by Delia Roan
He rolled his neck, listening to it crack.
How am I supposed to focus when I am so tense?
Once he dealt with the immediate coolant issue, he could devote time to solving the issue with the human sleepers. His troubles would ease then. In the meantime, the answer stood beside him, her head tilted and her lips parted as she oohed and aahed over algae.
A little bit of physical attention could make me forget all my troubles.
Which Mara would he get? The firebrand or the icicle? The uncertainty excited him. Before his brain could catch up, he reached out and grabbed her upper arm. She turned in surprise, her mouth opening to speak.
He didn’t give her the chance. He pulled her upward, wrapping his arm around her waist, and sank his lips onto hers. For a moment, she stiffened against him. No, don’t run from me. He moved his mouth against hers, and skirted his tongue along her plump lips, coaxing her to give in. I know it’s there. Let me feel your fire.
She responded. Her lips parted, and she gasped against his mouth, a sweet little sound that let him know she wanted him as much as he wanted her. Her hand pressed against his bare chest and stroked across his skin. Where her fingers slid, his body burned. With a groan, he deepened the kiss, losing himself in her.
No one had ever kissed him like this, with a carefree, wild abandon. There was no ulterior motive. Only honesty. Just her heat and her passion and her need.
She’s mine, his blood roared. Mine.
He dropped his free hand to her hip, feeling the curve of her under his hand. Her waist was tiny, and he drifted his hand up her side and across her back, before threading his fingers through her hair.
Their kissing grew frantic. Her hand rose up to his shoulder, and her nails dug into his skin. The sharp prod of pain drove him wild. Somehow, she seemed to be pulling him, forcing him to bend closer to her, pushing her body against his so he could feel every soft curve of hers.
Mine!
He thrilled at her desire. Every low moan she made against his mouth let him know that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. He broke the kiss, not because he wanted to, but because he needed to see her face. To see that glow in her languid eyes.
“Mine,” he whispered to her. “You’re mine.”
It was the wrong thing to say. She stiffened up, her eyes growing wide. Her swollen lips clamped together, and her brow furrowed.
No, no.
He bent down and kissed her again, trying to fan the dying flames.
Her lips parted, but the heat was gone. He might as well have been kissing one of the girls for hire on New Trades.
No! Not this. Not like this.
He dropped his arms and, even though it took all his strength, he stepped away from her. His thwarted passion twisted in his guts, and he tried to compose diplomatic words that would not damage the tentative bond they had formed working together.
But tentative and diplomatic were not terms a warlord’s son needed often.
“You may take the laundry,” he said, gesturing to the pile of clothes in the corner. “I need the sheets cleaned, too.”
Her eyes narrowed. A storm began brewing in their brown depths. “Last call for laundry was days ago.”
“I know,” he ground out. “I missed it.”
“You miss a lot of things,” she said, scooping up his laundry and dumping it on the bed. She stripped it with fierce efficiency. “For a guy who runs a freaking big ship, your people skills are sorely lacking.”
He threw open the door for her, and executed his most ornate courtly bow, before slamming the door shut on her back. He counted to twenty, but his rage would not abate.
With a roar, he picked up Clez’s abandoned wine bottle and threw it against the wall. Like most vessels designed for space travel, it merely bounced off the wall, leaving a dent, and hit the floor, spilling old wine everywhere.
He had been so close. And in the end, the human did not want to give him what he wanted most.
Her.
CHAPTER EIGHT
MARA
Mara pressed herself against Dannica’s cryo-bed, her arms full of laundry and her eyes full of tears. Over the past few weeks, the Sykorian ship had become her hidey-hole. A place where she could sit beside a friend and vent. She dropped her head to her knees, and then regretted it when the scent of Syrek washed over her, sweat and spice. Her head spun.
“What a dumbass,” she said to Dannica.
She meant herself, of course. Oh, she’d heard all the clichés about the earth moving and time stopping. But Syrek had helped her experience all those fairytale feelings. She had lost control. He made her lose control. He opened her up and exposed emotions she spent her life denying herself: want, and longing, and desire.
And freedom.
Like the clichés, her heart had soared free.
It all came crashing down because he had reminded her what she was. A slave.
Mine.
The word echoed in her thoughts.
“He bragged about everything on this ship belonging to him,” she said. “Oh, Danni, I know I was a fool to follow him, but I did it anyway.”
When his face had lit up talking about his ship, his pride had warmed her. His determination and strength, and those intense eyes, drew her in. Underneath his gruff exterior, he cared for the ship, like he cared for the plants.
“That kiss was something else,” she muttered.
Yet she was sure he couldn’t care for her.
Not when he could remind her that he was his to do with as he pleased, and then to callously cast her aside. She kicked the clothes away and dropped her head into her hands.
“And then he told me to do his damn laundry!”
She groaned into her palms and bit her lower lip. It tingled pleasantly from his kisses. Luall’s warning about fraternization popped into Mara’s head. She dragged her hand across her mouth, trying to erase all traces of their lip lock.
Kisses that’ll never happen again.
She had to ensure that nobody on board learned of her and Syrek. If they found out, it wouldn’t be Syrek paying the price: it would be her. And who knew what the punishment might be? She wrapped her arms around herself and shuddered. Haven was, well, a haven, compared to living with the Sykorians. If she lost her place here, she also lost her chance to help Dannica and the other humans.
“I know what you would say, Danni. You would tell me to be smart. Play it safe.”
A chime rang through the corridors. The dinner bell. Oh drat, is it really that late?
“I’ll see you later, Danni.” She gathered up the clothes and exited the ship.
She followed the stream of hungry passersby. When she recognized the hallway, she turned off toward the barracks. Mara stashed the laundry under her bed, and then hurried to the galley to grab a bite.
“Where were you?” Gymari demanded, as Mara slid into an empty spot beside her. “You didn’t report to the Left Hall.”
Across the table, Clez looked up, her eyes narrowed. Her nostrils flared.
Mara swallowed a mouthful of vegetable stew. “I-I got sucked into…” What had Syrek said they were doing? “Oh, I got sucked into rerouting coolant.”
Gymari sniffed. “Next time, let me know when plans change.”
“I will.”
Mara bolted down her food and rushed back to the barracks. She only had a little time. She gathered up Syrek’s clothing and bedding and hurried to the laundry. The protective aviator gloves Luall had provided had only four fingers, but they fit well enough for Mara to dump laundry dust over the clothing in the tub. She slammed the door shut and spun the handle, coating the fabric inside with the disinfecting powder.
When the night-shift bell rang, she hauled the clothing out, shook the dust free and hurried back to the barracks. She was kicking the last of Syrek’s sheets under her bed when the other workers wandered in.
Mara threw herself onto her bed and stared at the ce
iling. Her heart thundered, but at least the scent drifting up from the clothing was of fresh laundry. The smell of Syrek wouldn’t drive her nuts all night.
Luall flopped onto her bed, studying Mara. “Are you okay?”
Mara pasted on a huge smile. “Yup, just beat from all that work today. Phew! What a day.”
Across the way, Clez eyed her suspiciously.
“Okay,” said Luall, but her expression said she didn’t buy Mara’s false cheerfulness. “I’m gonna go play Casters tonight.” Like always, she added, “You can join us, if you want.”
Unlike every other night before, Mara sat up. “You know what? I think I might watch tonight.”
Even Clez looked shocked.
“Sure!” Luall said. “If you watch, you’ll pick up the rules.”
Mara followed Luall to the center of the room, where Gymari and the others were setting up. They eyed Mara, but nobody said anything as she perched on a chair behind Luall. Gymari took the seat next to Luall, and Clez picked a seat across from them. Her sharp eyes never left Mara’s face.
The truth was that Mara had zero interest in learning to play Casters. What she needed was information, and the only sources of information were seated in a circle around the rickety table.
“Deal,” Gymari said to Oyoyoi.
Clez groaned. “We will be here all night if that windbag deals.”
Oyoyoi puffed her jellyfish-like tendrils and began doling out the brightly colored tokens used to play the game. For a while, nobody spoke. Only the clacking of plastic tiles against the table filled the air. Mara fidgeted. She was dying to ask questions. To steer the conversation toward Syrek. To learn all that she could about him.
Obviously so she wouldn’t make the same mistakes again.
She bit her lip and her eyes flicked to Gymari’s back. Mara shrieked and stood so fast her chair clattered to the floor. She pointed a trembling finger at Gymari’s neck. “Th-there’s a maggot in your neck!”
The others, who had surged to their feet in confusion, froze. Even the unflappable Oyoyoi paused, her tendril wrapped around a token.
Luall’s eyes grew wide, and she shook her head slightly at Mara.
“What?” Mara said, taken aback by their reaction. “I’m serious. Something gross is poking out of Gymari’s neck.”
Gymari turned to face Mara, her arm dangling over the back of her chair. When she spoke, her usually brusque voice was frosty. “I know. That’s my child.”
Mara paled. “W-what?”
Gymari reached her hand to the back of her neck and pulled out the pale yellow wiggling maggot-like thing. She extended her hand to Mara. “This is Junior. He’s my son.”
Mara’s eyes flicked to Luall, who pursed her lips and nodded.
“Oh,” Mara said. “I-I’m sorry.”
“You’ve hurt his feelings now,” Gymari said, a gleam in her eye. “Better apologize to my boy.”
Mara leaned forward. Did Junior even have any ears to hear her words? “I-I’m sorry, Junior.”
Gymari tilted her head and listened for a moment. “Nope, he says he wants you to hug it better. Go on, now.” She shook Junior in Mara’s direction.
Across the table, Clez snorted.
With a shudder, Mara extended her hands, and took Junior from Gymari. He sat about the size of a banana in her hands, and her stomach lurched when he writhed against her skin. To her surprise, he wasn’t cold and slimy, but warm and firm, with a slightly fuzzy texture. She wrapped her hands around Junior and drew him close to her body.
“Wow,” Mara whispered. “He’s so…” As all the aliens around the table tensed, Mara scrambled to find a suitable word. “Strong. He’s so strong. I bet that’s a sign your mama takes good care of you, huh, Junior?”
With a satisfied nod, Gymari turned back to the table. “Keep dealing, Oyoyoi.”
At her signal, the rest of the table returned to the game, Mara’s discomfort forgotten. With the writhing alien baby in her hands, Mara straightened her chair and sat.
Soon the game was underway. Despite what Luall’s assurance, no matter how hard Mara tried to focus, the rules didn’t become apparent to her. Junior wiggled in her arms, and she found herself rocking him. Slowly, the conversation around the table moved from how the janitorial department cleaning went today to one of the newer mercenaries who had recently molted, revealing his hidden hotness.
“I swear,” one of the aliens was saying, “if I’d been left alone with him for five minutes…”
The crowd laughed, and Mara flushed. It really had only taken five minutes alone with Syrek for all her defenses to fall. She spoke quickly, trying to keep her tone casual. “What about the fraternization rules?”
They all turned to face her.
Mara’s cheeks grew warmer, but she kept going. “Luall told me that there are rules against fraternization. What happens if you… you know?”
Luall blinked guiltily and turned her attention back to the tokens.
“Well,” drawled Clez. “Rules are made to be broken.” The smile she gave Mara implied that was a rule Clez took great pride in breaking.
“It’s a sound rule,” Gymari said. “But it’s not really enforceable. Haven is a small, close-knit community. Fraternization tends to happen now and then, because the heart wants what it wants.” She shrugged. “If we didn’t let off steam in one way or another, we’d all be as cranky as Clez.”
They all laughed, except for Clez and Mara.
Mara took a deep breath. “Yes, but, what happens if… you know…”
Gymari dropped her tokens to the table. The mirth erased from her face. “Girl, has someone been untoward? Forward? Pushing boundaries with you when they shouldn’t?”
“No!” Mara rushed to ease their minds. “Nothing like that! Really. I was just curious.”
“Well,” Luall said. “The last guy who tried anything like that was Slakk. Remember him?”
A few of the women around the table nodded. “What a creep,” one muttered.
“He didn’t get to do it more than once,” Luall said.
“What happened to him?” asked Mara.
“He got flushed out an airlock,” Gymari said. “By Syrek himself.”
Mara nodded. “I got the feeling he doesn’t like others messing with his property.”
The silence this time was infinitely louder than the time Mara insulted Junior. She blinked at the serious faces around her.
Oh, crap. What did I say wrong this time?
“We don’t belong to Syrek,” Luall explained. “We don’t belong to anyone but ourselves.”
Mara blinked. “But, aren’t we all slaves?”
“Slaves?” Clez hissed. “We’re freeholders, you idiot!”
“We are all equal shareholders in Haven,” Gymari said, her voice sharp. “Some of us get hazard pay on top of what we earn, but simply being on Haven means you reap the rewards of all the missions. Equal say, equal shares.”
What? Mara gaped.
“We all work together,” Luall added, “because we all benefit.”
“What about me?” Mara whispered. “Aren’t I a slave?”
“You were with the Sykorians, but not here,” Luall replied. “Here, you’re free. There’s nothing you can’t do and nowhere you can’t go.”
Stunned, Mara sat back. The game resumed around her, and while she had learned more than she had intended, she found she couldn’t move. She sat there, petting Junior’s soft body, and tried to come to terms with her new freedom. Junior snuggled into her arms as her mind spun.
She wasn’t a slave.
She was free.
So why the heck had Syrek claimed she was his?
Even when the game wrapped up and they all headed to bed, Mara couldn’t sleep. She stared at the dark ceiling, her mind a swirl of conflict and doubt.
She was free.
Yet deep down, she knew that even if she had her freedom, she wou
ldn’t be free of Syrek so easily.
She rolled over and forced her eyes closed, willing sleep to come claim her.
But instead, all she heard was Syrek’s voice, whispering to her: Mine.
CHAPTER NINE
SYREK
Syrek’s mood was as black as the grease covering his hands and chest. After spending a day scraping rust out of old pipes, his muscles ached and his head pounded. All he wanted was a bath and a good meal. He rubbed at his skin with a rag as he pushed open his door. The last person he ever expected to find in his room squeaked in panic as he entered.
He froze, his body propping the door open, and took in Mara’s wide eyes and parted lips. Her hands held sheets, and he noted the pile of folded laundry sitting beside the bed. His eyes flicked back to hers, but it was too late.
By breaking eye contact, he had broken the spell pinning her in place. She shook the sheet onto the bed, and darted around him, pushing past. He made no effort to stop her, even though where her shoulder brushed his chest, his skin tingled.
As she left, he closed the door behind her. The room seemed darker now. He paused for a second, trying to remember what he had been doing before he’d stumbled onto Mara. His head remained foggy. All he could think of was the way she melted into him, the way his hands found her curves, the way…
Accursed moons!
He threw the greasy rag against the wall, and noted with dispassionate interested that not only had she made the bed and folded his clothes, but she had also cleaned up the spilled wine. Somehow, it gnawed at him that it was Clez’s wine but Mara had cleaned it. He tossed the greasy rag into the laundry basket in the bathroom.
All the words he should have said haunted him. His father would have taken Mara’s servitude for granted, which was all the more reason he should have apologized. He should have thanked her. He should have begged her to stay.
But Syrek was not raised to beg.
To be honest though, if it meant she would curl her lush body against his, Syrek was willing to drop to his knees and kiss her feet. And other parts of her.