Born on a pirate ship. Weaned on rum. Learned to speak during her first boarding raid.

  Lysara was never a child— She was a problem. With red hair and a dagger in hand.

  At seven, she started a mutiny Because her breakfast was too cold. At ten, she controlled her own sector of space. At sixteen: war spoils, a throne, a scar, a title.

  Pirate Queen of Pyro. Feared, worshipped, hated— And eventually decred officially dead. Emotionally, that checks out.

  “I didn’t die. I just stopped being nice.”

  She lives on. Disguised. Cursed. Running on revenge. Or pleasure. Or both.

  Her ship, the Widowmaker, A Drake Cutss Bck—modified like a BDSM dungeon with a demolition permit. Inside: dark, loud, sensual. Outside: bck and red. Impossible to ignore.

  She talks to things. To dead radios. To holographic heads. To food. Sometimes, they talk back.

  Her reputation? Complicated.

  They call her “Mommy Bde.” “The Demon Queen of Pyro.” Or simply: “Oh shit, she’s smiling.”

  She has no crew. Only ghosts. And the occasional bedmate with a broken heart.

  She’s into women with morals and bite. Into control. Into chaos. And those small, precious moments where someone thinks she might be soft— Right before she slides a knife between their ribs and asks If that felt like an orgasm to them.

  “Love is for romantics. I prefer bondage with bullets.”

  Type: Ex-queen. Psycho. Erotic force of nature Age: 30 Specialty: Manipution, destruction, seduction Status: Dead (on paper), alive (to everyone’s horror) Alias: Red Vex Personality: Insane. Charming. Unpredictable. Dream: No one asks. And that’s for the best. Problem: Empathy exists. Deep down. Under a pile of corpses. Threat: If she likes you, you belong to her. If she doesn’t? You still do.