Read Moonstruck for Free Online

He’s commanded a medium-size battle-cruiser ever since.”
    “But you mustn’t forget what he was. Of all the Hordish officers to choose from, this is the best you could do?”
    “He’s the only Drakken of any respectable officer rank who isn’t dead, in hiding or on trial for war crimes.”
    “My, what impressive qualifications—last cookie at the bottom of the box, and a broken one, at that.”
    “Or, if you’d rather, we can return you to the Vengeance while it sits in retrofit on Ninfarr.”
    Ninfarr. Not that damn stink pit. Brit drew her shoulders back. “My ship is not in need of a retrofit.”
    “Any ship can use a thorough go-over. One never knows what one will find that will require extensive repairs.”
    The prime-admiral’s amusement at her indignation didn’t quite cover the fact he was dead serious. Unless she cooperated, Zaafran would make her sit in Ninfarr for who knew how long, stuck in a locale she’d hate, out of commission and useless. “Your alternative is even more unpalatable than sharing the bridge with a Drakken.”
    “My hands are tied, Brit,” he said, softening the blow. “The reunification laws governing the Unity insist that she be commanded by a former Coalition officer with a Drakken officer as the second. Rorkken was the best we could find for the reasons I’ve already stated. He’s a good officer. I think you’ll be pleased in spite of your reservations.”
    “Good, eh?” The only “good” Drakken is a dead Drakken. Brit took another, controlled sip of wine.
    A noise at the office entrance signaled an arrival.
    “Ah, he’s here.” Zaafran gave her upper arm a cautionary squeeze before striding away to meet the newcomer.
    Two security guards entered the alcove across the spacious office. Then a barbarian stomped inside in heavy boots and stopped. So this was the Scourge of the Borderlands. Brit sneered, studying him in profile. His Hordish attire and adornments fluttered, tinkled and clanked in contrast to the clean and silent black uniforms of his escorts. He was formidable in build: lean, powerful, broad shouldered. His nose had a small hump where it was probably broken at some point. Other than that, he seemed to be clean-featured, even handsome in a raw, compelling way. Good looks, wasted on a barbarian. Like most Horde, his clothing revealed a good bit of skin. His tattooed flesh wasn’t filthy or sweaty as she was used to seeing on his kind, but golden and smooth, although his uniform, if one could call it such, was faded and quite obviously mended by hand in several places. Brit couldn’t imagine life without self-repairing nano-fabric.
    Upon seeing Prime-Admiral Zaafran approach, the Drakken came to attention, bringing the knuckles of his right hand to his forehead. “Warleader Finnar Rorkken reporting as ordered, sir.”
    Zaafran answered with a fist over his chest. “How was your journey?”
    “Long, sir.”
    “And your in-briefing?”
    “Also long.”
    Zaafran chuckled. “I’ll pass along kudos to Star-Major Joss for a job well done. Come, I want to introduce you to your new commanding officer.”
    Brit assumed an at-ease but impeccable posture as both men turned and walked in her direction. Rorkken slowed, noticing her for the first time. His eyes crinkled at the edges as they narrowed at her: warm, thickly lashed brown eyes under a pair of neat, dark brows that drew together in boyish inquisitiveness at the sight of her.
    Her breath caught. Seff. Oh, gods. He looked like Seff.
    Brit’s heart convulsed like a wounded animal, her mouth going dry. How could this be? The Drakken resembled an older version of her long-dead husband, the love of her life, lost so long ago that she could hardly remember his face, the feel of his arms, the sound of his voice. Now he was here, standing before her in the very form of the monsters who took him from her.
    The wine in her glass sloshed. She put the glass down on a side table with an overly loud clatter.