He needed to focus.
But Mercy stood there with her chin raised and defiance blazing in her eyes, and all he could think about was the way she'd instinctively wielded his fire.
His brothers were going to laugh themselves sick when they found out.
The playboy lord, the one who'd sworn he'd never settle down, undone by a cargo pilot with grease under her fingernails and a tongue sharp enough to flay skin.
Cold metal touched his wrists. The distraction cost him. Stevn had moved while Zane's mind wandered through impossible revelations, and now something sharp pricked his skin. The cuffs clicked shut with finality.
"Try anything funny and those'll fry your brain." Stevn stepped back quickly, like Zane might explode despite the restraints.
Neuro-cuffs. The weight of them was unmistakable, as was the faint electrical hum against his skin. Nasty pieces of technology, designed to scramble neural pathways if the wearer so much as thought about resistance. Usually found in the toolkit of slavers and the worst kind of bounty hunters.
Which told him everything he needed to know about Horris and his crew.
Whatever story they were selling about treasure maps and Mercy's father, their real business involved trafficking people. The modifications to their docking mechanism, the practiced way they'd boarded and searched, the neuro-cuffs ready at hand.
This wasn't their first kidnapping.
His dragon snarled at the thought, but Zane forced it down. The cuffs would detect the spike in aggression, interpret it as hostile intent. He'd seen what the cuffs could do. The screaming had lasted three hours. When it finally stopped, the man had been drooling and vacant, all higher brain function burned away.
No, he needed to be smart about this. Patient. Find a way to get the cuffs off before he made his move.
Horris lowered his weapon, apparently satisfied that the danger had passed. "Take them to the brig and give them some food. We need to get out of here."
The proximity alarms were still wailing, which meant whoever had attacked them earlier might still be in the area. Scavengers drawn by the death of Mercy's ship, maybe. Or legitimate patrols investigating the disturbance.
Stevn grabbed Zane's arm while Krix, a human with facial tattoos that marked him as ex-military, took hold of Mercy. The one who'd searched Zane's quarters and stolen his grandfather's watch. Zane filed that away for later. When this was over, he'd be getting that back, along with several of Krix's teeth.
They marched through corridors that reeked of unwashed bodies and recycled air. The ship was larger than the Alto but in worse repair. Exposed conduits sparked occasionally, and Zane noticed several patches where hull breaches had been hastily welded shut. A faded warning sticker on one bulkhead read "DANGER: EXPLOSIVE DECOMPRESSION" in three languages, but someone had drawn a crude smiley face over it in marker. These people were hanging on by their fingernails, desperate enough to chase legends and kidnap lords.
The brig was exactly what he'd expected. A cage barely large enough for two people, with a narrow bench along one wall and a toilet in the corner that offered zero privacy. The energy field that served as a door hummed with enough power to discourage testing it.
It was, objectively, better than the closet on Mercy's ship. More room to move, to breathe. He was absolutely not stupid enough to say that out loud. Mercy's temper was already balanced on a knife's edge, and comparing their current cell favorably to any part of her destroyed home would end with him bleeding, neuro-cuffs or not.
Krix tossed a single protein pack through the energy field. It hit the floor with a dull thud that somehow made it look even less appetizing than usual.
"Go on then. Fight for it." The tattooed pirate grinned, showing teeth filed to points.
Mercy moved faster than Zane expected, snatching up the protein pack before he'd fully processed the challenge. But instead of keeping it for herself, she broke the bar neatly in half and held out one piece to him.
Their fingers brushed as he took it. The contact sent electricity racing up his arm that had nothing to do with the neuro-cuffs. His dragon surged forward, recognizing its mate through even that brief touch.
Mine, it growled. Protect. Claim.
He was completely, utterly fucked.
How had this happened? How had he walked onto a random cargo ship in a cheap port and found the one person in the universe designed for him?
Shade's knowing smile flashed through his memory. The Royal Matchmaker was supposedly psychic, able to see connections others missed. Had she known? Had she orchestrated this somehow?
The protein bar tasted like salted cardboard, but he forced himself to chew and swallow. Mercy needed to see him eating, needed to know he was taking care of himself so she could stop adding his welfare to her list of worries.
When it became clear they weren't going to provide entertainment by fighting over food, Krix and Stevn left. Their footsteps faded down the corridor, leaving Zane and Mercy in relative privacy. As private as you could be in a ship full of pirates who might be monitoring every word.
"What do you mean you're a freaking dragon?" Mercy's voice was harsh. She'd positioned herself on the bench so she could watch the door, ready for threats.
Perhaps he should have mentioned it sooner.
