by Ava Argent
I slam into the shuttle. There's this horrific popping noise I hear over the madness of blasters and I know my shoulder just dislocated.
I'm not going to try and describe the pain. My joint is out of the socket it should be in, the socket it was made to occupy. Use your imagination.
It all goes to hell in a handbasket from there.
M'anu roars loud enough for the other side of the universe to hear him, and it is flippin' terrifying. Did I say it was lion-like? I take it back: it's pissed-off Silverback gorilla level. The floor rattles with it. My heart stutters.
It lasts maybe three, four seconds, but I will never forget what it's like to have that wash over me. To know that I will never able to produce that sound—that, in essence, something as basic to him does not exist in me—illustrates our differences in a fundamental way. I feel like a helpless, half-broken bug that's just waiting for the natural order to give it a slapdown.
M'anu goes from zero to sixty almost before I can register he's moving. Pure instinct has me reaching for the blaster with my left hand; I get off a few shots but they go wild. I'm no leftie, and I realize in milliseconds that I might do more harm than good at this distance. I drag myself up from the floor and dash around the shuttle for cover, only to bump into the one sonofabitch that managed to get around M'anu.
Agony shoots through me. I hit him with my bad arm and I nearly black out from it.
It doesn't get better.
The blaster goes flying, knocked right out of my grip. Butterfingers.
The tall, jerky-thin guy slaps a hand with fingers that are way too long around my neck and lifts.
Holy mother of mercy! Do not damage the goods, asshole. Pirate rule number one!
I try to punch his wrist but it's awkward. So I kick him, right in the gut. He drops me like a hot potato right on my arm and—
Actually, I don't remember too much of the next few minutes. I really don't. This fog descends over my brain. It's red and white, equal parts pain and a deep, unholy anger I didn't know I was capable of. Maybe it's pure survival instinct. Maybe it's the same kind of feeling that got my mom onto the throne of a small planet. I don't know.
It's dangerous, though. I don't like it.
My 'wake-up moment' is unclear, but I do gradually realize that I'm on my feet and I'm hurt. Really, really hurt. The swelling has already started and I'm going numb in parts. Not good.
Whatever I did, my attacker is on the ground, not moving. I look for M'anu. Shit. Zarek has him in his sights almost at point blank range.
M'anu bristles with barely leashed savagery. I hate to harp on his range of sounds, but Jesus, if that's not a wordless death threat, I don't know what is. Zarek looks like he got pulverized. I don't know how the guy is keeping it together. I'd be on the ground crying like a baby if I were him.
Then again, I'm the chick standing around with a dislocated shoulder. Out in the open. Like a dumbass.
I press my back to the shuttle, making sure Zarek isn't paying attention to me. He isn't. There's a lot of injured, dead, and dying around. One small movement isn't going to alert him. He's also got a ferocious Ferissian to deal with. Only a fool would look away from that.
I side step until I can duck under the shuttle's hull, bending and picking up a blaster on the way. It's smaller than the one I had. Easier to manage. I'm silent in every move. I can be quiet as a mouse when required, and believe me, this situation Requires with a capital R.
“Stupid bastard,” Zarek spits, slurring the words through loose teeth, no doubt. “I'm going to make this slow.”
I dash to the other end of the shuttle, bringing me just slightly out to the side of him when I raise my pistol. “Well, then you're just asking for it, aren't you?”
And I shoot him in the arm. He cuts off his scream manfully, but it won't help. His blaster drops.
So I shoot him again in the leg, still walking toward him. “That's for choosing the wrong option and getting my arm dislocated.” Lower leg, shoulder, foot. “That's just because I am in a very bad mood.”
By now he's fallen to the ground, clutching at his various wounds with a string of bad words coming out of his mouth. I walk right up to him and press the blaster's snub between his eyes. He just up, staring me down from under the barrel. It's hard to look cool when there's a gun to your head, but he gives it a good try.
I'm not feeling appreciative. In fact, if I were anybody else, he'd be deader than dead right now. I'm mad as all hell, but I'm no cold blooded killer. That doesn't mean he's getting off easy.
M'anu has gone completely silent. His eyes are pinned to us, burning with their intensity.
I press the gun further into Zarek's thin skin, making him bow back under the force. I'm getting a little dizzy from pain, and my determination to stay awake and aware adds a guttural quality to my voice. “Listen to me good, asshole. I'm Judith Agmoiria Jenner. Remember it. Tell your friends. Let everybody know that you do not fuck with Jenners.” I smirk. “And just in case you decide to ignore my advice, know this: I'm only letting you live so M'anu has something to chase.”
I draw my arm back and whale him across the side of the face with the butt of the pistol.
He drops to the floor, blood spurting, but very conscious. That didn't work the way I'd hoped. Fine. I'll go the archaic route.
So I kick him in the head. It does the trick. He's out.
M'anu doesn't even glance at him, which is weird, but whatever. Those spacey eyes are pretty anyway.
Out of nowhere the tears well up. I hurt. I fucking hurt, and he's going to have to do something about it now before I start bawling. “Fix me, goddammit,” I snap, hoping against hope he's not in some animal fugue and can make sentient decisions.
It would be creepy how noiseless he is now compared to earlier, but I'm being overwhelmed by a lot of conflicting sensations at once. I've got better things to pay attention to. When he moves, it's quickly. I try to hold in the whimpers as his fingers ghost over my bruised and damaged shoulder.
“Hold on,” he says quietly.
He wrenches.
A bright white light passes in front of my eyes, then nothing.
xxxxx
The female is injured, and I know that it was I who injured her.
I catch her as she slides into darkness. I cannot carry her across my chest. I need both hands free, so I place her over my shoulder, careful to keep her affected arm tight between her body and my neck. I want to leave this hangar. There cannot be many more of Zarek's crew left and I doubt they will risk my wrath by coming to their captain's rescue.
I stand over Zarek's prone body for a moment, memorizing the sight of what the Agmoiria has done to him. It is beautiful in its unforgiving precision. I would have preferred to break every bone he possesses and then watch him drown in his own vomit, but the Agmoiria is right—I will give chase. Even better, Zarek will know it.
My own personal prey.
I leave him there without adding to his injuries. He will wake up knowing he is the dead walking. In the meantime I will tend to the female under my care.
Once I have retrieved my blade from another man's chest, I stride from the hangar without looking back. In little time I am in our ship. As soon as I step foot on the other side the docking hall disengages. I feel the shudder under my feet. A quick question reveals that systems are back online. Perhaps they were afraid I would return if they were not.
They were right to be afraid.
xxxxx
This time when I open my eyes and see M'anu's face, I'm not surprised. I think I've been asleep a long time. I feel groggy and not really there, the cobwebs slow to disappear from my brain. I stare at him for a while before I register the significance of his presence. Once I do, I realize he's asleep.
We're in a bed together.
I don't freak out. Frankly, this does not rate my weird-o-meter after the day I've had.
His eyes open. Unlike mine, they're clear and awake. Deep oceans were staring at me acr
oss a pillow.
I look at him. He looks at me. Doesn't seem inclined to break the silence, so I guess it's all Jules. “You feeling guilty? For getting my arm bent out of shape?” Funny, the words are sticking like gum in my mouth.
He says nothing, but his eyes flicker to my shoulder. I think it's bandaged. I can't really move it, but I don't feel terribly coordinated. He's solemn when he makes eye contact again.
“Well, you should,” I say without a hint of sour grapes. “I had that guy. One squeeze and all of our problems would have been over. Boom. Done.”
“Zarek was not the only enemy present. The others would have attacked anyway.”
“Maybe,” I allow, “but it sure woulda surprised 'em!” I giggle at my own stupid joke.
He smiles, a genuine close-mouthed gesture of amusement.
It's pretty. He's pretty. “I'm feeling really mellow right now. Is there a reason for that?”
“I gave you medicine for the pain before securing your limb.” M'anu brushes his pink bangs out of the way. I'm totally absorbed in the action. It's so...humanizing, for lack of a better word. “It will continue for a few more hours. By then your shoulder and ribs should be acceptably healed.”
Alien meds. Awesome. I grin like a goof at him, but then another thought wipes the smile off of my face. “You know, it's insulting that you pushed me out of the way.”
He blinks. Slowly.
“I mean it. You didn't trust me to make the shot. If it were Betty, would you have done the same? I don't think so,” I answer for him. “I think it was just me. That hurts my feelings. And my shoulder.”
M'anu doesn't seem to know what to do with that. In fact, I'm pretty sure he's puzzled by the concept of feelings being hurt. I'm going to say that's a guy thing in general. Arms, though, he gets, and so he focuses on that. Except he doesn't say anything. He just dims a little. It's hard to explain. He's just not as bright as he usually is, and it's only then that I realize M'anu is a lot like a match flame. He draws my eye just by existing.
I take pity on him. Just this once. “So why are we in bed together?”
“You require monitoring,” he immediately replies.
“Uh huh. You couldn't do that from a chair because...?”
“I did not want to.”
Well how about that. An honest answer. Now it's me that doesn't know what to do, and I blame it on the drugs. A girl needs to be in total control of her faculties to deal with the magnitude waiting to engulf her. She has to have possession of herself that I just don't have right now, so I focus on other things. Like his scent, which smells clean and fresh, or his new gray shirt. He must have showered. Wish I could say the same.
But I'm too tired. Too fuzzy. I snuggle back into the pillow and sigh. He's not holding or cuddling me, but somehow it feels like M'anu's big body is wrapped around me. Is it because this is his bed? It has to be. I can't picture M'anu putting me anywhere other than where he's most comfortable. There's a den-type feeling in this mysterious place, lived in, and later I'm going to explore it. For now I just want to relax and listen to M'anu's voice.
In a few hours all of this is going to seem like a serious lapse of judgment. Or maybe not. M'anu isn't exactly the rampaging homicidal maniac I thought he was. He's no Harry Homemaker either.
Kidnapping me for his bro is messed up (in a big way) but not heinous.
He fixed up my arm despite the fact that we duked it out both on Earth and his ship.
He dislocated said arm in an attempt to keep me from getting fried.
“I guess that means we've graduated to frenemies,” I decide, getting groggier.
M'anu frowns. “What?”
“Not friends but not enemies. Or friendly enemies. I can't remember. Frenemies.” I am having the hardest time keeping my eyes open.
No big surprise when M'anu stays silent.
It is a surprise when he leans forward and sniffs my temple. Hair, I could see, but my temple? Who buries their nose in the skin there and takes a long whiff? “I smell or something?”
He rumbles noncommittally, then moves down to my neck.
I shy away. “That tickles. Leave me alone.”
He settles back. Boy, someone looks disgruntled. Ferissians are weird. “Tell me about where you're from,” I prompt. I'm dog tired and want to sleep. M'anu's voice should get me there in no time. To tell the truth, I just want to hear him talk without feeling like I'm pulling conversation from him.
“Ferissia?”
“Mm.”
“You have never been there.”
I shake my head, snuggling deeper into the bedding. I'm so comfortable I can't even put forth the effort to speak anymore.
A big hand settles on my hip. He's not touching any other part of my body, not even brushing a knee against mine. Why do I feel like the gesture is significant?
“Ferissa is a small planet that is lush and green. There are ice tundras in the south and more arid climes in the north, but mostly Ferissia is a jungle. It is rich in resources, with oceans and rivers, hills and valleys.” His fingers absently trace my hip bone. “It is not so varied as Earth, but it is beautiful.”
I sigh. The picture in my head resembles South America or Africa, not that I've been to either.
“I have heard that some parts of Earth experience extremes in light and darkness. Is this true?”
“Mhm.” Finland. Alaska. A few other places I can't think of riht now.
“It is the same on Ferissia.”
I crack open an eye. Something about the way he says it... “Seasonally?”
“No. Days and nights are protracted. A night lasts around 92 standard hours.”
Whoa. No wonder he has night vision. He's adapted for darkness.
Explaining the teeth would probably take a lot more effort
M'anu has the perfect voice for bedtime stories. I could listen to him read the phone book to me. Jenner, Judith A. I wasn't expecting this side of him. I've seen M'anu annoyed, smug, seductive, predatory, and flat out pissed off. This is the first time I've ever seen him relaxed. Almost mellow, like me.
Must be the ebb in the tide. The second the drugs wear off he'll go back to being the macho-yet-intelligent lunkhead just begging me to whack him over the noggin.
With a two-by-four.
But that's later. A lot later. I'm going to enjoy the truce while I can keep my eyes open. As he talks, though, that gets harder and harder...
I wake up alone, but not without a plan.
It's a bitch to get the wrapping off one handed, but after a little bit of struggling I manage it. The whole time I go over the bullet points of what I want to say. I flex my arm to test it for problems. Thanks to space medicine, there are none, and I'm free to hunt down M'anu.
He is on the bridge. I throw myself into a folding chair with as much grace as someone can into a clap chair. He doesn't turn, a head perk the only indicator that he knows I'm in the room. Well, at least he gives me that much. I prop my elbows on my knees and level my most serious expression at the back of his skull. “Let's get real. You're up to your eyeballs in trouble. The bounty has to go. That means contacting your brother.”
“He doesn't have Bethina yet.”
And he won't, but M'anu doesn't know that. “He won't have her if my sorry butt gets kidnapped every five minutes either.”
“You would eventually end up with Feruz.”
“Oh yeah? Then why not let me go last night? Yesterday? Whenever that was?” What day is it, anyway?
He pauses, turning his profile my way. “You started that, if you will recall.”
He's technically right, but as that doesn't serve my purpose, I blow right by that inconvenient fact. “Like they were going to let you live after handing me over. I'm fairly certain that if your brother had put his name on the bounty, they wouldn't have messed with you. If he had, though, it would give Betty the heads up and she would just go after him instead. You've got me. The bounty has to go.” I wave my hand at the communicati
ons panel. “So call him.”
M'anu slowly sits back in his chair, the plastic/leather/whatever material creaking under the redistribution of his weight. His gaze is pinned on me. I can't read his expression, but someone that cautious isn't exactly riding first class on the trust train. “You are very insistent.”
I point at myself. “Thirty million. News doesn't travel as fast as I would like it. If you drop me off at the space station, I want to make sure I don't get stolen again. Send the message now and I might just have a chance.”
He tenses more with every word. It reminds me of the last time I was on this clap chair. My skin starts to heat under the scrutiny. I really want to say something about that. Why the flip in his manner? Was it a temporary hormonal thing? Thrill of the chase? Undying attraction to my questionable beauty? I mean, I've got a mirror. I know I'm pretty in a cute, perky way. You've gotta love yourself before trusting someone else to love you. That doesn't mean anybody's declared “I must have you!” before.
Not that M'anu said it. Thank god. Too cheesy dramatic for me.
Besides, who needs words when he's got that Grade-A no-holds-barred animal magnetism in his corner?
He's doing it again, actually, leaning his head back on the headrest, studying me without blinking. He glances at my shoulder and a new light enters his eyes. Something that resembles pleasure, but there's too much pride to be sure. No idea what the pride part is about.
I will not shift. I will not fidget. I will not adjust to accommodate the sudden warm spot between my legs. Easier said than done. This is unsettling. Whether I care what caused it or not, something about a silent Ferissian sets anybody's nerves on edge.
I clear my throat. “Anyway,” I say. Okay, croak. “You know what to do.” I shoot to my feet, the clap seat banging shut behind me, and turn away. Apparently it's too early to be hanging around M'anu just yet. Good god, he could set a girl's panties to 'melt' with that look. That's just all kinds of wrong. The drugs wore off; I've got nothing to fall back on. There's no pretending that everything is hunky dory when it's anything but.
Stockholm Syndrome is not in this chick's vocabulary.