BROGAN_A Steamy WereDragon Romance Read online

  “‘My kind of duty’ is whatever I’m called upon to do, the same as any Squire. We know Skinner uses female weredragons to entertain himself and his men. I can work them and gather more intel as part of their entertainment.”

  “And they’ll be wanting to ‘work’ you,” Brogan reminded her.

  “I can work my way into and out of any kind of situation,” said Elaina. “Your protest is out of line.”

  “Agreed,” said Vartan sharply. “Squire Elaina has her assignment and she’ll carry it out. You and Agent Long will proceed as you’ve been assigned.”

  Brogan gulped and simmered down—for the most part. But he took his eyes from Elaina and returned his attention to Gabrielle.

  After the briefing, Brogan, Gabrielle, and Elaina left the Templar in the room to update Command about mission status. In the corridor outside, the three of them paused together in an awkward silence until Brogan spoke up.

  “Listen, Elaina,” he said, “I didn’t mean to be out of line in the briefing. It’s just…it’s been you and me on every assignment for all these years. We are a team. We always have been, all the way back to when we were cadets. I know you can handle anything whether I’m there or not. I’m just not used to us handling anything without each other.”

  “I know, Brogan,” she replied. “But we can do this.” She glanced over at Gabrielle and nodded. “The two of you can do this.”

  “Yes,” agreed Gabrielle. “We can.”

  “Watch your tail,” Brogan told Elaina.

  “And you watch yours,” Elaina said back.

  Elaina put her arms around Brogan, and Brogan hugged back. Gabrielle looked on, feeling the warmth between the two of them, knowing that it was the bond that two people can have only when they have shared camaraderie and risk, battle and danger, and they know that each can trust the other implicitly with life and limb. In their case, the limbs included dragon tails. Gabrielle had worked with many partners in many investigations on more cases than she could count, but she’d never known the experience of having one partner for so many years. Or what it was like to share so much with just one person for so long.

  For that matter, Gabrielle had never known what it was to share anything with one person for so long. Her work had always kept her on the move from one assignment, one case, one planet, to the next. And in her personal life it was always one man—or dragon—to the next. How must it be, she wondered, to have one person be so much a part of one’s life? In that moment, she envied Brogan and Elaina in a way that she had never envied anyone else she had ever met.

  And she wondered how close the two of them had really been all these years. They did not seem to be that way with each other. Gabrielle wondered if they had ever been. No, if Brogan had ever been to bed with Elaina, there would be a different subtext between them, a different tone and undercurrent. What she was seeing was not the embrace of lovers or of ex-lovers. This was the embrace of two people who were intimate in everything but body. Gabrielle still envied them a bit.

  Brogan and Elaina broke up their hug of comrades, and the three of them said their goodbyes—for now.

  Next, Gabrielle and Brogan took themselves to the Corps’ custom vehicle hangar to inspect the unmarked “civilian” hover car that they would be taking to the spaceport.

  It was a cavernous space, filled with unmarked vehicles of every description, from huge air freight transports to one-person hovercycles. The car assigned to Brogan and Gabrielle was on one of the lower levels of the hangar, between a hovervan and a cycle. It was of the same design as the standard hover convertible that the Corps used, but had no insignia, strobe lights, or weaponry; a typical civilian vehicle with Dragon Corps tech carefully concealed inside in case it should be needed, and even that was unmarked. There was nothing to distinguish this car from any other that a pair of common thugs might be using, which made it perfect for this phase of Brogan’s and Gabrielle’s mission.

  They climbed aboard and called up the shop’s diagnostics on the dash to double-check the prep work on the car. There was no basic need to check the car’s readiness, as the Corps mechanics were among the most thorough and professional technicians on Lacerta. But it was standard procedure to check preparations on everything at least twice. While they reviewed the data displaying in front of them, Gabrielle mentioned, “I like Elaina.”

  Just slightly surprised that she would bring it up now, Brogan said, “She’s the best. I’m the luckiest Squire in the Corps, being with her.”

  “She feels the same way about you,” Gabrielle said.

  There was a beat of silence in which they continued studying the data that needed no examination before Brogan said, “We’re not that way.”

  Now just slightly surprised herself, Gabrielle looked over at him. “Hm?” she wondered.

  “We’re not that way,” he addressed her. “We’ve never been that way. Just partners. In uniform. That’s all.”

  “Oh,” said Gabrielle. “Well, that wasn’t something I really needed to know. It’s not my business or my place. And it’s…” she weighed her choice of words, “outside of mission parameters.”

  “You’re right, it is,” said Brogan. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

  No, he shouldn’t have mentioned it, Gabrielle noted. Then again, in some way, on some level, some part of her was grateful that he had. It wasn’t as if she had any expectations about Brogan. Somehow, it was just good to know.

  “Working that closely with someone over a long period of time, though,” Gabrielle said, “you must get very…accustomed to them. Knowing how they think, how they plan, how they handle themselves in a hazardous situation. You must get to the point where you pick up on each other’s rhythms, finish each other’s sentences…”

  “We know each other about as well as we know ourselves,” Brogan said. “And you’re right. We can anticipate each other’s moves, know what the other one will think or do before they think it or do it. That’s made us the best team over the years.”

  “I can understand,” said Gabrielle, “how you’d be concerned with Elaina being assigned to a mission detail without you. After always working together, you’d naturally want to be along with her, to help her. She must feel the same way about you being assigned to this part of the mission without her.”

  Brogan nodded. “I’m sure she does.”

  Gabrielle looked at him very seriously now, more seriously in a way than she ever expected she would look at him. She told him, “We don’t know each other that well, Squire Brogan. We’ve just been put together on this mission and I’m not Elaina. I’m not even a Lacertan or a Squire; I appreciate that. But I’ve had a lot of experiences in a lot of places and a lot of situations. And I want you to know you can trust me.”

  Brogan met her eyes, very sincerely. “I never doubted that,” he said.

  There was another beat of silence with the two of them sitting there in the hovercar, the display from the dash forgotten, seeing only each other. Finally, Brogan spoke up again.

  “Can I suggest something?” he ventured.

  “What?”

  “How would you feel about using first names? No ‘Agent Long,’ no ‘Squire Brogan.’ Just Brogan…and Gabrielle. Would you be okay with that?”

  “I would be very okay with that…Brogan,” she replied.

  “Good…Gabrielle,” he answered.

  And for a moment they allowed themselves just the faintest, most professional smile before switching off the dash display.

  “We’d better get to outfitting and see what we’re going to be wearing tonight,” Gabrielle observed, getting back to business.

  “I’m sure they’ll come up with something appropriate for a couple of thugs turned would-be smugglers,” said Brogan.

  They climbed out of the car and made their way to the hangar exit.

  _______________

  The Corps outfitters did come up with suitable attire for each of them, and by that evening Brogan was outfitted in a civilian sk
in suit in charcoal and black tones, with patches representing different planets where it may be assumed he’d gotten himself into trouble of different kinds. For Gabrielle they found fatigues and boots, and a woven top, all in lower-grade fibers that might well be associated with someone who had been living outside of polite Commonwealth society for a while.

  Satisfied that they both had the look of proper riffraff, they climbed back into their requisitioned vehicle at sundown and made for the Talontown spaceport. By nightfall they set down at the farthest part of the landing lot, like proper hoodlums not wanting to be conspicuous, and made the long walk across the lot to the back of the main dome of the spaceport structure.

  Several structures branched off the main dome at the back; service entrances of different kinds. Gabrielle and Brogan went to one such entrance where they had been instructed to go, and Gabrielle put her fingertips on the calling surface next to the sliding door. The square on the fixture lit up, and in a moment the opaque window in the door turned transparent, showing the face of a stern-looking, bald, mustached man about their age, on the other side.

  Gabrielle gave the code phrase the Interstar Intelligence provided. “Is the Golden Fleece here tonight?”

  The man on the other side of the door answered, “Yes, but the dragon never sleeps.”

  And with that, the door slid open to admit them.

  The man inside the entrance was intimidatingly built, unsmiling, and armed with a plasma pistol in a holster across his chest. Wasting no time, Gabrielle and Brogan tapped the comm units on their cuffs and displayed their holographic ID’s and credentials for entrance. The man looked over the data in lights before him and called them out. “Roman Carnes. Darice Greene. Both served time for fraud and extortion.” He eyed Gabrielle. “History of assault and battery.” Then, regarding Brogan: “Lacertan—served time for assaulting a Squire.” His dark eyes lit up a bit at that. Brogan could tell their friend was quietly impressed.

  Gesturing to a spot a few steps away, the man called, “Sub-basement access.” Another heavy door slid open into a darkened space from which faint sounds issued from a place down below where they were. Tilting his head at Brogan and Gabrielle, he said, “That way, all the way down.” And he took a step back, keeping his eyes on them as they went directly to the open door. Once they were through, the door slid shut behind them with a sound as intimidating as the look of the man who’d let them pass.

  They found themselves at the top of a flight of stairs that led to other stairs below it. Together they started down the steps, Brogan remarking, “That detail about me having assaulted a Squire: that’s my favorite part. Intel and Headquarters must have had fun coming up with that. I wonder if it was Templar Vartan’s idea.”

  “Well, once we get down there, you’re going to have to put on quite a performance to live up to the identity they gave you.”

  “All they gave you was assault and battery,” Brogan pointed out. “I guess from us Squires they expect a little more, even when we’re posing as thugs.”

  Gabrielle gave him a look of mock annoyance as they headed on down the stairs.

  At the bottom of several flights of stairs lay a wide set of heavy double doors, and another formidable-looking armed man in coveralls standing guard. Gabrielle and Brogan passed through this secondary checkpoint, the double doors sliding open to admit them into a large, broad area with low lighting, which was likely a cargo holding place for on-planet and off-planet shipping. Except for crates, barrels, and bins along the walls, however, the place was empty of anything except people. There were perhaps a couple of dozen people present, mostly men, standing and waiting around a wide circular area. The only bright place in the chamber, this circle was lit from directly above.

  Once the Squire and the Agent were inside, a man that they recognized from scans shown to them at their briefing approached them. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and thickly muscled, with a brush cut and a couple of days’ growth of beard. Some people might have considered him handsome in a dangerous, “rough trade” sort of way. He wore unmarked clothes that vaguely suggested the military of Earth in the days before space travel.

  Gabrielle acknowledged him: “Burl Holman?”

  “The same,” Holman replied. “You?”

  One more time, Gabrielle and Brogan flashed their data. Holman looked it over and quickly, sharply nodded. “Good,” he said. “You can wait your turn to go up. We’ll call on you at random, but since you two came together you’ll go one after the other. Go on over with the others; we’ll call you when it’s time.”

  The two of them went over to join the other would-be minions of Drakkar Skinner. There was small talk all around, people swapping accounts of their records and their pasts, and Gabrielle and Brogan chatted up the genuine miscreants and lowlifes around them as much as necessary. Then, a horn sounded, calling everyone to attention, and all eyes turned to one side of the room where Burl Holman stood with another man, shorter but still well-built, with curly black hair and a black tank-top shirt. This, they guessed, was the other high-ranking member of Skinner’s organization, Enzo Goss.

  Holman raised his gravelly voice at the crowd. “Listen close, you lot. You know you’re here tonight to show your fitness to work for Mr. Skinner. He only wants the best, but for his new business venture he only wants the best of the best. The strongest, the fittest, the toughest. Tonight you’re gonna show us you’re what Mr. Skinner’s looking for—or you’re gonna take whatever you get in the circle and go work for some other operation. As for what you’re gonna take…here’s who you’ll be getting it from.”

  Out of the shadows stepped two fighters: tall and grim, faces dark and unsmiling, muscles bulging, unclothed from the waist up. Their species was unmistakable.

  “Chithisians,” muttered Gabrielle. “It would have to be Chithisians.”

  The Chithisians, as a species, were the most popular in the least reputable circles in space. They seldom mixed openly with respected society. Theirs was not a respectable world. They were widely known as the riffraff and lowlifes of space, the inhabitants of an ecologically and economically troubled planet that had degenerated into a mass of crime and corruption. Once they had been a nobler race, but long ago their ancestors had let their baser nature and a want of education and culture get the better of them. Both of the Chithisian fighters were male.

  Those muscles bulged under blue-violet skin. The hands that they flexed into fists had three thick fingers each. In place of feet they had hooves. Massive, prehensile tails curled behind them. They were typical of their breed. Most often the only person pleased to see a Chithisian was another Chithisian.

  Gabrielle and Brogan traded a look that expressed without words that they each had their share of prior experience with bruisers like these, Brogan having dealt with them most recently. He turned up one corner of his mouth to say silently, We can handle this. Gabrielle cocked an eyebrow at him in response.

  Holman called out the name of the first contestant. The horn sounded again, and a brown-skinned human male stepped into the circle of light, tensing and bracing himself, preparing for the ordeal to come as one of the Chithisians entered the circle with him. For all their training and readiness, Brogan and Gabrielle still gulped as they watched the first of the evening’s duels get under way. They were about to experience a lot of cruel and brutal pummeling vicariously—until their turn came to experience it for real. Brogan stripped off the top of his skin suit, preparing himself for his moment. He kept his eyes trained on the two combatants circling each other, while Gabrielle allowed herself just this moment to look him up and down.

  The stray thoughts on her mind now were of no relevance to the purpose now at hand, but try as she might, Gabrielle could not dismiss them, especially after the moment they’d had in the hangar when they decided to use first names. In that moment Brogan had become something more than just his name and his rank and his duty. He had become more of a person to her, as she guessed she might have become to him
when she told the story of her relationship with Dillaine. At this moment, Gabrielle found herself reliving past times with Dillaine and other dragon men she had known.

  Without exception, they were the choicest males in a galaxy of choice males, never anything less than awesome and prolific in bed. Gabrielle ran her eyes over Brogan and took in the bristling of hair on his chest and down his stomach, and the look of strength and fire and sensuality on that handsome, half-boyish face, and she had no doubt that he was every bit as superb between the sheets—or wherever he might do it—as any other male of his kind.

  But that, Gabrielle knew, should be the last thing on her mind now. She willed her attention back to the matter at hand with the noise of whoops and roars and cheers welling up from the other people around her, and the sounds of grunts and blows coming from the lighted circle beyond them.

  One by one, the hopefuls went into the circle and faced one or the other of the two Chithisian brutes. One by one they went staggering or limping out, and Enzo Goss took them aside to give them a “yea” or a “nay” before dismissing them. The word of Goss, supported by Holman, was final.