Guardians of a Giant's Treasure Read online

  Guardians of a Giant’s Treasure

  Three Romances. One Anthology.

  By M.D. Grimm

  Guardians of a Giant’s Treasure

  Anthology

  By M.D. Grimm

  Trash and Treasures

  Edited by Michele Briere

  Originally published in Theory of Love Anthology by Torquere Press

  Night Guardians

  Edited by Michele Briere

  Originally published in Harvest Moon Anthology by Torquere Press

  A Giant’s Friend

  Edited by Michele Briere

  Originally published by Torquere Press

  Cover Art by SelfPubBookCovers.com/Necromancer

  Published with permission

  Copyright 2018 M.D. Grimm

  Smashwords First Edition

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Trash and Treasures

  Night Guardians

  A Giant’s Friend

  About M.D. Grimm

  Other Titles by M.D. Grimm

  Excerpts of Select Titles

  Connect with M.D. Grimm

  Trash and Treasures

  Tucker has spent his entire life as an interstellar trash man. But ever since his mother died, he’s been alone, and certainly lonely. So when he discovers the derelict ship he scooped up has an occupant—a beautiful young man named Ronan—Tucker is thrilled.

  Ronan is royalty and running from his tyrannical mother, determined to keep a powerful object out of her hands. But when he strikes a deal with the adorable Tucker, he wonders if it’s time to stop running.

  ***

  This short story was originally published in “Theory of Love” anthology by Torquere Press, now defunct. I really enjoyed writing these characters. For this reprint, I honestly had nothing to add to this story. It was perfect the way it was. To add anything more would be to make it a novella or novel, and not the short story it was always meant to be.

  I hope you enjoy it, and take it for what it is: a cute sci-fi romance involving two lonely young men searching for connection and acceptance.

  An alarm was going off. He knew that—it was hard to ignore; it was so loud! The problem was, he was certain that alarm had never gone off before. Like, ever. Not even when his mom had been alive. So why now? What was it? Tucker leaned forward with a frown, fiddling with dials, trying to shut the fucking thing off. He finally admitted defeat and called up the ship's manual. The hologram fizzled slightly but settled when he smacked the console.

  “Alarm,” he said. The page that held information on the various alarms and what they meant replaced the table of contents page. Tucker scanned down the list and finally found what he wanted. He rubbed his eyes before looking again.

  Living organism?

  “What the hell?” he said softly. He tapped the required sequence to shut down the alarm. After closing the manual, he jumped to his feet and raced down the narrow corridor between the bridge and the belly of his ship, Destiny. He didn't understand... Why was there a living organism in his trash compartment?

  He’d just come across a derelict ship—or he thought derelict—and he’d picked it up, swallowing it into Destiny. That was his job, after all. He was the trash collector for this sector of the solar system. The ship had looked old, busted, and with no signs of life on the initial scan. Though he had to admit, his equipment wasn’t the most reliable. What sort of life, then, had he just picked up? Could there even be a dog or cat on board?

  Tucker smiled. He’d like a pet, another living creature to talk to, to focus on. Excited, Tucker opened the hatch that led down to the trash compartment and locked his hands and his boots against the side poles of the ladder, sliding down instead of climbing down. He easily moved about the ship, having grown up on her, inheriting her from his mother. He knew everything about Destiny—her noises, fluctuations, the parts of her that worked and what didn’t. Or, he thought he had. That alarm had certainly sent his heart racing.

  Jogging down the short corridor, bypassing the engine, heating and cooling systems, and other mechanisms that kept her spaceworthy, he finally came to the heavy door that opened up to her bowels. He gripped the round locking handle and turned it with a grunt. The door creaked as he shoved it open and stepped inside. Years of trash filled it to bursting. He should clean it out at regular cycles, but sometimes he found barely anything to clean up, then other times it was full during just one rotation. Seeing all the tubes, poles, melted pieces of iron and steel, busted electronics, and a hodgepodge of other trash, he scolded himself for letting the mess accumulate. There could easily be treasures buried under the piles of scrap, and he certainly had a job ahead of him when he finally did dive in.

  “Stupid,” he said to himself. He could just see his mother shaking her head at him. He sighed. “I know, Ma. I know.”

  He had to climb over a couple mounds of debris before arriving at the small ship he’d just captured. It looked even worse up close. Grunting, Tucker walked to the back of the ship and easily found the emergency control panel next to the locked ramp. Fiddling with a few tools inside his belt pouch, he chose two, and ripped off the panel before hacking the system. His mother had been able to hack anything, and eagerly passed on her skills to her son. Tucker owed everything he was to her.

  She’d died several cycles ago, and he still missed her fiercely.

  Shaking off those thoughts, Tucker overrode the system, and the ramp lowered. After returning his tools to the pouch, he jogged up and began looking around for anything living. It would be really stupid if Destiny was just playing a joke on him. She did that sometimes.

  The ship was slightly bigger than a shuttle, but meant for interstellar space. Yet, he could now determine it was an older model—in fact, it was an outdated, recalled model from several cycles back. Why the hell would anyone trust their life to such a death trap? It was obvious something had happened inside the ship, causing it to die. Dented and melted metal met his gaze as he swept it over the main cabin. Had a struggle taken place? His imagination whirling, Tucker wondered at the lack of blood or bodies. How many had been on this ship, and who was here now?

  “Hello?” He waited. No answer. Frowning harder, Tucker began to search, moving furniture and looking through the few holes inside the walls. It wasn’t long before he found something...odd. Crouching, Tucker cautiously picked up a pale, glowing ball. The light pulsed faintly and was definitely coming from inside the object. He could feel the warmth even through his thick glove. Weird. This was definitely not trash.

  Tucker heard a noise to his left and shot to his feet. He stuffed the glowing ball into his trouser pocket before slowly moving down a short hallway. Then he heard a moan. A human moan. Forgetting caution, Tucker surged down the hallway and stumbled into a dark room. Tucker flicked on the light attached to his belt and it partially illuminated the area. It became obvious that this room had borne the brunt of the disabling impact. Had something hit the ship? That would explain a lot. But what hit it? Turning in circles, Tucker quickly spo
tted an obviously human shape trapped under a heavy desk. The human seemed to be just regaining consciousness and his arms—Tucker assumed he—were weakly pushing against the desk.

  “Easy there,” Tucker said as he went to the man’s side. “I got it. I’ll lift and you scooch out, okay?”

  “Yeah,” the man said in a voice filled with pain. That voice also confirmed it was, indeed, a man.

  Tucker took a deep breath and, with muscles formed from lifting heavy objects all his life, he easily heaved the desk off the stranger. The man took a deep breath and managed to scoot back on his butt. Tucker dropped the desk to the floor after he had cleared it. The stranger wore a spacesuit and helmet, obscuring his face and form.

  “I’m Tucker.”

  The man was silent for a moment before nodding. “Ronan.”

  “Pretty.”

  Ronan managed to stand, wobbling slightly. Tucker realized Ronan was about a foot shorter than him—making him about five feet, five inches—and despite the suit, appeared to be slim.

  “Are we on a ship?” Ronan asked.

  “Yep. Mine. You don’t need the spacesuit, Destiny’s sturdy.”

  Ronan nodded again before taking off his helmet.

  Tucker's eyes widened. “Wow. You’re really pretty.”

  Ronan frowned at him, as if confused. But then he just said, “Thank you.”

  “You're welcome.”

  Ronan frowned some more. Tucker didn’t know why he seemed confused. Surely others had told him how pretty he was? It was obvious to anyone with eyes! With skin the shade of cinnamon, hair of starkest white, and eyes of emerald, how could anyone look at Ronan and not drool? Tucker touched his mouth just to make sure he wasn’t. That wouldn’t be polite, after all.

  Ronan looked him over and Tucker could well guess what the beautiful man thought of him. While no expression crossed his perfect face, Tucker knew many looked at him as if he was nothing better than the trash he collected. It was just the facts and he tried not to resent it.

  “You’re a trash man?” Ronan said.

  “Yep,” Tucker said, putting pride in his tone. His mother had taught him to be proud of what he did. It was a necessary job, one of great importance. No one would sway his mind on that.

  Ronan opened his mouth, but then his eyes widened as if he’d suddenly remembered something. He dropped his helmet and began to frantically pat down his suit.

  Tucker frowned and tilted his head. “What is it?”

  Ronan only shook his head before scrambling about the room. “Where is it? Where is it?”

  The barely-heard words suddenly made the glowing ball in Tucker’s pocket grow heavier. He touched it gently, watching Ronan limp around, overturning broken furniture, shoving things out of the way.

  Tucker cleared his throat. “Um, Ronan. Is this what you’re...?” He held up the ball.

  Ronan spun around as his eyes locked on the ball, his expression turned fierce. “Give that to me.” He held out his hand.

  Suddenly wanting to play a game—seriously, it had been a long time since he’d seen another human being—Tucker pulled his hand back. “What will you give me for it?”

  Ronan scowled deeply and Tucker thought he was still beautiful. Ronan clenched and unclenched his hands before taking a step forward. Tucker got the sense it was a warning.

  “Give it to me,” he said again, his arm jerking in emphasis.

  “Finders keepers,” Tucker said, trying not to laugh. He should be scared, but damn, it was nice to have a conversation with a living, breathing being instead of Destiny’s computer. “I can keep whatever I haul in, that’s the main benefit of a trash man. So, technically, your ship and everything in it, and this ball, is mine. So the law says. Let’s make a trade."

  Ronan’s lip suddenly curled up and he crossed his arms over his chest. He lifted his chin in defiance. “I see the look in your eyes, Tucker. I’m not trading sex to get that ball back.”

  Tucker gaped. “N-no! I’m not—" But then an imp of mischief trampled over his good intentions and suddenly sex sounded really, really good. He smiled. “Well, now that you mention it, that’s what I want. Sex for the ball.”

  Ronan scowled, emerald eyes narrowed.

  Tucker began to bounce the ball in his hand. “Well? How badly do you want it? If you say no, then I’ll just leave you in here until I arrive at a habitable planet." He wouldn’t, though. He was bluffing. His mother would come back from the grave if he seriously intended on imprisoning someone.

  “I’ll even sweeten the deal,” Tucker said, enjoying himself. “I’ll give you the ball and drop you off at a destination of your choice. Just give me the coordinates, and I’ll take you to whatever planet or mothership you were heading toward. No questions, no other demands.”

  Ronan suddenly looked him over again and, on impulse, Tucker looked down at himself. He winced. Since he was alone a lot—see “all the time”—he didn’t often shower or shave. And his clothes hadn’t been washed in...how long? His trousers, boots, and shirt showed obvious wear and tear, with sweat, grease and oil stains, scuffmarks, and patches at the knees and elbows. He wore goggles all the time and they currently rode on his forehead, just above his eyes. His gloves were in a better state than the rest of him, but only because they were made of the most durable material the interstellar community had to offer. His black hair was lank and he was sure he had some smudges on his cheeks. He also probably smelled.

  “I can clean up,” Tucker said hurriedly. He met Ronan's eyes and swallowed hard. “I can shower! I have soap—somewhere—and can smell like roses. I can change my clothes and...we can even have a meal first. That’s, like, romantic or something, right? I got a huge store of food and my ma taught me how to cook. I can offer you a hot shower as well. Please?”

  Some of the coldness left Ronan’s eyes. He seemed confused again. Why did Tucker seem to confuse Ronan so much?

  Then it happened. Ronan nodded. “Deal.”

  Tucker barely stopped himself from gaping again. It worked? He was going to have sex? He was going to have sex! He didn’t let himself think about how long it had been since his last partner. It would only depress him. He knew what to do...mostly.

  Tucker tossed the ball underhand to Ronan, who caught it with a startled expression.

  “What?” Tucker said. “It’s not like you can go anywhere. Your ship’s kaput, and even if you tried to hack into my navigation system, you wouldn’t get far. My ma designed it and she was the best there was. Just letting you know in case you had a thought of bashing me over the head and commandeering my ride."

  Ronan looked insulted. “I would never do such a thing. I am not a thief or vagabond.”

  “Then what are you?”

  Ronan’s mouth pulled into a thin line.

  Tucker shrugged. “Fine. Keep your secrets. Come on, follow me. Let’s both take a well-needed shower.” A blush suddenly crept up his face. “I mean, a shower separately. Let’s take a shower—oh, never mind. Just come on.”

  He turned his back on Ronan and called himself an idiot. He dearly hoped he wasn’t making a huge mistake. But he wouldn’t go back on it now. He really, really wanted to have sex.

  ***

  Tucker was a very odd man. Ronan lathered soap over himself and frowned as he replayed that moment again and again. There was no cunning in him—that much was obvious. There wasn’t malicious intent or political motivation. He was just a simple trash collector who obviously craved human contact. And, well, he was adorable. Dirty and rough, but completely adorable. Ronan found himself not at all perturbed by their arrangement. Having grown up in a royal family where intrigue and backstabbing were part of daily life—and to show any emotion was weakness—it was nice to meet someone who so openly expressed what they wanted. Besides, it would be interesting, having sex with someone who wouldn’t panic should a hair be out of place. As in all things among the royal families, sex was to be as clean and polished as activities in public.

  Al
so, with Ronan’s family, to take a lover was to take a potential traitor to your bed. Everything and everyone had a price; everything could be used as blackmail. Perhaps Tucker had traded sex for the globe, but Ronan could easily see the reason behind it—loneliness, admiration for Ronan’s beauty, and Tucker had seen it as a game. Ronan had trained well on how to read people, and Tucker was an open book. Tucker would never use sex as leverage—he would show his gratitude and beg for more.

  Ronan smiled. Sweet, sweet man. It was probably a good thing Ronan had been the one Tucker scooped up, or else some evil-hearted person would have taken full advantage of Tucker’s trusting and open nature.

  After finishing his shower, Ronan changed into the few clothes that survived the collision. Feeling much better, but certainly hungry, he journeyed to find the galley just as another door slid open, and Tucker appeared with a tray laden with food. Ronan’s eyes widened before he controlled his expression. Then he wondered why he should control it. Tucker was not like those at court. The smells coming off the tray were divine.

  Tucker looked charming. He wore a suit that had seen better years, but didn't look bad on his lanky frame. He’d combed his hair, though a few strands stuck up stubbornly, and his goggles and tool belt were missing. Ronan found himself truly appreciating the effort Tucker was putting into their arrangement. The almost pleading “please” during their negotiations had been the turning point for Ronan and his reason for saying yes.

  Looking nervous, Tucker managed not to spill anything as he set the food on the table. He smiled shyly, his big, brown eyes giving the impression of an eager puppy. But they also seemed to show that he was waiting to be hit on the nose for being bad.