Nebula Nights: Love Among The Stars

by Melisse Aires

  “Are you as uncomfortable as I am?”

  He chuckled. “Probably more.” The floor was rock hard.

  He jumped up, then reached down and pulled her up. Maybe he pulled too hard. Maybe she stumbled. Whatever happened, she was in his arms and he wasn’t going to complain about the how. He found her mouth again, and was settling in for a prolonged visit, when her radio crackled. She jumped. He might have, too. She stepped back, like someone could see them. She cleared her throat, then depressed the switch on her ear piece.

  “Donovan.” She released the switch.

  Fyn couldn’t hear what was said—she’d added some kind of head set device to her radio since she came aboard—but she flushed.

  “I was just heading that way, sir. Yes…yes, sir.”

  She bit her lip for a moment, then looked at him. “I’ve been— reminded to, well, get some rest.”

  Fyn bit back a grin as color rose in her face. He took it as a positive sign that she couldn’t say the word bed.

  “I’ll walk you.”

  She nodded and they headed for the door. Just in front of it, she stopped, took a deep breath and retreated inside herself. Her eyes turned cool again and her mouth lost its soft curve.

  As he followed her out, he asked, in a low voice, “Why do you hide from them?”

  She gave a quick, startled look before she could blank her face. She walked a few paces without answering and he thought maybe she wouldn’t.

  “Because,” she said, her voice low, too, “they don’t want to know me. And they wouldn’t like me if they did.” The corridor was empty when she stopped suddenly, facing him, her face a cool mask, but her voice was intense when she added, “And when you get to know me better, you’ll wish you didn’t.”

  For just a moment her defenses cracked and he saw a flash of pain in her eyes.

  “Good night. Thanks for the help.” She turned and strode away from him before he could stop her.

  * * * * *

  Sara sank on her bunk, wishing she could have a do over on the last five minutes. Evie always said, messing her own nest was her worst fault—though not her only one. Sometimes she forgot she had a temper, there were so few places to vent in a place like this. When she let it rip, it always got her in trouble. Fyn must think she was a nut case. Still better that than the truth.

  It wasn’t his fault he’d poked a sore spot. Sometimes Sara forgot it was there. Tears burned the edges of her eyes.

  There’s no crying in the Air Force, she told herself fiercely.

  She was too tired to cry anyway. She’d look like crap tomorrow. And Briggs would know. He always did. He’d take one look at her and call her a cry baby. He believed the most effective cure for what ailed you was a swift kick in the ass. He might even be right. He usually was.

  She rubbed her face, trying to rub the tears away. How had Fyn managed to get into where she lived? She felt raw and exposed. It had happened so…naturally. Amazing, considering how they met. And yet…was it? He’d been alone on a planet. She was alone in her world, had been for most of her life. It had a made a bridge before she realized it—a dangerous bridge. One of those swinging ones with broken spots.

  She rubbed her lips, but she couldn’t rub away the memory of his mouth on hers. Or rub away the longing to feel it again.

  There was a tap on the door. Sara stood up hastily.

  “Yes?”

  The door slid open. It was Fyn.

  He looked at her for a long moment. “You all right?”

  She managed a smile, though she had a feeling it wasn’t a very good one.

  “Yes.” She sighed. “I’m sorry I snapped. I guess I’m more whacked than I realized.”

  The tears sensed weakness and pressed their advantage, but she managed to keep them from spilling over. She couldn’t meet his gaze, though.

  He didn’t say anything.

  “I just need to get some sleep.”

  Silence. He wasn’t going to go until she looked at him. She dug deep and did a patch job, then slowly lifted her lids.

  He had a hand on either side of the jamb, leaning in with one leg thrust forward. Even without the leather, he looked good.

  She could feel cracks forming in her patch. If he didn’t go soon, she was going shatter. And she didn’t know if she could put herself back together. Maybe some of her desperation reached him. He nodded.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

  Relief helped her smile some. “Yeah.”

  He half turned. “You know where I am if…”

  She nodded.

  He stepped back and the door slid shut between them. She sagged, dropping back onto her bunk. She felt pain in her palms and realized she’d clenched her hands so hard, her nails had drawn blood. She grabbed a tissue and wiped it away. Before more blood could escape, the wounds sealed, leaving tiny marks that would be gone by morning. The wound on her head was completely gone, too. Not even a scar remained.

  That, Fyn, she thought, is one reason I hide.

  * * * * *

  Sara was already in the gym when Fyn got there in the morning. She was wearing regulation exercise clothes. They’d issued him similar clothing yesterday.

  He was still surprised by how much trust they had in him and troubled by it. He felt the urge to at least mention the Ojemba, but then they’d want to know why he wasn’t part of the only really organized resistance against the Dusan.

  When he’d aligned himself with the Ojemba, he’d been sure their way was the only way to defeat the Dusan. When you fought darkness, you had to become part of it.

  Sara’s people weren’t dark. And they were making him think.

  He was dead to Ojemba and maybe—he looked at Sara—he could stay dead. There was something in the air on this ship…and in her eyes that was very appealing.

  She still looked tired, though. Wary joined tired in there when she saw him. She looked at him like she was bracing for a blow.

  Was she worried about last night? He didn’t know what set her off, but he didn’t really care. He needed to say something, but what?

  For a long moment, she just stared at him, then wary faded to neutral.

  “Do you want to help me warm up for Briggs?”

  Warm up? He could think of one way, but he had a feeling that wasn’t what she meant.

  Her hands went to her hips, but her eyes were smiling again.

  “You don’t say much, yet somehow, you say a lot. Come stand here.”

  She pointed to a spot a few feet from her.

  “You ever done a throw down?”

  He kind of shrugged as he walked to where she pointed, noticing that the surface was springy and almost soft. He’d thrown people down. Lots of them.

  “I’m going to try to throw you down on the mat. You’re going to try to throw me down. Of course, there is a catch.

  There always was.

  “To win, you gotta keep me there. Or I’ve gotta keep you there. Okay?”

  “Okay.” He flipped his hair back and flexed his shoulders. Sounded easy enough.

  Her mouth curved in a smile and a dangerous light lit up her eyes. Maybe not so easy…

  Sara could tell Fyn thought he’d have no trouble taking her down. He did have height and weight on her. All she had going for her was a huge chunk of freaking stubborn. Hopefully it would be enough.

  She began to circle him. He turned with her, his stance altering slightly. Suddenly his hand lashed out. Sara managed to dodge the grab, though she felt it graze her. And almost got tossed by the other hand. She managed to duck, but felt herself go airborne. Did the guy have an arm she hadn’t noticed?

  She twisted in mid-air and landed on her feet. He came in again. It took him a couple of seconds longer this time before she went flying. And she hit the mat.

  The guy was a machine. A whacking machine.

  She bounced up. Okay. She danced in close, then dodged, circling him, watching his eyes, noting the slight smile at the edge of his mouth.
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  He came at her and she managed to deflect his move and even attempt a counter move. She found getting close enough for him to get a grip on her was a bad idea.

  She went down again, but was on her feet and trying again before he could keep her there.

  Okay, so maybe she couldn’t win, but if she knocked him down just once…

  She went in again, trying different approaches, learning his moves.

  He had a lot moves.

  All of them ended with her on the mat.

  Sara wasn’t sure how she managed to keep getting up. She had an idea and went for it. She needed to do something before she ran out of steam...

  She danced back out of his reach, then did a hand stand flip, like she was trying for a high kick to the chin. As she expected, he deflected, sending her sailing through the air, but this time positioned the way she wanted.

  She tucked and spun, doing a complete somersault in the air.

  She hit the mat at an angle that no gymnast would have liked, but was perfect for her. She still had momentum when the balls of her feet slammed into the mat.

  She sprang forward.

  He was still coming out of his counter move.

  She hit him full in the chest with her shoulder.

  This time they both went down.

  She should have been on top.

  She was when they hit the mat.

  He should have been winded.

  He wasn’t.

  He rolled on top. His legs hooked with hers, holding them in place. His hand was at her throat, his forearm across her chest. His face was inches from hers, his gaze pinning her in place as surely as his body. Her only satisfaction, he was panting almost as hard as she was.

  “You’re down.”

  “I guess you win.” She was intensely aware of everywhere their bodies touched. She saw his eyes change and wondered if he was going to kiss her again. Her lips parted—

  “I thought I was supposed to kick your ass this morning, Donovan.” Briggs voice cut between them like a dash of very cold water.

  His eyes shuttered. Sara knew hers did, too.

  “He’s just helping me warm up.” Sara felt color creep into her face.

  Briggs bent over. “Where’d you learn that stuff?”

  “High school gymnastics.”

  “Really. You ever compete?”

  “I was too tall. Kept banging my legs on the uneven bars.”

  He nodded, like that made sense. “You ready for me?”

  She’d rather be cut into little pieces and fed to aliens. “Sure.”

  Fyn rolled off her and stood up in one smooth, powerful motion. He held out a hand to her. Sara took it and let him pull her to her feet.

  Briggs stepped close. “He going to stay?”

  “He wants to see you kick my ass.”

  Briggs looked undecided. Sara knew why.

  “Can he keep his mouth shut?”

  Sara had to bite her lip. “Oh yeah.”

  Fyn’s lips twitched.

  “Well, move out of the way, Chewie.” While Fyn got out of the way, Briggs crossed to a CD player built into the wall and inserted a disc. He held up the case, so Sara could see it.

  Footloose. Oh crap. It was fast and long.

  “Think you can handle it?”

  She gave him a weak smile. “No problem.”

  The music cued up. It started fast and quickly got faster than that. Briggs took her hands and they started to dance. The guy could really move his big feet—but he didn’t want anyone to know it. He’d push her harder than the toughest sparring session and if she wasn’t careful, mash her feet.

  She didn’t dare look at Fyn to see his reaction to this unusual ass kicking.

  Briggs liked to do a mix of jitterbug, jive and quickstep—and do them at top speed. They did some quick steps. Sides and kicks, their feet missing each other with flashy precision. Lots of spins and jive stepping.

  A big finish as the song finally came to an end. She rolled across his shoulders, then he caught her and lowered her part way to the ground. When the music stopped, he dropped her on the mat like she was on fire.

  Sara lay there, trying to catch her breath.

  “Not bad, Donovan. Faster than the last time.” He bent over her again. He was barely breathing hard. “You all right?”

  Sara gave him a thumbs up. She couldn’t talk yet.

  “Good. See you tomorrow. Chewie.” A sharp nod and he left.

  There was a short silence. Sara managed to sit up. A good thing she healed fast. Fyn came over and handed her a towel. His expression was complicated. He crouched down in front of her.

  “That was…”

  “Yeah.” She was getting her breath back. “He likes to dance and it’s actually a good work out, but it doesn’t go with his tough guy image.”

  She mopped at her face, covering her eyes so she wouldn’t have to look at him for a minute. Amazing her body had anything left, but it did. Despite the double thrashing, desire was trying to kick up again. Even with her eyes closed, she could feel him close to her.

  She was human. She’d felt…interest in guys in the past, but she could usually work it off. No point in fueling any fire, since guys usually didn’t notice she was a girl, let alone try to strike sparks off her.

  But she’d behaved so badly last night. And the truth was, she did have secrets—the other reason she avoided sparking. The only person who ever knew about her was Evie and she hadn’t known it all.

  She leaned forward, until her chest was on her knees, her head down, trying to get herself together before she looked at him again wondering what he was thinking and feeling especially what he was feeling…

  Fyn looked at her bent head, watching the rise and fall of her shoulders as her breathing quieted.

  What they’d done—he didn’t know what to think. He’d never seen anything like it. She could pretend it was a punishment, but it was clear both of them had a great time doing it.

  Had he ever enjoyed something like that even before—he couldn’t think of a time. Even when he was a child, the shadow of the Dusan had always been over them.

  She still looked tired. Had she had trouble sleeping last night? He had. He’d close his eyes and see her face. And watching from the shadows was Kalian.

  She’d rubbed the sweat from her face like she could rub tired away—

  He froze, realizing something was missing. Her injury. First it was a gash, then it was a scratch and now it was gone. As if it had never been. Maybe it was something common to her people but if they healed, why have a doctor on board? There’d been nothing in his check up to indicate anything but a healing rate similar to his people.

  “I’m sorry.” Her voice was muffled.

  “About what?”

  She looked up. “About last night. Are we still friends?”

  She looked ready to retreat behind her wall if he blinked. She’d given him a reason to retreat. He should take it. Instead, he reached out and grabbed her hand, rubbing his fingers across her palm as he lifted it and pressed his mouth to the inside of her wrist for a long moment. He felt her pulse beat against his lips and she shivered.

  Friends?

  She took back her hand, but reluctantly it seemed. Desire put tiny flames at the back of her eyes, but she was also trying not to smile.

  “This is supposed to be a cool down.” She stared at him for a long moment, her gaze turning sober. She reached out and lightly, very lightly touched the side of his face, but pulled her hand away before he could grab it.

  “You should run. Save yourself. I’ve got personal baggage trailing all the way back to my galaxy.” Her lashes lowered again. “You should get away while you can.”

  She ran her fingers through her hair, making the damp strands stand up around her face.

  He could have said the same thing to her, but he didn’t. He could tell her she could trust him, but why should she believe it? He wasn’t sure it was true. He had baggage, too, dangerous baggage.
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  He ran his finger down the place where her wound should have been. The color ran out of her face, leaving her looking drawn and sharply pale.

  He leaned forward and found her mouth for a long moment. He sat back. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  It was the truth. Whatever his other responsibilities, he couldn’t leave her until, well, until.

  His touch put the color back in her face. Her lips parted, like she was going to say something, but the door slid open, ending their isolation. Her lashes went down and when they came up, she was gone again. In a swift, graceful movement, she was up and moving toward the door as several guys entered, chatting easily. They parted to let her through, exchanging offhand greetings, not really seeing her.

  They stopped when they saw him, but he just nodded and followed Sara out.

  There were too many people on this ship.

  * * * * *

  After they’d both showered and grabbed some breakfast, Sara told him it was time to face the sim. It had a longer, official name, so he could see why they’d shortened it. Though they kind of went overboard with the shortening. It was like a special code within their language and each time he got something figured out, he’d find out it had yet another name.

  As they walked through the ship, he was aware that he walked with the “Captain” part of Sara. Only when they were alone did Sara emerge from hiding. He’d think it was a military thing, but not everyone was as…remote as Sara. As far as he could tell no one saw her. How could their gazes pass over her? The worst were the guys who treated her like she was one of them—not that he minded. It was as if she’d been hidden, so that only he could see her—but even that seemed like a cruel joke.

  It was…difficult to adjust to so many people and the differences between Sara’s people and himself, but what he’d seen of these people, he liked. When he’d first arrived, he’d doubted he could fit in here, but as personalities emerged, he realized that wasn’t a requirement. Carey told him he was their “Indian scout,” then explained what it meant, well, kind of. He’d promised to show him yet another movie that would explain it better. Sara said the same thing about the “Chewie” nickname.