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"Your bedside manner is shit." Nafisi winced and tried to pull away from whatever the hell Penzak was doing to her shoulder, but rolling onto the surface of the exam table only made it hurt worse. She squinted against the surgery light he’d powered up. "Did you even bother to use anesthesia?"
He glared at her, lips a tight line that all but drove away the memory of their kiss. "You're welcome.” He stabbed his fingers through his hair in frustration. “What the hell were you doing? I told you to stay here."
"And I told you I wasn't going to let you go out by yourself." Any time she thought she’d seen every bullshit, macho stunt from the rangers, they came running to prove her wrong. Sure, he had combat training, but that was with a wolf—and his was already dead. She and Gener had built this farm with their own hands. No way in hell she wasn't going to be part of the fight to protect it. If Bighands McPerfectkiss refused to understand that, he could piss right off with the Triptych goons he’d led here. He reached for her again, and she slapped his hands away. "Let me take care of this myself. Trust me when I say you’re a better engineer."
The barb stung; she saw it flash in his face a moment before he reasserted control. “They don’t know about the communications relay. That’s to our advantage—if we can hail the Hunting Cry, there’s a fireteam handling an issue on Hodur who could get here in thirty hours if we can hold out. So long as Triptych doesn’t realize it's just us, they won’t make a major push. We should have no problem keeping them at bay until backup arrives."
He sounded so damn sure of himself. So like a ranger. "That’s not especially reassuring. After all, there’s at least eight of them.”
“More like twenty.”
“Remember what I said about your bedside manner? Still shit.” She stood up and began rifling through the med bay’s cabinets with one hand. “So we’re outnumbered ten-to-one.”
“Yes, but they've come for the wolves. If these raiders are smart, they’ll want to take one or more wolves back with them. Both to prove to the Triumvirate that they found us, and to have a wolf of their own."
"Wolves won't bond with them. They’re scum." Bile filled her throat at the thought. She wanted to slap Penzak for even suggesting such a thing. She grabbed the SkinSeal out of the cabinet and looked at her arm, but it was more damage than the glue would be able to fix. The wound was deep and, like all plasma wounds, badly burned. The third-degree burns brought nerve and muscle damage that, if she was lucky, might regrow in the future, but for the short-term her arm would be out of commission. The realization didn't improve her mood.
Penzak stepped closer. "It's a bad wound, but I've seen worse."
"Yeah? Well I haven't. I'm not the soldier here, you are." She grabbed a can of spray anesthesia out of one of the cabinets and applied it heavily to the open wound. After the pain had lessened, she stepped to the mirror and examined herself. He was right, the injury certainly wasn't good. But it was clean, and that meant it should heal. She didn't have access to KnitFast or any of the regenerative drugs that might speed healing. When the time came though, she did have some grade-A painkillers for the wolves. If things got too rough, she could always fall back on that.
"Triptych doesn’t need to bond with the wolves in order to use them as a weapon. Any animal can turn vicious if you abuse it enough. Not to mention the psychological advantage it would give them against rangers." Penzak's hollow voice sounded more traumatized, if that were possible.
She understood his feelings on that. The idea of someone torturing her beautiful animals filled her with a motherly rage that boiled in her blood. She was going to hurt these bastards. Badly. "They're going to come to the ranch."
"It seems likely."
"Then let them." She wrapped sterile cloth around the wound and then covered it with a thin sheet of waterproof dressing tape. At least plasma fire cauterized wounds instantly. She wouldn't have bleeding to worry about, just dressing changes as it started to seep and heal. After fastening a sling around her neck and tucking her arm into it, she looked at Penzak. "Give me your sidearm."
"No way in hell." He stormed closer to her, and she fought her instinct to recoil from his size. "This isn't your fight. Let me protect you."
This time she did hit him, for all the good it did. Her fist bounced off his chest like the wall it resembled. "You macho asshole! Whose fight do you think it is, exactly?” She shoved past him and crossed out of his reach. “I can't fire my rifle one-handed. But I can use a pistol. The rifle is plenty good for you." Had he not been paying attention? Did he really think so little of her abilities? She had run this ranch just fine without the rangers help for half a decade. And now because of their screwup, they thought that she would sit on the sideline and not get involved? She'd sooner throw Triptych and the rangers off her planet. She glared at him. "It's that, or you knock me out."
He hesitated, and for a heartbeat or two she worried that he might actually try to render her unconscious. She had a tranq gun in the cabinet behind him if he bothered to look. They never used it, but Gener had insisted, in case one of the wolves went feral. After a terse moment that had her pulse thumping in her ears, Penzak relented. He pulled out his pistol and handed it to her, but first. "Do you know how to use one of these?"
"Gener and I believed in being prepared, but please keep assuming I’m helpless. I can probably outshoot you." She'd show off, but chances were he hadn't brought much extra ammunition, and what they had they'd want to save. Instead she thumbed out the cartridge and dropped the power cell to the floor. “Fresh.”
He snorted and handed her a new pack from his belt.
She squeezed the weapon inside her sling and replaced the cartridge before setting it on the table. After a deep breath, she glared at Penzak. "Now, how about you tell me the plan."
#
RAFE HAD MORE TIME than he’d expected to prepare. A few hours, as they got themselves together, more than enough to radio the Hunting Cry. Fireteam Alpha was already on their way – they’d finished their mission early and the Cry had re-routed them to assist, but he and Nafisi still had to survive long enough to greet them.
And now Triptych was coming.
Rafe listened to the growing roar of oncoming hoverbikes and tried to count how many engines there were. Not that his opponents would be sending their whole crew at once—this would be a test run, a chance to see what defenses he and Nafisi had set up on the ranch. If Triptych could get what it wanted on the first try, fine, but they were expecting resistance. In a way, he felt sorry for the folks who’d been volun-told to scout out the ranch. They had to know it was the most dangerous job they could be asked to take.
In his head, he kept a tally: two down near their ship, when Nafisi got hurt. Which left somewhere between fourteen and eighteen potential assailants. A first sortie like this might mean a third of the available resources. So he had to assume six people coming. While he hadn’t mentioned it to Nafisi, he had to figure out a way to not be too effective. Leave several who could run back to their ship. The pirates wanted a live wolf, sure, but it wouldn’t take too many losses before they decided it wasn’t worth the effort. Once that time came, all they'd have to do was fire on the area from orbit.
He glanced back toward the house, where Nafisi lay in wait for anyone who came to search there first. Honestly, he was surprised that she’d agreed so readily. But JJ needed a guard, and she was the perfect person to take care of the job.
Scooting closer to the edge of the kennel roof, Rafe adjusted the sights on the old plas-rifle. It wasn’t a perfect hiding space, but if they wanted the wolves, they’d have to walk right into his line of fire.
And even if they got through, most of the wolves had already been released. Nafisi had assured him that she could re-collect them by following trackers in their collars. That moved several out of harm’s way, but did no good at all for the young Double-J litter, nor did it help the pregnant female who wasn’t willing to leave her space in the kennel. Knowing the future generation of wolves depended on him, he had to make sure he did everything right.
The first of the bikes roared into view. Rafe resisted the urge to glance toward the house one last time. He had to trust Nafisi to do what he’d suggested and be safe.
The first bike roared back and forth in front, engine growling as the goon rolled hard on the throttle, and even the sound seemed designed for intimidation purposes.
Which meant it had to be a distraction. Rafe looked around to identify where the others would be coming from. Fortunately, his helmet’s lowlight sensors made it easy to spot two others sneaking toward the kennel on foot. He could still hear another bike out there beyond the first. Someone who, no doubt, waited for Rafe to reveal his position before swooping in to take care of business.
He drew a bead on the first of the sneaking thieves, who continued forward oblivious to his observation. When they were close enough to be a threat, Rafe held his breath and fired. The plasma bolt flared, but before the first shot had even landed he was already swiveling the muzzle toward the original bike rider. Two plasma bolts sent the bike crashing and its wounded pilot scurrying for cover. Rafe swiveled back and fired on the remaining raider on foot. Two more down, at least twelve to go.
And that was two shots more than he allowed his snipers to take without moving. At this point, anyone watching would have zeroed in on his position. Rafe slid to the edge of the kennel’s roof and jumped down, then charged across the open space to shelter among the towering columns of the ranch’s wind turbines. There was still a bike unaccounted for, and while it wasn’t great cover, the remaining guy wires would restrict the bike’s speed and maneuverability. Anything that could level the playing field put the odds in his favor.
He realized the sound of the other bike wasn't moving just before he heard pistol fire from inside the house. His pulse crashed in his ears as he ran full tilt for the porch.
Stupid old man, been jockeying a desk too long. An obvious double-fake and you bought it.
With a roar, he threw himself up the stairs. His shoulder hit the door and smashed it inward as he charged in to draw their fire. Even as he moved, he evaluated the scene—Nafisi holding his sidearm in a comfortable single-hand stance, one thug, collapsed on the ground, but conscious. And a second raider, smile triumphant as he pointed a pistol at the wriggling blur in his other hand.
JJ.
Rafe didn’t stop, just lowered his head to continue straight toward the pirate. The raider shifted targets and fired. Agony seared along Rafe’s shoulder. The sound was too loud, the smell of burnt flesh too close as momentum carried Rafe into the thug. JJ hit the tile floor with a heart-rending yelp. Rafe tugged his combat blade free when he realized the other man wasn’t fighting back. The plas-hole in the center of his chest meant he wouldn’t fight back ever again.
The moment of calm that followed was quickly filled by pain as his own injuries pushed past the wall created by adrenaline and fear. His dispersion mesh had deflected most of the hit to his shoulder, but his ear and the left side of his face ached where the plasma fire had splashed.
None of that hurt as badly as the fear on Nafisi’s face. She dropped to her knees beside him, fingers checking his injuries as he hissed and pulled away. Her hand grabbed his chin so he couldn’t look anywhere but at her. “What the fuck were you thinking? You could have been killed!”
A complete war raged in his chest. He wanted to make sure she was okay, to check every inch of her for injuries. Wanted to kiss her and finish what they’d tried to start when Triptych had arrived. But the terror that had gripped him had made him reckless, dangerous to both of them. The pirate could just as easily have shot her instead, and she hadn’t been wearing a mesh. Icy talons dug into his heart at the thought of losing her. He couldn’t take that again.
He forced himself to calm, swallowed against the pain in his throat so he could speak. Instead of what he wanted, needed to ask, he focused on the mission. “Is JJ safe?”
She glared at him. “Yes, your precious wolves are fine.” Nafisi almost spit the last word.
Good. Let her hate him. It would be easier that way. He couldn’t take the idea of losing her, and if she couldn’t stand him, then maybe it wouldn’t rip him apart when he left.