They ended up back at Mercy’s quarters. It was a small space, but ten times bigger than the bunk she’d grown up with on Wolfgang’s ship, Defiant. As private spaces aboard a ship went, her new room was positively luxurious.

But it wasn’t home. Not yet.

It will be, Reaper told her, from where he sat on one of the cushioned chairs covered in velvety fabric. Mercy was too wired to sit in the other, choosing to pace the confines of the room instead. It didn’t take long to cross from the bedroom doorway to the counter with the cold unit, and back again.

She glanced over at him with a frown. That was a private thought.

He shrugged, clasping his hands in front of him. Then keep it private.

Easy for you to say.

Yes, he said with an amused tone. It is. His head tilted back and he stared up at her ceiling, as though it held some particular entertainment for him.

She decided to ignore his attempt at humor. Her mind kept turning over that weird dream she’d had with Willem Frain. Had it merely been a dream? Or something more? And if he was the one responsible for the explosion, how? Either way, someone on this ship had acted, had got to those men Reaper killed, and used them. Unless Willem could reach out across star systems to affect minds, he couldn’t have done it himself.

“So, who do you think was behind it?” She finally voiced the question that had been burning through her thoughts since the moment she’d woken in the infirmary, her ears still ringing and her body so full of aches she was afraid to move. “Cannon?”

The noise from Reaper startled her so much she stopped pacing. At first, she wasn’t sure what it was. Then she realized – the bark of sound was laughter. Reaper was laughing. She stared at him. What was this strange mood of his?

“I’m glad you think it’s funny,” she said stiffly, arms crossed. “I’m afraid I find it difficult to laugh when someone tries to kill me.”

The laughter stopped, but an amused smile lingered around his mouth as he looked across the room at her. She wished his eyes weren’t such a brilliant blue. It felt like a punch to the gut every time she met his gaze. Unnerving and…just unnerving. She squelched the thought before it could complete, reminding herself that clearly, Reaper could hear every damn thought in her head. Stupid shields.

If you don’t like it, fix them. Make them stronger. Keep me out.

I’m working on it. She sent him a glare before resuming her pacing.

“Cannon would never try to kill you,” Reaper said, his tone so laconic Mercy couldn’t mistake his complete faith that what he said was true.

“But he’s the king, right?” She argued, unwilling to let the idea go. “He has the most the lose by me being here.”

“Not at all. Cannon never wanted to be king. He hates it. He’s probably counting the days even now before you wrest power from him and take control.”

“Wait, what?” She stopped again, hesitated, and finally sat in the other chair. It took her weight, and the gel cushion formed around her in perfect support, the velvety micro-fiber so soft beneath her hands she couldn’t help but marvel and pet it with her fingers. The ships she’d grown up in and around didn’t have this level of luxury. Utilitarian was more the word. Reaper’s voice pulled her back from the brief distraction.

“Cannon doesn’t want to be king,” Reaper said again. “After Lilith died, he stepped into the void because anarchy was killing what was left of us. We had hundreds of deaths every day as Captains squabbled for power, each trying to lay claim to the empty throne. What remained of our women were quarantined away on a colony world to keep them safe from the virus. Without the influence of a queen, we were an undisciplined rabble. Lilith spent years pitting us against one another to prove who was strong enough to stand beside her. We were primed to destroy ourselves.”

“What happened?”

Reaper lifted his shoulder in a shrug.

“Cannon. His Talent wasn’t as good as another queen, but empathy is a powerful gift, often underestimated. He used his abilities to beat back the blood lust and hunger for power until a semblance of peace reigned. And he had to keep using it, every day, year after year, until we’d managed to piece ourselves back into some kind of functioning society.”

Mercy struggled to imagine it, hordes of pirates killing each other, with only Cannon’s force of will keeping them alive and going. She didn’t trust him yet, but she couldn’t deny the surge of respect she felt, listening to Reaper’s story.

“Wow,” she said softly.

“Yes,” Reaper agreed. “There are those of us who are significantly more powerful than Cannon. Myself, Treon, even Griffin, to name only a few. Many have wondered why one of us doesn’t just kill him and take the throne.”

“Because if you did, it would go right back to what it was before.”

“It would. Without Cannon and his Talent, the virus might well have succeeded in destroying us. But he would happily turn that power over to you in a heartbeat.” He leveled his gaze at her, and Mercy’s heart jumped into her throat. Honestly, she wasn’t sure if it was just the usual impact he had, or the idea that Cannon desperately wanted her to actually be the queen in truth.

She cleared her throat, and looked away. “So, Cannon’s not a suspect.” She could agree with that, now that she understood where he was coming from. “Vashti?”

Reaper’s silence forced her gaze back to him. His face was expressionless, but somehow she knew he was surprised.

She lifted an eyebrow. “What? You’re the one who told me not to trust her.”

“True.” He frowned, thoughtful. “I’ve already considered her. I don’t see a motive. She gains nothing if you’re dead. But if you do ascend to power and she manages to make herself your indispensable dear aunt…”

“Then she gains position, has the ear of the new queen.”

Reaper gave a single nod.

“Okay.” Mercy tried to take a step back and look at everything objectively. “I admit I lean toward family first as suspects. But maybe that’s just old fear talking.”

Reaper said nothing, letting her think. Mercy brushed her fingers over the arm of her chair, watching the microfiber change color slightly beneath her hand, reacting to her body heat. Her nails were short, programmed with nanobots to stay that way. She knew a smuggler who had hers strengthened and sharpened to razor sharpness, but Mercy had always thought that a dangerous affectation. What if you cut yourself with them in your sleep?

But it made her think. Anyone could have a hidden set of claws. She couldn’t trust them. Except for Reaper. The one person who could kill her whenever he wanted. The irony in that wasn’t lost on her.

“Who do you think it is?” she asked finally.

He shrugged, not the response she was hoping for.

“There are too many suspects for now. We know whoever it is has telepathy powerful enough for a memory wipe.”

“How many people can do that?”

“On board Nemesis?” He thought about it. “Maybe one in every twenty telepaths. It’s an unsophisticated method of covering his trail, but maybe that’s why he chose it. It takes little finesse, so almost anyone with the raw power could do it.”

“Great.” Mercy leaned her head back against the chair. “And how many telepaths are there?”

“Nearly everyone has at least low level telepathy. Nemesis has a standing crew of over ten thousand souls.”

“So our suspect pool is five hundred people.” A trickle of unease went through Mercy.

“Five hundred and twelve. Approximately.”

“And they’re perfectly willing to risk blowing up the ship.”

“That is a concern, yes.”

She lifted her head to stare at him. “Can you find out if any more of that explosive is aboard?”

A smile tugged at Reaper’s mouth again. “We are a pirate ship, Mercy. Of course there is more. We keep it locked away in the armory. Sebastian and Dem are investigating that thread now, but we are not hopeful.”

“You think the bomber covered his tracks.”

“That is a certainty.”

Damn. Frustration was a living thing within her, making her restless and angry all at once. “Then what the hell do we do?”

Reaper lifted a brow. “Right now? There is nothing more that we can offer to aid the investigation. Dem is extremely thorough, and he will not stop until the threat has been eliminated. So we concentrate on what we can control.”

“Which is?”

“You.”

Mercy lifted her head. “Me?”

“As I’ve stated before, you need training. As fast as possible. The more you embrace your gifts, the harder it will be to kill you.”

Mercy couldn’t help the sigh that escaped her. She’d much rather be out there, trying to find whoever had attacked her. Training her Talent was all well and good, but it felt passive.

Only because you have no idea what you are capable of. I assure you, Lilith was the least passive person I have ever known.

“Fine.” She sat forward in her chair. “Let’s do this.”

The first thing you’re going to need is patience. You aren’t going to succeed overnight.

I can be patient.

The look he gave her could best be described as incredulous. She scowled at him. What? You don’t know me.

Amusement settled around his mouth. I believe I am beginning to.

Right. Because we’ve known each other for so long. She gave him a look, in case the sarcasm of her answer escaped him.

A challenge, then. You wear a brusque demeanor like armor. You use it to push everyone away. But in truth you do this for their protection, not yours. You are self-sacrificing, and always think of others first. In a fight, you would do whatever it takes to survive, including run away if the opportunity presented itself.

Are you saying I’m a coward?

A survivor. And an idealist. Two things that normally have no place together.

Mercy barked out a startled laugh. “So, I’m a coward and naïve?”

Reaper contemplated her for such a long time, Mercy had to fight the urge to fidget.

“It would be easier if you were either of those things. A coward would cringe away from danger. Someone truly innocent would listen to me and be easier to protect. You are neither. You also can’t take a compliment.”

“Funny, it didn’t sound all that complimentary.”

Reaper leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees. His face was still, coldness creeping into his eyes. “Lilith cared for no one but herself. She willingly sacrificed her own family—be they her consorts, her siblings, or her children—to get what she wanted. This made her a powerful queen, one able to hold us together by sheer force of will.” He relaxed fractionally. “I expected you to be the same. But you aren’t.” Reaper looked away, his voice so quiet she almost didn’t hear him. “You are nothing like Lilith.”

Stung, Mercy glared at him. “Sorry to disappoint.”

His gaze swung back to her, and the look that came into his eyes rocked her with its intensity. She sucked in a sharp breath, unable to look away.

You mistake my meaning. His presence in her mind took on a more intimate feel, his words softer and more laden with unspoken things. The tension between them increased to such a degree that Mercy found each breath difficult. Warmth spiraled through her, unlooked for and unwelcome.

Stop it.

His shoulders lifted. Am I doing something?

You damn well know you are. Mercy couldn’t tear her eyes from the way the thin cloth of his shirt clung to every muscular line of his torso. He folded his hands across the flatness of his abdomen, and for some reason the simple movement made her mouth go dry. If this is a game, knock it off. Toying with my emotions isn’t training.

If I could do that, it would be excellent training. But I am no empath.

Mercy swallowed. You are Mother-damned doing something, and you know it.

He smiled faintly, and it drew her gaze—and her thoughts—to his mouth. I never said I wasn’t. Just not with your emotions.

Then what? The image of kissing Reaper was a vivid thing in her head, and it made her want to punch him.

Soft laughter echoed through her mind. Reacting to attraction with violence—I’ve only encountered that in other Killers.

It isn’t the attraction; it’s that I know you are using it to screw with me.

All I can do is plant the suggestion. What your mind does with it is entirely on you.

Fuck you.

Is that an invitation?

Mercy stood up too fast, nearly losing her balance as her head spun and the gel foam of the chair didn’t quite want to let her go. She grabbed the edge of the armrest to steady herself. Damn. The work Doc had done on her muscles might have kept them from atrophying, but she still felt weaker than she had since she was thirteen, trying to master the fitness regime Wolfgang insisted on. Atrea had made her look like a day-old kitten on that stupid holo routine, and she hated feeling the same way now.

Having a bomb detonate mere feet from her probably didn’t help either. Her head still felt a bit wobbly, taking a moment to settle from her sudden surge upwards. How long was this going to go on? How long was she going to feel this vulnerable?

Your physical limitations are nothing to your mental vulnerabilities. No trace of humor touched Reaper’s tone. You’re easily targeted, easily distracted, and—

If you say easily manipulated, I will stab you.

Reaper went silent, and Mercy closed her eyes. Great. Nothing like an ineffectual threat to make her feel completely humiliated.

“You are not ineffectual.” Hearing his voice aloud surprised her into opening her eyes and looking at him. Reaper wasn’t laughing at her, and he didn’t look offended or condescending. His eyes were steady, his expression serious. “You are a queen, Mercy. You may have no idea yet what you are capable of, but I do. So does everyone else on this ship. Do you know why someone tried to kill you today?”

Her brow furrowed. “We don’t know their motive.”

“Fear.” Reaper’s eyes took on a distant, faraway look. “You don’t know what Lilith did with her gifts. The things she forced us to do. My mother had three consorts. Three. Two of them were Killers. One was the most powerful telepath of his age. Only Lilith boasted a coterie as powerful, and she resented the hell out of our family because of it.”

Slowly, Mercy sat back down. Multiple consort partnerships were not rare on certain worlds. Many people preferred relationships limited to two people, and some worlds had their own laws regarding the number of consorts one could legally have, but plenty of others allowed as many as three or four to pair together. It didn’t surprise her that the pirates allowed multiple partners, particularly given their population problems.

But that wasn’t why Reaper was talking about this.

“Go on,” she said.

“I’m not talking love matches. My mother chose her consorts carefully. My grandmother was a contemporary of Lilith’s. They were both from family lines that had produced queens in the past. They grew up in the same colony. Went to the same classes, had the same trainers. Our family knew what Lilith was capable of. My mother chose her consorts accordingly.”

Mercy watched him, digesting both his words and what he left unsaid. “You’re saying your mother chose the most dangerous men she could to make sure her family was protected.”

“Yes. And it was still only partially successful.”

“Partially?”

His eyes chilled until they verged on that pale blue she had come to associate with Reaper at his most dangerous. “Dem’s father died when I was six. He was on a mission for the Queen. Treon’s father died less than a year later. A malfunction with the life support on a ship he was commanding. My father lived the longest, but he was eventually killed by one of our own.”

“Another Killer? Why?”

Reaper shrugged. “Because he was told to. We never did find out who, but very few people can order a Killer to do anything.”

“Why did she target your mother’s consorts? Why not target your mother?”

“Until our fathers were removed, it was too dangerous. What would a Killer do if he suspected his consort had been assassinated?” Reaper shrugged. “A few years after my father’s death, Matera-D happened. Lilith died. So did our mother.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Reaper didn’t react to her words of sympathy. “My mother was a threat to Lilith as long as she was capable of bearing children. If she’d had daughters—”

“One might have been a queen.” Mercy drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair. “Like me. That’s why my mother took me and left. Because she knew what I was, and she knew Lilith would kill me. Why? Didn’t she need an heir?”

Reaper shook his head. “Lilith was seventeen when her mother died and she became Queen.” He paused. “It has often been speculated exactly what killed her. A powerful queen in the prime of her life.”

“You’re saying she murdered her own mother to take power.”

“Why else would she view you, a child, as a threat?”

A thousand conversations with her mother ran through Mercy’s head. The number of times Pallas had told her how dangerous her grandmother was, how she couldn’t trust anyone from their family, or anyone with Talent. Lilith would send people after them, and anyone could be a threat. One conversation in particular floated to the surface. It was a few months into their stay on an agricultural ship, working in a biodome. Mercy had liked it there because most of the people were nice, and everything around them was green and growing, fragrant with the scents of flowers and herbs. Dirt was everywhere, but it was cleaner than any place they’d stayed before. Mercy was six. She loved learning all of the names of the plants, watching fragile stems burst through their little pods of earth, misted with water and bathed in the light of a nearby sun during every day cycle.

What was the name of the girl she’d spent most of her days beside? She was older, ag-born, and she knew everything. She’d shown Mercy the orchards and given her peaches right off the branch as they worked, the succulent fruit impossible to get on a hundred worlds. The name wouldn’t come to her. Not that it mattered. She’d had dark hair, and freckles.

Everything had seemed perfect. Until the day a new group of workers arrived, and a new man was assigned to their plot. Mercy knew right away that he was different. Talented. It was the first time they’d run across someone else with Talent, and terror had rooted her to the spot. When she could move again, she ran to her mother as fast as she could, desperate to get away.

Pallas didn’t waste any time. They were on a ship, but one that stayed in orbit, shuffling workers to and from the colony on the world below them on a daily basis. Certainly, it sent harvests that often. Mercy’s mother had grabbed the bags they always kept packed and ready, and ushered them to the next shuttle down, where they could get to the spaceport and flee. She’d only stopped long enough to ask a single question.

“What color were his eyes?”

Mercy couldn’t remember what she’d said. But she remembered him.

Blue. His eyes had been blue. Like Reaper’s.