and spreading around the moisture he found there. While the hot length of his cock pulsed against her thigh, his fingers busied themselves a bare inch away, learning every curve of her most sensitive flesh. By the time he got around to her clit, Libby was writhing in his arms. Dear God, it must have been a long time for her if she was this desperate for him! Or maybe he was just that good, she conceded as he began to stroke her clit in measured, unhurried patterns. She pressed her mouth to his neck, licking the salt from his rough skin, nipping at his throat with her teeth. Her hand sliding down his back, she cupped one beautifully firm buttock and drew him closer to her, wrapping her leg around him and angling herself to slide her aching wet pussy against his cock. Swann groaned. She felt it rumble through his throat. "Yes,” she gasped, trying to press him inside her. “Please, Swann. Now." He nudged her head up and kissed her, then touched the head of his cock to the entrance of her pussy. Libby yanked him toward her, shoving him inside, and he moaned into her mouth. “Oh, you feel good,” he whispered. “You really feel so good." Libby smiled, suddenly shy, and Swann smiled back, kissing her softly as he pushed deeper inside her, filling her up with heat and glorious pleasure. His hand dragged up her body, over her belly and her ribs, to cup her breast. His fingers were still sticky from stroking her, massaging her own juices into her nipple. Libby bit her lip and gasped, grasping his hip with one hand and his shoulder with the other. They'd been lying on their sides, facing each other, but as Swann thrust into Libby he lifted her upper thigh, pulling it higher over his hip, sliding his leg between her own. At this angle he penetrated her completely, stretching out muscles that hadn't been stretched in a long time. His balls slapped against her ass, her thigh, and Libby found herself rolling onto her back, arching her breasts into his hands as he reared above her, strong and handsome and glistening with sweat.

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"Oh Libby, Libby,” he murmured, dipping his head to kiss her neck, her breast, “you're so tight, you taste so good.” He sucked on her nipple, then licked away all the stickiness he'd spread there earlier. His hips pistoned into her, his cock filling then withdrawing, leaving her empty and wanting, before sliding back in to fill her completely. Then he slid out, and didn't thrust back in again. Libby, her eyes half closed, made a sound of dismay, but when she felt his lips trace a swift, wet line down her stomach, it turned to a sound of pleasure. Swann buried his head between her legs, his tongue taking up residence where his cock had been plowing moments before. He thrust his tongue into her, lips grazing her clit, and licked at her wetness. Libby's hips came up off the mattress. Her fingers clutched at the sheets, at his hair. Her lips parted and she panted, gasping, hardly able to breathe through the intensity of the pleasure Swann was giving her. Then his fingers took the place of his tongue, and his lips fastened onto her clit to suck, hard, and Libby's whole body convulsed with orgasm. She gasped. She moaned. And when Swann slid back up her body she grabbed at him, feverish, a woman possessed. As he plunged back inside her she was licking her own juices from his mouth, tasting herself on his lips and his tongue. Her hands tangled in his hair. Her hips rose to meet every thrust. When Swann shuddered and came inside her, Libby's body shook with another small orgasm. He rested his head against her shoulder, face turned into her neck, breathing hard, and Libby, barely able to move herself, lolled beneath him, enjoying the weight of his body on hers. Eventually, sweat cooling on both their bodies, she shivered and snuggled closer, and Swann reached for the blanket that had been kicked to the end of the bed.

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Rolling back onto his side, he took Libby with him and held her against his body, his arms around her just as they had been when she awoke, his heart thumping against her chest. "It's really very nice to meet you,” he said softly, and she looked up to see his dark eyes glittering like the black sea around Carnalis. A smile tugged at his lips, and she kissed the corner of his mouth. "Likewise,” she said, and snuggled warm and soft against him. There were a dozen things she ought to say, not least of which was to ask him where they were and who he was, but before she could sort through the questions in her head, a tap came at the door. Before Swann could say anything, the door opened to reveal an impish male face peeping in. "Swann,” he said, and his eyes widened when he saw Libby tucked up tight against Swann. Swann blinked hard a couple of times, then said with patience heavy in his voice, “Diver. This is why I ask you to wait before you open the door." Diver stared at Libby, who gave a tentative smile. It wasn't returned. "We need to come up,” he said to Swann, ignoring Libby. “Do you want to stay on the surface, or are we heading for Warsaw?" Swann shrugged, keeping Libby pressed tight against his chest. “Not unless we need supplies. If the way is clear, stay up and head us east along the Pripet, and we can call in at Kiev if we need to. But we should be able to make it to the Black Sea Deeps in one go." Diver nodded. “I'll send a message to the Trident." "Thanks,” said Swann, but Diver had already gone. The door closed behind him with a very final thud, and silence filled the room. Swann gave Libby an awkward smile, then eased away from her and stood up, moving to a cabinet on the wall and taking out some clothes.

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"I should probably...” he said, and waved a hand at the door. Libby realized he was embarrassed, which was kind of adorable. “I mean, there's work to do, and I think Diver might be mad at me." "I think he fancies you,” she said, and he grimaced. Libby laughed, and watched him pull on a pair of loose drawstring pants. His body was pale, strong and muscular, and marred here and there with some intriguing marks. On his legs were the scars she'd felt earlier, the skin uneven and hairless, pinker than it ought to be. Burn marks, she thought, very straight and even. Very deliberate. As he pulled on his pants, she raised her eyes to his very attractive upper body, where more scar tissue broke his smooth, even skin. Scars from Imperial lasers. Libby knew there were no Independent veterans left alive after the war. So how had he come by such scars? Whatever business this ship conducted, she got the definite feeling it wasn't legal. "So, Swann,” she said, trying not to ogle him too openly, “not to sound trite, but where the hell are we?" He paused, ran a hand through his slightly overlong dark hair. “Right. Good question. Going to take a fairly long answer." "Short version?” Libby asked apprehensively. “Are we on a ship?" "Yes,” he said. "And are you in charge?" "Yes,” he said again, tugging a shirt on over his head. “I'm Swann." "You already said that part." He blinked again, a noticeable gesture she didn't think he realized he was doing. "Right. Look—Libby, we have to go up to the surface or there'll be no air. I wasn't expecting ... well, anyway. I'll get someone to bring you some food, and there's a bathroom through there if you want it—but I really have to go." "No, that's fine,” she said, fighting disappointment. “I could probably use a shower after that dunk in the sea.” She frowned. Yes, she had taken a dunk in the sea—

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she could smell it on her skin, taste the salt in her mouth—but how had she gone from there to here? Had Swann really found her under the waves? And if he had, where the hell was his tail? "I won't be long,” he said, “and then I'll—well, explain. About the ship and everything." He opened the door, turned back and glanced at Libby, lying half-covered by the blanket, and his eyes softened. He reached out, and she took his hand, kneeling up in the bed and falling against him as he kissed her, long and deep. Through the thin fabric of his pants she felt the definite stirrings of his cock, and tried to tug him back down onto the bed. "I really have to go,” he said, his voice rough, and Libby allowed herself a smile. Smiling had been far too absent from her life the last few weeks, and she was more grateful to Swann than she could say for giving it back to her. "Wait,” she said. “What's the name of the ship?" "The Swift Revenge,” he said, and Libby went cold.

Chapter Four Swann saw the blood drain from her face, which assumed a terribly fake air of nonchalance. "That's an interesting name,” she said, and her voice didn't sound right. Granted, most of what he'd heard coming from her mouth had been in the gasps-of-pleasure category, but she was speaking now with an awful forced jollity. "It's from an ancient play,” he said, watching her carefully. “Libby, are you all right?" "Fine,” she said. “Absolutely fine. You know what, you said you'd be busy, and I've been working on a ship, obviously, so why don't I come and give you a hand?" She was already looking around her for something to wear. “This is a different kind of ship,” Swann said. “I think you should rest." "No! No. I insist. After all you saved my life, didn't you? I mean, if you hadn't been there, right at that exact moment when I jumped from the Jolly Bunny, right at that moment when the Imperial Cruiser was breathing down our necks, right when I was about to go under, well, then I'd have drowned, wouldn't I?" "Fortune must have been smiling,” Swann said guardedly. The color was returning to Libby's face, but it was dark, angry color. She climbed off the bed and started pulling open cupboards, every movement sharp with fury. "Oh no,” she said. “I was the lucky one. Imagine that as soon as I leave the completely random ship I've hidden myself away on, I'm found by the one ship I was told to seek out!" His brows pulled together. “Told? Who told you?"

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Libby spun around so fast she nearly fell over. “Who swiving told me? The Empress, that's who! You know? The wife of the bloody Emperor?" He kept his face impassive, but he knew it was too late. "She told me to come and find your ship, as if I was simple or something, as if I was stupid, as if I want to be where the swiving Empire can find me! Oh, the Empire knows a bargain, doesn't it? Let me escape then pick me up again, no fire, no bloodshed, no damage." "The Empress is not the Empire,” Swann said quietly. "No! She's married to the man who runs it! The man in charge! Of the whole Empire!" Her body was shaking with anger now, her shoulders heaving, her eyes flashing. Her mouth was tight, as if she were trying desperately not to let it tremble. "You're no fan of the Empire—” Swann began, but Libby's voice cut through him like a knife. "They killed my Billy,” she said, every word sharp and hard, bursting with pain. Her whole body was tight, her breath shuddering in and out, her eyes flashing with tears. "Libby,” he said, “listen to me—" "The hell I will!” she shrieked. Before he could even see it coming, her foot had scissored into his groin and, as he doubled over in sudden agony, the heel of her hand bashed his nose. She slammed him to the floor with more strength than Swann had thought her small body capable of and leapt over him, moving like quicksilver, like the tiny fish that eluded even the cleverest fisherman. Swann grabbed at her, but she was already gone. "Libby,” he croaked, pain shooting through him, barely able to move. “Stop her,” he tried to shout, and it came out as a weak groan. Painfully, he hauled himself to his feet and staggered after her, hands to his crotch, trying to find the concentration to heal himself, or at least numb the pain.

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"Libby,” he called, voice stronger as the agony faded to a manageable throb. “Libby, come back, for gods’ sakes!" Shouts of surprise told him which way she'd headed. Down the corridor and through the airlock to the deck, which, damn everyone on the bloody ship, was open. Limping only slightly, he followed her, directing all the crew he came across to run and stop her before she caused havoc. A damn dragon on the loose on his ship, there was no telling what she could do! He hauled himself up the ladder to the top deck, cursing Libby, the Empress, and himself with every step. Emerging into the air, he found his men in a ring around Libby, who was spitting curses at them all, threatening and screaming and, Swann realized as he got closer, trying desperately not to cry. She was still stark naked, but appeared not to notice. "If one of you comes any closer, just bloody one of you, I'll cremate you,” she screamed. “I'll bloody incinerate you, you hear!" "Libby,” Swann said, trying a calm, quiet tone. It had absolutely no effect. "And you!” she shrieked. “I swiving hate you, Swann of the Swift Revenge! You were there on purpose, you were looking for me! Go on, deny it!" Swann paused. Nobody else made a sound. “We were looking for you,” he began carefully, and Libby screeched. "You swiving bastard! She sent you to pick me up, didn't she? To hand me back over?" "I swear upon my life, I'm not handing you to the Empire,” Swann said as calmly and firmly as he could. "Your life? What do you think your life is worth to me?" From the corner of his eye, Swann saw the glint of metal in Diver's hand. "You know, the rest of it, I could expect the rest, but did you have to fuck me?" If he'd thought his men had been silent, it was nothing to the complete vacuum of noise on the deck now. "All right,” he said, “maybe that wasn't the wisest idea, but—"

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"Oh no,” she said scornfully, and by now there were tears spilling from her reddened eyes. “Oh no, I bet that was your favorite part. ‘It's so nice to meet you,’ you swiving pig!" "Libby,” he began, but she snarled at him, and he felt a rush of hot air against his skin. "I'll swiving kill you all,” she sobbed. “You will burn, you and your Empire, you will burn—" Fire and heat, the burn of a laser, the tortured screams of men in the heat of death. Worlds of pain. Brands of fire and laughter, the fog of despair. The screaming, the screaming— "You will burn!" With mounting horror Swann snapped back to the present and realized Libby's skin was darkening, getting shinier, turning to scales, and her body was contorting, limbs shortening, her back spasming with what he realized must be her wings. "Libby, no!” he yelled, and leapt on her. "Get off me or I'll turn you into ashes,” she growled, and even her voice was changing. Her breath burned him as he pinned her to the deck. Do you want to be burned? Tell me what I want to know! "I can't let you do this,” he said. "There's no ‘let’ about it! I'm a fucking dragon, Swann, and whatever you are you're never going to be strong enough..." Her words were disappearing now into a growl, a roar, dark and fiery. Her eyes gleamed, a hot burning red. Her face was contorting, her body covered in scales now that grated against his skin. Swann realized there was only one thing he could do. He spun her facedown on the deck and twisted her arms behind her back. Shorter, stronger, and tipped with claws, he couldn't get them both to meet around the bulk of her emerging wings. So he didn't waste time trying. He grabbed her as firmly as

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he could, and made a break for the port side, crew scattering as they realized his intention. The dragon in his arms writhed and screeched, the sound grating, and turned her head, her long neck flexing and twisting. Her eyes were mad and red. Her jaw opened wide, lined with needle sharp teeth. As Swann leapt over the side of the ship, the dragon roared fire over him, and he felt his skin blister an instant before the kiss of cold water soothed him. Kicking free of his clothes, he changed, still gripping the dragon by one short forearm. Her claws raked him. Her teeth clamped around his shoulder, and the water turned misty pink with blood. Mad red eyes glared desperately at him, eyes that were nothing like Libby's, yet exactly like them. Eyes filled with pain and fear and fury. She roared underwater, the sound shaking him, the wave of heat coming from her mouth scalding him. "I'm sorry,” he told her, and twisted in the water to head straight down, as deep as he could go, until the dragon stopped twisting and fighting and hung limp in the cold, dark water.

*** Pain and nausea yanked Libby out of unconsciousness, cold lips fastened to hers, hands pounding at her chest. She was on fire, but it was a cold fire, agony burning through her lungs, panic shaking her into life. The dark, and the water, and Swann, drowning her— "Libby! Stay with me. Listen to me. Keep breathing and don't fight me. Please don't fight." Swann again, his voice very close to her. He rolled her carefully to her side, his hands gentle, his tone soft, but both touch and voice edged with a firmness that told her if she tried anything else, this time he wouldn't bring her back up. She curled on her side against the cold deck, naked and frozen, coughing up salt water and considering whether to fight back and let him kill her, or just lie there and let exhaustion finish her off.

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"Libby. Listen to me,” Swann said again. She kept her eyes closed and felt a hot tear trickle over her temple. “I swear upon my life we are not your enemy. We're not working for the Empire. We never have and we never will. We fought for the Independents during the war." Libby wiped her mouth against her shoulder and rested her head against the deck, tired beyond belief. The Independents. They'd lost their war against the Empire seven years ago, and according to the Empire, every one of them had been put to death. Dozens of people Libby had grown up with had died in that war. "You lie,” she said wearily. “The Independents are all dead." "No. Just ... hiding. Keeping a low profile.” He gave a short, harsh laugh. “You might say a submerged profile." She summoned a little strength and rolled herself onto her back, opening her eyes a little against the dull evening light. Swann knelt beside her, as naked and wet as she was. His hair dripped water onto the deck, and his dark eyes were watchful, weary, rimmed with pain and fatigue. The skin of his shoulder was pink and blistered with heat, seeping blood where her teeth had gripped him. He did not blink. In a circle around them stood the crew who'd been trying to contain her during her meltdown. They all stood silent and still, watching her. Swann gestured to one of them, and she recognized the slim, dark-haired young man who'd peeped into Swann's cabin earlier. Back before she realized he was a lying cheating bastard of a traitor. "Diver fought for the Prince,” Swann said. “He fought alongside his father, brother, and sister. He's the only one remaining. Sounder there,” he indicated a man with a heavy scar running down his face where one eye ought to have been, “lost seven members of his family, including both parents and an infant brother, to an Imperial ambush. Scelp and Laver were on the front line in the last siege of Carnalis. They're the only ones left standing. Mako was the sole survivor of his flotilla. The rest were killed, or captured and executed."

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Libby flinched at the word “executed,” and her gaze traveled over the men he pointed to in turn, each of them pale and grim, standing motionless. Swann took her hand, and placed it on his ribs, where one of the laser scars she'd seen earlier cut through his flesh. “And I fought, Libby. I was Swann of my squadron. I lost nearly half my men to the Empire. I saw them ripped open with lasers, with blades, with bullets. I saw them burnt alive." She flinched again, her hand encountering a rough patch of skin she'd earlier figured for a burn scar. Helplessly, her fingers slid upward to the new burn on his shoulder. The one she'd caused. Swann's fathomless eyes bored into her, unblinking, cold. "I fought the Empire. I was captured by the Empire. I was tortured by the Empire. And one day I will probably be killed by the Empire. I do not, and will not, ever collaborate with the Empire. Is that clear?" Libby's gaze strayed to a man with one sleeve pinned neatly down where his arm ought to have been. Swann gripped her chin and forced her to look at him. “Is. That. Clear?” he repeated, voice like steel. Libby nodded, frightened by the man whose kind eyes and warm smile had charmed her barely an hour ago. Abruptly, he released her, stood up and walked away. "Assign her quarters,” he said. “And guard her." "I'm not going anywhere,” Libby called after him. "And ignore everything she says,” Swann added, and disappeared into the ship. She winced, and chanced a look up at the ring of men surrounding her. They were all men, she realized—not a woman anywhere. Maybe they were all out of sight. Or maybe there were none. What did he mean, Swann of his squadron? Before she could ask, Diver had gripped her by the forearms and hauled her to her feet. “Well,” he said sharply, “looks like you're all mine." "You put your hands anywhere else and you will burn,” she told him. “I don't care whose side you're on."

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"Believe me, darling, you're not my type,” Diver said, and hustled her below the deck.

Chapter Five There was a bottle of Wreck, the Mer liquor distilled from seaweed, latched inside a cabinet in Swann's quarters. He slugged half of it down, and was considering effecting a partial change to open up his gills so he could drink the rest without breathing, when someone tapped on the door. Swann turned, but no one entered. He sighed. You would choose now to start doing what I tell you. “Yes?" Diver's head appeared round the edge of the door, and Swann gestured him inside. "She's in the guest quarters,” Diver said. “Most defensible rooms we've got." Swann nodded. The Revenge's guest quarters could be sealed off in the event of an emergency submersion. If they could keep water out, they could keep Libby in. Probably. "Scelp and Mako are on the door too,” Diver added. “Armed." Swann sighed and drank some more of the salty liquor. "Do you want me to look at that?” Diver said, gesturing to the wound on Swann's shoulder, and Swann, annoyed, slammed the bottle down on the table and snarled, “No, I bloody don't." Diver didn't move. "As if she's the only one who's been wronged by the Empire,” Swann spat. “She's the only one who's been hurt." Diver was silent a moment, then said, “To be fair—" "Fair, Diver? Fair? She could have killed us all!"

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"—the Empire did make it known that they'd killed all the Independents,” Diver finished quietly. “And the Empress keeps herself fairly quiet." Swann bared his teeth at Diver, but said nothing. "Perhaps we ought to find out who this ‘Billy’ of hers is,” Diver suggested. "Was,” Swann corrected bitterly. “She said they killed him." "Then maybe that's why she's angry,” Diver said, and Swann glared at him. "I liked you better when you were trying to suck my cock,” he said, and Diver laughed. "Me too,” he said. He glanced at the pants Swann had pulled on. “Maybe we should try that." "Diver—” Swann began, and stopped, still unable to tell his friend. His gaze shivered, skittering to the floor. You like it, don't you? "What did they do to you?” Diver asked softly. Hands touching, stroking. Hot, wet mouths. Invading hardness. The pain, the shame, the humiliation. The screaming, the screaming— "Pray you never find out." "I've seen those scars,” Diver said, indicating Swann's legs, his body. "Yes. Well. Not all scars are physical, are they?” He slugged more Wreck. “What you do for fun, Diver, they did to me as torture. And I wish I could manage to enjoy it, but I—” the screaming “—I...” the screaming— I think you like it, don't you? "I'm sorry,” Diver said, breaking the heavy silence. “About the other night. I didn't realize." "No. Well, why would you?” Swann said, managing to meet his friend's eyes. To his relief, they didn't show pity. But they were full of understanding. "Well, look. If you ever decide you need therapy,” Diver said, nodding at Swann's crotch, and the tension broke.

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Swann snorted, an exhalation of relief. He ran a hand through his wet hair, blinked hard, and took one last slug from the Wreck bottle. “I think I should go talk to Libby." "Want me to come with you?" Swann gave him a sideways look, and Diver's eyebrows quirked. "Or maybe I'll stick to running the ship for you,” he said. As Swann left the room, Diver added, “Were you going to tell us she was a girl?" "Would it have made any difference?" "Sure. Angler was going to make a move when he thought she was a boy. Probably just as well he didn't. Either you or her would have killed him for it." Swann growled at him and left the room, stalking along the short corridor and down a ladder to the next deck. Scelp and Mako did indeed stand armed outside one of the reinforced doors, and they moved aside to let him enter. "Any trouble?” he asked. "No. Not a sound,” Mako said. "Probably incinerated herself,” said Scelp, who had felt the business end of a flamethrower during the war, and had very strong feelings about naked flames. Swann grunted and unlocked the door, instructing them to lock it behind him until he knocked to come out again. The Revenge's guest quarters were pleasantly appointed, roomy and lit softly by light moss. Swann knew Diver would have removed anything from the room that Libby could have used as a weapon, which made the place a little emptier. Libby paced the floor, back and forth, still naked, still wet. She glanced warily at him when he entered. “Come to throw me overboard again?" "Don't start,” he said, glaring at her. He closed the door, and heard the lock click into place behind him. "Oh, so you've just come to yell at me.” She folded her arms beneath her breasts. “Fine. Don't, whatever you do, explain anything about how you seem to be working for the Empress when you swear upon your life you'd never work for the Empire."

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"That,” Swann said, stepping closer, “is what I call ‘starting'." She snarled at him. "First of all,” Swann said, pointing at the fresh wound on his shoulder, torn and burnt flesh throbbing and bleeding. “Ow." She flinched at that, but said nothing. "But compared to this,” he gestured to the laser scar on his ribs, “not very ‘ow’ at all. This,” he continued, still pointing, “came from an Imperial laser that nearly killed me. But instead of dying, I was captured. Which is where this comes in,” he pulled off his pants and showed her the long scars on his legs. "This is where they tortured me with a hot poker,” he said, moving closer still so she could see. “Which, let me tell you, makes the ‘ow’ of my shoulder seem like a vague irritation. They used knives. They used clamps. They whipped the soles of my feet. They shot my own men in front of me. They starved me for five days. I nearly dehydrated." They tied me to the wall and had slaves suck and lick me until I was nearly blind with lust, and refused to let me come until I told them what they wanted. "And yet you live,” Libby said. Swann was very close now, and she backed up a step, hitting the wall behind her. "Yes,” he said, putting his face right up against hers, “I live, because the Empress decided she wanted me for her harem. She hid me away, she brought me back to health, and then she released me. And so, when every now and then she asks me for a favor, I tend to do it for her." "You were in her harem?” Libby asked, and he saw the fight light up her eyes. “You were one of her boys, the ones she keeps to amuse herself? Like the one I saw licking her out in the Throne Room. Is that it, Swann? You're just a whore for the Empress?" "I am no one's whore,” he said tightly. You like it, don't you?

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"Oh really? So how come within minutes of me opening my eyes you were inside me? Do you always fuck every strange woman you meet? Or is that a trained instinct, did the Empress teach you to do it? I bet you were one of her favorites, Swann. Will fuck anything." "I'm talking here,” Swann said furiously. “Shut the hell up." "Oh sure. Talk.” Her tone was mocking. “That's why you've got me shoved up against a wall. To talk. That's why you're naked. Because you want to talk to me." Swann snarled at her, and she snarled right back. Her chest heaved, her breasts soft against his chest. She nudged his cock with her thigh. He was getting hard, gods damn her, and she knew it. "I think you like it, don't you,” Libby said, and Swann nearly lost it. His hands gripped her wrists, pinning her to the wall, fingers digging in deep. But her fingers wrapped around his, her nails sharp, claws forming. Her eyes burned red. She bared her teeth. They were pointed. “Oh, that's it? I hit a sore spot and you try to kill me?" "I'm not going to kill you,” Swann gritted, although the thought was damn tempting. "No? ‘Cos you ain't exactly being warm and fuzzy with me.” She wriggled her hot, soft body against him, her back arched by the way he'd pinned her hands to the wall, her breasts thrust against him. She gave him a knowing smile. “So here's the question, Swann. Are you going to fuck me because the Empress told you to, or because you actually want to?" He squeezed his eyes shut tight, but when he opened them she was still there, her cheeks pink and her eyes glittering. His blood thundered in his veins. “I swear to the gods, you make me so angry,” he said. "Oh yeah?” Libby said. “Angry ain't the word I'd use. Hot. Hard. Those are words I'd use." He put his face up against hers. Felt her hot breath against his lips. “I,” he said, “am no one's whore. You understand that?"

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Libby eased her body between his and the wall. Her breasts were squashed against his chest, her stomach cushioned his cock. He was hard as a rock. Her lips touched his, and she said, “I understand plenty, Swann." She bit on his lip, and Swann gave in to the lust raging through him and thrust his tongue inside her mouth. And Libby kissed him back. As he released her wrists, she slid one hand into his hair, the other down his back, pressing him to her, rubbing her thigh against his aching cock. She shifted, and he slid between her legs, feeling the hot rush of moisture from her pussy. She wanted it as much as he did. Her hands were everywhere, grasping at him, pulling him closer against her. Her hips rocked, her leg wrapping around his waist, hot as a fever. When she rubbed her wet folds against his cock Swann couldn't take any more and plunged inside her. Libby moaned, biting on his lip, and he thrust as deep into her as he could. "Yes,” she gasped, “God, yes!" Pressing her back against the wall, he fucked her hard, and she gave as good as she got, wrapping both legs around him and squeezing him tight inside her. She was so hot, so wet, her skin slick with sweat, her fingers digging into his skin. She grasped his shoulders and Swann bellowed with pain as she dug into the wound she'd caused earlier. She tensed, but that only meant her pussy grasped him tighter. Furious with lust, he pulled out of her, shoved her legs to the floor and spun her round to face the wall. Libby protested, but then he parted her legs and pushed back inside her again. Her back arched, her hips tilted, and he groaned, because she felt even tighter this way. "Touch my shoulder again and I'll give you something to scream about,” he said in her ear as he thrust in deep. "You're already doing that,” she panted, fingers curling helplessly against the wall.

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Swann laughed raggedly and reached around to fill his hands with her breasts. Small and high, each a perfect handful. He squeezed, then rubbed her nipples, and Libby moaned, squirming. "Oh yes,” he said, “do that again.” Her soft ass writhed against him and he pinched her nipples harder. Turning her head, she lifted one arm to bring him around to kiss her. Her tongue thrust into his mouth as vigorously as his cock thrust into her pussy. Swann plunged in and out, delirious with heat and pleasure, grasping her softness and inhaling her scent. Her own hand slid down between her body and the wall, and as he thrust into her he felt her fingers invading, pulling at her clit, rubbing it hard. Biting into her neck, he moved one of his hands from her breast and slid it between her legs instead. Covering her fingers at first, then pushing them out of the way, he manipulated her tight little bud, stroking and pinching and rubbing. Libby's head rolled back and she moaned. Her hand, still sticky with her own juices, came up to cup her own breast, her fingers mimicking his. “I'm going to,” she gasped, her pussy tightening around him. “Oh God, I'm going to come!" Swann thrust harder, faster, and felt the first fluttering contractions of her orgasm. She was so tight, squeezing him, burning him, and as she fell apart in his arms Swann nearly came himself. He pulled out of her before he did, and tugged her away from the wall. Trembling, limp, she came with him as he laid her down on the edge of the bed and lifted her ankles high, avoiding his injured shoulder with a pointed look. Grasping her hips, he eased back into her. She was drenched, dripping wet and still spasming with the aftershocks of her orgasm. Swann moved slowly, watching her face the whole time. Her eyes were closed, but they fluttered open as he entered her, and she gave a smile as she saw him watching her. "I'm still mad at you,” she said breathlessly.

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"Me too,” he replied, sliding in deep and feeling the hitch in her breath. “Really, really mad. So mad I'm going to have to do this,” he added, dropping her legs and leaning forward to kiss her languorously. Libby wrapped her arms around him, very carefully avoiding his injured shoulder. She kissed him long and deep, her eyes sparkling, and then murmured, “I want to taste you, Swann." He shuddered and nearly came at that. "I want you in my mouth,” she insisted, and Swann was entirely powerless to resist. He withdrew from her, slid up her body and knelt by her head. Libby licked her lips, guessing what he wanted her to do. He squeezed the base of his cock, which was slippery with her come, and guided her head to it, shuddering at the first hot touch of her mouth. She wrapped her lips around him and sucked, hard. Swann let out a hard breath and slid his hand through her hair. Her mouth was like magic, hot and wet, her tongue flickering over the head of his cock, then fluttering down to lick away her own come. She tongued his balls, and Swann threw his head back, panting. "You're good at that,” he breathed, and Libby glanced up at him, eyes dancing. Her tongue darted out, pink and wet, and licked a circle around the head of his cock. Swann groaned. “More,” he said. “Suck it." She did, taking in as much as she could and wrapping her hands around the rest. Swann thrust blissfully for a few moments, then he lay back on the bed and told her to move around so she knelt over his face. She did this so fast she nearly fell off the bed. Swann laughed again as she settled over him, bending her head to take his cock back into her mouth, her pussy lips hovering just above his mouth. Swann sighed, breathing in her scent, then he wrapped his arms around her hips and ran his tongue down the length of her slit. Libby moaned, so he did it again, then sought out her clit and circled it with his tongue. He licked deep inside her. He lapped at her puffy wet folds. He parted her with

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his hands and thrust two, then three, then four fingers inside her as he sucked on her clit. This was what he'd wanted for years. To give pleasure as it was given to him. To feel a soft body in his arms, someone who wanted to be there, who wanted to make him feel good, who wanted to bring him to a hot, wonderful release. He licked at her delicious pussy as if it were the best thing he'd ever tasted. And all the time her mouth worked on him. Her hands stroked his balls, moved back and found the incredibly sensitive area behind them, and her tongue swept every inch of his straining cock. She rocked gently, her nipples hard against his stomach, her hands everywhere. He felt the first shimmer of her internal muscles against his fingers, the beginning of an orgasm that made her moan. The vibrations of that moan buzzed around his cock, and Swann, his lips still wrapped around her pulsing clit, could only moan in reply. He was about to come, still buried deep in her mouth, but Libby was too busy convulsing with her own orgasm to notice. He plunged his tongue inside her pussy to drink down her sweet nectar. He was buried in her mouth, and he was about to come. He needed to come. Gods help him, if she took this away from him he'd die. She'd die. Everyone would die. He gripped her hips, sliding his mouth from her wet flesh and sucking in a deep breath. Pleasure shot through him, draining his whole body, heat gathered in his balls, and with her lips still wrapped around him, Libby gave a soft little moan. That did it. Swann groaned and spurted into her mouth, his whole body jerking with orgasm. He came long and hard, filling her mouth with what felt like years of pent-up passion. Come trickled down his cock, and Libby licked it all up. She was still nuzzling his spent cock as he tipped her to her back and sucked in a deep breath. His chest was heaving, his body bathed in sweat, and from the looks of Libby she wasn't about to go anywhere anytime soon either. "What,” she gasped, “was it you were so mad about?" Swann started laughing, almost too exhausted to speak. “I can't even remember."

Chapter Six With Libby's hot, soft body curled next to his, Swann said nothing for several minutes as he tried to get his breath back. Libby, clearly as drained as he was, tucked her head against his good shoulder and lay quietly with him. "Sorry I threatened your crew,” she murmured after a while. "Sorry I nearly drowned you." "Sorry I burned your shoulder." "Yes, I'm sorry too." She glanced up contritely, and he kissed her temple. “I'm Mer,” he said. “We're good healers." "Mer?” She looked tired and confused, but not hostile. "How else do you think I could breathe underwater?" Libby was silent a moment, staring at the ceiling. “So ... I didn't imagine it, about the tail?" "Nope." "Hmm. Thought it was a hallucination brought on by lack of oxygen." "I can't comment on your mental state,” Swann said, yawning, and she bashed him gently with the back of her hand. "I've never heard of Mer before,” she said. "Not even in fairytales?" She shrugged. “Not much call for fairytales where I come from." "And where is that?" "Collective in Carnalis,” she said, and this time it was Swann's turn to be confused. At his expression, she explained. “It's where they put people who can't afford

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to raise a family. Mostly single mothers. Idea is, they all help each other out and look after each other's kids while their friends are working. In reality, the pimps and thieves moved in years ago. Whole system's rotten." Swann was appalled. The Mer tended to live in large groups, and indeed they shared childcare among friends and family. “Your mother?” he asked cautiously. "No idea. Lot of ‘em disappear. Run off, or just die. Never knew her. Don't remember much ‘til Billy took me in." Ah, the famous Billy. Swann kept silent and let her talk, noting how her speech grew coarser until she sounded more like one of the street rats, the urchins running around the slums of every city. "His ma ran a little bunch of pickpockets. Dunno what happened to her. ‘Spect it was a pimp, although Billy liked to think she died defending one of the kids. He don't really remember.” She paused, then corrected in a smaller voice, “Didn't really remember." Swann squeezed her shoulders, and she looked up at him. “Reckon you don't think much of me, sharing your bed three weeks after Billy died." Swann closed his eyes, because she really wasn't the one who needed to worry about what was thought of her. “Billy was your lover?" She nodded. “For a little while. He was my first. Think he thought it was best to break me in gently himself than let someone else do it. But that burnt out, and when he got sick we just sort of stopped, and ... you know what he said? He said he didn't have a contract on me, that I could be with whoever I liked. But Billy was family, you know? More like a brother there in the end." "Did he recover?" She said nothing for a moment, just swallowed visibly. Then she shook her head. “That's the thing. If the Guard had just left him a few more months he'd probably have died all by himself anyway. Not many doctors down in the slums." "I'm sorry."

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"Yeah, me too.” Her fingers idly traced the length of the laser scar on his ribs. “Half a dozen laser rifles ain't a decent way to go." "Fast, though.” At least, so long as they weren't purposefully trying to prolong it. Swann wouldn't put it past the bastards. Libby was still stroking the scar. “How come this didn't kill you?" "I had armor. And like I said, we have some healing abilities. Whether we want them or not,” he added, half to himself. "Why wouldn't you want them?" The sizzle of flesh cooking, his own flesh, and those repeated demands. Where is the Prince? What are his plans? Where is the Prince? Do you want to be burned? Tell me what I want to know! Flesh itching as it healed. Then more pain. Always more pain. "Imagine,” Swann said, his voice coming from a torture cell in Carnalis, “imagine someone's beating you with hot irons, for information. They expect you to break and tell them what they want, or they'll just carry on until you pass out. Until you're insensible. But when your body heals itself there's no oblivion. You can't escape from it. They just keep on going until you tell them what they want to hear. Even if you don't know what they're asking." Tell me, and I'll stop. Tell me, and you can come. Tell me. Tell me. Someone's breath caught. Libby, curled soft and warm against him in a bed on the Revenge. Not a torture cell. Swann blinked hard, twice, and the room came back into focus. He realized he was trembling. Her hand touched his cheek. A small gesture of comfort. “What information did they want?" He sighed. “I fought for the Prince. I was one of the highest ranked officers they captured. They wanted information about him. Whereabouts, plans, you know." "No,” Libby said, “I don't know. Kept well out of the war. Spent most of it in the desert. Riyadh's a pretty big maze to hide in."

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"I wouldn't know,” he echoed. “Deserts don't hold much attraction for the Mer." She gave him a half smile. “For flamethrowers they're pretty neat." "Flame—?" "Dragon,” she said, tapping herself on the chest. Swann covered her hand with his, which was really an excuse to touch her breasts. Touching her soft, feminine flesh eased the memories. Made the pain lessen. "So, you're really a dragon,” he said. “I didn't think there were many females." "Nope. All the ones I ever heard of were male. Guess there must be some others around though, huh, or we'd all die out." "Maybe in China. They're overrun with dragons." "Different species. Well, it's a bit like lions and tigers. Similar, but not the same.” Libby sat up slowly and stretched. Swann watched, enjoying the sight. Her pale skin was flushed and rosy, her lips reddened, her nipples lush and pink. Her short blonde hair was impishly tousled, making her look young and very vulnerable. She looked around the room, which was rather sparsely furnished after Diver had taken away anything he thought she could use as a weapon. Swann supposed he ought to thank his friend. Had there been anything sharp in the room while Libby was taunting him, he wasn't sure he could have resisted using it. "So what happens now?” she said. “You keep me locked up in here?" "That depends. Are you going to keep threatening to burn us all?" She gave him a direct look. “Do you work for the Empire?" "No." "But you do work for the Empress?" "We do her favors. She's ... she's not what people think. She's—" A knock at the door cut him off. It was Diver, and he didn't look happy to see Swann and Libby naked together on the bed. But then neither did he look particularly surprised.

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"Message from Edward,” he said, and held up a leather-bound book. “And Tang says there's another Imperial Cruiser up ahead. Anyone'd think they were looking for someone." His gaze flickered over Libby, and he said no more. Swann got to his feet, took the book from Diver and shielded it from Libby's eyes. Right now he still wasn't sure he could trust her with this. Running his finger down the spine, he pressed his palm flat against the cover and waited. The cover grew warm under his touch, and he opened the book and breathed on the central page. Words appeared, visible only to him. Emperor looking for female dragon for mating program. If you see her, bring her to me. Will meet you in next Deeps. Trident expects us. It wasn't signed. It never was. Edward sent messages as cryptic as he could make them. Swann glanced up at Libby, who was watching him curiously. A mating program. Sick bastard. "Who's Edward?” she asked. Swann blinked, hard. "A friend. You'll meet him." "Swann?" "Yeah?" "What's the blinking about?" "Blin—” Swann began, then froze, mid-blink. Diver was biting his lip, trying not to smile. “You do it a lot,” he said. “When you're nervous." "Nervous?” Swann squeezed his eyes shut, and heard a soft laugh coming from Libby's direction. “I'm a swiving pirate captain, I don't get nervous." "Not when you're pirating,” Diver agreed, his gaze flickering to Libby. "It's cute,” she said, smiling. Swann scowled at her. “I don't do cute. Get dressed." "In what?” She spread her hands. “There are no clothes in here. I checked."

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Swann blinked then, annoyed with himself, glared at Diver, daring him to smile. “Get her some clothes. And some food. Then check the air supplies. We need to go under ASAP, and stay down." Diver nodded and left, smiling. Swann turned to pick up the pants he'd discarded earlier, and Libby caught his arm. "Speaking of going down,” she said, and when he caught her eye she grinned. "Please don't say things like that without warning,” he said, and she laughed. “Or when I've got work to do." She slid her arm around his neck, carefully avoiding the patch of burnt skin, and kissed him softly. At least, she started out kissing him softly, but thirty seconds of her warm, soft body pressed against his, naked skin to naked skin, had Swann pulling her to him and kissing her deeply, gathering her up to lay her down on the bed. Above them, an airlock thudded into place, the clunk jolting Swann out of his lusty daze. "Wicked woman,” he growled, and she laughed, letting him go. “Stay in this room and don't try to get out, all right? We're going underwater." "Like a submarine? Won't the Cruiser find you?" He smiled. “They only search for tech, and we don't have any." Libby opened her mouth, then shut it again. He smiled: to a lot of people, living without tech was unimaginable. "It's a Mer thing,” he said, moving toward the door. “I'll explain later."

Chapter Seven "Mostly we live in deep water,” said Swann, standing behind her at one of the ship's railings. Libby expected it had some name like bow rail, but she honestly only understood about one word in ten of what the crew actually said about the ship. Beyond the railing, the sea slid past with barely a ripple, tinted red and gold by the fading sun. The Revenge seemed to make little impact on its surroundings, skimming through the water like a fish. The little she'd seen of it had an oddly organic quality, as if the rooms and fittings and railings and masts had sort of grown out of the hull. Then again, she was on a ship belonging to the Mer. As far as she knew, they grew ships on underwater trees, or herded them like cows. "In fact, there aren't many Mer in the New Seas,” Swann went on. “A few in the drowned cities—one of the Leisters of the Atlantic set up in Paris, for example. Venice has its own Trident." "I'm sorry,” Libby said, turning her head, “but you're going to have to explain to me what the hell a Leister and a Trident are. And what did you mean when you said you were the Swann of your squadron during the war? And hasn't Paris been underwater since the Fall—oh. No, I get that part." Swann smiled at the sunset. “We don't use names like other people do. The Mer tend to use ... descriptions. Nicknames. Titles, quite often. Trident is approximately equivalent to King. There are several of them, Tridents of the big schools in the Deeps." "Deeps being the old oceans?" "Yes. And schools being—" "Big groups of Mer? Like a school of fish?"

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"Yes. A nation, if you like. Leisters are princes, or dukes perhaps. Often related to the Trident, sometimes not." "And Swann?" "I suppose you'd probably say ‘captain.’ When we fought for the Prince, we organized ourselves along the same lines as his army." "Were there many of you?” asked Libby, fascinated. "Several thousand." She spun around, astonished. “But—how come no one ever heard about this? I mean, did the Emperor know?" "No. Still doesn't. We'd planned to make a sort of public appearance. Make ourselves known to the rest of the world. But then the Independents failed..." "The Prince was assassinated,” Libby said. She'd been a teenager, but she remembered the ripples, like shockwaves, devastating everyone who'd hoped the rebellion would succeed. The handsome, impassioned young Prince, nephew of the Emperor, had been the great white hope for Libby and so many like her. He'd fought for the independence of those who were sick of the Empire. The fat, bloated Empire that ruled every aspect of every life, offering security, health and education only to those who submitted to its total invasion. Billy had been all ready to sign up for the Prince's army when the news came that the great man had been assassinated, along with his heavily pregnant wife, by members of his own personal guard. The Emperor had declared it an act of hideous cruelty, denounced the morality of every Independent, then swiftly moved to capture and execute every single one of them. To Libby's mind, the retribution had been a little too quick, too well-organized. But then, what did she know of politics and warfare? "They told us every Independent had been killed,” she said. "Yes. Well.” Swann blinked hard. “Not every one. When the Prince was killed there was no one to take over his army. All his faithful lieutenants fought amongst themselves, argued and squabbled and destroyed the army from within.” He paused.

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“You said the Emperor knows a bargain. He got the Prince's army to do half his work for him. When the Empire attacked there wasn't even a consensus on how to defend. They killed millions. Heaps and heaps of dead. And the ones who survived went into hiding. Learned their lesson,” he added bitterly. Libby looked up at him, pale skin and dark hair, black eyes focused somewhere far away. She thought about the laser scar on his ribs, the marks from the hot irons they'd beaten him with, and the small, jagged scar on the back of his neck. Someone had micro-chipped Swann, and someone else had torn it out. She wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her head on his chest. Swann's hands remained resting on the ship's rail. He didn't quite seem to know she was there. "What about the Empress?” she asked, and felt Swann shake himself slightly. "Empress?” He shrugged. “Unsolved mystery. She's for us, against the Emperor, and that's really all we know. She keeps things very close to her chest. Never communicates by tech. I don't even know what she is, do you? Not Mer, or shapechanger, or fae..." "I never really thought about it,” Libby confessed. Swann stood silently for a while, letting Libby rest against him, then he slid one hand up to her short blonde hair and stroked it thoughtfully. She leaned into his hand, tilted her head back and smiled at him. He smiled back, but it didn't go near his eyes. "Libby,” he said, and paused. "Swann?” she replied, her tone playful, but he was too distracted to notice. "The Emperor is looking for you,” he said, dark gaze meeting hers. “Reports of a girl who can turn into a dragon could possibly be dismissed, but then you went and destroyed the Throne Room and dozens of Imperial soldiers saw you." Libby winced. “I was looking for the Emperor,” she said. "I know you were. Well, now he's returning the favor. Only..." "Only, what? Is this like that tiger changer he wanted for his harem?” She laughed. “Swann, look at me, I ain't harem material."

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He frowned. “No. Not for his harem. He wants you for a breeding program." The smile died on her lips. “Breeding program?" "Female dragons are really rare,” Swann said quietly. “I did some asking around. The only female dragon anyone else had heard of was Hungarian. A tribe in the Carpathians." "You think we could be related?" "I hope not,” Swann said fervently. “Besides, you're a red dragon, yes? Descended from y ddraig goch?" Libby stared at him. “What did you say?" "Y ddraig goch, the Welsh dragon." Y ddraig goch. She mouthed it silently to herself once or twice. She smiled. "What?” Swann said. "I don't think I ever told you my real name,” said Libby. Swann frowned. “It's Liberty. Liberty Draycock." "Dray—” This time when Swann smiled it was the warm, kind smile she remembered from the first time they'd met, under the water when he'd saved her life. “I see. You don't remember your parents?" She shook her head. “Billy and I hacked into the Collective's records one night before we left. Changed our details, swapped iris scans and fingerprints, that sort of thing. We'd deleted all the family details before I thought to look at ‘em." "Swapped iris scans?" "Yeah. If anyone scanned my eyes now, they'd get a reading for a girl called Flina Kershaw. Last I heard she was turning tricks to make a living. It ain't pretty,” she said, at his distasteful expression, “but it's more legal than stealing gold." "You stole gold?” His lips flickered with a smile. “From who?" "The Empire. They got lots and I got none. Had quite a pile of it in Carnalis." Swann blinked a couple of times. She was beginning to find it adorable. “Forgive me,” he said, “but if you had a pile of gold, how come you were living in the slums?"

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Libby sighed, because this was the part no one ever understood. “Gold ain't for spending. It's for having. For a dragon, it's a source of comfort, of power. It's like ... I dunno, like oxygen. Like..." "Water?” Swann said. "Yeah. Maybe. I suppose—for you anyway.” She thought about it. “You can live without it, but you're not half the person you are with it." "I'm certainly not.” He gave her that warm smile again, but it soon faded. “Libby, listen. Gold theft is the least of your worries now. That Hungarian dragon? She's little more than a broodmare. And that's with her own people. If the Emperor got hold of you, imagine what he'd do." My lord husband is always searching for the next breed of super-soldier. After a while, I imagine they'll start experimenting with dragon hybrids. She shuddered, and Swann held her a little closer. “I didn't think you could make hybrids,” she said. “Between species." "Who knows? The Empire's full of labs. I'm sure they'd have fun finding out." "I don't want to be a broodmare,” Libby said. “I don't want to be some lab experiment." "No,” Swann said. “Trust me, I understand you on that one.” When she frowned, he explained, “Why do you think the Mer never revealed ourselves? The Prince assured us freedom. The Emperor? I don't think so.” He kissed her temple. “I won't let him take you. I swear." Libby winced. Around them, the air had grown cooler, the night darker. But Swann held her close against his body, keeping her warm. Keeping her safe. She smiled at that. I'm a swiving dragon, she thought. I can keep myself safe. But it was nice to have someone else offer.

***

Dinner featured fish and seaweed in large proportions. The Mer crew drank a salty liquor that made Libby gag, and this in turn made them laugh.

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She had the definite feeling they didn't like her much. Still, after her stunt on deck, she couldn't really blame them. "Wake me when we're approaching Azov,” Swann said after the meal, standing and looking hotly at Libby, “or if there's any communication." The slim, dark-haired young Mer called Diver raised one eyebrow pointedly. “And where will you be, Swann?" "In my quarters, Diver,” Swann said, and a few of the crew guffawed as Libby got to her feet. “Entertaining our guest, since you lot are being so inhospitable." "I don't think she'd enjoy our kind of entertainment,” said Diver. Swann said nothing, but extended his hand to Libby, whose cheeks were burning. She hurried from the room with him, down the short corridor to his quarters. "They all know we're going to be doing the naughty all night, don't they,” she said, and Swann gave her that warm smile. His eyes grew hot. "All night?" "Well, some sleep would be nice,” she said, and Swann replied by backing her up against the wall and kissing her soundly. “Or maybe that's not necessary,” she squeaked. Swann grinned and tugged her into his room, closing the door and locking it. "Keeping me in?” she said. "Keeping them out.” He pulled off his shirt. “Half of them are convinced they're the right man for me, and if I'd only try it with a man, I'd be converted." "Have you?” Libby asked, fascinated. “Ever tried it with a man?" He tensed ever so slightly, which she took to mean yes. “It wasn't to my taste,” he said, face shuttered. Then just as abruptly, his expression cleared and he grabbed her by the waist. “I prefer curves. Soft skin.” He ran his hands up to her breasts, cupping them through her shirt. “Men don't have these." "Well, some of them do,” Libby said. “The ones that need exercise." Swann smiled and helped her take off her shirt. Since there were no other women on board, she was wearing the smallest men's clothes available, and had no

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undergarments. Swann ran his hands over her bare breasts, a look of devotion on his face. "So beautiful,” he murmured. His thumbs brushed her nipples, and Libby let out her breath. "Swann?” she said, and he made a sound of acknowledgement, although his attention never left her breasts. “I need to ask you something." "We have to be in human shape to do it,” he said, not looking up. "What?" "Sex,” he clarified, glancing at her, then turning his face back to her breasts and nuzzling the upper curves. “Can't do it with a tail. It's usually the first thing people ask,” he added. "Not, ‘How do you do’ or ‘What's your name,’ but ‘How do you have sex'?" Swann tweaked her nipples. “Okay, maybe not the first." "That wasn't what I was going to ask,” Libby said, although it had cleared up an issue in the back of her mind. “I wanted to ask about the Empress." This time he looked up at her properly. “I told you, I don't know much." "You were in her harem,” Libby said, and the shuttered look came over his face again. "Yes. But I was never one of her concubines. It was just a cover, to get me back to health, to get me out of Carnalis." "But why? I mean, did she do this with a lot of captives?" "Not that I know of, although she was instrumental in getting an Imperial Traitor released recently. Listen, I don't understand her motives. She said I would be important, and that's all. She didn't say what for." Libby frowned. “Are you sure we can trust her?" "Yes,” Swann said, certainty in his voice. “I am." "And you swear she didn't tell you to fuck me?" His eyes narrowed, then he smiled. “Libby,” he said, “is that what this is about? You think I was doing it on orders, not because I wanted to?” He slid one hand over her

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waist to her back and pulled her against him. His bare chest was warm, sprinkled with dark hairs that tickled her breasts, and through the clothing they both still wore she could feel the stirrings of his erection. His eyes were warm, his smile kind. “Libby,” he said, “Liberty Draycock. I took you to bed because I wanted to.” He brushed a strand of hair away from her eyes. “Why wouldn't I want to? You're beautiful, and passionate, and—" "I'm not beautiful,” Libby said, rolling her eyes. "Well, I say you are, and mine's the opinion that matters here. Look, the Empress didn't even tell me you were a girl." Libby thought of the bandages binding her modest breasts and the socks stuffed down her pants. Her cheeks went pink. “So you thought you were waking up with a boy?" "No, I'd figured you out by then. Seeing you naked gave me a few clues,” Swann said, starting to unfasten her pants. "And had I been a boy? Would you have put me in Diver's bed?" Swann frowned, glancing up at her as he stripped off the rest of her clothing, then started on his own. “What is this? Why are you so interested in what men do together?" Libby shrugged. Mostly it was curiosity, mixed in with a dose of excitement. Sometimes, although she'd never admitted it to a lover, she fantasized about being with two men. "It's just that your whole crew seem to be into each other, except for you. I'm just surprised you haven't—" "Well, I have,” Swann said shortly, standing back and folding his arms across his chest. “And I didn't really care for it, and I don't want to talk about it, all right?" He'd withdrawn from her. The warmth had left his eyes, replaced by something that looked like anger. Libby reached out to him, and he flinched. "What is it you're hiding from?” she said. “Swann, what happened to you with a man that was so bad it's put you off forever?"

Chapter Eight His jaw was set. His eyes blinked, hard, his gaze refusing to settle anywhere near hers. His eyes had been adoring her a few minutes ago, and now they didn't even seem to like her any more. And he'd been so angry earlier when she'd taunted him about whoring for the Empress. Well, partly she'd done it to push his buttons, and partly out of fear that he really had only fucked her because he'd been ordered to. But she hadn't expected him to react so violently. What had she said that made him nearly throttle her? "I think you like it, don't you?” she murmured softly, and Swann's head jerked up. His eyes were blazing. "Why does that upset you so much?” she said. “You tried it with a man and you didn't want to like it? Is that it?” He didn't strike her as the intolerant type. "Didn't want to like it?” Swann said, his tone hollow, his eyes flashing. “Didn't want it at all." He shoved past her to the bed and threw himself down on the edge, head in hands, elbows on knees. Libby stared for a moment, appalled, then she swiftly knelt before him. "Swann,” she began, touching his arm, but he flinched away from her. “Look, I'm sorry. I ... was it while you were captured?" A pause, then he nodded without lifting his head from his hands. Libby sat back on her haunches and closed her eyes. A memory came to her, perhaps ten years old. She'd been somewhere in her mid-teens. Young enough to reckon she could take care of herself. Old enough to fear she couldn't.

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A city—she wasn't sure which one, except that it had been an old city, one of the few to escape the rising seas. Johannesburg, perhaps, or maybe La Paz. Somewhere hot. Steaming. Sweat dripped down her back, gathered behind her knees, burned her eyes. There was gold nearby. She could hear its seductive, melodic Song. It was the Song that had distracted her, led her into a blind alley without checking her escape routes. And into that alley had followed three youths, a few years older than Libby and all with a cruel, dead-eyed look to them. The tallest of them sniffed. A smile stretched his cracked lips. “Think we got a ripe one here,” he said. "Hot for it,” said the boy on his left. Steam rose from his dirty, glistening skin. "A virgin,” said the one on the right, licking his lips. His teeth were stained, and he stank of rank sweat. "I get her first!” said the tall boy quickly. He leered at Libby. “I'm gonna break that little pussy of yours wide open." "I'll kill you first,” said Libby, calculating her chances of changing and surviving. They'd come here to escape the war, she and Billy, but nowhere in the world was completely safe. Billy was somewhere hiding out from Imperial recruiting parties. She was on her own. A quick glance up told her the sky was lousy with Imperial ships that'd gun her down in a second, and without the gold that was calling to her, she wouldn't have enough strength to overpower them. Which left her on two feet, armed with only a small knife. "I'd like to see you try,” said the boy on the left. A knife glinted in his hand, and Libby saw the glitter of Imperial enhancements along the blade. His friends were carrying similar knives, the blades of which could be extended into swords, or heated to blazing temperatures within seconds, or morph attachments that could saw through steel or bone. "I'd like to see it, too,” said a fourth voice from above Libby, and all three youths snapped their heads in that direction.

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A man sat casually on the edge of the low roof of a building backing onto the alley. He might have been there the whole time—Libby had never seen or heard any movement. His face was obscured by a hat and a tangle of dark hair, but his shoulders were broad and his build muscular. At his hip he wore a sword. Libby had only seen such a weapon on news feeds, and only in blurry resolution as a camera tried to capture the Prince's Royal Guard. "She's ours,” said the tall boy, flicking a dirty hand through his grimy hair. The stranger laughed. He leapt easily to the ground, landing like a cat, perfectly balanced, between Libby and the boys. "Like it hot, do you lads?” he said. "Don't swiving encourage them!” she yelped, and the boys laughed. "Wouldn't dream of it,” said the man. As he smiled she saw the glint of fangs and felt a ripple of genuine fear, because he exuded danger like gold emanated the Song. Even in dragon shape, she doubted she'd be able to fight him and come out alive. Dread chilled her, the sweat on her body making her shiver. “I just wondered if they knew what they were letting themselves in for." "Hot pussy,” cried one of the boys. "Tight virgin pussy,” corrected another. "How about a twenty-foot scaly fire-breathing dragon?” said the stranger, and Libby stared at him, open-mouthed. The boys laughed, but the stranger didn't. Their laughter died. "Twenty feet?” he said to Libby, conversationally. “Twenty-five?" "I've never measured myself,” she said hoarsely. He leaned close, and Libby saw two pale blue eyes before one of them winked at her. He held out something, and it Sang to her. A pouch full of gold, which he pressed into her hand. "Neither have I,” he said, and Libby suddenly laughed. And with the laughter came confidence, and with confidence came her dragon shape.

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She changed, and the boys scattered. The stranger shook his head as they retreated. "Keep the gold,” he said. “I've no use for it." Faltering, Libby changed back and tried to thank him. But he waved her into silence. "Men don't rape,” he said. “Cowards rape. An act of dominance, of theft, and in their case, breathtaking stupidity. Remember that. And also remember that next time you're cornered in a blind alley, there probably won't be a Royal Guard on hand to rescue you." "Thank you, sir,” Libby said, but the stranger was already gone. Ten years later, her virginity well and truly disposed of, Libby knelt at the feet of a strong, resolute man who'd faced death and withstood torture, but still had something vital stolen from him by some sadistic bastard from the Imperial Guard. Across his bare back she saw the faint marks left by a whip. On his pale wrists were the remains of scars caused by shackles. She thought about the stranger in the steaming city, and said quietly to Swann, “Rape is an act of cowardice, of dominance, of theft. I never understood that until now." Swann lifted his head and looked at her, his eyes bleak. "They stole something from you, Swann. They beat you and burned you, and you never gave in. You kept your spirit, your dignity. But there's one way to steal that from someone, and the stronger they are, the prouder they are, the bigger the prize is." She reached for his hand, and this time he didn't flinch away. "I know all about theft,” she said. “Believe me, I've been doing it long enough. But all I ever stole was property. Not life, not free will. That's what the Empire does. It breaks you any way it can." Swann was silent for a long moment. His eyes still didn't seem to like her much. Eventually he spoke, and his voice was hoarse. “I guess they knew I liked women,” he said, “and that a man would be more degrading."

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Libby said nothing, but moved herself closer to him. Her naked skin touched his, and he absently cradled her against him, between his legs. His body was hard, his skin speckled with hairs, a total contrast to her smooth skin and soft flesh. He didn't pull away from her. "The Empire had broken them,” he said, his voice coming from far away. “Two or three of them, maybe more. I tried not to keep track. Beards and rough hands so I knew they were men, so I couldn't escape it even with my eyes closed. They never said a word, never looked at me, never did anything they weren't ordered to do. Like drones. They took it in turns, sucking and stroking, sometimes two of them at once, until I was so hard I could barely breathe. And then at a word, they'd—stop. Just stop, and leave me there." Libby wrapped her arms around his waist. "And she'd say, ‘Tell me where the Prince is, and I'll let you come. Tell me what his plans are, and you can come.’ Always the same demands. Over and over. And then her drones would come back and start it up again, suck me until my balls were blue, and then stop when I was desperate. They used a ring,” he said, encircling the base of his cock, “like this, to build up the pressure. To make me desperate." Libby pressed her head against his stomach and felt her eyes sting with furious tears. They will burn. "Over and over,” Swann said distantly. “And when she got tired of that, the beatings again. The hot irons. Then the slaves and the cock ring. By the time the Empress appeared I was nearly ready to tell them anything. I'd have made stuff up if they'd just stop." He lapsed into silence, and Libby willed herself not to cry for him. Instead she hugged him fiercely, came up on her knees so she faced him, and kissed him softly, gently, pouring into him all the reassurance, compassion, love and tenderness she could never manage to put into words. She stroked his hair, held him close and kissed him, and gradually Swann responded, coming back to her from whatever terrible place he'd been in while he

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spoke. She stroked his lips with her tongue, tasted his power and his strength, and licked inside. Swann kissed her back as if there was nothing else in the world, and for that endless moment, there wasn't. When Libby drew back, breathing hard, Swann's eyes were black, fathomless, and full of pain. She cupped his face in her hands and said softly, “An act of dominance, of theft, and in their case, breathtaking stupidity." He blinked hard, frowning. "They tried to break you, Swann." "They nearly succeeded." "But only nearly. And they didn't reckon with one thing." He looked at her questioningly. "That one day you'd hook up with a dragon who hates the Empire just as much as you do. They will burn, Swann. I promise you." He looked at her, eyes scanning her face, and then kissed her again, softly. Wrapping his arms around her, he lifted her onto the bed and stretched out beside her. "I carry hell about me,” he said, “all my blood is fired in swift revenge." "That's where the name came from?" "A human play, hundreds of years old. The Empress had a collection,” Swann said. "The ‘she’ you talked about,” Libby asked softly. “Who was she?" He squeezed his eyes shut, and Libby realized the reflex was him trying not to see something he didn't want to see. When his eyes opened again, full of anguish, she knew the memory was twice as strong behind closed lids. "One of their interrogators,” he said. “I never learned her name." Libby kissed his jaw, his cheek, his nose. “I'll burn her too,” she said. “Skin and flesh and bones. I'll track her down and turn her to ashes." "You don't have to do that,” Swann said as Libby kissed his eyes. "I do,” she replied.

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"No. Just ... love me. Make me forget it.” He pulled her tight against his body, and whispered, “Make it go away, Libby. I'm so tired of remembering it." She stroked his cheek and kissed him again, fitting her body against his. Soft curves against hard muscles. Libby had never really thought of herself as a girlie girl, but clearly Swann did, his hands memorizing her breasts, her waist, her buttocks. Love me, he said, so she did, kissing his neck, stroking his chest, taking his hand and molding it to her breast. He gave a half smile and stroked her, kneaded her flesh, as Libby kissed and licked his chest. She reached one nipple and flicked her tongue across it, listening to his sharp exhale and stroking his arms, his shoulders, any part of him she could reach. Her fingers counted the ridged muscles in his stomach, trailing her fingertips downwards and enjoying the way his muscles leapt under her touch. She cupped his hipbone in her palm and swirled her tongue around his nipple, sucking the tight nub into her mouth. Her hand slipped down over his hip to his thigh, stroking the rough hairs there, tracing patterns over his skin with infinite slowness until she'd reached his inner thigh. Then she started to walk her fingers upwards. Switching her attention to his other nipple, she heard the hitch in his breath as she approached his groin, and she turned her head slightly to regard him. He had a lovely cock, strong and straight, thick enough even in repose to give a girl ideas. Now, as it began to swell and stiffen, those ideas became quite graphic. She gently cupped his balls, stroked the crisp dark hairs covering them, and moved up his body slightly to kiss his mouth as she did. Her tongue delicately delved into his mouth while her hand caressed his heavy sac, her palm cupping him while her fingers explored the skin behind. Swann's breathing grew a little faster, but from the wild look in his eyes she wasn't sure if it was with pleasure. She wrapped her free arm around his shoulders and moved her hand from his balls, but he caught her wrist and guided her back. Smiling against her mouth, he used his other hand to slide down her back, pressing her against

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him, before sliding between her buttocks and searching out the swollen folds between her legs. Libby smiled back, and palmed his cock as he investigated her pussy. She was wet, aching for him in fact, and the touch of his fingers was like water on burning skin. Speaking of burning ... she raised her head and regarded his shoulder. The redness had faded, and the torn flesh had begun to heal. Contritely, she brushed her lips over the wound, and Swann shook his head and brought her face back up to his. "It's fine,” he said. “You don't have to do that." "Does it still hurt?" He shook his head—an obvious lie, but one she was willing to ignore—and kissed her again. For a blissful eternity they lay together, kissing hotly and stroking each other. Libby rubbed her thumb up and down the smooth skin of Swann's cock, wrapped her fingers around as much of its girth as she could, and squeezed very gently. Swann responded by sliding one finger inside her and pumping slowly. "I can't do this with one hand,” she murmured into his mouth, and trailed the other down his body, stroking and teasing as she went. She encircled both hands around his cock and began to pump them in time with his motions inside her. Swann let out a hard breath and inserted another finger. She smiled, reached down between her own legs and covered his hand with her own. Plunging her fingers between her slippery folds, she coated them in her own juices then returned to spread the moisture all over Swann's cock. He moaned, and she began pumping again. "You have such a lovely cock,” she told him, rotating her wrists gently. “Just the right size, thick and long. It feels,” she ran her tongue over his lips as she thought about it, “like heaven inside me. Hot, hard, filling me up and stretching me out." Swann was breathing hard now, his chest heaving, and he bit down on Libby's lower lip.

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"It tastes good too,” she said. “I like having your thick, meaty cock in my mouth, heavy against my tongue. I like licking up and down and sucking the top of it. I like tasting the little droplets seeping from the top, catching them on my tongue." Talking about it made her want to do it, so she slid down his body, removing his hand from between her legs and placing it on her breast instead. His fingers slid around, slippery and hot, and pinched her nipple as she took the head of his cock in her mouth and worked it, up and down. He bucked against her, hips coming up off the bed, and Libby braced herself for his orgasm. But it didn't come, and instead he slid his hands through her hair and stroked her head as she licked him. "You really are delicious,” she sighed, and licked a drop of moisture from the tip. “Mmm. You tasted good when you came in my mouth." Swann was panting now, thrusting gently against her hands and mouth. She cupped his balls and ran her tongue all over his cock, licking off every trace of herself she'd spread there earlier. "Libby,” Swann gasped. “I want to be inside you. When I come. I want to be inside you." She sucked his balls into her mouth, felt how they were beginning to tighten, and straightened up. "Well, that makes two of us,” she said, and ran a hand down her stomach to drag through her wet folds while he watched. “How do you want me?" Swann nearly whimpered, grabbing her and hauling her up his body to straddle him, grasping his cock and pushing it inside her. Libby sighed as he filled her up, adjusted herself to take as much of him as she could, and began to move. "No,” Swann said, “hold still." She did, and he framed her face in his hands. His dark eyes searched hers, vulnerable and anxious. “Libby, I..." She stroked his hair back from his face and smiled encouragingly. "I can't find the right thing to say,” he muttered.

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"Then I'll give you time to think about it,” she said, and squeezed him with her internal muscles. Swann groaned, clutched her hips and jerked inside her, flooding her with his come. Libby smiled, kissed his lips and snuggled down against his chest. Swann held her for a few moments, chest heaving, skin slick with sweat, then he murmured in her ear, “If you think that's it, you can think again."

Chapter Nine She raised her head and looked down at him, and Swann grinned. “That was glorious, darling, but you didn't come, did you?" "This wasn't about me—” she began, and he pressed a finger to her lips. "Sex is about give and take,” he said. “Mutual pleasure. If I learned nothing else from the Empire it's that.” He ran his hand down her back, between her buttocks, and felt her pussy stretched around his cock. His come leaked from her, and he spread the moisture around a little bit, coating her inner thighs and the tight ring of her ass. Libby's breath caught, her inner muscles contracting slightly, and his cock jerked in response. Swann brought his hand back up to his face and deliberately licked his fingers. She had made him come, and the evidence was all over his hand. Libby watched him, her eyes wide, then her tongue darted out and she licked him too. A spasm of arousal jolted Swann, and as their eyes met over his wet fingers they both smiled, and licked his hand clean together. "I told you, you taste good,” Libby said, her voice husky. "That's you and me,” Swann said. “A good combination. In fact..." He lifted her off his body and cupped her wet pussy with his hand. She was dripping with his come, and he gathered it to spread over her breasts. When her nipples were dripping with his come—his come, she'd made him come!—he pulled her forward and licked it all off. Her breasts were so sweet, soft and round, her nipples tight and hard and begging to be sucked. As she straddled him her wet pussy rubbed against his stomach, her hips rocking as she gasped and let out little moans of pleasure.

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When he'd cleaned her off he pulled her further forward, dragging her wet folds up his body, over his stomach and chest until he had her kneeling over his face. He wanted to taste his own come inside her, to remind himself, to remember that Libby had heard his story and wasn't afraid, or disgusted, or pitying. That she'd given him pleasure because she wanted to. He stuck his tongue as deep inside her as it would go, and she let out a low moan. Swann thrust his tongue inside her and brought his hand up to play with her labia, rubbing the puffy swollen folds between finger and thumb. He stroked her all over, learning every part of her delicious pussy, before licking her from bottom to top and wrapping his tongue around her clit. Libby gasped and began to rock backwards and forwards, spreading moisture all over his face and grinding herself into his mouth. Swann feasted on her, sucking on her clit and plunging his fingers into her, curving them around to hit the sweet spot in front and making her yelp. "Oh God! Swann, that's so—oh, ohh my Go-o-d, oh, oh!" She came, a tight squeeze around his fingers and a rush of hot pleasure on his tongue. Swann ran his hand up her back to stop her from flopping over, then gently helped her lie back against him while he continued to lick at her. Libby continued to orgasm, gasping and moaning, her head tossing and her hair caressing his groin. He was getting hard again, something that Libby seemed to realize as her orgasm subsided, and she turned her head to give his cock a little lick. Swann shuddered, and she gave a throaty laugh. Bringing up one hand, she used it to angle his cock closer to her mouth and sucked the end of it. Swann thrust his fingers faster inside her, feeling her body shake as her fingers rhythmically squeezed his shaft. She was so wet, so incredibly wet, and so tight, contracting hard around him. He needed to be inside her, to feel that heat and wetness envelop his cock.

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Rolling her over onto her front, he knelt up behind her and pulled her hips back against his groin. Libby looked back over her shoulder, her pupils wide and her lips bitten red. "Yes,” she panted. “Oh God, yes. Inside me, now!" Swann took hold of his cock and ran it up and down the length of her pussy, coating the head in her copious juices, before parting her swollen folds and plunging inside. This time, not so desperate for orgasm, he took his time, grasping her hips and finding a rhythm. Rocking back and forth, one hand sliding forward to cup her breast and roll her nipple between his finger and thumb. Libby, her head resting on her arms, rocked with him, her back sheened with sweat, small moans and whimpers escaping her mouth. Her pussy fluttered and tightened around him, and when he stroked her clit she shook with another small orgasm. She was tight, so tight, and he wanted to come again. Swann pulled out of her, and flipped her to her back. Libby lay there, legs apart, pink folds glistening, nipples tight and eyes half closed. Her lips were parted, her breasts heaving, and she looked like a woman who'd been totally and utterly satisfied. Her eyes flickered open and she smiled dazedly at him. “I think I might need a rest,” she murmured, then her gaze lit on his swollen, throbbing cock, and she reached forward, wrapping her hands around it. “I think we both do,” she said, and edged closer, milking him with her hands. Swann threw his head back and gasped. “Don't you want to come inside me?” Libby murmured, but he shook his head and thrust into her hands. He wanted to come all over her, to see his seed spurting out, to know, to really know, that nothing had been taken from him. He came with Libby rubbing her breasts over his cock, and as she massaged the sticky fluid in he kissed her, long, deep, and grateful.

***

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"You may stay here in peace,” said the Trident of the Black Sea Deeps, and the crew of the Swift Revenge bowed in unison. Libby, standing just behind Swann, hastily followed suit. “Your surface-dweller friends expect you. Actinia will show you the way." Swann bowed again, then turned to Diver and gave him instructions for unloading the ship, which was moored outside in the dark water. The court of the Black Sea Trident was in the deepest part of the water, a large bay that had once been connected to the rest of the world's oceans by only a narrow strait. After the Fall, when the water had risen, the strait had flooded, creating a wide channel between the Black Sea and the Mediterranean. The chambers they'd entered had been carved right out of the rock under the seabed. The walls were draped with a softly glowing moss and the people moving around were very pale, as might befit someone who never saw the sunlight. Several of them looked at her with undisguised curiosity. The crew departed, and Libby was left with Swann and a young Mer woman with hair as pale as her skin and very dark eyes. She gave them a polite smile and said, “This way, please." She moved gracefully off toward one of the side arches at the far end of the room, and Swann followed, slipping his hand into Libby's and giving her a smile. She smiled back, fighting the urge to lean into him, wrap her arms around him and generally behave like a soppy teenager. Since he'd unburdened himself to her, she and Swann had become extremely close. They'd been late arriving at the Black Sea Deeps, having been delayed in the neighboring basin of Azov while Libby and Swann ignored Diver's frantic hammering on the door and made love in the bathtub. Swann had woken Libby with his hands on her breasts, his erection pressing between her buttocks, and they'd had slow, hot morning sex in bed. Then, sweaty and sticky from the previous night's activities, Swann had led her into the bathroom, filled the tub and bathed her tenderly.

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When they were both clean, he slid under the water, changed to his Mer shape and licked her pussy until she screamed. With no need to come up for air, he stayed down for a long time, sucking on her clit and thrusting his fingers inside her as Libby clutched at the skin of his back and the scales of his tail and completely lost her mind. In Mer shape, his skin gave way to scales just below his belly button, blue-black scales that gleamed even in the dimmest light. His upper body remained the same, apart from the gills on his neck and the webbing between his fingers, which Libby found inexplicably sexy. Then again, she was finding everything about Swann sexy. After he'd made her come underwater, he'd surfaced, changed back to his human shape, and pulled her onto his lap to ride his stiff cock. It was at this point Diver had started hammering on the door. He'd been ignored. The Mer woman Actinia led them down a quiet corridor lit by more of the weird moss, and to a door set into the rock. “Your friends are in here,” she said. “You may use this room,” she gestured to the next door down, “if you wish. Is there anything you need?" Swann assured her there wasn't, and she departed, her pale hair gleaming in the low light. "Okay, I know this place is normal to you, but I'm a little weirded out,” Libby said as he knocked on the door. "What do you mean?" "Well, it's dark, and everyone keeps staring at me—" "Well, there aren't that many surface-dwellers here. You look different." "Why is everyone so pale?" Swann gave her a look. “It's called the Black Sea,” he reminded her. “Not a lot of sunlight down here. Most Mer are pale, unless they spend a lot of time above the surface." "And everything smells like seaweed,” Libby added, as Swann knocked again. "Now you're just being picky. Is anyone going to answer this door?"

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"Maybe they're out,” Libby said, and turned the handle. “Hello?” she called, entering and finding an empty sitting room. But sounds came from the next room, and she started toward it, Swann following. "Excuse me, are you—” she began, pushing open the door, and then her jaw dropped and she could think of nothing else to say. In front of her, on a large bed, lay a man on his back. His face and upper body were obscured by the woman kneeling over him, enthusiastically sucking his cock while he tongued her pussy. Behind her stood a second man, his hands on her hips, thrusting into her at a leisurely pace. Libby stared. In her career as a gold thief, she'd often come across couples fucking, usually completely unaware she was even there. A few years ago she'd even seen a copy of a vid someone had sneaked out of the Emperor's Hall of Pleasure, where his favored courtiers spent their time sucking, fucking, spanking, and often indulging in acts of such imaginative variety that Libby needed to concentrate to figure out what they were doing. But she'd never really come so close to other people having sex. Never stood and watched the sweat trickling over someone else's skin, heard the wet sucking, the slap of flesh against flesh, smelled the hot scent of arousal. Beside her, Swann sucked in a sharp breath and blinked repeatedly. The threesome on the bed continued, apparently unaware they were being watched. The woman lifted her head and gasped, her fingers clenching in the bed sheets. Her dark hair tumbled around her shoulders as she shook and panted, rocking her hips against her two lovers. Breathing hard, she began massaging the cock she'd just been sucking. The man thrusting into her ran his hands along the length of her back, reaching her neck and tenderly brushing her long hair out of the way. His face was obscured by his own hair, but then he lifted a hand to push it back, and Libby stared anew, because he was the blue-eyed stranger who'd rescued her all those years ago from the street

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gang. A new scar ran down one side of his face, narrowly missing his eye, and his right forearm had been replaced by crude metal bionics, but she recognized him clearly. Fangs gleamed between his lips, and then he leant forward and sank his teeth into the neck of the woman he was fucking. She gave a cry and raised her hand to hold him there, fingers tangling in his hair, whole body rocking. “Yes,” she whimpered, “oh God yes." Libby and Swann stood transfixed, watching in amazement as the vampire drank from his lover, an experience apparently so pleasurable for her that she came, loudly, screaming and screaming as she was fucked and licked and bitten. Libby had never been with a vampire before, but she'd heard it was amazing. Just watching this one was making her distinctly horny. Between her legs, she felt moisture gathering, and when she tore her gaze from the threesome on the bed to glance at Swann, she saw he was definitely getting hard. The woman on the bed eventually subsided, resting her head next to the swollen cock she'd been neglecting, before beginning to lick and suck it again. The vampire straightened up, and turned his head to regard Libby and Swann without the slightest indication of surprise. "Can we help you?” he said, not slowing his measured pace of thrusting. His movements were languid, yet his eyes were sharp. Libby felt her face burn crimson. Beside her, Swann blinked hard, then said, “We were looking for Edward." The vampire glanced down, a look of amusement on his face. Between his legs rested the head of the other man, visible only as a crop of brown hair, his face buried between the legs of the woman sucking his cock. She raised her head at the sound of Swann's voice, but the vampire stroked her back soothingly, and she said nothing. "Edward can't talk right now,” said the vampire with half a smile, reaching around to fondle his lover's breasts. Her back arched and she made a purring noise in her throat.

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"Then we'll, uh, wait,” Swann said. He pointed to the wall. “Next door. We'll be next door." The vampire bowed his head, his expression mocking, and continued to thrust into the woman sucking Edward's cock. Swann grabbed Libby's hand and hustled her out of the room, back into the corridor, and shoved through the door Actinia had pointed out. Inside, Libby assumed, was a suite similar to the one they'd just been in, but she didn't take the time to look before she pinned Swann up against the door and kissed him, hard. Watching the three lovers in the next room had clearly made Swann just as hot as Libby. He tore at her clothes, exposing her breasts, kneading and pinching them. Libby fumbled with useless fingers at the opening of his pants, pulling out his cock and wrapping both hands around it. He was hard, throbbing, and she wanted him inside her desperately. Swann tugged down her pants, lifted her leg and drove into her, still leaning back against the door. She sank down on him, balancing on one tiptoe, grasping his shoulders to keep herself from falling. Swann cupped her buttocks and lifted her up, kissing her desperately all the while. Libby could see nothing in the dark room, but evidently Swann could, because he carried her a few paces, still impaled on his cock, and rested her against the back of a sofa. Then he gripped her hips and began thrusting into her, hard. Libby gasped at the sheer thrill of it, fucking frantically in the dark, still half dressed, wrapping both her legs tight around Swann's hips and holding on as he slammed into her. His balls slapped against her ass, his fingers dug into her hips, and his mouth was hot on her neck, her shoulder, her breast. Libby leaned away from Swann and arched her back, giving him better access to her breasts. He sucked one nipple deep into his mouth and she moaned, writhing against him. Leaning back changed the angle of his penetration, and his cock rubbed delightfully against the sweet spot inside her. She leaned back a little further, then

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further still, and as Swann's mouth left her breast she let herself fall against the sofa cushions, head upside down, Swann's thrusts dragging right against that spot inside her that drove her wild. Blood rushed to her head, or maybe it was just lust making her dizzy. Swann drove into her, hard and fast, and she knew he was as ready to explode as she was. Hot fire raced through her veins, and she slid one hand up the slope of her stomach to her pussy, felt his cock plunging into her, and pressed down hard on her clit. Libby came, gasping and writhing, and seconds later Swann shuddered and spurted hot come into her. She lay upside down on the sofa, breathing hard, her body trembling with aftershocks. "I really needed that,” she panted, and Swann laughed shakily. He pulled out of her, and she heard him adjust his clothing. Letting herself slide onto the sofa seat, sprawled on her side, Libby stretched luxuriously and wondered where her clothes had ended up. A light flared into existence, and she blinked against the sudden brightness. Swann was holding a sort of lamp with a flame burning inside it, the warm glow reflecting from his bare chest, gleaming with sweat. She sat up, reached for him and pulled him onto the sofa to kiss him deeply. She was just climbing into his lap, considering another go, when someone knocked at the door. "Think they've come to return the favor?” she murmured against Swann's mouth, and he smiled. "I'll go,” he said. “You're not wearing anything." She wasn't, and didn't care. Her body hot and languorous with pleasure, she lolled on the sofa as Swann went to the door and opened it. "Swann,” said a voice, friendly and cheerful. “You were looking for me?" "Yes. Sorry we interrupted you." "Wouldn't be the first time."

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Libby couldn't see who the visitor was, so she pulled on the shirt Swann had draped over the back of the sofa and sat up as he came in. A nondescript man with midbrown hair and forgettable features, he gave her a friendly smile and said, “I'm Edward." So this was the fabled Edward! He didn't look like anything special, but then Libby knew better than that. "I'm Libby,” she said. "A pleasure to meet you,” he said formally. “Carver and Nalina are having some food next door if you want to join them. I need to talk to Swann privately, if you don't mind." Libby frowned and glanced at Swann. “It's all right,” he said, smiling, “they won't eat you." "Unless you ask nicely,” added Edward. Swann handed her the pants he'd pulled off her, and she hurriedly got dressed. Swann caught her before she got to the door, held her against his body, and kissed her deeply. She clung to him, her body melting, and when he pulled back he stroked her face and smiled at her, that lovely warm smile of his. "I like being with you,” he said, and Libby smiled back. She smiled at Edward. She smiled at the door, at the Mer passing in the corridor, and when the door of the next suite was opened, she smiled at the scowling, dark-haired man there. "What are you so happy about?” he said doubtfully. "He likes being with me,” Libby said, and he stared at her as if she were mad. "Congratulations." "Carver, let her in,” called the woman Edward had named Nalina. Carver stood back, eyeing Libby as she passed him and found Nalina seated on the sofa, a glass of wine in her hand. She was pretty, far prettier than Libby would ever be, and held herself with elegance and grace. Even in the midst of searing hot passion, Libby recalled, this woman hadn't lost her class. She wore a dress that was simple but stunningly elegant,

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and her long dark hair was slightly damp from a recent shower. Against her pale skin, the red of her dress and her lips shone like jewels. In total contrast, Carver leaned against the wall like a bad-tempered bodyguard. His clothes had all seen better days, his dark hair was tangled, his face unshaven, and at his hip rode the sword Libby remembered. The scar on his face was obvious, painful and striking, and as he crossed his arms over his chest she saw the metal of his bionic arm glint in the light. The years since their last meeting had not been kind to him. "Edward said Swann would be bringing a female dragon here,” Nalina said, gesturing Libby to a seat, “but he didn't know your name." "Libby Draycock,” said Libby, “and you're Nalina. And you,” she turned to Carver, “saved my life ten years ago." Nalina raised her eyebrows at Carver, who shrugged. “Did I?" "Yes. Three boys were trying to attack me, and you scared them off. You said rape was an act of cowardice." "It is,” rumbled Carver. He looked at her with renewed interest. “A dragon,” he said thoughtfully. "It was somewhere hot,” Libby said. “Riyadh, or Johannesburg—" "La Paz,” he said, and Nalina laughed. "It's so sweet,” she said, “you intervening in a fight to save her honor." "Don't tell anyone,” he replied, “I have a reputation to uphold." Indeed he did. Now that she knew his name and could see his face clearly, Libby realized he'd been the subject of an Imperial manhunt about a month ago. He and Nalina had both been declared Imperial Traitors, a designation that usually resulted in death. But where Nalina had escaped the Emperor's cruelty, her lover hadn't fared so well. The Emperor had executed John Carver in the very Throne Room Libby had crashed into—or at least he appeared to. "I don't understand,” she said. “I thought you were dead." Carver gave a feral smile, his teeth white against his skin. “The world thinks I'm dead,” he said, “and I'm happy for them to believe it."

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"They shot him with lasers,” Nalina explained, holding out her hand to Carver, who took it and squeezed tightly. “They didn't realize he was a vampire. Your Captain Swann was the one who rescued him from that hideous terrace and got him to safety." "It's just Swann, not Captain,” Libby said, but she couldn't help a swell of pride that her lover had been the one responsible for such a deed. "I owe him a debt of gratitude,” said Nalina, smiling up at Carver. His expression softened with love, and that was when Libby knew she was in trouble. Because usually she'd have found such an expression nauseating, but today... ...today she found it sweet. Sweet! How would it feel if Swann looked at me like that? "Are you the dragon who tore a hole into the Throne Room and nearly killed the Empress?” asked Carver. "I am." His eyes gleamed. “Why didn't you finish it?" Libby frowned, because despite his apparent allegiance to Swann, he didn't seem to be a fan of the Empress. "I had no desire to be captured,” she said, and added with forced lightness, “The Emperor has put out a warrant for my arrest. He wants me for a breeding program." "Should have killed him before he got that far,” Carver said. "Well. Hindsight's always twenty-twenty,” Libby replied, annoyed. "Still, Edward will keep you safe,” said Nalina, pouring wine into a glass and handing it to Libby. "Edward?" "Yes. He was,” Nalina blushed prettily, “in here with us earlier." Libby shook her head. “No, I mean—I don't understand. About Edward keeping me safe?" "He's going to take you somewhere. I'm not sure where. He doesn't share all his plans with us. A very secretive man, Edward."

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Libby's fingers tightened around the stem of her glass. He's going to take you somewhere. Edward. Not Swann. "That's his plan?” Libby said slowly. “To hand me over to Edward?" Nalina and Carver shared a look. “Well, Edward can probably keep you safer than Swann." She shook her head irritably. Why did no one fight the Empire? Why did they all just hide? "Who is this Edward, anyway?"

Chapter Ten "Stop grinning at me like that,” Swann said, blinking at Edward. “Haven't you ever seen me with a woman before?" "Actually, no. I kind of thought you were—" "Don't say it,” Swann warned. "There's nothing wrong with being gay." "I know that. Do you think I'd have lasted long on the Revenge if I didn't know that? I'm just sick of people thinking I am." "Well, Libby's convinced me." "I mean, what is it? Is it my hair? Maybe I should change my hair,” Swann said, tugging at handfuls of it. Edward's smile widened. "And anyway! You've seen me with women before,” Swann added. “Before everybody decided I was gay. I used to get women all the time. Remember? Mention you were fighting for the Independents and they'd come flocking." "I was fighting them off,” remembered Edward. "I wasn't,” Swann said, grinning. Edward laughed. “So what changed?" Swann felt his smile slipping. He gave a shrug that he knew wasn't convincing. “The war,” he said, “changed a lot of things." Edward's smile faded too. “It did.” He paused. “Swann, what did they do to you?" Swann blinked and shrugged again. “Knives, hot irons, clamps, the usual. You know."

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"No,” Edward said, “I don't know. I've never been tortured.” His eyes lost focus for a moment. “Not physically, anyway." Swann turned away. “Yes, well. Like I said. Changed a lot of things. How did you know I was bringing Libby here?" "I'm very clever,” Edward said, winking, and Swann knew he'd never find out exactly what powers his friend possessed. “I got the impression you wanted me to take her off your hands, but...?" Swann blinked again, annoyed with himself for doing it and Libby for pointing it out. He threw himself at the sofa where he'd made love to Libby, and then held her afterwards. “But,” he said. "You'd rather keep her?" "She's not a possession to be passed around." "You know what I mean." "Yeah, I do. Hells, Edward, it's been two days. Not even that." "Maybe it's just sex,” said Edward, taking a seat opposite him. In the low light, his brown hair seemed lighter, his face more handsome. Swann might have assumed it was a trick of the light, but his Mer eyes were better adapted to gloom than the average human's, and besides, he knew Edward's visual tricks. "Maybe,” he said. “Or maybe she's bright and passionate and strong and funny and incidentally hates the Empire as much as I do." Edward was silent a moment. “You want to keep her with you." "I really kinda do." "But?" "But.” Swann shoved a hand through his hair. “But for one thing, we've got a submerged jaunt coming up—the Trident's hired us to transport a colony of anoxic fish to the Caspian Sea. Can't come above the surface, or they'll all suffocate. Or drown. Or ... what happens to creatures who don't breathe oxygen when they're exposed to it?" "Ichthyology was never my strong point. How long will you be gone?" "Couple of days. Maybe more. And then I—"

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The door suddenly burst open, light flooded the room, and Swann was on his feet with his knife in hand before he realized it was Libby. She held a candelabrum aloft and in the dancing shadows her face was demonic. Carver raced into the room after her, sword in his hand, a large tiger at his heels. The only person not to appear startled was Edward, who got calmly to his feet as Libby rushed at him with the candelabrum. She shoved the light in Edward's face. "You,” she said to him, “are dead." "Ah,” Edward said. “They told you, then?" "Told me?” Libby shrieked. “Told me!” She whirled on Swann. “Why didn't you tell me?" "Um.” He blinked a few times. “Tell you what?” That I'm planning on leaving you here, and I don't want to because I think I'm falling in love with you? "That your friend ‘Edward’ is the swiving Prince!" Silence fell, broken by a soft, organic sound as the tiger changed forms and became Nalina, standing naked and beautiful next to Carver. "Sorry,” she said to Edward, as Carver rolled his eyes and draped his jacket around her. "It's all right. She'd have found out eventually anyway." Libby was examining Edward's face critically. “You don't look..." As they watched, Edward's appearance altered subtly, his hair becoming fairer, his eyes bluer, his bone structure finer. His shoulders grew broader, his whole body becoming taller by a few inches. The entirely average man who'd first walked into the room turned into a gorgeous specimen of masculinity, his face both famous and adored. Swann had heard it said without hyperbole that the Prince's face was more familiar to most people than their own. Libby stared, her breath coming fast. Swann tried not to focus on the heaving of her chest, and failed utterly. "But you're dead,” she managed.

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"Only officially." She swallowed, and her gaze slid from Edward's face to Carver's sword. A weapon carried only by the Prince's Royal Guard. From the engraving on the hilt, Swann knew that Carver had once been the First Sword of the Royal Guard. The Prince's most trusted warrior. "And your wife?” Libby asked. Edward's gaze skittered to Carver, whose own hand touched the scar on his face. "She's gone,” Nalina said. "Gone?" "She's dead,” Carver said. “Even a psychopath like me can't defend against twelve assassins.” His sword moved subtly closer to Libby, which made Swann tense. “But I can defend against one dragon." "Carver, desist,” Nalina said. “She's not going to hurt anybody, are you, Libby?" Libby squeezed her eyes shut, and Swann wondered if she'd picked up the tic from him. "You got nothing to worry about from me,” she said to Edward, and everybody in the room relaxed. "You, on the other hand,” Libby spun on Swann, and he raised his hands defensively. "What?" "When were you gonna tell me you're handing me over to a complete stranger?" Another painful silence. Carver and Nalina tactfully retreated, and even Edward seemed to fade into the shadows. "Look, it's the best thing for you. My ship is too dangerous. You're too conspicuous." The look on her face was heartbroken. Then, very quickly, it resolved into nonchalance. “Fine. Don't want your stinking ship anyway. Smells like seaweed." "Libby,” he said, reaching out to her, and she flinched away. “Come on. It's for the best. Edward can take care of you—"

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"I ain't a child, Swann,” she spat, venom in her voice. “And I ain't gonna be his pet, either." "Pet? No one said anything about a pet—" "No? Then what? You want me to join the fight against the Empire?" "What fight?" "Exactly,” Libby snarled, and slammed out of the room before Swann could figure out what had just happened.

***

Tears burned her eyes as she ran. Bloody Swann! Just when she'd thought about giving some consideration to the feelings of affection she was beginning to develop for him, he went and did something like that. Handing her over to a stranger. Lying to her about the Prince. The swiving Prince, for God's sake! The man she'd believed in, the man Billy had believed in—that hundreds of thousands, maybe even millions of people had believed in. The shock of his death still made her stomach clench, the certain knowledge that without him the fight was lost, that the Empire would conquer every last corner of the globe, that the Independents had lost their cause and they'd never be free. But the Prince had survived. Survived, and remained hidden. Anger grew in her, swirled and heated and burned, until the tears falling from her eyes were hot, and her footsteps echoed loudly, her heart slamming against her chest, pain bouncing through her with every heartbeat. He'd stayed hidden, the man who could have freed them all. Hidden like a child, like a coward. And Swann knew. Even after everything the Empire had done to him, he knew and he did nothing about it. They will burn... And on top of everything, she was too conspicuous. "If he didn't want me on his ship, he could have just bloody said so,” she snarled. Or at least she tried to snarl. It came out as a sob.

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"He does want you,” said a voice behind her, and Libby spun around, angry that she'd been too upset to know anyone was following her. It was the Prince, handsome and infuriatingly calm, and she launched herself at him. "You! You of all people. What have you been doing for seven years? Do you know what you did to us all?" Edward held her off easily, his elegant frame deceptively strong. “Libby, I'm sorry." "So you swiving should be! We believed in you, you bastard, we thought you were going to bring us freedom, independence, and then you died and everything else died with you. Do you know how many people were put to death after you died? How many were imprisoned?" "Yes,” Edward said bleakly. “I know." "And you just hide here? I used to believe in you, Edward, but you know what, you're just another fucking coward. You could have come back, led an even bigger, better rebellion—" "Do you really believe that?” Edward said. Libby faltered, unsure in her rage whether she actually did or not. Then she thought of Billy, his eyes shining with hope, and Swann, broken and defeated, and rallied. “Do you know what they did to Swann because of you?" His dark blue eyes were steady on hers. “Knives, hot irons, clamps. You know, the usual." "How can you say that!” Libby screamed, and threw herself on him, clawing and biting and working up what little gold-depleted energy she had to change and burn him to hell. "I can say that because it's what he told me,” Edward said, just about managing to fend her off. “But something else happened, didn't it? They did more than that to him." "They killed his spirit,” Libby spat, “or at least they tried to."

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"They killed my wife,” Edward replied. “And my unborn child. And my men. And anyone who followed me." Libby hesitated, and he used the lull in her attack to pin her against the wall. His voice was soft, his eyes hard. "The Empire killed hundreds of millions because of me,” he said. “Because I made speeches, and roused people out of their comfortable Imperial lives, and incited them to rebellion. They had my face on banners. They lit candles for me. They believed in me, and that belief got them killed. And if I rose up again, if I came back from the dead, it'd be hailed as a bloody miracle, and more people would follow me, and more of them would die. Hundreds, Libby, of millions. Civilians. Children. The Empire is merciless in its revenge." "But,” Libby said, and her voice came out smaller, less certain, “it could be different this time—" "Yes. This time it could be worse." She swallowed, looked into the deep blue eyes that had once promised so much to so many, and said, “The Empire said it was an insider revolt. That your own Guard killed your wife." "Well, they didn't,” Edward said shortly. “It was the Empire. Imperial Guard, Carver reckons." Libby closed her eyes for a second, smelled the burn of laser fire, saw Billy's lacerated body lying in a heap on the dirty ground, and said, “The Imperial Guard killed someone of mine, too." She opened her eyes to see Edward staring at her, unblinking, eyes like midnight. "And they'll do it again. They'll take Swann, if they think it'll bring you to them. They did it to Nalina. Forced her to bargain her freedom for Carver's life, then went ahead and shot him anyway. They'll take whatever they can to get what they want." Remembering Swann's bleak eyes, Libby said, “They'll break you any way they can."

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"Yes. Like they broke Swann.” He regarded her intently. “And you know how, don't you? You know how they broke him?" Libby flinched and twisted away from him. Edward let her go, and she rubbed her wrists pointedly. "You don't know me well enough to attack me,” he said mildly. "And you don't know me well enough to ask personal questions about the man I'm sleeping with." Edward gave a half smile. “Touché.” He rubbed a hand through his gleaming golden hair. “It's about sex, isn't it? I haven't seen him with a woman since the war. Since before he was captured. He ended up on a gay pirate ship, the last place he'd be likely to find a woman—and yet he's not into men." "Definitely not,” said Libby. She met his eye and shrugged. “You could say that's what the Empire did to him." "Has he ever tried—" "Yes." Edward cocked his head. “Has he ever tried,” he repeated with exaggerated patience, “being with a man and a woman?" Memories of Edward with Carver and Nalina flashed graphically into her mind, and her face heated up. "Interesting,” Edward said. "He'd never go for it,” Libby said quickly, seeing which way this conversation was going. “I mean, they really, really did a number on him. Half his crew are always trying—" "But they don't know.” Edward looked thoughtful. “Libby. You saw me with Nalina and Carver, and you liked it. Didn't you?” he added, raising one eyebrow at her, and Libby wondered whether he somehow knew about the flutter of excitement in her pussy. “You'd like to try it with two men." "I—” She licked her lips. “Maybe. I've thought about it. But Swann would never —"

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"Wouldn't he? You two clearly have a healthy sexual relationship. He's fine about being with women. And he adores you." "Well, I wouldn't say ‘adores',” Libby began, her face burning. "I would,” Edward said, “and I'm rarely wrong about these things. I don't think there's much he wouldn't do for you." "Well, that might be one thing,” Libby muttered. Edward gave her a sudden, devastating smile. “How will you know,” he said, “until you ask?"

Chapter Eleven She gasped, her sweet nectar flooding his mouth, her hips arching up off the bed, her fingers tangling in his hair. Swann knew he'd never get tired of tasting her like this. And yet— And yet. "Lib,” Swann said, “I don't think I can do this." Libby blinked at him, dazed from her orgasm. She lay sprawled across the bed he'd been expecting to share with her and no one else, her legs apart, her breasts heaving, her nipples tight and her lips red. And in the corner of the room sat Edward, shirtless, watching. Swann cursed the words that had come out of his mouth half an hour earlier—"I'd do anything for you"— the words of a desperate idiot who thought he'd just lost the woman he was falling in love with. He didn't know that the anything she had in mind was to have sex while Edward watched them. "You seem,” Libby panted, “to be doing it all right so far." Swann closed his eyes, saw the black hair and red lips of his interrogator, heard the crack of her whip, and her voice, I think you like it, don't you?, and shuddered. "Maybe I should go,” Edward said softly, and Swann looked at him gratefully. “I know how proud you Mer can be. You wouldn't want a witness to your humiliation." "I—what?" As Edward stood, Libby sat up, pulled Swann to her, and began kissing his chest.

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"I can tell you're aroused, Swann. And I don't blame you. She's beautiful, passionate, everything a man could want in bed." "Well, of course,” Swann said, confused. Edward was driving at something, but he didn't know what just yet. "But I can see you're embarrassed at having another man in the room. Getting a hard-on while there's another penis around. Someone might think the two things were connected!" Swann closed his eyes and dropped his head back. Here it came. “Look. It's not that I have a problem with gay people—" "I never said you were gay. And I'm reasonably sure I'm not." "No, but—” Swann faltered, losing the thread of what he wanted to say. It didn't help that Libby was licking at one of his nipples, sucking and biting gently on the sensitive nub. "But you're embarrassed about getting aroused while there's another man in the room." "Actually, while there's anybody in the room,” Swann said, seizing that point gratefully. "Even Libby?" "Well, of course not Libby—" "Because if Libby sees you aroused, what's she going to do about it?" Libby glanced up at him, then slid her hand down his stomach and inside his pants, where she wrapped her fingers around his cock and squeezed, gently. "And you're afraid I'll do the same thing?" "No. Yes. I don't know,” Swann said desperately. “Libby, do you have to do that?" "Can't help it,” she murmured, rubbing her naked body all over him. “I want you, Swann. All the time. I want to touch you and lick you and feel you hot and hard inside me, and..."

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"And?” Swann asked, his vision blurring slightly as she ran her thumb over the slit in the head of his cock. "And I want to feel you come inside me. I want to see it in your eyes, I want to hear it in your voice, how much you're enjoying it, how much you want to be with me. I want to give you pleasure, Swann." She kissed the corner of his mouth and looked into his eyes. "And I want that too,” he said, “but I still don't understand why Edward has to be here." "So you can experience pleasure without agenda,” Libby said, and added, “while there's another penis in the room." "I won't even touch you,” Edward added, moving to the edge of the bed, “if you're afraid." "Why does everyone think I'm afraid?” Swann said, as Libby pushed down his pants and began tugging them off his legs. "Probably because of your terrified reaction to even the idea of being with a man,” Edward said, and Swann lost his patience. "Listen,” he said, “if someone did to you what they did to me, you'd be fucking afraid too." Edward's eyes turned the color of deep sea at midnight. “You're right,” he said softly, “I probably would be. But I won't do what they did to you, Swann. When I'm with a man it's for the same reasons Libby said. To give pleasure as much as to receive it." Libby tossed Swann's pants over the side of the bed and pushed him gently to his back. She'd crawled over him and taken his cock in her mouth before he could stop her. Not that he wanted to. Her mouth was heaven, hot and wet, her lips smooth, her tongue agile. "Libby wants to give you pleasure, Swann. And so do I." Swann closed his eyes, heard the rustle of clothing, and considered surrendering to the inevitable. But then Libby slid up his body and took him inside her, sliding her

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slippery wet pussy onto him, gloving him, squeezing him tight, and he let out a sharp breath of pleasure. She smiled down at him, his dragon, and leaned forward to kiss him tenderly. “I like being with you,” she said against his lips. Swann dug his fingers into her arms, his mind whirling. Edward stood by the bed, naked, lean and strong, his cock hard. Swann thought about Carver and Nalina and the incredibly hot threesome he'd witnessed. About Edward's adored wife, Annique, who he'd never see again. About Libby, warm and soft above him, riding him, loving him. "Libby,” he said, and she stroked his chest encouragingly. “Touch him." Her face broke into a bright, beautiful smile, and she twisted her upper body to face Edward. Her hands wrapped around his cock—her fingers overlapping more than they did when they encircled Swann's, which meant his was bigger than the Prince's, hah—and she began to pump gently. "Is it good?” Swann asked, watching the bliss come over Edward's face. The Prince nodded. “It's good. But not as good as what you've got, I bet." Libby flexed her inner muscles impishly, and Swann groaned. “No. Not as good." She rode him, her breasts swaying, her pussy clenching rhythmically, her hips rocking in an undulating motion. Every now and then she gasped, and Swann slid his hand between them to stroke her clit, wanting her to gasp more. But Edward had the same idea, and their hands met between her thighs, fingers tangling in the slippery wetness. Swann's shot back automatically. “Sorry—no, I—" "You were there first,” Edward said, moving his too. "For God's sake, somebody touch me,” Libby snapped, pressing both their hands back to her pussy. “I was about to come then." Edward's eyes met Swann's, and they were smiling, and right then Swann knew everything was going to be fine.

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They stroked her together, fingers tangled, touching every part of her stretched around him, pressing and pinching her clit, until she started to shudder and gasp, one hand moving ever faster on Edward's cock. The other clutched at her own breast, pinching the nipple, and this time when Edward and Swann both reached up a hand to touch her, neither of them pulled back. Libby came, gasping and moaning, with Swann's cock inside her and Edward's hands touching her. Swann felt the sharp contractions rip through her, her whole body convulsing, and with her one free hand she clutched at his arm as if she was trying to anchor herself to him. As if without him, she'd fly away. And when her orgasm passed, she leaned down and kissed Swann, smiling, then straightened up and beckoned to Edward. "Kiss me,” she said, and he replied, “Gladly,” moving in toward her mouth. And Libby's eyes sparkled. “Not here,” she said, releasing his cock to slide her hand down her stomach. She covered both their hands with her own, and pressed them against her clit. Swann felt the shudders ripple through her again. Then what she'd said caught up with him. She wanted Edward to lick her pussy. While he, Swann, did what? Stood and watched? He blinked hard, opened his mouth to protest, and found Libby's lips in the way. "Do you trust me?” she murmured against his mouth. Swann blinked hard, but she was right there, and he was inside her, and he knew this was the worst possible moment to confess he wasn't sure. Besides, he did trust her. Didn't he? He nodded reluctantly, and she smiled and kissed him. “You'll enjoy this,” she said. “I'm sure you will." She slid off him, turned around and straddled him facing his feet. Lowering herself onto his cock, she leaned back against his chest and turned her head to kiss him again. "I always wanted to try this,” she murmured, as Edward knelt between her legs and started licking.

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To his credit, the Prince stuck religiously to licking Libby, and never once strayed to Swann's balls or the base of his cock. Swann stroked her breasts and kissed her as she moved on him, pulsing gently, writhing as Edward did something she particularly liked, her pussy tightening around him. She squeezed his cock, hot and incredibly wet, slid up and down its length and let out breathy moans of pleasure. And she asked him, several times, “Are you all right? Is this okay?" And Swann, breathing hard beneath her, sweating and shaking, could only nod. Because it was more than all right and okay. It was glorious. He loved Libby, and she was deliriously happy, and he was the source of that happiness. What could be more wonderful? Right then he didn't care about receiving pleasure, so long as he was giving it to Libby. She had her thighs draped over his, and she rubbed them against his legs, soft skin against crisp hair, her ass rocking against him as she writhed. Swann slid his hands down her stomach, over her hipbones, stroked her thighs and felt Edward's hair tickle his fingers. I want his mouth on me too. As if he'd heard that, Edward lifted his head, stroked Libby's clit with one finger, and met Swann's eyes. Something passed between them, heat and electricity, and then Edward lowered his head again and this time his tongue touched Swann's balls. Swann tensed, but Libby cupped his face in her hands and licked into his mouth, her eyes warm, full of love and reassurance. What had he been so afraid of? "He's licking me too,” Swann whispered into her mouth, and her eyes widened. “It's good." Disbelief flared, mixed with hope and delight, and she kissed him in earnest, delving her tongue deep into his mouth and squeezing him tight with her pussy, and coming, coming with a series of tremors that nearly pushed Swann over the edge.

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Finally she ripped her mouth from his, breathing hard, her whole body shaking, and said, “Okay, that's three to me and none to either of you. Reckon we should rectify this?" "God yes,” said Edward, his voice somewhat muffled, his tongue lapping at Swann's balls. He lifted his head and grinned at them, his lips and chin shiny with Libby's juices. "I want to do what you did earlier,” Swann blurted, and they both looked at him, surprised. He blinked. “I mean—what you were doing with Nalina and Carver." Libby shivered in delight. “Yes. Yes. Oh yes." "Sounds good to me,” Edward said, looking genuinely excited. “How do you want to do it? Do you want to finish inside her? Or in her mouth?" Swann clutched Libby's hand and she squeezed back encouragingly. "I think I'll stay where I am,” he said. Small steps. Things came easier in small steps. Edward nodded and lay down on the bed, Libby momentarily losing contact with him as she scrambled to kneel over the Prince's face and leaned down to suck his cock. As Swann watched Edward's tongue dart out to lick the length of her pussy, he gave a shudder. He was so ready to come, he'd surely only last a minute or two. Less if Edward licked him too. But if Edward licked him too, then he'd be coming with a man's tongue on his balls, and that was the sort of thing he'd never expected to be able to achieve. "Edward?” he said, as his friend's eyes flickered, and Swann realized Libby had begun to suck him. “I—I want—" Edward looked up at him expectantly. "I want to thank you,” Swann said, and Edward smiled. "You're so very welcome,” he said. "And I want you to suck my balls." Edward laughed. “Even more welcome. Come,” he said, and a few minutes later Swann did. With Libby's pussy tight around him and Edward's tongue delicately

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lapping, he closed his eyes and emptied himself of years of pain and humiliation and fear. "Mmm,” murmured Edward, the vibrations making Swann shudder. “Your come is delicious." "Isn't it though?” Libby murmured, her hands busily pumping Edward's shaft while she licked the head like a lollypop. She straightened up slowly, arching her back, and Swann took her breasts into his hands as she reached back and tilted his head for a kiss. Her mouth tasted different, hotter and muskier. Like Edward's cock. To hell with small steps. "I think we should swap places,” Swann said, and Libby beamed. She moved faster than he could believe, leaping around to pin him on his back while Edward laughed and got to his knees. As Libby pressed her dripping pussy to his mouth, Edward's cock loomed. His balls were drawn up tight, covered in dark gold hair, and for a horrible second Swann could think of nothing but the brands of fire and laughter. The fog of despair. Hands touching, stroking. Hot, wet mouths. Invading hardness. The pain, the shame, the humiliation. The screaming, the screaming— "Swann?” said Libby. "Tell me where the Prince is and I'll let you come,” Swann murmured. "Darling, I've already come three times,” said Libby, her hot breath fanning his wet penis. “Any more and I won't be able to walk in the morning." "I'll tell you where the Prince is,” Edward said, sliding his long cock between Libby's pink, swollen folds. “He's inside a hot dragon, counting his blessings." Swann laughed, and Libby kissed his cock, and he sucked her clit and counted his blessings, too.

*** Morning came dim and cool several thousand feet below the surface, but since it brought with it one naked Mer, Libby didn't mind so much.

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She watched him move around in the low light, washing and dressing, and she stretched, her body reminding her what a good time she'd had last night. After Edward had emptied himself inside her, the two of them had sucked and licked Swann's cock until he came again. Then Edward had, with formal politeness, taken his leave of them both. Swann had turned to her and kissed her mouth, still tasting of her come mixed with his and Edward's. “Thank you,” he said, and she stroked his face and said with all her heart, “No, thank you." Now she watched him preparing to leave with the Revenge to export some rare fish whose oxygen-deprived habitat was being eroded by the water pouring into the Black Sea through the Bosporus. Swann had explained it to her last night, but she'd just experienced four explosive orgasms and had only the vaguest notion of what language he was speaking. "Will you be all right?” he asked, pulling on his shirt. Libby nodded and arched her back, smiling as he watched the movement of her breasts. “I'll miss you." "Believe me, I'll miss you more.” He paused, blinked, and said, “Will you sleep with Edward?" "Edward?” She blinked too, astonished by the question. “Do you want me to?" "No,” Swann said, sitting on the bed and pulling her into his arms. “I don't want you to ever sleep with anyone else again." Libby's heart soared, joy filling her. "But I...” Swann faltered, looking adorably unsure. “Well, I don't have a contract on you." Libby ran her hand through Swann's soft, dark hair, traced the stubble on his jaw, felt the strength of his shoulders, and said, “That's what Billy told me." "I know." "And I lost him. And now if it's possible, I love you even more than him, and I don't want to ever lose you."

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Swann kissed her, long and deep, fireworks exploding within her, and said, “You never will." Four hours later she was peering at the weird light moss in the throne room when two burly Mer barged in, carrying a pale, wet body between them. Libby looked up as conversation died and the Trident rose from his throne, and as she saw the blueblack hair dripping onto the ground, her heart skipped. "Swann!" She shoved past the gathering crowd of Mer, and nearly passed out when she saw that it wasn't Swann. He was too lean, and his tail was lighter. It was Diver. They laid him on the ground. He was in Mer form, gasping for breath, his torso lacerated with deep cuts. His tail flopped weakly, chunks of scales torn away, the wide fin at the end of it nearly severed. "Oh God, can he breathe?” Libby cried, falling to her knees beside him as the Trident placed his hand on Diver's chest. The pale skin shuddered, and as she watched, Diver's tail became legs. One of his feet was a bloody mess with no skin left on it, and his legs were covered with what looked like bite marks. He clutched her hand, his dark eyes flying open and looking right at her. "Swann,” he gasped, and Libby's blood turned to ice. “Taken.” He coughed, and blood splattered his lips. “Betrayed." "By who?” demanded the Trident, at the same time Libby yelped, “Where?" "Mako,” Diver rasped. “Empire." The Trident pressed his hands to Diver's chest, looking frantic. Other Mer crowded around, shoving Libby away as they worked urgently to save Diver. She fell back, numb. Mako had betrayed the Revenge to the Empire. Mako, the Mer who'd survived the otherwise total annihilation of his flotilla. Survived, or caused?

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And now the Empire had Swann, and God knew how many others from the crew. She fought to get back to Diver, but the Mer crowded her out, healing one of their own, and she could do nothing but sit back and hope desperately. A hand touched her shoulder, and she looked up bleakly to see Edward standing there, Nalina and Carver behind him. "They have Swann,” Libby said, her voice breaking, and Edward knelt to catch her as she dissolved in sobs. Vaguely, she was aware of Carver swearing and Nalina trying to get answers from the unresponsive Mer, but most of her energy was focused on praying to anybody who'd listen that Swann had survived. They'll take Swann, if they think it'll bring you to them. They'll take whatever they can to get what they want. And yet what did they want? Me. Libby raised her eyes tearfully and sought out Nalina, who paused in her questioning when she saw Libby's face, and her expression changed. "No,” Nalina said. “Oh no." They'll break you any way they can. "They'll destroy him,” Libby said. "They'll destroy you,” Edward said, catching her intention. "Not if I go willingly." "Wanna bet?” growled Carver. Libby kept her eyes on Nalina, who eventually sighed and looked away. “You can't let him go, can you?" "No more than you could when your man was threatened,” Libby replied, and Nalina sighed again. "I won't let you go,” Edward said, and anger fired Libby's blood. She drew herself to her feet, focusing on her dragon and feeling her eyes glow red. They will burn. "You don't ‘let’ me do anything,” she said. “The Empire has already taken one lover from me. They're not bloody doing it again. You might have too much to lose,

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Edward, but I've only got one thing and the Empire is not stealing that from me. Wouldn't you have done whatever you could to save your wife?" Edward looked horribly bleak, but he said nothing. "They'll kill you,” Carver said. "No. They want me healthy." "They'll lock you up and throw away the key,” Nalina said, and Libby gave her a grim smile. I carry hell about me; all my blood is fired in swift revenge. "I don't need a key,” she said. “All I need is some gold."

Chapter Twelve "Oh, I've been looking forward to seeing you again,” she purred. Red lips, black hair. That smile, the worlds of cruelty in those eyes. She hadn't changed. "Go to hell,” Swann said tiredly. The wall at his back was cold, damp, and the dungeon stank of decay. His wrists were secured to the wall, and he was naked, already bleeding from a dozen wounds. "It's so delicious to get a captive back. As I recall you were so much fun." "As I recall, you were a sadistic bitch who deserved to burn for an eternity." She merely smiled, his nameless tormentor, and whacked him in the balls with a notched leather whip. Swann howled, his world narrowed to an endless lifetime of pain. "Mmm, I think he liked that. Suck it,” she commanded, and a pale form appeared from the shadows. Mako. "You,” Swann managed, fighting against the crippling agony coursing through him. "I'm sorry, Swann,” said Mako, his eyes dull. He turned and fingered the back of his neck. “Empire's had me for years." Micro-chipped. Mako was swiving micro-chipped. Gods only knew what the Empire had been picking up from the treacherous bastard. They'd certainly found the Revenge quick enough. Although... "You,” Swann coughed, “will burn."

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"I don't think so,” Mako said, and knelt in front of Swann, taking his tortured cock in his mouth. And Swann felt nothing. No humiliation, no despair. Libby was safe, and they could do nothing worse to him. Swann managed a laugh. The black-haired bitch narrowed her eyes at him. "It's faulty, isn't it?” he said. “The chip. Whatever you sent ‘em came too late." Mako's eyes flared with panic, his lips stretched wide around Swann's cock. "They didn't get what they really wanted, did they?" "And what's that?” purred the bitch. "News feeds,” Swann said. “About a month ago. Dragon,” he spelled out for her. “We had the dragon. You could have—" He broke off in the face of her laughter. She sauntered over to a vidscreen on the wall and keyed in a few commands. The screen fluttered into life, glowingly representing a pink-haired woman smiling blandly at the dungeon. "...who recently destroyed the Throne Room in an unprovoked attack has returned, giving herself freely to the Emperor as a gift." The picture changed, and Swann saw Libby walking the length of the Emperor's Hall of Pleasure. All around her were men and women in various states of undress, some of them fondling and kissing, some of them openly fucking. Amongst them moved Libby, his Libby, looking like a feast. She was draped in jewelry and swathed in some kind of clinging, sheer fabric that revealed her breasts, her straight back, the shadowing of dark gold hair between her legs. The camera zoomed in, catching her face. She looked serene, beautiful... ...she looked stolen. Swann swallowed, his mouth dry, and felt his eyes burn. His wrists tugged uselessly against their restraints. “Libby,” he whispered. “Oh my Liberty." "Liberty,” said the bitch. “Not something you'll be getting much of." As he watched, the camera panned out to show Libby kneeling at the foot of the Emperor's throne, her head bowed. She wore so much jewelry it jingled with every movement, and from what Swann could see, much of it was in the form of chains.

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At the back of her neck was a new incision. A microchip. "Do you give yourself freely to the Empire?” asked the Emperor, and she looked up, loathing in her eye. "Imperial Majesty,” Libby said, “I am here of my own free will." All the breath left Swann's body, and more pain than he ever thought possible flooded his body. "But before you lock me in a breeding cell for the betterment of the Empire, may I remind you of something?" The Emperor glanced round smugly at the dozens of guards he had ringing her, their bulky biosuits reflected in the gold floor. Gold that in turn reflected Libby's necklaces, her bracelets, her rings and her anklets. Jewelry that matched and equaled the glinting finery worn by every person present. Gold. The room was full of gold. Hope stirred in Swann's agonized heart. "What do you want to remind me of, little dragon?” said the Emperor patronizingly. "That you are a thief, sir." A murmur hummed around the room. All but the most enthusiastic lovers ceased their fucking and sucking and turned to listen to Libby. "You have stolen from me every day of my life. You've stolen my freedom, you've stolen two lovers, and one day you will probably steal my life. But have you ever asked what I've stolen from you?" "A roof and a few gold trinkets,” the Emperor sneered. Beside him sat the Empress, looking bored. “We had them melted into the jewelry you're wearing now." "Yes,” said Libby, and smiled. “You did." The Empress gave the ghost of a smile. Swann laughed. "What do you find so funny?” snarled the red-lipped bitch.

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"She stole gold from the Empire, and now they've given it back.” Swann was nearly giggling. "And it will imprison her for the ... rest ... of ... my God,” breathed the woman, and Swann laughed so hard he began to cry. On the screen, Libby's clothes and shoes and collars scattered as her shape changed and she grew, her skin turned to scales and she grew, her tail lashed the walls and she grew, her wings filled the room and she grew. People screamed and the guards opened fire on the massive dragon filling the Hall of Pleasure from end to end. Libby roared fire down on them, and the guards turned to ashes. She turned to the Emperor, but he and the Empress were already gone, hustled away by aides, guards forming a protective phalanx around them. Libby roared, and Swann knew what she was saying. They will burn! The dungeon began to tremble, and Swann frowned as he tried to work out where they were in relation to the Hall of Pleasure. “When was this broadcast?” he asked. “Is it live?" "Not quite,” Mako rumbled, and as he did Swann saw the broadcast flicker and blur as the dragon roared fire at the camera. The image blinked out, but he'd already felt the room shake again, harder this time. An almighty roar shuddered through the stone of the walls, and a second later a massive claw ripped through the ceiling. The black-haired bitch screamed, Swann laughed until tears rolled down his face, and Mako ran. But he didn't get far before a giant claw scooped him out of the room and flung him into the air. He landed with a crunching sound, and was still. Through the hole Libby had made, Swann could see the gold inlay of the Hall's floor, the people running for the exits, screaming, and he could see Libby, a dragon fifty feet long, carrying hell about her. Her wings beat the sky, her huge teeth gleamed in the light, and her claws scored grooves in the gold floor.

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"Hello, lover,” said Swann, and she bellowed at the sky. “You,” he said to the bitch, “unlock me or she'll incinerate you." The woman stared at Libby, gibbering in fear, and turned to run away. Libby ignored her and swiped one claw down, scooping out the section of wall behind Swann and tossing it up in the air. "What the hell,” Swann yelled to Libby, “incinerate her anyway." Her red eyes gleamed, and she did just that, before catching Swann's wall carefully and rising into the air. Lasers strobed the sky, Imperial craft zipped about like flies, and Libby ignored them all, flapping her great wings and leaving the ruin of the Hall of Pleasure far behind in mere minutes. She set Swann down gently on a rocky outcrop, a few hundred feet above the water, and changed back to human as he watched. "Hi,” said Swann, and Libby launched herself at him, meeting him lips first, her naked body crashing into his. Swann tried to wrap his arms around her but failed utterly, still chained to the wall. "Darling?” he said, rattling his chains, and she pulled back, looking slightly embarrassed. "One sec,” she said. Yanking the shackles from the wall—had the gold given her that much strength, even in human form?—she grabbed a section of broken metal and dug it into the back of her neck. Pain twisted her face, but a second later she yanked something, bloody and writhing feebly with electronics, from her flesh. "I'm no one's pet,” she said, and tossed the microchip over the cliff into the sea. Then she threw herself at Swann again and kissed him, hard, and this time Swann held her tightly, kissing her back for all he was worth. She writhed against him, her body hot and naked, streaked here and there with soot, and Swann felt his cock swell, rising against her thigh, between her thighs, pushing for entrance. Pain forgotten, he surged into her and they tumbled to the ground, thrusting and gasping and rolling against each other, hot and hard and fast and forever.

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Swann felt Libby convulse in orgasm and joined her, soaring into heat and pleasure, and when it was over he lay with her against the cold rocks, breathing hard and grinning like a fool. He was so high he swore he felt the rocks vibrating under him. Wait—the rocks were vibrating under him. Something was coming, something huge and loud, and if he hadn't been so busy fucking himself into oblivion he'd have realized that. An Imperial Cruiser shuddered into view, huge and dark, blocking out the horizon, filling the sky. "Oh shit,” Libby mumbled. “I'm not sure I can incinerate a whole Cruiser." "You don't have to,” Swann said, as a search beam locked onto them and a voice informed them they'd be shot to hell if they didn't give themselves up immediately. "Raise your hands,” Swann said, and Libby looked at him incredulously. “Walk to the edge,” he said, nodding at the sharp edge of the cliff. Below it, waves pounded. Libby stared at them, then at him, and she smiled. "Catch me?” she said. "Always,” replied Swann, and the two of them jumped over the edge.

Epilogue The dark shape under the ocean loomed closer, but this time Libby wasn't afraid. Swann held her safe and tight, his mouth hot over hers, his hands roaming her back as he swam them down to the Swift Revenge at a leisurely pace. His fingers found the gaping hole in the back of her neck and soothed the sting of salt water, his Mer magic closing the wound. The airlock cycled open, and Libby lifted her head from Swann's mouth to see Scelp grinning at them both. "Welcome aboard, Swann,” he said, and Swann grinned back. To Libby, Scelp said, “What took you so long?" She glanced at Swann and her cheeks went hot. “We, uh, got delayed,” she mumbled. Scelp rolled his eyes and stood aside to let them pass. "How's Diver?” Libby asked. "Getting better. Wants to see you both but,” Scelp regarded their clasped hands and rampant nakedness, “I guess that can wait." "Damn right it can,” growled Swann, and tugged Libby to his cabin. "Tell him we're, uh, busy,” Libby gasped as Swann half carried her into his room. "Doing what?” Scelp laughed. Swann pushed her up against the wall and nudged in between her legs. He was hard, she was wet, and both of them were hot as hell. Swann pushed inside her half an inch, then he stopped and laughed, resting his forehead against hers. "I'm busy,” he called to Scelp, “taking Liberty."

Cat Marsters Cat lives in a village in southeast England, which, while not quite a fairytale setting, is nonetheless very pretty and was mentioned in the Domesday Book of AD 1087. She shares a house with only slightly batty parents who hardly ever tell her to get a real job, and a musician brother who knows there's no chance she'll ever get one if he doesn't. Cat doesn't have children but she does have cats, who are her babies in every sense except the biological one. Cat has been writing all her life, but in order to keep herself rich in shoes and chocolate, she's also worked as an airline check-in agent, video rental clerk, stationery shop assistant, and laboratory technician. She's aiming for a fairytale cottage, and asks all potential Prince Charmings to apply in writing with pictures of themselves and their Aston Martins. Visit Cat's web site at www.catmarsters.com.