Metal Pirate (Warriors of Galatea Book 3)

  Metal Pirate

  Warriors of Galatea #3

  Layla Lawlor

  Metal Pirate

  Published by Icefall Press, December 2019

  Copyright © 2019 Lauren Esker/Layla Lawlor

  All Rights Reserved

  Warriors of Galatea

  Metal Wolf

  Metal Dragon

  Metal Pirate

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Epilogue: Seattle

  About Lauren

  Also by Lauren Esker

  Preview - Shifter Agents Boxed Set #1

  One

  It was, to all appearances, a dance club and drinking establishment like any of the others Skara had frequented, from the Hnee Confederacy to the mining colonies along the borders of Kk'rek space. A pulsing, driving beat made his hips want to swing, his feet to move. He had a drink in hand that he'd ordered by the simple method of pointing at a drink someone else was carrying and miming to the bartender that he wanted one. With the pounding music drowning out normal speech, the bartender didn't seem to find anything odd in carrying out the transaction in pantomime.

  Skara paid for it by shoving a handful of crumpled pieces of Earth currency across the bar. He'd obtained them a few minutes earlier by delicately lifting the wallet of one of the club's patrons while brushing past him. After taking out anything that looked like the pieces of currency he'd seen other people passing across the bar, he had left the wallet on the edge of the nearest table.

  The bartender handed him back a couple of pieces of money-paper and a handful of coins along with a glass of a frosty, frozen concoction, and said something in a friendly tone, the actual words obscured by the pounding music. Skara smiled and nodded, the smile feeling odd on a mouth that he'd reshaped to be broader than the one he usually wore, the jaw wider, the muscles anchored differently. He turned away to cut off any further attempt at communication.

  This was his third trip to Earth in the past few months, and he was starting to get the hang of walking around in places where he could understand most of what everyone else said, by way of his translator implant, but they couldn't understand him. Before portaling down to Earth the first time, he'd used a few hacker tricks to update his ship's language database, and hence his translator, from the language database on board the Galatean cruiser hiding behind this planet's moon. The Galateans had been talking to Earth humans for months, so they had a pretty decent database of several of the local languages, even if it wasn't part of the standard translator-implant package yet.

  What he hadn't counted on was that not a single person on this backwards armpit of a planet had implants of their own. He might be able to understand them, give or take a few missed words or grammatical oddities since his implant had to rely on its own database of words and grammar without the ability to sync up with an implant in the other person's head. But all they heard coming out of his mouth was gibberish—well, technically Galatean with some Iustran slang thrown in, but from their perspective, it might as well have been nonsense.

  On top of that, the forced update had given him a killer headache.

  But by now, he'd figured out a few tricks: stick to busy or noisy places, keep moving, and if all else failed, look innocent and act foreign. He'd acquired a small stash of local clothing, and learned how to move and smile and make eye contact in ways that seemed normal to locals.

  And he liked this place. The drink was good, sharp and tangy with a crusting of salt on the rim of the glass. Skara sipped it and, with a small flick of his other wrist, allowed the DNA extractor to slip down into his palm. The light was poor in here, and there were plenty of people packed close together, most of them mildly intoxicated and unlikely to notice a light sting. It was a perfect location for doing a bit of harvesting.

  He drifted among them, sampling with little jabs of the harvester. Behind him he left a string of people who were mostly oblivious, with a few scattered murmurs of "Ow!" and "Watch it!" and "Did something just bite me?"

  Earth-human DNA was a hot commodity on the galactic black market right now. And it was hard to get. Travel to Earth was incredibly risky; it meant running the Galatean blockade, getting down to the planet's surface without being spotted, and then repeating the process in reverse to get off.

  And that was assuming you had Earth's jump coordinates in the first place. Skara smiled to himself. He'd gotten the coordinates from an unlikely source, his most honorable foster-brother, the dragon Lyr ... not that Lyr knew what Skara planned to use that information for or would have approved if he did. Word was starting to leak out about a newly discovered planet that might or might not be Birthworld, the ancestral homeworld of humanity, but almost no one actually knew where it was. Those few in the "know" had a virtual monopoly.

  A few more trips to collect human DNA, and Skara would be set up for life. Not to mention being able to finance his side projects. Right now the cargo hold of his ship was empty, but the advance on his current DNA-collecting trip would enable him to buy a full cargo once he got off this backwater planet.

  Women seemed to like this body that he wore, which he'd adapted from images on entertainment broadcasts he'd picked up while he was orbiting the planet, getting the lay of the land and trying to avoid being noticed by the Galatean peacekeepers. Skara smiled back at them, flirting in body language since he couldn't use words. He'd come to this planet for business, not pleasure, but there was no reason why he couldn't mix the two.

  With the way everyone was packed together in here, other bodies bumping into him were not uncommon, but one of them brought with it a truly unexpected flash of ... something. Skara froze in his tracks and turned around, seeking to recapture that odd feeling. Had that been another of his own kind?

  Shapeshifters of his type could always recognize another of their kind on close contact. Was there another Iustran here, on this planet? How? Why?

  He scanned the crowd, but the attempt was futile. If that had really been another Iustran, they could have made themselves look like anyone or anything. And they must have felt the same flash of recognition, but they had withdrawn immediately rather than sticking around to talk to him, which meant they were laying low. For all he knew, they'd been living on this planet for years, pretending to be one of the locals. They wouldn't appreciate another Iustran blowing their cover.

  And then, as his eyes scanned the crowd, he saw her.

  She was wearing a red dress with a strappy back, cut very low to expose the long brown expanse of her back all the way to the swelling top of her hips. She had a cloud of hair in small tight curls, a rich deep brown, a few shades darker than her skin. Her face was turned down toward her drink, and all he could see of it from here was the curve of her cheek, the downcast sweep of her lashes, the pert tip of her nose and a hint of red lipstick. Just enough to tantalize.

  Her, he thought. He reluctantly abandoned the futile search for whatever he'd felt a moment ago; he was starting to think he'd imagined it anyway. If he was going to score on this
planet, he wanted her.

  "Don't look now," Claudia's sister said over the driving beat of the music, "but I think Dwayne Johnson over there is flirting with you."

  Claudia Webb glanced in that direction, then hastily looked away. He did look like the celebrity; the resemblance was really uncanny. No wonder every woman in his vicinity, even the ones with boyfriends, seemed to be locked and loaded. He looked so much like Dwayne Johnson he could almost be him, which of course was ridiculous, because it wasn't like The Rock would be hanging out in a too-loud, too-hot nightclub in Seattle.

  "Good job," Naomi said cheerfully. "You almost made eye contact for a minute there. Now if you try, perhaps, looking at him for more than half a second—"

  "I didn't come here to pick up a guy," Claudia insisted for about the twentieth time that evening.

  "Of course you didn't." Naomi crossed her legs, showing a flash of leg under her skirt. "That's why you're wearing your best fuck-me dress—"

  "It is not, I just like the color red—"

  "—and if you're going to pop that cherry, there are far worse options to do it with."

  Claudia's face heated. "I'm not popping anything."

  "Look, sis. It's your twenty-seventh birthday, count 'em, the big two-seven—"

  "That's not even a thing—"

  "—and, little sis, you are going to lose your virginity tonight."

  "Say it louder," Claudia hissed between her teeth. "I think there might be a few people in the back of the club who didn't hear you."

  "If you don't want to pick up a guy, why are you even here?"

  "It's not—I don't—Look, I do want—" She was blushing even hotter now. "It's just that I would really rather not have my first time be a one-night stand. I'm hoping to meet a guy to have a relationship with, not just get my rocks off."

  "But you could do it with a Dwayne Johnson lookalike, Claudia. Hell, if I could convince Kimmie that—"

  "That what? That you're not married, or that you're not gay?"

  Naomi reached delicately for the straw in her mojito. "I'm just saying, The Rock is one of about three male celebrities who are on my 'potentially would do it with a dude' list, and—don't look now he's coming our way!"

  "Thanks. You're making this a lot easier for me."

  Naomi leaned closer to whisper, "Maybe he is Mister Right and not just an incredibly appealing one-night stand. You won't know if you don't talk to him."

  The stranger slipped onto the stool next to Claudia's and gave her a winning smile, which she saw out of the corner of her eye as she tried to look at him while pretending to develop a sudden interest in the top of the bar counter. The resemblance was really uncanny, though up close she could see that he really wasn't who he looked like. He wasn't as tall as she felt like Dwayne Johnson should be, for one thing; Claudia didn't think he was that much taller than she was. Though sometimes celebrities were shorter in real life.

  Yeah, sure, The Rock is only 5'9", and he wants to sleep with me. That sounds realistic.

  He didn't say anything, just leaned slightly toward her. He wore a leather jacket that was a little too small for him, stretching tight across his shoulders, which made her all too aware how nice his shoulders were. His leg brushed hers. Claudia jerked in surprise, but didn't pull away. He took a sip of his margarita and his playful, flirty smile widened.

  Naomi kicked her under the stool.

  "Hi!" Claudia squawked out. She tried to kick her sister back without moving her legs too obviously—or letting her leg lose contact with his. "Uh ... I'm Claudia."

  Dwayne Johnson's shorter clone said something that the music turned to incomprehensible gibberish.

  "Sorry?" Claudia had to lean a bit closer, which wasn't a bad thing; now their shoulders were almost touching too. She caught a whiff of his cologne: spicy and masculine. Oh God, he smelled as good as he looked.

  He shrugged and pointed to his mouth, then her ear.

  "You ... can't talk? But I just heard you ..."

  Dwayne-clone said something else, and this time she was pretty sure it wasn't the music making it hard to understand.

  "Do you speak English at all?"

  Again a shrug.

  Claudia looked helplessly at Naomi. Dwayne-clone's leg was warm against hers. She couldn't help thinking how warm the rest of him would be ...

  No! Stop! He's obviously either a creep or a con artist!

  But he didn't set off her creep-o-meter at all. He wasn't crowding her in a pushy way. Every move had been carefully telegraphed so she could move away if she wanted to. He was just flirting.

  "Girl," her sister said. "He's hot. He's into you. And he doesn't speak English. No kissing and telling."

  "You're the actual worst, Nae."

  "I'm just doing my job as your sister and looking out for you."

  "By encouraging me to have a one-night stand with a foreign stranger."

  "A hot foreign stranger."

  Something brushed Claudia's hand. She gasped and whipped her head around. Dwayne grinned at her and nudged her hand again with his margarita glass, then held it up. His eyes were an invitation.

  Hesitantly, she leaned forward and sipped, her lips touching where his had been a moment earlier. It was a good margarita, sweet-sour with a hint of salt still remaining on the rim of the glass. Claudia licked it off her lips.

  Dwayne grinned at her, his eyes crinkling—even his grin was a Dwayne Johnson grin—and twirled the glass around in his fingers (long, graceful fingers, heaven help her). He took a sip, his lips grazing the glass where hers had touched.

  Although Claudia wasn't looking at her sister, she could feel Naomi giving her a look that, had it been any more pointed, would have stabbed her like a shish kebob skewer.

  And that was about the point when Claudia just gave up. Apparently the entire universe was conspiring to get her laid tonight; it had delivered a Dwayne Johnson clone who was into her and couldn't even blab about her one-night stand to any of her co-workers because they didn't speak the same language.

  Fine.

  "Naomi," she said without looking around.

  "Yes, sister dear?"

  "I've changed my mind. Dwayne Johnson and I would like to be alone."

  Naomi snorted a laugh and patted her on the shoulder as she slid off her stool. "Text me in an hour to check in and let me know everything's okay. If I don't hear from you, I'll call out the cavalry."

  "Oh, now the sisterly concern kicks in ..."

  "Just taking precautions. Speaking of which, do you have—"

  "Naomi!" Her voice rose to a squeak. "Please leave!"

  Naomi's laughter trailed behind her, audible in a pause as the club music switched to another song. Dwayne turned to look after her, and Claudia's heart lurched.

  "Please don't go," she said quickly. "She's my sister. She's married. To a woman. And—you can't understand a word I'm saying, can you?"

  Dwayne turned to look back at her. His smile was gentler now. In the lights of the club, his dark eyes sparkled.

  He was beautiful.

  She leaned in and kissed him.

  His lips were salty and tangy. Somehow she expected him to be forceful, but instead he was gentle; his mouth opened under hers, his tongue coaxed hers in. Dimly she was aware of his hand curling around the back of her head, fingers cupped under her tight curls.

  He kissed her as if his life depended on it, as if she was the only thing that existed in the world, and by the time he let go, she was gasping and about to slide off her bar stool. Despite being a virgin, she'd been kissed before. But not like that. Never like that.

  "Okay," she said hoarsely. "I'm on board with this bad idea. Totally on board. We could go back to my—no, no, let's not do that. Let's go find a hotel."

  The beautiful Earth woman who called herself Claudia took Skara to a sleeping establishment near the bar. There was an odd, awkward moment at the sleepery's counter when she looked at him and he wasn't sure what she expected, but then she passed a
card across the counter and he realized she had expected him to pay. That must be how it was done here.

  Well, he'd have to make it up to her inside, using the only common language they had.

  Under the bright lights in the sleepery lobby, he could finally get a proper look at her, and he liked everything he saw. He could have lost himself for a long while just looking at the length of her throat, her collarbones, the way the generous tops of her breasts spilled out of her red dress, the glimpses of her delicate ankles under the straps of her red shoes ...

  He needed to get laid more often, if this one woman was having such an effect on him.

  But she smelled so good, a light floral perfume underlain with the soft smell of her skin. And she was eager, a little shy as she took him by the hand and led him to a pair of double doors—but as soon as the doors closed behind them, shutting them into some kind of transport that lurched and began to move, she wound her leg around his and hooked a hand behind his head, pulling him down for a fierce kiss.

  The doors opened with a ding, and Claudia pulled away. Her shocked look made Skara grin; she seemed startled by her own boldness.

  "Come on," he said, even though she wouldn't understand, and put an arm around her waist. They did a weird little dance leaving the transport room, because he had to hang back a little, letting her take the lead; only she could read the strange script on the doors, so she would have to take them where they were going.

  She swiped a card key in one of the doors, and it opened on a room that wasn't too different from anywhere that humans or human-derived people slept. Oh, the details of the decor weren't quite like what he was used to, but that was a bed, and that was a chair, and he didn't have to be told the function of the white room with clean porcelain fixtures that opened off the bedroom.