by Zoë Archer
“Commander Frayne overstates my involvement.” She didn’t want that commendation, not if it meant she’d earned it with her body rather than her skill.
“Lieutenant Jur is seconding that commendation,” said the commander. “Do you disagree with them both?”
“I…no.” Breath left her. She wondered briefly if the ship’s gravitational mechanism had gone off line, then realized it was her own equilibrium being unsettled. Rules and certainties as she’d known them did not exist, leaving her to find new truths. About the world as she knew it. About herself.
After the interview concluded, Mara wandered around the ship, searching. She found neither Kell nor even Lieutenant Jur. When the ship landed at the 8th Wing base, she oversaw the unloading of the Arcadia, checked her ship for any damages, but even after she found everything to be in good condition, she lingered. Still no sign of Kell. He hadn’t come out of the carrier ship.
“We’ve prepared special quarters for you, ma’am,” an ensign informed her.
“I’ve got quarters on my ship.”
“These are a little more spacious. Besides, they come equipped with a water shower.”
A water shower sounded like the Starfields of Eternal Bliss. Yet, even with this temptation, she was reluctant to stray far from the docked carrier.
The ensign saw her gaze straying toward the ship. “Commander Frayne was escorted off the ship as soon as it docked.”
Alarm prickled the back of her neck. “Escorted off? Is he in trouble?” Mara began to stride away —exactly where she was heading, she didn’t know, but if Kell needed help, she would provide it, however she could.
“No trouble at all, ma’am,” the ensign said, trotting quickly after her. “But a mission like this, complicated and important as it was, requires a long debriefing before a panel of admirals. Standard operating procedure.”
Her pace slowed as some of her righteous anger and determination evaporated. “I see. How long do these panels last?”
“Could be hours, or longer. More than enough time to rest and clean up. Ma’am.”
She glanced down at herself, seeing the blood and dirt covering her clothes. She probably did not smell particularly pleasant, either.
A water shower. A bed. Solitude. Time to think. She wanted and needed all of this.
Summoning her years of training, she gave the ensign a regal nod. “Escort me to my quarters,
Ensign.” However, she was no longer a princess, so she added, “Please.”
The junior officer led her through the base, and she found herself accepting congratulations and handshakes from many 8th Wing personnel. She felt inundated by faces and voices. Reaching her quarters was a relief.
They were, indeed, much more spacious that her cramped quarters on the Arcadia, and a decided contrast from the seedy lodging room she had shared with Kell. Though, what she and Kell had done in that lodging room hadn’t been seedy at all. It had been…breathtaking.
Needing to be alone with her thoughts and memories, she dismissed the ensign. The grime of Ryge needed to come off. She remembered her purification ritual after her first menses. At dawn, she had been bathed by priestesses, symbolically marking the transformation from childhood to adulthood, one life ended, another begun.
After stripping, she stepped beneath the water. The drain carried away the final relics of her life as a scavenger. Who was she now? There were millions of paths to take—cargo pilot, merchant, or,
hell, mercenary. She now possessed what she had been denied on Argenti—choice.
She finished and wrapped a towel around herself, then staggered toward the bed as weariness overwhelmed her. Mara collapsed onto the bed. She would just rest her eyes a moment before getting dressed and going in search of Kell. Against her will, she fell asleep in seconds. And found herself adrift in dreams.
She woke later to a fleeting sensation of panic. An unfamiliar room, unfamiliar bed. Voices outside in the corridor discussed a training session, griping to each other about a tough warrant officer.
I’m at 8th Wing base. Kell’s home.
And hers, if she wanted it. Considering the praise she’d been given from the 8th officers, his offer might very well be genuine. The question was, what did she want?
Him. She wanted him. A palpable ache in the center of her chest. Lying on her back, staring at the ceiling, Mara pressed the heel of her hand against her chest, trying to contain the need that threatened to open her from the inside out. She had to see Kell. Needed to see his face and hear his voice and touch him, everywhere. He alone would understand what it was she felt to be on the 8th Wing base, the strange conflict of emotions to become, suddenly, a hero. He would know the curious emptiness that came with one life ending and another waiting to begin.
Gods, he had become her friend.
She checked the time. Three solar hours had passed since she had fallen into bed. He had to be finished with the debriefing by now. He would come to see her. The idea of waiting for him in nothing but a towel appealed, but just in case someone other than Kell showed up at her door, she ought to get dressed.
Her grimy clothes held little charm after getting herself clean. Rummaging around a storage locker, Mara found a woman’s 8th Wing uniform. No identification, no markers of rank. Unclaimed,
clearly. Feeling a little strange, as though putting on someone else’s identity, Mara donned the jumpsuit. Looking into the mirror, her self-mocking smile died before it fully formed. She’d thought she would appear ridiculous, a criminal pretending to be a defender of the law. A fraud.
But no. She had her own dignity, and the uniform only highlighted what was already there. It felt surprisingly good, purposeful. As though she was part of something bigger than herself, yet contributed her own strength. And, she thought with an inward smile, the gray fabric flattered her cream-colored hair.
She stuck her tongue out at herself and moved away from the mirror. It was just a uniform. Some fabric woven on a digiloom and stitched together by a sewing bot.
An unwelcome thought crept into her mind. Perhaps Kell had finished the debriefing long ago and chose not to see her. Perhaps, now that he was back in his home territory, he realized how foolish he’d been—treating a casual fuck like someone he truly cared about. She was a scavenger, after all, no longer a princess. Perhaps he hoped she would read the unspoken message in his absence, that he wanted her gone, and what they had shared was forgettable and momentary.
“To hell with that.” If he wanted her to quietly, meekly disappear, he was mistaken. Scavenger she may be, but she had pride too.
She marched from her quarters but stopped short of accosting the first 8th Wing ensign she saw.
No need to broadcast to the whole base that she was looking for Kell. So she used her own internal guidance as she roamed the base, righteous fury pushing her on with every step.
Her strides halted on a catwalk when she heard Kell’s angry voice one story below her.
“I’m not giving you any more,” he snapped.
“But we still need to review the captured Wraith’s data collectors.” This, from an unknown voice.
Mara peered over the railing. She saw Kell standing in the open doorway of what appeared to be a conference room, with a group of 8th Wing senior officers gathered behind him. Seeing him again,
muscular and lean, handsome beyond reckoning, she felt her heart contract, even after an absence of merely half a solar day. He was still dressed in his smuggler’s clothes, though they were torn and dirty. She realized abruptly that, while she had enjoyed a shower and rest after the long ordeal of the mission, he had not.
“And I’ll go over the damn data collectors.” He planted his hands on his hips. “Later. She doesn’t know anyone on base, doesn’t know where I am. I have to go to her.”
Me. He’s talking about me. So much for her anger. It shorted like a fuse, leaving her with energy that had no outlet. Speeches and declarations died on her lips. She could only manage one word, t
he most important word she knew.
“Kell.”
He spun around, quick as a whipstrike, and looked up at her. For a moment, she and Kell just stared at each other, him standing below, her on the catwalk a story above.
More officers’ voices sounded behind him, but he paid them no attention. Instead, holding her gaze with his own, Kell sprinted toward the catwalk. Her breath snagged as he leapt up, beautiful motion, dark and dangerous. He caught the bottom edge of the catwalk with his hands, then, arm muscles tightening and flexing, pulled himself up enough to grab the bars of the railing. Sinuous and quick, he vaulted over the rail to stand in front of her.
“Mara.”
His voice sounded raw, as if he’d been speaking nonstop for a long time. He stepped close, and she saw the strain of weariness in his face. He had been going solidly for over a day without a single moment’s respite—yet all he saw or cared about was her.
When he reached for her, she could not stop herself from going to him.
His arms surrounded her, holding her tightly against the warm, hard contours of his chest. She lost herself in his embrace, wrapping her arms around him as they pressed closely together. The hollowness inside her filled with his presence, his strength and soul.
“We can resume the debriefing tomorrow, Commander,” someone said below.
“Doesn’t look like they’ll be available for a few solar days,” another said wryly.
“Or weeks.”
Kell threaded his fingers with hers and stepped back. His gaze burned her. Without speaking, he led her away. Her heart pounded with every step as they moved quickly, purposefully through the base. She paid no attention to where they were going, seeing only him. Within moments, she found herself in a barracks corridor. And then she was inside his quarters.
His quarters were larger than hers, but just as impersonally utilitarian, scrupulously neat. No holoimages of friends or family. If she wanted to find indications of the inner man, she would not find them here. The absence of personal touches revealed only that he lived for his work. His quarters were not a haven, nor a place of retreat, only somewhere to sleep between missions. Home that wasn’t home, not truly.
Immediately, he pulled her close. She felt the tough, hard strength of him, and the warmth too.
“If anyone treated you poorly, tell me. I’ll have them thrown into the brig. After I beat them senseless.”
“I can’t fault 8th Wing for its hospitality. Not this time. Everyone acts like I’m some sort of hero.”
“They aren’t mistaken.”
“Only doing what I was obliged to do.”
“Now you’re mistaken.” He brushed his fingertips over her face, and she fought to keep her eyes open. “Don’t forget, Mara. I know you now. You handed the controls of the Arcadia over to Celene to stay with me. Nothing obligated about that.”
It had been exactly the right thing to do, an instinct she’d had to obey, yet she felt herself blush.
She could not have made her feelings more plain, not even if she had written and recited a thousand-stanza epospoem.
“Brash princess.” A corner of his mouth turned up. He glanced at her uniform, and his smile turned puzzled. Pleased, but puzzled. “They inducted you already?”
“This is borrowed glory.”
A flicker of disappointment in his dark eyes. “No. You make it shine.”
Ah, there went another piece of her heart. “I do flatter the uniform.”
“It doesn’t have to be borrowed.”
“Will they have me, then?”
“There are a few tests you will have to take, but I have every confidence that you’ll not only pass, but set new records. You aren’t the average cadet.”
She gave a wry laugh. “How many cadets have ‘exiled princess’ and ‘former scavenger’ on their credentials?”
He did not laugh. In fact, Mara had never seen him look so solemn, so focused. “Former scavenger.”
“I changed my life once before.” It amazed her that her voice did not quaver, yet she felt herself gathering strength. “It’s mine to change again.” She drew in a breath. “I’m ready to fight for more than myself.”
“The fight against PRAXIS isn’t easy,” he cautioned.
“Nothing worthwhile is easy. I’ve seen what PRAXIS does to worlds, to people. It has to stop,
and I want to help stop it. Are you trying to convince me to say no?”
In response, he kissed her. A demanding, assertive kiss that was also vivid with yearning. He cupped her head with his broad hands to claim better access to her mouth. Her body responded at once.
Kell kissed with every part of his being, as though nothing mattered more.
“I thought I knew fear. Living like an animal on Sayén. It was fear that kept me alive, that made me win every fight. But that fear was nothing compared to what I felt when I thought about you leaving.”
“Would you have let me go?”
He closed his eyes, as if the idea physically pained him. “It would have killed me. But, yes, I would have. Better that than cage you.”
“I can’t stay away from you, Kell. My heart won’t let me.”
“You don’t need to become 8th Wing to have me. Wherever you are, I’ll find a way to you.”
“I want everything,” she whispered. “To join the fight against PRAXIS, to believe in something beyond myself. And you. I want you.”
He was dark and bright as he gazed down at her. Intent. Hungry. “All that I am or ever will be is yours.”
Mara found herself falling back onto the bed with Kell coming down to lie partially atop her. His weight was welcome, needed. She indulged herself by running her hands all over his body. He was hers. This fighter was hers, his body and his heart. A gift she’d never expected.
He used his hands, too, caressing her as if committing her to memory. His touch was possessive but tender, and as he stroked her legs, her belly, her arms, radiance filled her, the twin suns of arousal and emotion. He palmed her breasts, and she writhed at his touch, yet it wasn’t enough.
“Too much between us.” His large hands unfastened her uniform, and he growled like a feral creature when the fabric parted, revealing that she was nude beneath her borrowed clothing.
“Do something for me.” He devoured her with his gaze.
“Anything.”
“Always have underwear on beneath your uniform.”
She raised her brows. “I would think you’d want me naked.”
“I do. Gods, I do. But,” he added as he ran his fingertips down the shallow valley between her breasts, “I could never concentrate on a mission, or anything else, knowing you were bare under your uniform.” He bent his head and licked a tight circle around her nipple, causing her to shudder with need.
“Don’t want to distract you.” She gasped, arching up.
“Distract me, Mara.” He licked her other nipple, then kissed his way up to her throat, his mouth hot and ravenous. “Distract me for the rest of my life.”
She started to pull at his clothing, but realization made her give a husky laugh. “Seems we switched roles. You’re dressed like a smuggler, and I’m 8th Wing.”
“We can be whoever we damn well want to be.” He glanced down at himself. “What I am for certain is filthy. I’ll shower and then join you.”
“We can shower together. Later. First, I need you.”
He wasted no more time on words, hungrily kissing her throat. She felt the sweet pain of his teeth on her neck.
“You like to bite me.”
“I do. It’s how we claim our mates on Sayén.” He bit her again.
She shifted, keeping his teeth upon her, then she sunk her own teeth into his neck. He growled. A deep, resounding joy thrilled her as they claimed each other.
“I love you, Kell.” She released him, feeling primitive satisfaction to see the marks she left upon his flesh. And satisfaction to know that he marked her, as well.
“I love you, me luna.” H
e brushed kisses across her cheeks, her lips, kisses she met with her own.
“I want to fight beside you during the day, and make love to you all night.”
“My wants are the same as yours,” she whispered, “though I wouldn’t mind making love all day too.”
He smiled. “Just this once, I’ll obey your orders.”
Mara fought to reclaim some of her imperial demeanor, though it was a struggle when his hands and mouth worked magic. “Only this once?”
“Other times too. But not always. I am a commander, after all.”
“Thank the gods for that.”
Before he lowered his head to take her mouth, he glanced around his quarters. “This place never felt like mine before. I slept here, ate here sometimes, but it was just a room, nothing else.” He gazed back down at her. “You’ve made it into a home. My home.”
They stopped speaking then. He peeled off the rest of her uniform, and she removed his smuggler’s clothes. Then they were both naked, their limbs intertwined, bound together by a force greater than gravity.
About the Author
Zoë Archer is an award-winning romance author who loves adventure—both on Earth and amongst the stars. As a child, she never dreamed about being the rescued princess, but wanted to kick butt right beside the hero. She now applies her master’s degrees in literature and fiction to creating butt-kicking heroines and daring heroes. Her Blades of the Rose series—featuring dashing men and fearless women —is available now. Zoe and her husband live in Los Angeles. She often tweets about boots and baking.
Visit her on the web at www.zoearcherbooks.com and on Twitter @Zoe_Archer.
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