“I am beginning to trust her,” Syrin said.
Sara’s head whipped around in his direction and her jaw dropped. “You do? Since when?”
He shrugged, refusing to clarify. “She was a system analyst for a thieving gang,” he told the others.
Rengeli glanced at her and leaned forward, looking vaguely interested.
“She has experience with analyzing security and finding weaknesses and getting past defenses.”
“A human, from New Earth?” Rengeli asked, his voice laced with skepticism.
She sighed. “Yes, a human, from New Earth. A human who hasn’t lived on New Earth since she left over a year ago.”
Trax nodded. “Well, that explains things.”
“Explains what?”
“Explains your sharp wit.”
She stuck her tongue out at him.
Trax chuckled.
“You know, you guys could just tell me what’s going on and I could help,” she said.
Silence.
“Or you can continue to leave me in the dark. Whatever.” Idiots.
“We don’t know your history,” Rengeli said.
“And your loyalty is still undetermined,” Trax added.
Syrin turned his head and looked down at her. “But I’m still protecting you,” he said, she supposed, to make her feel better about all three of them just pointing out she was some stranger they couldn’t trust so no way would they tell her anything.
“If you were his Bride, that would be different because you’d be automatically vetted,” Trax said.
Rengeli nodded.
“But you aren’t his Bride,” Trax continued. “Although, Syrin, it’s not impossible for you to mate with a human,” he said. “There are two other Xylan on this side of the four sectors who have recently mated with humans.”
“Two?” Rengeli exclaimed. “Who are you talking about? I only know of one.”
“Joyzal and Rayzor.”
Rengeli looked thoughtful. “That’s right, Joyzal’s mate, Jacole of Two, is human. I forget because of her royal pigment and she basically acts like a Xylan female. Do you think Rayzor is still angry about what happened with his Bride?”
“Probably. But, no one beside Joyzal and Jacole has seen either of them since it happened. They say his Bride is colorless, like this human Syrin is protecting.”
“Is that why Rayzor retired?”
“Yeah, he hates us because we tried to kill his Bride.”
“We didn’t try to kill his Bride,” Syrin said. “The old guard did. He hates the old guard.”
“I can’t believe you guys,” Sara broke in, “You’re not going to tell me anything, just talk around me about beings I don’t know and allude to things that happened but provide no context?”
“Exactly.”
Assholes.
After their morning meal, Sara spent the rest of the daylight hours of that diurnal cycle either in the mess hall, eating with her three bodyguards, or following along with them as they systematically visually confirmed that each cell on the first floor of 149 did not include a Xylan.
When they finally returned to their cell after the last meal of the day, before sleep cycle, two guards were waiting outside, laughing. One was the guard who’d bet on her.
The guards brushed past them. Sara watched them walk away, turned and met Syrin’s questioning gaze. She peeked into their cell and groaned. “No. They did not.”
Seven
The guards had removed her top bunk.
Sara guessed they’d slid it back into the wall and locked it there because she could see the narrow line of rectangle showing where it had recessed. There was only the one lower bunk for both of them to sleep on now.
Those fucking, fucking assholes.
“Oh, Syrin,” Trax chortled. “This couldn’t have happened to a better male.” He slapped his friend on the shoulder and kept walking to his own cell. Rengeli’s shoulders shook with mirth.
Syrin ignored them and stepped into the cell first. Sara followed. They both looked at the enormity of the one bunk, quiet for a moment. Dumbfounded.
Dread filled her heart. How was this going to work?
“You will sleep on the support and I will sleep on the floor. There is little difference between the floor and the bunk,” Syrin said.
“No,” Sara answered. She glanced at the trail of water, the gutter that ran along the edge of the floor. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. The floor is dirty. At least the bunk is cleaner. Plus, the floor is damp.”
He frowned.
She stated the obvious. “We’re going to need to share the bunk.”
They both turned to look at the narrow sleep support.
“We cannot touch, bare skin to bare skin,” he said.
Her neck felt hot. “What? What does that have to do with anything? Of course I won’t be touching you like that. Do you think I’m going to—”
He turned his head slowly and met her gaze with those bright hazel eyes and eyelashes a female from New Earth would die for. “I do not think you will do this on purpose, but you need to make sure our bare skin does not touch while we sleep.”
“Why? I mean, not that I want to, I wouldn’t do that to you, but why do you have to make sure we don’t touch? Is there something going on with your skin? Will it hurt you if we touch?” She thought back on it and realized that yes, they hadn’t touched. Not that she’d thought much of it. She hadn’t had reason to touch Trax or Rengeli either, so it wasn’t a big deal. But she and Syrin shared a cell, a very small cell, so there might have been reason to accidentally touch. He had in fact touched her, for instance when he’d pulled her back in the lift. But if she thought about it, it was always contact through the fabric of the jumpsuit. So, yes, they’d never touched bare skin to bare skin. He’d been very careful to make sure it never happened.
“It’s a Xylan custom. All unmated Xylans of mating age do not touch the skin of other unmated Xylan of the opposite sex without permission, ever. It is against the Scales of Xylan Law. Touching another Xylan’s bare skin, specifically hand to hand, is the same as initiating mating compatibility. Forcing mating compatibility is against the law.”
“So, if you touch my hand with your hand, you might find out we are mates?”
“We are not mates.”
“You’re sure?”
“No.”
She was confused. “But—”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “You must not touch my hand or any of my skin anywhere. The skin on a Xylan’s hand has the most mating receptors. I am a berserker and removed from the mating database. It is not acceptable for my line to continue. Berserkers are not allowed to have Brides. I cannot breed. You must not touch my skin in the off chance that…”
“That you’ll find out I’m your Bride?”
“You are not. There is no Bride for me. I will never have a Bride.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m not…that is why, for your own safety, you must not touch my bare skin, ever.”
“Oh. Okay, I won’t.”
“Good.”
They were both quiet again for a moment. The sleep cycle siren began blaring. Their door began sliding closed.
“So, how do we do this?” she shouted over the second siren. “How do we sleep together on this bunk without touching?”
Feet pounded on the hallway outside as inmates ran to their own cells, trying to get inside before lockdown was complete.
“We can connect in the areas where the fabric of our jumpsuits covers our skin. And if we accidentally touch for a moment elsewhere, it should be fine. Mainly, we have to avoid our hands clasping. This type of intimacy is the single biggest indicator of mating compatibility.”
“So, if I wake up and find I’ve lost my mind and threaded my fingers through your hair, we’re okay? You won’t hate me?”
His lips twitched. “No, I won’t hate you.”
The seventh siren blasted and their door slid clos
ed with finality, locking mechanism engaged. The lights in their cell cut out, leaving only the meager light from the hallway glowing through the square window in their door. Those lights would go out within ten minutes. Soon it would be pitch black in their cell.
“You get in the bunk first,” he said. “I want to be on the outside so I’m closest to the door.”
“Okay.” It made sense.
Sara did as he asked and moved onto the sleep support in the half-light. She lay on her back, her side touching the wall. Syrin lay down next to her—a sweeping movement of orange fabric. Gods, his back was unbelievably wide. She caught a glimpse of his shoulder curving above her like a distant skyscraper before he somehow gently maneuvered all that epic muscle onto the hard surface. Soon, they were both flat on their backs, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip and she knew without a doubt he didn’t fit. His booted feet were hanging off the end, and she wasn’t sure what was going on on his other side, but it couldn’t be good.
“Are you all the way in, or are you hanging off the edge?” she asked.
He didn’t answer, just continued to lie with his arms crossed over his chest, staring at the ceiling. The ridges on his forehead and at the top of his nose looked more pronounced.
“If we turned on our sides, we’d both fit a lot better,” she noted.
Still nothing. Not a word, not a movement, not a peep. He took a deep breath, held it, then exhaled.
Whatever.
She sighed and moved to her side, deciding everything would work best if she faced him. Okay, so her breasts were now pressed against the length of his arm in a highly enticing way, but she could get over it.
You had to do what you had to do, right?
“You can move in a little closer now,” she said. “Or you can lie on your own side and then you’d fit.”
His jaw clenched. Right there, up close, she could see a muscle ticking in his smooth, firm jaw, which tapered off to a corded neck she so badly wanted to bury her face into and inhale deeply, because gods, he smelled so good.
“Turn over and face the wall,” he told her.
Oh. Her brow furrowed. “Why?” she asked.
“Do it,” he gritted.
“Sheesh, someone’s grouchy.”
He narrowed his eyes at her and fuck… “Okay, okay. I’m moving.”
She turned as he asked and faced the wall, which was kind of a bummer, because…wall. She’d just come to the conclusion that she’d gotten the short end of this deal when suddenly she could sense Syrin turning on his side too and…wait, was he facing her? His front against her back?
He settled behind her. His warm breath brushed against her ear. “What are you doing?” she asked, trying to mask the slight tremor in her voice.
He’d asked for her help in this, making sure they didn’t test mating compatibility. She’d promised to not get grabby and clingy and to understand when he’d explained he was Xylan and would never want her that way, that it was literally physically impossible for him to have sex with her or to even want to kiss her. She wasn’t his Bride. He could not test mating compatibility with any female, so nothing, not even an accidental touch of hand to bare hand, could happen between them.
Too bad they just didn’t both have some gloves to wear. She wondered if that’s what they did back on Chronos to avoid accidental testing of mating compatibility—wear gloves.
She should be pounding his chest, railing against him for wasting this body, mind and heart of gorgeous manhood by remaining celibate for his entire life. But this was how his species worked, how his culture had existed for millennia, and who was she to thwart wishes he held so dear?
Plus, part of her noted the warmth in her chest, the feeling that wouldn’t go away, down deep—a feeling of respect for this Xylan. She wasn’t used to spending any amount of time with a being who held himself to such high standards of honor and loyalty. Gods, he was such a good male.
Again, she wanted to tear up over how he would never be hers. Never be more than a friend. But, while they were here together stuck in this cell, she would return the loyalty he’d shown to her—give that back to him, tenfold.
“We’re friends,” she said. “That means I will respect your wishes and do everything in my power to make sure we don’t test mating compatibility. I think if we sleep on our sides like this, that will work better because your hands will be farther away from my hands.”
“Sleep, female,” he rumbled.
His scent was comforting. His big body, so near, his warmth. All of it pulled her under. One moment she was awake, the next asleep.
Eight
Sara woke up and lay there for a moment, listening to Syrin’s soft breaths.
That first night they’d slept together had gone surprisingly well, despite the hard, cold metal, which was unforgiving and sore-inducing. And every night since, for the last four diurnal cycles, this sleeping together thing was continuing to go well. In fact, she slept pretty darn good despite the fact she was in prison, with zero privacy, sleeping with a berserker.
But this last sleep cycle she’d slept fitfully, waking often. After her last bit of sleep she awoke and found her knee over his pelvis. And the worst part, the part that was heartbreaking…he wasn’t hard. Well, not that he’d want her like that, even if he were human. But, from what she’d heard, it seemed males that were human-like got hard while they slept if they were interested in the least, or especially when a female’s leg was rubbing against their pelvis like hers had been.
Over the last few years, she’d felt many an unwanted hard shaft against her back or her stomach, underneath clothes, while against a male she didn’t want to be pressed against. And again, it was heartbreaking that the one male she was eager to hold held no interest for her at all.
Heartbreaking.
This routine had been happening for the last four prison diurnal cycles. They woke up when the lights came on, with Sara all over the poor Xylan. He was always so gracious about the whole thing. She’d untangle herself from him, dying from embarrassment, and they’d both get up, one at a time, pretending like it hadn’t happened. Like she hadn’t been all over him.
First, Syrin got out of their “bed” and used the urinal while Sara pretended not to hear. He washed up, drank some water and then he left and went next door, and waited for her there, allowing her some privacy. This was sweet of him, she had to admit.
When she was finished with her morning pee and washed up too, Sara knocked on the wall. Pounding footsteps echoed from next door, growing louder, and Syrin would slide the door open. “Hey, big guy,” she’d greet him, always saying the same thing, every single time. His lips would twitch and she’d feel her day was complete—she’d made the grim Xylan smile.
Trax and Rengeli would give her barely perceptible chin lifts because both of them were still obviously not ready to pull her into their circle of trust. It sucked, but what was she going to do? Hopefully with time they’d come to know her better and maybe actually believe she hadn’t killed Cylo Rin or understand she wasn’t a scam artist out to stab them in the back.
Time would tell.
Each morning after the awkward non-greeting from Syrin’s friends, the four of them would go to the cleansing station. They would strut in there, greeted with a collective grumbling and muttering of what she assumed were curse words from the half-dressed inmates. Trax would do his whistle and Rengeli would bellow for everyone to exit, and then after a mass exodus, they’d have the place to themselves, which was nice. They’d wash their bodies and their clothing, which again only took minutes.
Although being naked, even for a few minutes, was always nerve-wracking when you were the only female in a prison full of males who wanted you dead.
And then they went to the mess hall because they always ate there together three times per cycle.
In between eating, sleeping and cleaning, the males checked each floor of 149, visually inspecting the inhabitants of each cell and had so far not found what they we
re looking for. She could tell they were getting frustrated. They still hadn’t told her the details of their “mission.” She suspected the real reason why Syrin went next door without her in the mornings was so he’d have some alone time to talk to the others without her there, overhearing.
After the last meal of the day they went back to their cells and Syrin exercised before sleep cycle. It was awe inspiring. He asked if she wanted to learn his super-seekret Xylan warrior moves. “I am about to begin warrior’s journey,” he said. “Would you like to learn the movements?”
“Uh, no thanks. I’ll just watch,” she answered, not wanting to get physically closer to him than she already was. She slept in the same bunk with him, ate every meal next to him, spent every moment together. And now he wanted to also become her teacher? Sheesh, she needed a break before her brain fried from all the male magnetism she was supposed to be ignoring. A girl could only take so much. “I used to jog most days,” she said, leading with her best excuse, as silly as it was. “I was a runner. I miss it. But I think here the only way I’ll get to do that again is if I’m running away from someone.”
He flashed her a rueful grin.
It was nice of him to ask her to join, though. In fact, unexpected. She’d told him the truth, she really enjoyed jogging. On Omega 9 she’d used the holo deck daily to go for runs right after she awakened. She liked setting it for a path on a Zamarilla seaside cliff. This wasn’t cheap, she paid more for a private run with any setting she wanted, but since she didn’t have many other wants or needs or anything to spend her hard-earned currency on, she’d decided this one luxury was her gift to herself. And when had she ever been given a gift before?
She glanced around the four gray walls of her cell and missed those morning jogs so, so much.
Instead of joining in with Syrin, she watched the seven-foot-tall Xylan male, his head nearly touching the ceiling of their cell, performing ritualistic motions. And it was torture. Pure torture. He always unzipped the upper half of his jumpsuit and left it tied about his waist. Beings would pay big credits to see this. Syrin of Forty-Six bare chested, performing the Xylan warrior movements. She sighed. A vid of this could be sold, as a live feed, and they’d have billions of subscribers.
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