Cold Victory

by Fiona Jayde

  * * *

  “You're pale as death.”

  Dex raised his sliced-up eyebrow. “You're too funny.”

  Stark rarely came into the sub-commander's quarters. The lush greenery climbing the walls and claiming most of the flat surfaces always got him confused. The man with enough implants to suck most of the oxygen out of his blood tended to plants as if they were his lifeline.

  “Listen.” He didn't quite know what to say. “I meant what I said earlier. I shouldn't have involved you.”

  Dex shrugged. “I couldn't maintain.”

  “I noticed.” Stark raked a hand through his short hair. “You never said what happened with your scars.”

  With surprising delicacy, Dex used a pen laser to snap off a yellow-colored bloom. “Deathbed confessions aren't my style.”

  “You know that you can leave.”

  That got him a short glance. “Fuck you.”

  Now Stark could smile. “If we die tomorrow, you might as well spill all of it. You disappear for six months, and you come back with scars and nightmares and a penchant for implants. Then suddenly I get a bloodmate, and you get jumpy—oh.”

  A dark, bemused gaze. “Satisfied now?”

  “You found your bloodmate.”

  “Found wouldn't be the word I'd use. And don't talk about it.”

  “Your call.” Stark shrugged and waited.

  The sub-commander sighed, then put down the pen laser. “That time when you first met Zoya at the launch deck? That sucker punch into the gut? I know exactly how you felt.”

  “And?”

  “And…it did not work out.” A pointed silence.

  He'd take what he could get. “Thank you for trusting me with this.”

  Dex nodded and handed him a blooming yellow rose. “Go see your bloodmate.”

  “She told me she was done being prodded.” He chuckled, remembering those words. “And she'll explode any equipment we may force on her.”

  Dex gave him a small smile. “She probably could.”

  He'd given her the choice to leave, and she chose to stay with him. Die with him, if it came to that. He hated the idea and yet found it comforting somehow. “This bloodmate thing. Is it just hormones?”

  Dex bent over his flowers, his long fingers manipulating the blooms, leaving the young ones, cutting off the dying. “It always starts with hormones. Where it goes… I guess it's up to you.”

  * * *

  Stark found her in one of the lounges, partially concealed by the thick smoke of cigars, sitting alone by a thumbnail-sized window. When he approached, a group of pilots made a valiant effort to hide the booze and their cigars.

  “As you were.” They remained standing up, their poses at attention, their chests puffed up. Good men who'd die tomorrow.

  Stark clapped Poll on the shoulder and nodded at the array of emptied shots. “Got another one?”

  “Yes, sir.” Poll fished out a gray flask and poured a large double. Stark dropped the vile liquid down his throat and felt it burn. “Thanks.”

  “More where that came from, Commander.”

  “I appreciate it.” He knew everyone there watched him. Despite their eyes following his movements, Stark walked toward Zoya, and feeling ridiculous, held out a yellow bloom.

  “What's this?” She didn't extend her hand for it.

  “One of Dex's roses.”

  “Oh.” She frowned, those amber eyes confused.

  “It's for you.”

  “Um. Thank you.” She took it from his hand, then jerked back from the familiar heat that rushed between them. She still fought her need for him. Stark figured he was partially responsible for that.

  This bloodmate thing started with hormones, Dex had said. The rest was up to them.

  “We dealing or paying for a show?” Poll's voice broke through the smoky air.

  Amid the chuckles and calls for more shots, Stark sat down next to her without knowing what to say. On her uniform she wore a flat green-colored circle hanging from a thread looped around her neck.

  “Jade?” He nodded at it.

  “Malachite.” She ran her fingers over the smooth surface. “My sister's. I…” She sighed. “I never wear it. But always keep it with me.”

  “You loved her.”

  “I left her when I left Primus for the flight academy.” She looked out through the tiny window into the emptiness of space. “I wasn't happy with the simple things. Didn't want my goal in life to be popping out babies.” She spared him a bemused look. “Ironic, isn't it?”

  He didn't know what to say. “What happened in the brig—”

  She lifted up her hand, the yellow rose cheerful in her fingers. “I would prefer we didn't talk about it.”

  He had to. “I needed Dex there.”

  “Because you couldn't stand touching me. I get that.” She kept staring into vacuum.

  He put his hand over her knuckles. “Because I was afraid I wouldn't stop touching you.”

  Frowning, Zoya finally spared him a glance but didn't jerk her hand away. Stark considered that a small victory.

  “I had to prove to you—and to myself—that I didn't need you. I didn't want to need you. Can you understand?”

  “That part I can understand.” Self-deprecating voice. The hand under his palm was warm and strong, and at the same time, delicate.

  “When I saw you…” He broke off as images flashed through his mind of her convulsing on the floor, her clammy skin deathly pale. “I'd left you there. In pain. It won't make me a lesser bastard to apologize. If I had known—”

  “It doesn't matter now.” She simply shrugged. Those lush lips trembled for a second before she firmed them once again.

  “You tried to steal a shuttle. No. Look at me,” he said when Zoya tried to look away. “You tried to back out.”

  He heard her take a shuddering breath. “I clearly wasn't successful.”

  “No.”

  She didn't say the words Stark hoped to hear, but he believed what he could read between the lines. She'd tried to leave because she couldn't harm him. A wave of warmth smothered his chest.

  Watching her eyes, he leaned in closer and captured her mouth in full view of twelve drunken pilots and a heavily smoking engine crew.

  Warm, pliant lips and bright gold eyes. Stark stood up and extended his palm toward her. When she stood up and placed her hand in his, some of the weight pressing on him edged back.

  Chapter Nine

  She shouldn't want to read too much into Stark's gestures. They'd die tomorrow, but at least tonight they'd live. The words she had wanted to say were stuck inside her chest. Zoya couldn't seem to get them out.

  Her hand felt small inside his as they walked toward his quarters, stepping around crewmen in various stages of sobriety and dress.

  In her free hand, she held the flower Stark had given her, a delicate, sunny bloom that seemed ridiculously cheerful against the gray utilitarian bulkheads and wire tubes.

  “Let me.” He took it from her hand and tucked it into her hair. Then he placed a sweet, lingering kiss over her mouth, a kiss that made her insides hum despite the dark thoughts in her head.

  She had only hours left, and she couldn't find the words. And when he kissed her once again, gently pressing her against a bulkhead, his large palm cradling her head, Zoya decided words could screw themselves.

  She'd simply have to show him.

  He paused at the hatch of his quarters and lifted her hand up to his lips. “You're sure you want this?”

  She reached up on her toes to brush her lips over his cheek.

  Silence greeted them inside his quarters, silence and the cold light of the stars. Not wanting to break the moment, she took his palm and pressed it to her thundering heart.

  His gaze flamed hot and wild. Before he could utter a word, Zoya pressed her mouth to his and led him toward his bed. Their gazes locked as she reached up to the clasps of her uniform. He wrapped his fingers on her wrists. Let me, he seemed to say, and
Zoya nodded.

  He took his time, slowly working the clasps, his large hands firm and gentle. When all the clasps were undone, he pushed the jacket off her shoulders and lowered the pants down past her hips. With a swift motion, he stripped off her undershirt, leaving her standing in her boots with the smooth malachite pendant hanging between her bared breasts.

  She held her breath while Stark simply looked at her as if memorizing every curve. The words inside her chest bubbled higher, yet still wouldn't come out from her lips. Instead of struggling with them, Zoya kicked off her boots and touched her lips to his.

  Need flared brighter as she delved into his mouth, reveling in the raw taste of an aroused male. Greedy for more, she licked a path under his jaw, trailed kisses on his neck, lightly scraped her teeth where it curved to meet his shoulder. His large palm cradled her head. Zoya hadn't noticed when he had unbound her hair, but he seemed fascinated with the red length of it, running his fingers through the strands as if savoring the sensation of the finest silk.

  She couldn't stop running her hands over those wide, strong shoulders, feeling the heat and power rippling beneath. With trembling fingers, she tugged at the clasps of his uniform and nearly whimpered when she couldn't simply tear them apart.

  His hands closed over hers to help her undress him.

  She wanted to see skin, to press herself against him, to feel his heat and power wrapped around her. She craved his mouth, was starved for it. She hungered to feel him straining under her, wanted to hear his breaths, ragged and rough. When all the clasps were undone, she pushed the uniform down his arms, tugged on his pants and undershirt until he took both off and stood magnificently naked in front of her, all muscle and sinew and olive-tinted skin. All hers.

  He urged her to stand up with hands cupping her shoulders when Zoya knelt on the bed in front of him. With a small wicked smile, she watched his head fall back when she finally wrapped her fingers over his arousal and stroked him.

  His groan was her reward. His sigh was her salvation.

  Still kneeling on the bed, she leaned toward his cock and placed a soft kiss over the plum-shaped head before taking it into her mouth, loving him with her lips. His fingers tangled in her hair when she blew a soft breath over the rigid, engorged tip.

  She caught a glimpse of his reaction before she found herself sprawled on the bed, her knees over the edge, her body slightly trembling. My turn, that wicked blue gaze seemed to say as his hands moved over her thighs and spread her knees apart.

  He leaned toward her, nuzzled her belly button, his mouth firm and hot. The slow, warm path down to her sex left her breathless with anticipation. She couldn't help but shudder when he reached her mons and inhaled deeply, as if savoring her scent.

  Anticipating that first intimate caress, Zoya tilted her hips toward his mouth and waited, trembling with need. He pressed a soft kiss just above her sex, then used his tongue to trace between her nether lips, the tender stroke inflaming all her senses.

  Soft, teasing licks, each one setting off sparks of pleasure through her body. His hands felt hot and rough under her buttocks when he lifted her up to hold her steady for his mouth. His eyes were a wicked blue when they met hers.

  Lost. She couldn't breathe under the myriad of sensations, couldn't gather the words she'd wanted to say. Each slow lick fueled the fire inside her, each soft caress teased the flames. Tremors she couldn't control speared her body, reaching, aching for that final point, and still he held her steady, giving her just enough to keep her just below the edge, teasing her with merciless and tender sweeps of lips and tongue. Shaking, she fisted her hands in his sheets and hooked her knees around his neck, urging him closer, needing more, more.

  The firm sweep of his tongue robbed her of breath, of very thought. He pleasured her with wicked, teasing licks and bold, thorough caresses, his long fingers finding her slick opening, circling, teasing it with each caress. And when he finally slid a finger inside her to press up against the slick wall of her sex, she shuddered for a breath and broke into a hard, spiraling orgasm.

  His gaze was wild when he lifted his head and watched her face as she slowly slid back into herself, his long and clever fingers where his mouth had been, teasing out clenching aftershocks of pleasure.

  Soft, nibbling kisses on her belly, a breathless trail between her breasts. He kissed a straining nipple, drew it into his mouth to send sparks through her skin.

  She arched into his hand, pumped her hips against his fingers, showing him where she needed to be touched, where she needed him. His lips closed over hers, potent and hungry, and with his arms banding around her, Stark swiftly reversed their positions so that her weight was now on top of his.

  He gave her full control.

  His gaze was like a hot caress as Zoya slid over him, straddling him, poising herself over his rigid length. Stark's hands moved on her hips, sliding deliciously over her skin to grip her buttocks, guiding her as she settled over him, insanely, torturously slow, the fullness of his cock rubbing the delicate nerve endings swollen and hungry with arousal.

  She glided up so she could slam herself onto his cock, hear the slap of flesh, watch his face as she rode him with hard, sensual movements of her hips, his hands on her buttocks, his gaze hot and wild on her face.

  Another kiss, this one more bruising as sensations coiled tighter inside her. She tightened her muscles around him, heard his sharp intake of breath as the delicious friction intensified. Her gaze never leaving his his, she slid over his cock, then withdrew to glide over that full length once again. Somehow she felt his pulse thunder under her fingertips when her pendant slid off her skin to lie over the gleaming muscles of his chest while she moved above him, tortured him, pleasured them both.

  Stark gripped her hips for faster, harder strokes, working her over his cock as she found his mouth again and clenched her muscles against him. She wanted to prolong that final fiery moment, holding her breath, his gaze, before she shattered over him, riding hard and fast, breathlessly moving over him as his arms banded around her and he surged into her, hot and tight.

  At their last encounter, she'd wanted a quick and dirty fuck and had partially gotten what she came for.

  This time, there had been no games, no struggle for control, no erotic dominance or submission. And yet, her heart thundered as loudly as before; her body still shivered from the explosive orgasm.

  The words were ready to bubble out, yet she wasn't willing to break the soft, dark intimacy of silence.

  Her heartbeat pulsed in a lazy rhythm. Under her palm, his did the same. Zoya lay on his chest with her face buried in his neck and simply breathed in the musk of a contented male.

  All hers.

  He slid his palms tenderly over her buttocks and her back, languid and intimate caresses, as if he couldn't stop touching her. She didn't want to break the magic of their silence with something as meaningless as words.

  So Zoya laid her head over his heart and simply listened.

  “You should eat something.”

  “I'm not hungry.”

  Since Stark could understand the sentiment, he didn't press the point. She'd slept at least, curled up and breathing softly next to him. The feeling inside his chest hadn't gone away—that feeling of warmth and tenderness, and just an edge of something painful.

  He didn't have time to assuage his feelings, not with the battle near.

  And yet he didn't want to move. Zoya sat on his lap, looking out into space, her hair loose and fragrant around her shoulders, her expression somberly serene. Even the gray color of her uniform couldn't dull the flush still blooming on her cheeks. Now wasn't the time to dwell on him putting it there.

  “We've got about an hour.”

  “You better go.” Soft, whispered words. “Since I'm not flying this one, I figured I'll stay on the command post. Talk to my guys.”

  He didn't want to talk about logistics. Instead Stark brushed a kiss over her mouth, lingering for a long moment, capturing her taste.<
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  “Galen.” It was the first time she'd said his name. “We're going to kick ass.” She pasted on a cocky smile.

  He couldn't help but grin back. “You bet on it.”

  He couldn't understand that huge, warm feeling bursting inside him whenever he looked at her, touched her, hell, even thought of her. For now, he simply shot her back another grin before opening the hatch of his quarters and entering reality.

  “Status.”

  Inside his comm implant, he heard Dex snort. “What was that phrase? We're ass-deep in cherry blossoms.”

  Stark snorted in return while accessing the report of remaining personnel. “I don't see any crossed-out numbers.”

  “There aren't any.”

  Now he paused. “I see.” He didn't care that his voice trembled. None of his crew had left their posts. They would all fight together.

  “I'll need a direct feed to the engines. Can you rig something up?”

  “I'll see what I can do.”

  About ten minutes till the outer fringe of the blockade. One of the hologrids showed passing scraps of ships and wasted fuel containers that were no longer a priority for cleanup.

  The blockade had been set up to keep the Murks from pressing deeper into human space. With the thinning supplies personnel, cleanup of war debris was now a waste of fuel. And as the Murks fought to gain territory, the debris field grew.

  “Steady so far.” The comm chief nodded at the central grid where green and red lines formed an intricate pattern. “Couple of patrol fights, feelers from both sides by the looks of it.”

  Stark felt a quick tug as the engines moved Victory away from some of the faster-traveling debris.

  “Time till final position?”

  “Under thirty minutes.” Hahn frowned at the holoboard and raised a hand to her temple as if making sure she heard the incoming correctly.

  “Commander, Tunga class vessel on intercept. They are demanding access.”

  She changed the central grid to display a rapidly approaching two-man vessel. After a full scan of the ship, Stark enhanced the display to see the curving insignia on its side. CR. Central Research.