Lord of the Storm Read online

  Praise for Lord of the Storm

  “[Lord of the Storm has] so many sparks that it’s a wonder the book doesn’t set itself on fire while you’re reading it.”

  —LikesBooks.com

  One of Romantic Times 200 BEST OF ALL TIME!

  Lord of the Storm’s Accolades and Honors:

  Romance Writers of America’s RITA Award

  Romantic Times Reviewer’s Choice Award

  Romantic Times Career Achievement Award

  Reader’s Choice Award

  RRA Book Award

  BTC Bookstore Network Award

  Praise and Awards for Justine Dare Davis

  Romance Writers of America’s RITA

  4-time winner, 7-time finalist

  RT’s Reviewer’s Choice Awards

  5-time winner, 19-time nominee

  RT’s Career Achievement Awards

  3-time winner, 6 time nominee

  Authored 4 books selected for

  “Romantic Times 200 BEST OF ALL TIME”.

  Other Justine Davis Books coming soon from Bell Bridge Books:

  The Coalition Rebellion Novels

  Book 1: Lord of the Storm

  Book 2: Skypirate

  (Coming October 2014)

  Book 3: Rebel Prince

  (Coming 2015)

  Also:

  Wild Hawk

  Heart of the Hawk

  Fire Hawk

  Lord of the Storm

  Book 1: A Coalition Rebellion Novel

  by

  Justine Davis

  Bell Bridge Books

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), events or locations is entirely coincidental.

  Bell Bridge Books

  PO BOX 300921

  Memphis, TN 38130

  Ebook ISBN: 978-1-61194-493-8

  Print ISBN: 978-1-61194-512-6

  Bell Bridge Books is an Imprint of BelleBooks, Inc.

  Copyright © 1994 by Janice Davis Smith writing as Justine Davis

  Printed and bound in the United States of America.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

  First published in 1994 by Topaz, an imprint of Dutton Signet, a division of Penguin Books USA Inc.

  We at BelleBooks enjoy hearing from readers.

  Visit our websites

  BelleBooks.com

  BellBridgeBooks.com

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  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Cover design: Debra Dixon

  Interior design: Hank Smith

  Photo/Art credits:

  Sky (manipulated) © Leeloomultipass | Dreamstime.com

  Sky (manipulated) © Keremgo | Dreamstime.com

  Man (manipulated) © Phototimestudio | Dreamstime.com

  :Eslk:01:

  Dedication

  To Melinda Helfer,

  with appreciation and thanks

  for being the godmother

  of this book

  Chapter 1

  THE FACT THAT she was exhausted colored Shaylah’s reaction as she stepped out of the Sunbird. Her frown as she hit the wall of humid heat outside the ship’s pressure lock was involuntary; she only knew the expression had flitted across her face by the pull of the neuskin graft over the almost healed wound at her temple.

  “’S a killer, all right, Cap’n. Twin suns make it like walkin’ into a Zap cooker.”

  Shaylah glanced at the smartly uniformed landing bay attendant. “Exactly,” she agreed. She dug into the pocket of her uniform tunic and pulled out a gleaming coin. She flipped it toward him; he caught it, then stared when he saw what it was.

  “A withal!” he exclaimed, “A Romerian withal!” He gaped at her. “That where you been, Cap’n? Ship looks a bit . . .”

  His voice trailed off, as if he feared insulting her. She smiled wryly as she glanced back at the battered, delta-winged starfighter. “Yes, it does, a bit. You get her back in shape while I’m here, and there’ll be another one in it for you.”

  His eyes lit. “Yes, ma’am! I’ll have her so perfect you won’t even recognize her yourself!”

  Since the ship had never been perfect to begin with, Shaylah overlooked that piece of exaggeration and trusted to the glow of greed in the man’s eyes to get the job done. She handed him the recorder with the list of needed repairs and walked off the suspension dock toward the Carelia port captain’s office.

  Shaylah only vaguely recalled the captain from her last stop here, what seemed like eons ago, but the woman seemed to recognize her immediately.

  “Captain Graymist! Welcome back!”

  “Thank you.”

  “We heard all about the battle, about how you went up against three Romerian starcruisers and won. And got another medal.”

  Shaylah shrugged, embarrassed. The victory had been, she knew, largely a matter of luck, a well-trained crew, and the fortunately plodding battle tactics of the Romerian forces. The Sunbird had swooped in, disabled, and boarded them before the three commanders had even been able to identify their foe. None of those ships would attack a Coalition colony again anytime soon, she thought with satisfaction.

  “You’re becoming quite the hero,” the port captain said. “First the Andarians, now this.”

  “Heroics,” she said dryly, “are tiring.”

  She took Shaylah seriously. “Oh, I’m sure. Is that why you’re here? For a rehab visit?” She glanced at Shaylah’s forehead. “Were you seriously hurt?”

  “No, it’s fine. I’m just here to visit an old friend.” Her mouth quirked. “I’ve been ordered to relax.”

  “Good,” the port captain said brightly. “You deserve a rest.” The woman lifted a brow. “You’re alone?”

  Shaylah smiled wryly. “My crew has other ideas about relaxing. They’re at the Legion Club on Alpha 2.”

  “Hmmph.” The port captain sniffed. “Rowdy place.”

  Shaylah’s smile became a grin. “I have a rowdy crew.”

  The woman smiled back. “How long will you be staying?”

  Shaylah shrugged again. “Until they order me back, I suppose.” Or until the ship was repaired and she could get flying again, she thought. “I’ve ordered some work on my ship. Will you—”

  “Of course,” the woman said, eagerness taking any rudeness out of her interruption. “I’ll see that everything’s handled. Can I get you an aircab?”

  She’d intended to walk—Califa’s residence wasn’t far—but the hot, wet air was more than Shaylah wanted to deal with, so she nodded. “Please.”

  “Certainly.” The woman pressed a button, and within moments an aircab appeared. The exterior of the small transport was battered, but it sounded smooth enough, and the guide smiled engagingly.

  “Thank you,” Shaylah said.

  “Of course. Have a nice stay, Captain.” Then, almost as an afterthought, came the required words. “Long live the Coalition.”

  “The Coalition,” Shaylah muttered under her breath as, after throwing the port captain a halfhearted salute, she climbed into the aircab. The blessed, almighty, all-consuming Coalition.

  She sighed inwardly. She had learned to keep her unpop
ular views to herself over the years. Early on she had arrived at a very simple realization: One only stayed in the Coalition Legion if one toed their line. And since the thing she wanted most in life was to fly, she had little choice. She could have turned to commercial work, but jockeying the heavy cargo ships through the crowded traffic lanes, or passengers on the multitude of milk runs between colonies, wasn’t her idea of flying. She wanted a fast ship, open space, and a star to shoot for, not a slow, lumbering craft that couldn’t get out of its own way. She didn’t like the fighting aspect of her career, but she tried to look at it as the price of flying a Rigel starfighter.

  But it was a price that took its toll, Shaylah thought as she got out of the aircab, in pressure as well as blood. She flashed her identification seal at the driver, who nodded as he made note of the number to bill the Legion. Then he hovered, motionless, as she grabbed her small bag. And still waited as she straightened up. Some things, she thought wryly, never change no matter what world you’re on. She tossed him a token, and he smiled, threw her a salute, and roared off.

  Shaylah wondered if the attention she was getting as she strolled up the marble walkway was because of her uniform, or just natural curiosity about any visitor to the big dwelling. She’d thought about changing into citizen attire, but she’d been in a hurry, yearning for a long, soothing soak in the massage pool waiting in the quarters Califa always held for her.

  A young cadet in Academy uniform opened the door, smiling shyly as he ushered her inside. Califa always had a few cadets in residence; she was renowned for her knowledge of battle tactics and often served as tutor for the more promising students at the Academy. Acting as door monitors was considered a small price to pay.

  “Captain Graymist, we’ve been expecting you.”

  The young cadet, whose class insignia told Shaylah he was about sixteen, was looking at her with the kind of awe that reminded her of herself, years ago. Just seeing in the flesh one of the pilots, admirals, and warriors she’d spent so much time studying had fired her enthusiasm for her chosen career; the day the renowned Commander Larek had walked up to her post at the Academy was a day she’d never forgotten in the seven years since. So she smiled at the young man as she walked past him into the foyer.

  Califa had remodeled since she’d last been here, she thought. The smooth white floor and the equally white table just inside the front door were both new. Not quite understanding the urge that made her do it, she reached out to run her hand over the table. The surface felt cool and solid and oddly comforting beneath her fingers, and she looked at it more closely. Stark, pure white, massive, and beautifully carved, it was, she realized with a shock, pure Triotian marble.

  She jerked her hand away, her fingers curling as if they’d been burned. Embarrassed at her instinctive reaction, she relaxed the fist she’d involuntarily made, thankful that the cadet hadn’t seemed to notice. Anyone watching would have thought the marble had suddenly run red with the blood it had cost to bring it here.

  “Everything’s ready for you, Captain. All outer doors have been keyed to your palm print, and your private quarters to the usual retinal scan.”

  The cadet’s look of reverence was barely hidden by his determination to remain professionally composed. Shaylah remembered the feeling exactly.

  “It’s an honor to meet you.” He handed her the system card that would activate all the apparatus in her quarters.

  “Thank you”—she glanced at his name insignia—”Cadet Brakely.”

  A slight tinge of pink rose in his fair cheeks—with his dark hair, pale skin, and bright blue eyes, she guessed he was Arellian, like she herself—and she was glad of the vow she’d made all those years ago that if she ever made it to the exalted status of pilot and warrior, she would take the time to do what so few had ever done for her: acknowledge the existence and dreams of the ones who would someday take her place.

  “Any connection to Captain Brayton Brakely?” she asked.

  The pink became red as the boy nodded. “My father’s brother,” he admitted. The pride was there, under the blush, and Shaylah smiled.

  “I served with him on the Brightstar, along with Major Claxton. He taught me a great deal. If you’ve half his brains and courage, you’ll go far.”

  “Thank you, Captain! I hope so. I want to fly a Rigel, like you, and—”

  “Shaylah! They told me you were here!”

  Shaylah turned to see a tall, slim woman approaching, the limp from her stiff left leg barely noticeable. Califa Claxton had lost none of her flair for the dramatic, Shaylah thought; that flowing black dress made the most of her coloring and stood out like an ominous dark flame in the glistening white of the foyer. At her waist, her control belt glowed with lights: amber, blue, and the more malevolent red. Shaylah ignored the qualm that swept her at the sight of it. It had always bothered her, but there was nothing she could do about it.

  “Hello, Califa,” she said as the woman enveloped her in outstretched arms. “It’s good to see you.”

  “You’re late. You didn’t run into any of those dreadful skypirates, did you?”

  Shaylah lifted a dark, silky brow. “No. I hadn’t heard they were in this sector.”

  “Oh, the devils are everywhere. They’re getting so brazen, it’s not safe anywhere.”

  Califa gave Shaylah another hug, then released her and stood back, eyeing her critically. “You’re too thin, again. We’ll have to fatten you up. I’ve got the perfect dinner planned for us, and I’ve been saving the most wonderful bottle of Carelian brandy, and we can—”

  “Slow down,” Shaylah said, grinning at her outburst; Califa’s ability to talk at a few knots above light speed hadn’t changed, either. “All I want right now is a soak and some rest. Give me that, and we can talk all night.”

  Califa sighed. “Oh, all right. I’ve waited nearly a year to see you. I suppose I can wait a bit longer. Come, I’ll walk you to your quarters.”

  Shaylah nodded and picked up her bag. The cadet jumped. “I’ll carry that—”

  “No, thanks. I can do it; it’s not much.” He looked disappointed, and she smiled at him. “Good luck, Brakely. I hope you get your starfighter someday.”

  He flushed again, but looked so pleased that Shaylah didn’t even mind when, as they walked away, Califa began to nag in that old, too-familiar way.

  “Really, Shaylah, I don’t know why you bother. They’re just cadets. And they’re supposed to be here to learn. They can’t toughen up if you’re soft on them.”

  She shrugged. There was no point in arguing; this was old ground between them. Although she and Califa had been drawn together because they were both Arellian and had served together for several tours before injuries had forced Califa into retirement from active duty, Shaylah wasn’t blind to the differences between them. Among other things, Califa was, at heart, a bit of an elitist. And that, too, was old ground.

  “It’s easy for you,” Califa had said once when Shaylah had called her that after she’d lambasted a young ensign who’d inadvertently spoiled her toss of the dice in a game of chaser. “You were born to royalty. I’ve had to work for it.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Shaylah had said, startled; she’d never known Califa felt that way. “There hasn’t been such a thing as royalty for years.”

  Since Coalition forces had wiped out the royal family of Trios, she added silently, then pushed away the grim memory. She took no pride in the slaughter that the conquest of that lovely planet had become. She was, perhaps cravenly, grateful that she had been still in her last year at the Academy when that campaign had been launched.

  “Well, if there was, you’d be part of it,” Califa had shot back. “Your family’s been a moving force on Arellia for decades.”

  That, at least, was true, so she kept silent, and Califa let it drop. It was only one of the contrasts between them t
hat had arisen over the years, but for the sake of the friendship, they chose not to dwell on any of them.

  As they passed through the first of the doors separating the foyer from the residence itself, Shaylah mentally braced herself. She was not, she ordered herself, going to let the facts of life bother her. She was tired, her head was beginning to ache beneath the gash her medical officer had repaired, and she had no energy to spare at the moment. Especially for useless battles.

  Still, as the door silently slid shut behind them, she found herself looking away from the man who stood silently at attention on the other side, his eyes appropriately downcast. The bronze collar that encircled his neck marked him as a third-level slave, barely a step above laborer. A spot of amber glowed unblinkingly at the center of the metal band, the single light indicating the simplicity of third-level control; pain was both quick and effective.

  “. . . love the dinner I’ve ordered,” Califa was saying. “And,” she added with a sideways look that held a glint of a teasing leer, “do I have a surprise for you for dessert.”

  “Califa,” Shaylah began warningly, recognizing her friend’s tone.

  “You’re here for R and R, remember? A good, pleasurable mating, and you’ll be a new woman. I’ve just bought a very special—”

  “You know how I feel about that.” In fact, it turned her stomach, although she knew that others took advantage of Califa’s generosity with her slaves.

  “Shaylah, I swear you’re from the Creonic Age. I thought you’d learned your lesson after that battlecruiser captain of yours took off galaxy hopping with that little Omegan. Don’t tell me you still believe in that bonding for life fantasy.”

  Shaylah sighed. She knew that in her friend’s eyes she was an aberration, a believer in a custom not even of her own world, but of old Trios, where mating had meant something more than a mere physical act done only for bodily pleasure. In this time, and throughout the Coalition, she was sadly out of place. Bonding—that joining of two souls, hearts, and minds as well as two bodies—was a myth as ancient as that of the Arellian Sunbird she had named her ship after.