Taming the Wildcat (Sargosian Chronicles) by Bethany J. Barnes Mina Carter

angrily at the tears. This wasn’t her. She never reacted like this. About anything. Exhaustion beat at her from every side—physically, mentally and emotionally. All she wanted to do was curl up into a tiny ball and cry.
    Everyone she had known, worked with and cared about on the Tipton was dead and gone. The man she loved, Lord only knew, was somewhere out there, in the great unknown. Hell, he probably thought she was dead too, if news of the Tipton had reached him. She cried again.
    She couldn’t do this. She wasn’t the type to indulge in crying normally, but she’d never felt like this before. About anyone. Ever. She’d lost Roz, lost her friends and her ship, nearly lost her life. Hell, anyone would break under this kind of stress. Somehow, she reined herself in as Saarday stared in shock at her outburst. She dragged her palms over her wet cheeks and then shoved her hair back. She must’ve looked like a crazy person.
    “I’ll give you all the info you could possibly want about the attack on the Tipton. Names, numbers of enemy fighters, coordinates…you name it, but I don’t have to tell you anything about him. If that means you want to ship me off, so be it.”
    The tears had finally stopped. Slumping back into the co-pilot’s chair, she felt wrung out, smaller almost. For once, she was grateful for the numbness that pervaded her entire body and mind. As if someone had given her a shot, there was nothing in the numbness but an odd calm that allowed her to regroup.
    He inclined his head, an odd expression on his face. “No, you don’t have to tell me anything. I’m sorry if I upset you.”
    He stood in a lithe movement and looked down at her. “I’m in need of a new Air Group Commander. If you want to remain on the Pendragon, then the job’s yours.”
    * * *
    She was gone.
    Not just gone but ripped from this life before her time. Destroyed by violence he’d have given his life to protect her from. Hell, he’d have given every last drop of blood in his veins to make sure she never cried again.
    “Gone,” he informed the brandy bottle sitting in front of him, already half empty. Sargosian brandy, a cheap vintage, strong enough to strip the hairs from the inside of his nose, and proof enough to kill a non-Sargosian immediately.
    It was his third today.
    Roz grabbed it by the neck and poured more of it down his throat. He couldn’t stay drunk for long, even on this stuff. His metabolism was too quick. But if he could drink himself into unconsciousness, then the empty hurt in the middle of his chest might go away for a while.
    Until he woke up. Then it would slam right back in place, twice as strong. Carving up his heart liked a butcher had taken a blade to his ribcage. A pain so strong it stole his breath. There were only two things that made it go away—alcohol and combat. Losing himself in the thrill of battle.
    Killing.
    It wasn’t the way he wanted to remember her.
    His Summer. His life…his wife.
    He emptied the bottle and flopped back on the bunk. Not his. He couldn’t face going into his room, not with her scent covering everything from the three days they’d spent holed up in there. Not yet, anyway. When the pain got too bad and he was too drunk not to, he’d crawl back in there and wrap the sheets around himself. Try to lose himself in memory.
    *
    The bottle clunked to the floor as the tall warrior passed out. Shirtless, he sprawled over the hard bunk. His body was covered in deep cuts and bruises from a recent battle, his arms spread wide, one empty above the brandy bottle, purple fabric wrapped around his other fist.
    Jei, Wildcats’ second-in-command, watched his boss with a frown of concern on his face.
    “What are we gonna do with him?”
    Sel dropped into a chair next to the tall, dark-haired warrior, her gaze following his to the unconscious Roz. “He wouldn’t even let us patch him up…”
    Jei shook his head. “Damned if I know. I’ve never seen him like this. Not over a