It didn’t really work. Time passed with agonizing slowness. He finished his shift, finished his dinner, listened to his roommate ramble about the excitement of the day—Carny worked maintenance on the flight deck and had seen the fighters take off and return as well as Ryelle’s broadcast performance—and then Declan watched while his roommate slept. He was tired, but there was no room in him for sleep. He watched and worried, wondered and waited. He wasn’t sure what he waited for until a soft buzz announced a visitor.
His heart leapt and bolted into an all out sprint. They’d never had a visitor before. Carny went to his women when he was in the mood, not the other way around, and Declan had never had a visitor for himself either, especially so late at night. He told himself it couldn’t be her, as he rushed to the door. It wouldn’t be…
But it was. He stared dumbfounded at Ryelle across the threshold. He felt like his jaw had come unhinged and he couldn’t think of a thing to say. His mind was a blank white space, a wordless expanse of startlement.
She still wore the blue dress, but her hair, merciful god, her hair was no longer in its usual intricate design about her head, falling in a wavy river down her back and over one shoulder. He would have fantasized, but she didn’t give him time.
"I need to speak with you," she said in a rush, eyes flicking down the corridor as if she expected company. "Please, may I come in? I need to speak with you privately."
She wanted to come in his room? He thought he might fall down and edged away, hoping to find something to collapse on besides the floor. She took his movement to be silent invitation and stepped inside, letting the door swish closed behind her. Oh god, she was in his room. "Ryelle…" he croaked, but she ignored him.
With a frown, she took in the small single room with its two sleeping lofts, one of which was noisily occupied. "He sounds asleep. Will he stay that way? I don’t mean to be rude, but what I need to say shouldn’t be heard by anyone else."
The pale, anxious set to her delicate face finally registered and gave him back his voice. It also made him want to wrap her in his arms, but he forced himself to stay still. "You could pick him up and toss him out an airlock, and he wouldn’t wake up. What’s wrong?"
"I wanted to talk to you right away, but I couldn’t," she said, her gaze flicking to him, but not meeting his eye. She clasped her hands tightly at her middle, knuckles white. "The Institute can’t know. That’s why I waited until now. I needed to wait until there’s no chance they’d connect what happened to my seeing you. Plus, they’ll assume I’m sleeping and won’t check on me. I hope. In case they looked back on it later, though, I needed to speak with you somewhere private. The Odyssey doesn’t have surveillance in crew quarters."
"No, it doesn’t," he responded to the doubt in her face rather than her statement. "Ryelle, what—"
"The signs were there. I should have known, should have seen it sooner. If the Institute knew, they’d want you for themselves." This baffling comment seemed to increase her anxiety and she hugged her arms to her chest as she shifted in a restless circle.
"Want me? For what? You wanna sit down?"
She shook her head, still not looking him directly in the eye, but facing him with such a solemn expression that his stomach dropped. "You’re a sensitive."
"I’m a—what?"
"A sensitive. You’re not a telenetic, but you can feel telenetic energy. Most people can’t. Sensitives are very rare, which is why the Institute would snatch you up if they could. For study and…other things. And I’m—I’m really sorry I did that to you. I should have known and I’m sorry."
She looked miserable. For that matter, he felt miserable. And confused.
"I’m a…somebody who can feel…what you do. Nobody else can?"
"Not unless I’m actually doing something to them, like moving them, or—" She blanched, eyes widening, and he understood what she hadn’t wanted to say. Or hurting them. "They call people like you a sensitive. You’re even rarer than a telenetic. The Institute would want you if they knew. Please don’t tell anyone, and I’ll—I’ll be as careful as I can in the future. I really am sorry."
Now she looked him in the eye. Declan couldn’t meet the regret in those dark, dark depths. He dropped his gaze to the floor and gave a stiff shrug. "I lived through it." He was thinking of the embarrassment, thanking his lucky stars that only one other person had noticed and hadn’t understood.
She made muffled sound and whispered, "Oh, Declan, did it hurt very badly?"
His chin shot up and he stared at her. "What?"
"I never meant to cause you pain. I should have understood the signs earlier, but I’ve never met another sensitive. You reacted to holding my hand, but…you didn’t tell me it hurt. If I could take it back, I would—"
"Ryelle," he said with an abrupt wave of his hand, taking a step toward her before he could stop himself. She stared at him with miserable eyes, arms clenched around herself like manacles. "Ryelle, you didn’t hurt me. It wasn’t pain," he said as gently as he could. How the hell was he going to explain this without scaring her or totally garsing her out? He rubbed suddenly damp palms on his pants. "What, ah…what does the Institute say about it? Is it supposed to hurt?"
A quick frown tugged her brows together. "Well, no. That is, I didn’t get that impression, but you looked like you were in agony."
"Oh, god," Declan wheezed, running rough fingers through his hair and then clenching fistfuls of the stuff with eyes squeezed shut, frantically trying to work out a way to talk about it without chasing her off.
"Are you all right? I am so—"
"Stop saying sorry," he breathed through clenched teeth. "That only makes it worse." He dropped his hands with a humorless laugh. "Because I’d give anything to have you do it again."
She blinked at him, her face blank. "But why?"
"There was no pain," he said carefully, moving closer to her because he couldn’t help himself. "It felt good. Really, really good." There wasn’t a lot of space in his quarters. It didn’t take long for him to be too close to her, to feel again that hum on his skin. A waft of her delicious scent made his throat close with longing.
"I don’t understand," she murmured, but her arms had loosened, dropping to her sides as she looked up into his face. The anxiety was gone from her expression, but in its place was puzzlement, a curiosity that made his palms itch.
He tried for a deep, calming breath. What he got was more of her scent and a dizzy recklessness in place of common sense. The truth came spilling out. "You touched me, stroked me, all over my skin, everywhere inside me. I could feel you to my bones," he ended on a whisper. To my soul.
She recoiled a bit with a frown. "But that sounds so…invasive. That felt good?"
"Like this, Ryelle." He lifted a hand, surrendering to temptation and need, trailing his fingers from her temple to her chin, softly, slowly, mesmerized by the cool silk of her skin and the electric kiss flowing up his arm. "Does that feel good?"
"Y-yes." Her eyes had gone wide, watching him with startled darkness.
"You did this to me. All over." He told himself to stop, but his fingers didn’t listen, drifting over her jaw, the delicate curve of her ear. "You almost put me on my knees. You almost—I thought I’d die of it. Made me want to touch you, too. Made me want…to…" His fingers moved back along her jaw, up over her chin as he spoke, passing like ghosts over her mouth. His downfall was the way her lips parted on a gasp of surprise at his touch. His head buzzed with sensation and desire, blinding him to caution while his heart pounded a hard, deliberate rhythm in his chest.
With the slow unreality of a dream, he bent his head and brushed his lips against hers. She made a sound that he was too dizzy to interpret, too absorbed in the feel of her to consider. She was an astonishing combination of silky smoothness and lush firmness, so sweetly enticing that he could have fallen into her forever.
But she stepped back, breaking the delirious contact with a soft, "Oh."
"Ryelle," he
murmured in protest, still hazed by her sweetness, but his mind began to clear when he saw her wide eyes. He couldn’t exactly interpret the emotion in those midnight depths, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t good. "I—"
"I have to go," she said in such a rush that his fuzzy brain deciphered it only after she’d spun on her heel and skittered through the door.
"Wait—!" He lunged after her, but she was already moving down the corridor, shooting him such a wary look over her shoulder that it stopped him in his tracks. He dropped the hand he’d held out to her and watched as she disappeared around a corner. Then he sagged against the door jam, ground the heels of his shaking hands into his eyeballs, and muttered, "You sarkin’ idiot."
Chapter 7
She felt like an idiot. She lay stiff on her expansive bed and stared up at the ceiling above her with grim, sleepless eyes. Her hand rose to her mouth again of its own volition and she forced it back to her side with an impatient hiss. People kissed all the time. She’d seen it in the mess halls, the corridors, the lounges. Just because she had never been kissed before did not make it a novel occurrence. But her heart still hadn’t slowed down. Every time it started to, the memory of his tingling touch and his mobile mouth would send it back into a sprint. If she let herself remember his warm, dark-honey voice and the indigo lure of his eyes, her breathing would try to catch up to that poor, laboring muscle in her chest.
She couldn’t believe she’d run away. What an idiot. He must think she was some kind of lunatic or maybe an ignorant prude. She was educated well enough on the subject of biology and sex, and she hadn’t been completely secluded from the rest of humanity. She’d had access to all same news and entertainment feeds as everyone else, and she hadn’t been blind to the interactions between the other residents at the Institute.
The problem was, she concluded, that she’d never put herself in the same category as everyone else. She just assumed that no one would find her interesting in that way. And she wasn’t sure Declan’s kiss really qualified, either. He’d had rather forceful provocation—Ryelle could feel her face turning hot with mortification at the thought of what she’d done to him—and he’d been trying to explain it to her.
Like this, Ryelle. She shivered, her breath stuttering in her throat. It was just hard for her to believe that his kiss was more than just a residual effect and demonstration of what she’d done to him. She was still trying to believe he was willing to hold her hand. Under normal circumstances, she didn’t think he would want to repeat the experience.
I’d give anything to have you do it again. She twisted restlessly on the bed, clutching fistfuls of bedding in her hands. He didn’t mean it. He couldn’t. Who would want that, to have her power invading them so personally and ruthlessly? Her power was monstrous; it was not…desirable. She was not desirable.
The almost subliminal hum of the com startled her out of her grim brooding. She was up and answering it before she considered her state of dress. It was wartime—a late night call could mean life or death and how she looked didn’t matter.
"Ryelle, did I wake you?" Commander Task looked her over with a faint frown. Her hair was down and she was wearing a sleep-set. It wasn’t revealing, with long sleeves and full slacks, but it was terribly informal and she felt her face pinken.
"No, I was not asleep. Is there a situation?" She kept her tone smooth and professional, hoping the dimness of the room would cover her bright cheeks.
"Everything’s fine up top. No sign of trouble. I wanted an update on our young crewman. How did it go with Declan?"
Ryelle ducked her head to hide her reaction. She’d had to tell him about Declan being a sensitive. He’d been quite annoyed with her for stalling about doing her job and she’d needed to explain why she’d done it to renew professional trust between them. He had to know she wouldn’t balk in the heat of battle. And as the commander, he had to be apprised of any weaknesses or medical conditions in his crew. That didn’t mean she felt good about telling him, both because she’d felt so guilty about having done it and because every person who knew increased Declan’s chances of discovery by the Institute. She’d done her best to downplay the incident, however, saying she thought she might have caused him some discomfort.
Turned out she was right. Just not in the way she’d thought. Her flush deepened.
Instead of answering him directly, she said, "It’s oh-two hundred, Commander."
"You’re so cute when you get all disapproving," he said dryly. "I kept the com low so if you really were asleep, it shouldn’t have woken you up. So answer the damned question. He seemed fine when I ran checks on him today. A little manic, but physically okay. How was he when you spoke with him?"
"He was fine," she said, but her voice cracked on the last word and she had to look away and clear her throat.
"What happened?" he asked in his sharpest tone.
She thought about telling him he was cute when he got all demanding but wasn’t quite brave enough. "I explained to Crewman McCrae what had happened and why. I also recommended that he not tell anyone else about his sensitivity, since the Institute would feel obliged to…acquire him."
"And how did he take it?" His voice wasn’t sharp any longer but still very alert.
"He was…that is…" Ryelle could feel her composure cracking and bit her lip, taking a deep breath to pull herself back together. "I don’t feel I should discuss that with you. His response was p-personal."
"Oh-ho!" the commander chortled, his long face lighting up, blue eyes gleaming at her. "So it went that well, huh?"
"I am not going to talk about it," she said severely, earning another round of chuckles from him. "I am under no obligation to—"
"Hush," he interrupted with a wave of his hand. "I’m yanking my big nose back out of your business again. I don’t want to know, anyway. I’d probably get protective-father on you both and you’d really get mad at me. By the way, you should try rolling your eyes like a normal teenager instead of getting all regulation formal."
"Thank you for that constructive criticism. I’ll make a note. Is that all?"
"Did you make any plans for future personal moments with Declan?" he asked with a sly, teasing smile.
She tried rolling her eyes. Not only was it strangely satisfying, but it sent the commander into a roar of contagious laughter. She struggled to maintain dignity but couldn’t contain a grin. When she had to smother a giggle behind her hand, she shut off the com. She was turning away when it hummed again. Taking a deep breath to compose herself, she answered it with a reluctant smile still tugging at her mouth.
"Stop mooning over the boy and get some damned sleep," the commander ordered, but the words were softened by his grin and the laughter still in his tone.
"I will if you will."
"Deal."
The next morning when Ryelle entered the commander’s office, he was pacing along a row of viewers with his usual easy grace, looking fully rested and ready for the day. She, on the other hand, felt like soggy bread.
Disgruntled, she cleared her throat and gave him a cool, "Good morning, Commander," while she removed her snood and set it aside.
"Morning, little mims," he said without looking her way. "We’ve got some activity on long range, other end of your tunnel. I think somebody noticed your handiwork."
She stiffened. "GenTec?"
"Too far away to be sure…" He turned and lifted an eyebrow. "For our scanners, anyway."
"Yes, sir. I can scan now, if you like."
"Will that cause any, uh, issues?" he asked, glancing down at the snood as if it was a venomous snake. He had commented once that he didn’t trust the Institute to shut off their connection just because she removed the headpiece. She happened to agree. She usually made a routine of stuffing it away in one of his storage units before they began their daily schedule.
Turning smoothly, she scooped the thing up and headed for its usual hiding place. "No, sir," she answered, dropping it into a receptacle and closing it with
a twist of satisfaction. Then she finished, "I’ll avoid engineering. Declan won’t be affected."
He nodded and she turned her head, orienting herself as she unleashed her talent to make sure of her direction, then sending it out in a satisfying rush. "Yes, there are three GenTec ships entering the scatter field. They are moving slowly."
"I’d imagine they’re a little uneasy about your construction."
"Hmm." She took a count of how many crew aboard the GenTec ships and felt her stomach take a slow, sick roll. Clearing her throat, she said, "Total crew of one hundred and twelve. Will we—do you have to send fighters? You know, I can do something from here."
She peeked at him from under her lashes, wondering if she was overstepping her bounds. Telenetics were allowed to make suggestions to their commanding officers, but she had no real experience in battle.
"Something, Ryelle?" he asked, folding his arms over his chest and watching her with his intense, cool, commander’s gaze. "Would you kill them?"
She looked down. "If you ordered me to," she answered quietly, though her stomach surged in violent rejection. "But I can also disable their ships."
"I’ve never worked with a telenetic who can do as much as you. But I’ve also never worked with one with as little field experience. It’s a difficulty."
He began to move and she glanced up to watch his progress. That leashed energy was back, what she liked to think of as his battle prowl. He paced with deliberate power, like the stalk of a rangy hunting animal.
"If I was thinking in terms of cold calculation, I would tell you to destroy them. As a test of your mettle. As a means of removing a threat to our backsides. As a way of keeping that tunnel open for a possible escape if needed."
Ryelle swallowed hard, trying to prepare herself. He was quite right—he needed to know that she would follow the order to kill if he gave it. He was within his rights to test her on it now.
"But if you created the tunnel once, you can create again." He paused, studying her without emotion. "And you aren’t ready to kill."
"Sir, I—" she started to protest, but he held up a silencing hand.
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