by Ruby Dixon
Kef, I love that smile. I'd do anything for it.
“So…that's all there is to it,” I tell her brusquely. “You're free to use any of this for as long as you like.”
“Thank you,” she says, and this time it seems genuine. She immediately begins to peel off her filthy rags, and I turn away. It seems wrong to watch her get naked, even though I know she wouldn't be able to see that I'm watching her.
I'd know, and that makes all the difference in the world.
“I'll just be outside.” I get up and head for the door, averting my gaze. I let it slide shut behind me and lean against the wall, closing my eyes. My cock aches. My pulse throbs in my veins and I would give anything to be able to go into that room and touch her.
She's not ready for a male, though. Not after what she's been through. She might never be ready.
This must be how Tarekh felt when Cat was brought on board. Or Kivian when he acquired Fran…except both of those women were independent and strong and talked back if anyone gave them crap. Iris is strong, but in different ways. She's quiet and she won't do anything but smile at you…but she has to be strong to have survived what she did. I can't imagine. Even in my darkest days on Thresh II, I never had to endure what she did.
A whimper catches my attention. I push off the wall, wondering if I'm imagining things. That it's just my brain playing tricks and I'm too attuned to Iris. She whimpers again, and I hesitate. The sound is soft, and maybe it's just that she aches or that the spray is too hot for her aching body. It doesn't mean that she wants me to charge in there and save her—
“Alvos!” she cries out, the sound terrified and frantic. “Alvos, where are you?”
I slam my hand onto the panel and push through the door the moment it glides open. “Iris? Are you all right?” I enter the room and I'm surprised to see her crouching in the corner of the shower, her back pressed to the walls. She's naked, her arms crossed over her teats, and dirt sluices off of her as the water drips over her body. She's quaking with terror, her head lifting the moment I walk in. “What is it?” I ask again.
Her teeth chatter. “I…please don't leave.” Iris's voice drops to a mere whisper. “When you were gone, it felt like I was back there…alone and trapped.” She sniffs, and I wonder if she's fighting tears. “I know I shouldn't ask—”
“Don't you dare apologize,” I tell her, striding forward. Iris stiffens, and I realize that's the wrong thing to say. “You've been through hell,” I tell her as I strip my shirt off my back and toss it aside. I kick my boots off and then I join her in the shower, reaching out and brushing a hand over hers. “If it takes you time to get used to a new place, it takes you time. I told you that you're safe with me, and I meant it.” I stroke a hand over her wet, snarled hair as she flings herself into my arms.
“I'm sorry,” she begins, and when I growl, she bites the words off. “I…thank you.”
“I'm starting to hate how very polite you are,” I mutter.
A teary laugh escapes her. “You want me to cuss at you?”
“I want you to show emotion. Tell me what you're thinking. Don't just tell me what you think I want to hear. I'm not them. I'd never hurt you like they did.”
She nods, burrowing her face against my chest. I notice absently that she's naked, but it doesn't matter. This isn't about sex or mating. This is about her terror and how she turned to me when she was afraid. I'm going to be her protector, I vow. If it means dancing attendance on her every day for the rest of my life, I'll gladly do so. I hate the trembling that makes her small frame shudder. I hate that she's so scared to be left alone…but I get it.
“When I came back from the war,” I begin, my voice hoarse with emotion. I've never shared this with anyone, but I feel the need to share with her. To show her that I understand. “I would press my back against every wall. Never walked down an open corridor because it felt too exposed. I always had to have my back to something. And I wore body armor to bed for years because I couldn't fall asleep otherwise. I'd get too worked up, thinking that someone was going to attack me.”
Her hands curl against my skin, tracing the edge of one of my chest plates. “You're wearing armor now. Are you still scared?”
“That's not armor. That's me. My people, we have protective plating over vulnerable parts of our body. We're not all softness like humans.” I take her hand and guide it up to my shoulder so she can feel the plates there, feel where they connect to my skin. “But I wore the armor for years. Three, I think. Then one day, I didn't break into a cold sweat at the thought of going to sleep. I didn't think someone was going to attack me the moment my guard was down.” I stroke her hair again. “I'm telling you this because it's hard and it takes time, but you'll get there.”
“I'll be fixed?” she whispers, and I can hear the hope in her voice. “Like you?”
I chuckle and hold her tight, determined to ignore the ticklish sensations her exploring fingers send through my body. “Oh, I'm not fixed. I'm as broken as ever. But you get better at hiding it. And you get better at being broken.”
Iris just sighs and leans against me. Her entire body sags and I wonder how long it’s been since she truly slept. How long since she’s let her guard down. Fierce protectiveness overwhelms me, and I fight the urge to squeeze her against my chest forever. To make sure that nothing hurts her ever again.
Eventually her trembling stops and her body relaxes. She’s still silent, but some of the tension is gone from her form and I’m glad. I rub her shoulder. “All right now?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
I start to disentangle myself from her wet, nude body. “I should leave you alone so you can shower.”
She clings to me, her face upturned. “Stay, Alvos. Please? I won’t be scared if I know you’re here.”
“You want me to watch you bathe?”
Her cheeks flush under the dirt. “You don’t have to watch. Just talk to me.”
It’s an odd request, and perhaps even a sexual one. I won’t let it be, though. Not after what she’s been through. Not after she’s given me her trust. I give her back another pat and help her to her feet, and then remain in the shower spray with her so she can hold on to my arm. Her legs are still shaky and her strength questionable. She weakly rubs the cleansing foam on her body with one hand, clinging to me with the other.
And so she doesn’t feel uncomfortable, I stare straight ahead, letting the water hit my face, and I tell her about the Fool. About how Kivian is our captain, and that sometimes he’s as un-leaderlike as they come, especially for a pirate. How he dotes on Fran, who’s the practical one in that pairing whereas Kivian’s more of a good-time kind of guy. How Sentorr practically lives on the bridge and practically seems mated to the ship and the nav control panels sometimes. How good-natured Tarekh’s both mechanic and medic all in one, and that Cat helps him out and plays tricks on him just because she’s got a sassy streak a mile wide and Tarekh secretly loves it. How I’m supposed to be the mechanic on the ship, but Tarekh’s the one that likes to tinker with things, so I mostly clean guns and make sure our weapons are at the ready. I’m good when it comes to a fight. I’ve had years of combat training, have excellent aim, and I can pretty much turn anything into a weapon if needed. I tell her that Kivian jokes that if I were dropped onto a wild planet for a month, they’d come back and find me with a defensible fortress and I’ll have conquered the locals. He’s probably not wrong. I’m not the type that can sit still or be content with merely existing from day to day. There’s a restlessness in my belly that makes me push harder and fight for more. Always more. I’m the first one in a fight and the last to leave.
I worry a little that confessing my bloodthirsty attitude is going to frighten her, but I can’t hide who I am. I solve my problems with my fists. I fight to release tension. I’m not the easygoing male that Tarekh is. I’m not full of laughter like Kivian. I’m an angry, broken thing inside and I use my fists to cope. I’d never hurt her, but that’s something she’ll h
ave to learn, because no amount of me promising that she’s safe is going to matter in her eyes. She already doesn’t trust.
I won’t lie to her, though.
7
ALYVOS
Eventually the water runs clean and her skin is a lovely, even shade instead of dirty smudges. Her dark hair is a wet fall over her shoulders and she looks better. Even her color is improved, as if just washing up has made her heart lighter. She wipes water from her face and pauses as her fingers slide over her eyes, as if she’s forgotten that there’s nothing but scars there. The smile on her mouth fades ever so slightly.
“I think I’m done,” Iris says in that polite, even voice of hers. “Thank you, Alvos.”
“Don’t make me growl at you,” I tell her. “You’re allowed to shower as much as you want on this ship.”
Her wet fingers—the tips shriveled from the shower—caress my forearm. “Yes, but thank you for standing here with me and being with me. And talking. And not leaving me alone.” She holds me tight. “I don’t think I like being alone anymore.”
“I understand.” And I do. I think I understand that more than anyone. “Come on. Let’s get you dried off.”
I wrap a plas-towel around her shoulders, and she flinches and then holds herself very still as the fabric adjusts to her body. I explain to her that it’s normal, but I can tell she’s unsettled. She lightly strokes the material as if she doesn’t quite trust it not to move. I lead her out of the water closet and then over to my bed. For once, I’m glad that I’m tidier than Tarekh. My bed is made with the blankets pulled tight. I don’t have pillows like humans like to use, and I make a mental note to get one from Fran or Cat.
I guide Iris to the side of the bed and she sits down delicately. “I’ll find Cat and see where she is with those clothes.”
She clutches my arm. “It’s all right. They can wait. Do you have scissors? Or a knife?”
“I do…why?” Is there a human bathing ritual I’m unaware of?
“I need to cut my hair off.” She pushes it back from her face with a grimace. “It’s just one big knot.”
“You don’t like it?” I can’t resist taking a lock of it between my fingers and rubbing. It’s wet and knotted, but the strands are like silk.
“I’ll never get it detangled. It’s too snarled.”
“I’ll do it for you.”
Her lips part with surprise. “You will?”
In this moment, there is nothing I want more. Tend to her? Take care of her? Make her feel comforted and loved? “Gladly. Wait here and I’ll return.”
I head to the water closet and grab my comb. It’s wide-toothed for mesakkah hair, which has a different texture than human hair. It should still do the trick, though, and when I return to the bed a moment later and touch her shoulder, Iris relaxes and smiles back at me, and I feel as if I’ve won a prize just for volunteering to take care of her.
She should be pampered all her days, not treated like she was. Just the thought of what she’s been through makes the rage burn in my gut. For a moment, I want to throw the comb down on the bed and chase down Kivian and see what happened with the szzt and their ship. See if they were disposed of or if there’s still someone for me to destroy. But I’d have to leave Iris’s side and it’s clear she doesn’t want to be left alone. Even that small window in which I left her side to get the comb made her tense and worried. She’s relaxed now that I’m back, and I take a handful of her hair and begin to gently work through the snarls.
If I have to choose between Iris and my revenge, I choose Iris. It’s a first for me to give up on a chance to fight, but Iris needs me. Kivian knows how I feel about those szzt, and I trust him to take care of things. I relax and focus on Iris’s hair, and I don’t even mind when the floors of the ship begin to vibrate, signaling that we’re accelerating and no longer docked to the junker.
I do my best not to yank on her hair, but she’s right—it’s snarled to the point that I’m not surprised she wanted to cut it off. As it dries, though, it changes to a rich dark brown and clings to my fingers, soft and pettable. I’m glad she’s letting me do this, because I think it’s beautiful. She’s silent as I work, her hands in her lap. I want her to speak, even if it’s just for the pleasure of hearing her thoughts. “I’ve told you about me. Tell me about you, Iris.”
“There’s nothing important to tell,” she says in that mild voice of hers.
She's wrong, but she's also got that passive tone in her voice that tells me she's going to keep her secrets. That's all right. She just got here. It's early for her to trust, but I hope that someday she'll share more with me. “If you say so.”
“How did you learn the human language?” Iris asks, just as the door chimes and announces Cat's presence outside.
“Open,” I call out, and the door slides back.
Cat steps inside, and then pauses when she sees Iris perched on the bed in a plas-towel and me combing her wet hair. She raises one of those mobile human eyebrows at me, and I scowl in her direction. I don't care what it looks like. “Sorry to interrupt this scene of domestic bliss, but I brought clothing.” She gestures at the bundle in her hands. “Should I come back later?”
“Don't be ridiculous,” I half snarl at her. Cat just smirks in my direction, not put off by my bad temper. “I was just helping Iris with her hair. We can finish it later. She probably wants clothing more than a combing, and I need to check in with Kivian.” I press the comb into Iris's hand and give it a squeeze. “Can you stay with her until I get back?”
“Of course,” Cat says in a cheery voice. “I brought several different things in case you don't like some of what I have. I'm a big fan of choices.” She plops herself down on the floor near the bed and starts to spread things out before her. “Take your time, Aly. We're good here.”
I'm sure she is, but I worry about Iris. “Will you be good?” I ask with a touch to her shoulder.
“Of course.” Her voice is smooth and pleasant. “Thank you.”
I grit my teeth at how robotic and monotonous she makes those words sound. So very agreeable. But I don't want to call her out on it in front of Cat. Everyone's got their defense mechanisms. I just give her another pat on the shoulder and head out of the room. I shut the door and pause outside for a moment, just in case Iris starts screaming in fear. Just in case she needs me. When it's quiet, I leave and head for the bridge.
Only Sentorr is there, bent over the nav panels of the Fool as if they provide all the answers of the universe.
“Where's Kivian?” I ask.
“He and Fran are unavailable at the moment,” Sentorr says, his tone indicating he doesn't approve.”
Ah. That means they're mating. I head to my chair in one corner of the bridge—the security station—and sit down, kicking my feet up on my panel and trying to look comfortable and at ease. Instead, I'm wondering about Iris and how she likes Cat. If I should go back because she needs me there, or if I'm just being overbearing.
Probably overbearing.
I glance over at Sentorr, who's watching me with the corners of his hard mouth turned down slightly. I study him. There's not a hair on his head out of place, his horn coverings immaculately polished. He's even wearing a uniform, which is ironic because the Fool has no uniforms. If we did, though, I imagine they'd look like the stiff, uncomfortable creation he's wearing, with a million buttons on the front and a high collar to choke the life out of a male. And decorative sleeves, I add mentally. Damned Kivian loves a decorated sleeve. Sentorr's personality is as buttoned up as his clothing, though. He gives me another look of disapproval, gaze flicking from my feet up on the panel to my face.
I rub my jaw, thinking absently of the female I left behind in my quarters. It feels strange to be sitting here on the bridge, pretending to relax when I'm anything but. I feel an overwhelming need to return to her side, and I fight it, because I don't want to come across as too possessive. Not until she's ready to think about me as something other than her rescuer
. Like I said before, it might be never.
But if my hellish time during the war taught me anything, it's that perspectives change over time. Old wounds fade even if they don't go away. So I can be patient and play the long game.
I force myself to cross my arms over my chest and study the nav charts pulled up on the screens as if they hold my interest in the slightest. They don't. Sentorr doesn't offer information and when he turns back to his nav charts, I speak up. “The junker?”
He flicks a glance over at me. “Currently having a system malfunction and en route to the nearest sun. No life on board, if that's what you're asking.”
“That's what I'm asking,” I agree, pleased. Kivian took care of business. Good. It's the ugly side of piracy, but sometimes things get ugly. I don't regret it. I only regret I wasn't the one that got to pull the trigger so Iris could hear from me that they're finished.
Iris. I can't stop thinking about her. Strangely enough, I don't think about her scars or the painful-looking shadows where her eyes should be. I think about that hint of a smile that sometimes curves her lips and how I'd do anything for it. I wonder if it's too soon to go back and check in on her. If that'll seem weird.
“Not you, too.” Sentorr's voice is sour.
I look over at my friend. He's tapping away at the nav charts, updating our path and scanning communication bands to ensure we avoid the law. He's always busy with something, Sentorr. Always focused on the Fool. It makes me wonder what's going on in his head sometimes. If the male's ever heard of “downtime.” Of what he's trying to avoid by burying himself in work. Of course, I don't ask. Never would. “Not me too what?”
His mouth turns down and he jabs one of the panels a little harder than necessary. “She's your mate, isn't she? It's obvious to me that we've acquired yet another human to squeeze into our four-crew ship.” The disapproval drips from his tone.
“It's that obvious already?” I don't deny it. The moment I lifted Iris into my arms, I knew she was mine.