by Bex McLynn
He sat on the bench with his arms wrapped around her, not relinquishing her to the safety harness.
"Seph," he said gently.
Cradled in his embrace, she felt her own name rumble from his chest. She peeked up at him.
"I am rethinking my decision," he said, looking rather determined.
Seph rested her head back on his shoulder. It should have felt hard, like a boulder, but her body still thrummed. She floated. "Is this how you admit that you may be wrong about something?"
"Free-range of the ship. There are new terms."
"This should be good," she said, relishing that his presence soothed and cooled, like peppermint.
He leaned back so he could see her eyes. "During your 'free-ranging,' thirteen systems went offline, two failed, and one spontaneously powered up."
"Has to be coincidence." She stole a move from Vedma and waved her hand dismissively.
"Has to be?"
"You're implying that I hexed everything. Which is stupid. Because I can't do that. I'm not a wizard."
"Not a wizard?"
She didn't answer him at first. "I'm a smage."
"A what?" His voice rumbled softly, close to her ear.
"Spage? I'm a Space Mage," she said, pressing closer to him. She begrudgingly added, "So I guess it's possible I hexed your ship."
The thane rubbed his jaw along her crown, and she melted into the touch. "Those words are ridiculous. You're a technopath. That's all."
Chapter Twelve
Zver leaned against the wall of Deleo's sickbay exam room. It was the furthest away he could be without being outside the room. He wasn't yet ready to leave Seph on her own.
Seph sat on the medicot, her feet dangling miles above the deck, eyes locked on her WristCune. She looked so fucking small. He flicked his eyes over her uniform, still disheveled from her attack. There was a tear at the shoulder. Not separated seams, but split fabric. The fibers of her clothing were tactical grade, which meant the mutineers used significant force to rend it.
His muscles tensed with rage.
He swallowed a growl.
His data feed swelled with frenetic activity. His officers had rallied, efficiently locking down Prykimis. Vedma railed, demanding updates and that Seph return to Prykimis. Arana wailed about unfortunate circumstances—circumstances that his security chief would verify. And finally, Rannik whined incessantly.
Zver, thankful he'd muted the notification ping on his WristCune, slung messages back and forth with his son.
Rannik: I want to see her.
His reply: Soon.
Rannik: Can I talk to her?
His reply: Soon.
Rannik: How is she?
His reply: Fine.
Rannik: Was she hurt?
His reply: Some.
Rannik: Can I come to Deleo?
His reply: Maybe.
Rannik: Why maybe?
"Hey, have you heard from Rannik? He hasn't Cuned me back," Seph asked without taking her eyes from her WristCune.
"No."
He lied for a reason. Rannik was too frantic, and Zver needed to keep Seph calm and cocooned and encased in armor. By Direis, why the hell hadn't she been wearing her armor?
"What about Wies and Keibin? Are they okay?" She raised her gaze for the first time and he held it.
She seemed unaware that he'd been staring at her for the last ten minutes. He'd cataloged every wince she made when she shifted her left shoulder and noted how she cupped her left hand, nursing her abraded palm.
"Bumps and bruises."
She stared off at the wall. "That's all?" She sounded surprised. She gaped for a second, then frowned and shook her head. "That came out wrong. I'm glad that it was nothing worse than bumps and bruises. They fought really hard. They fought well."
They were his men. He had no doubt that they fought well.
She lapsed back into silence again, focusing on her device.
"Hey, can I Cune Wies?" she asked.
"Perhaps later."
Dust from the maintenance panel coated her hair, but she didn't seem to notice. He watched her tuck, untuck, and retuck a skein of hair behind her ear. The repetitive movement fascinated him. Teras ears were notched differently and could never be used to hold back a curtain of curls.
She heaved a sigh and looked up at the ceiling, exposing the column of her neck. Her hair cascaded down her back. "I hate this exam room. We've been stuck in here forever."
"It's been under thirty minutes." He knew precisely how long they'd been waiting for Lekar to return from running tests.
She snorted, eyes still locked on the ceiling. "No one will talk to me."
"I just did."
She lifted her arm and jingled her WristCune. "I mean no one else will talk to me."
"We can discuss whatever you'd like."
She closed her eyes and sighed. "Never mind. I don't want to talk about anything."
"I'll order you some food."
"No. I'm good."
"A drink."
"No, thanks."
Her replies left him unsettled. If she wanted nothing, then he could do nothing for her. He hated being ineffective. All problems had three solutions: accept it, change it, or ignore it.
He wanted to fucking change it. All of it. Erase the memory, obliterate her attackers, and keep her forever safe. She wanted to ignore it.
Suddenly, it occurred to him. "This is how you cope."
She gasped and glowered at him. "Come again?"
"You're ignoring the attack. Pretending that it doesn't affect you."
"That's what you think I'm doing?" she asked softly, eyes flashing. She lowered her voice and mumbled. "Ass. And yes, I know you heard me. You guys have phenomenal hearing."
The Teras did have excellent hearing. In fact, his ears still rang from when she leaped from the maintenance compartment and into his arms, shrieking like a banshee. He didn't trust himself to speak without bellowing like some grouchy old man.
She pursed her lips at him. "God, this feels just like high school." Her voice changed to a mocking tone. "Think about other people's feelings, Josie. Don't hide behind your little problem, Josie."
"Who's Josie?"
She huffed. "No one. Never mind. So, when can we leave?"
"We can leave when Lekar clears you."
She grumbled and went back to her WristCune. He Cuned Lekar, demanding an update on her medical tests. He had ordered a full panel.
"Hey." Again, that conversational prompt. He pulled his attention away from his data feed and waited for her to continue. "Did you know the Kraai lay eggs? Talk about clutching."
She cringed at her own play-on-words. He didn't know why she appeared embarrassed. Therion said far worse without batting an eye.
"Yeah, so I talked to Rannik." She peered at him a sheepishly. "He's all right with me releasing him. From the clutch. Unless there is a formal annulment or something... You know what, I'll ask Arana about that. Well, was going to ask Arana about that, but then..."
But then.
Memories of her panicked screams hit him. Again his muscles swelled, a reflexive response when irrational anger flooded him.
He shot off a command on his WristCune to Lekar.
His order: Status on Seph. PH.
Lekar: Hematoma, muscular mechanical hyperalgesia, second-degree abrasion
His reply: Fucking plain language.
Lekar: Bumps and bruises, as my damma would plainly say.
His reply: Is she cleared to leave?
Lekar: She should talk to someone first. About what happened.
His reply: Then get someone here.
Lekar: You're there.
His reply: I'm not leaving.
Lekar: Aye. YOU ARE THERE. Talk to her.
Well, fuck.
He cleared his throat and asked, "Would you like to talk about what happened?"
She froze. Made no sound or movement, then she turned to face him. "What did you say?"
&
nbsp; "I asked—"
"You're acting funny. You're not thaning."
"Thaning?"
She narrowed her eyes at him, concealing the eerie white coloring, leaving only her exotic brown irises. "You're not your typical self. You asked me something."
Oh. That. "I'm asking if you are all right."
"I'm fine," she said it like a challenge. Like she dared him to disagree.
He'd win that challenge. He'd say nothing.
"Really, I'm fine." She sighed. "We are not doing this."
"This?"
"I'm not going to talk to you about my feelings. I'd rather talk to Therion."
He couldn't help but flinch, like he just absorbed a blow.
She grimaced. "No wait, that's not true. I want to talk to Lekar. Or Wies. Can I talk to one of those guys about what happened?"
"I'm here now."
She bit her lip, something the Teras could never do. Their teeth would tear the flesh to shreds. "You're here. And you were there. You kicked some mutineer ass before the door opened, didn't you?"
She glanced at him for confirmation, but he said nothing.
"Thin panel," she said. "I heard. A lot. Thank you for kicking their asses."
Actually, he'd killed those men for touching what was his to protect. His own fleetmen removed the bodies while his engineermaster tried to override the maintenance panel. Mernok insisted he hadn't been successful, that Seph herself had opened the panel.
Zver was just satisfied to hold her in his arms.
"What just happened is nothing. Absolutely nothing," she said harshly.
He knew she wasn't talking about their embrace. How she blindly, trustingly, threw herself into his arms.
She paced, riling herself further. "I was dragged from my bed, stashed in a cryo-bin, and woke up in another world. Horrible things have already happened. Being chased by a few mutineers, hell, that's just my Tuesday cardio."
The words were unfamiliar, but he understood the sentiment. She wouldn't let the attack break her.
"Can we go now?" she asked him.
He conceded. "We can go now. You're bunking on Deleo tonight."
"I want Rannik."
Easily done. "He's being brought over."
"But, I... Can he..." She flushed that ethereal, hot blush again. "Is it possible to bunk him somewhere else? I just want him safe. But I want to be alone."
"Arrangements will be made."
"And I want to talk to Wies."
"It will happen."
"I'm frightening you, aren't I?"
She wasn't. Everything she'd asked for had been within his power to give. Been his pleasure to provide. "You're too small to frighten me."
"But you're saying yes. To everything." Her eyes lit up. "I want a pony."
He suppressed his smile. Nonsense. "I don't know what that is."
"A unicorn?"
He shook his head. "Come. Let's get you settled for the night."
She rushed him and wrapped her arms about him. She squeezed.
Now she frightened him. She embraced him not because she wanted him, but because she needed him. Fucking Unholde, everything in him tightened. He sucked in a startled breath.
"Please hug me back," she whispered into his aching chest.
"Seph." He groaned, pulling her closer.
She shivered like a live wire, coursing with energy. Shocked, he slipped his hand under her chin, tilting her face up so she couldn't hide from him. Gods, she wasn't unaffected by her ordeal. Her behavior had all been a façade. The woman was frenzied, yet fought to contain it. Her eyes shone, panicked and desperate.
"Please," she said, her voice shaky. "I can't break. I can't."
Her entire body leaned against him like a plank, rigid, yet slowly being bowed. About to snap under the pressure.
"I need to get home," she said, her hands fisted his jacket. She tugged downward and he followed her small pulls. "I need to. I need to."
He dipped his head down and kissed her.
Swallowed up all her need and made it his own. Unholde take him, did he fucking need.
The salt from her tears was gone. The flavor that burst forth was like warm honey wine, the kind sipped on frosty winter nights. Heated. Smooth. Sweet. Intoxicating. His lips and tongue tingled, soaking up the warmth radiating from her mouth. Gods, she thawed and ignited him simultaneously.
Seph moaned, soft and long. Damn, the cuteness of that sound had his cock hard and aching against his pants. Spurred him to hoist her up and sit her back on the medicot so that he could devour her properly. Part her legs, slide in close, and drink from her lips until sated.
She opened right up for him, reached out with her legs and arms, and held on tight. Soft thighs circled his hips and her full breasts pressed against his chest. Her hands brushed over his shorn hair, warming his sensitive scalp. His cock throbbed as he imagined it in her balmy hands. One stroke, two, he'd leak all over her delicate fingers. Drops of his seed would mar her praal-free skin.
His hands dropped to her ass. She fit perfectly in his palms. Dragging her forward, he thrust his hips to meet hers. Wanted her to feel what she fucking did to him. She broke away from their kiss, gasping. He growled low, thrumming so he vibrated against her chest.
Then Seph moved. Gods, he wasn't prepared. She undulated against him. Rolled her hips so that she stroked him from root to tip, all with her pant-covered crotch. He knew her hips swayed, but he never expected her to swell up over his cock like a surging tidal wave. His entire body shuddered.
Hell, she did it again. With her hands anchored on his shoulders and her breath steaming on his neck, she rolled a third time, and he jerked back. He slapped his hands on the medicot, palms on either side of her hips, and braced himself with his arms extended. He dropped his head forward, between his shoulders. Her breasts filled his vision, rising and falling with her rapid breathing.
He swore. Dirty, nasty things poured from his mouth in Bulanii—his native language—and he fleetingly wondered if she understood the harsh words, spoken with each rasping breath. This close to her cunt, her scent destroyed him.
"What you do, Seph..." he said in Bulanii.
She stroked his nape and her fingers slipped over his ears. "Thane?"
"Zver," he growled as he grasped her hips again, lowering his face into her lap.
"What?" she said, her voice heavy with arousal.
"After this, you will call me Zver." He dropped to his knees and tugged her pants down.
A second ago, his tongue pilfered her mouth. A moment later, his tongue devoured her pussy.
Her entire body jolted. Her legs reflexively clamped closed over his head and shoulders. She thought, I should have been prepared.
His tongue had just been in her mouth, doing so many panty-wetting wonderful things. Tasting. Stroking. Probing.
But that same tongue on her clit? God, there should have been a heart health warning, like the signs they posted at roller coasters.
With the thane—no, Zver—with Zver there was no slow chug up the hill. The coaster ride started with that first drop. The drop that sucked all the air from your lungs, not leaving a wisp of oxygen so that you could scream. All you could do was try to suck air back into your lungs as you crested the next hill.
Zver plunged right into her. His nose parted right through her curls, his chin propped against the base of her slit, and his thick tongue stroked right in. He used flat, broad licks that coated her pussy lips in his saliva, and on the up stroke, his textured tip dipped into her cleft, curled just right inside, before flicking up to hit her just right.
She keened. She freaking keened.
She could not escape him, either. His huge hands grasped her hips, rooting her to the medicot. She couldn't squirm. Nothing but coiled writhing that had her rubbing herself against his face. In response, the man growled, and she felt it thrum deep inside, quaking her core. Everything lit up in a blaze, and she imploded.
All the things she held onto so tightl
y, her hope and determination, flew out of her grasp. God, she burst wide open, and for a few orgasmic seconds, she had not a care in the world.
She slumped against the medicot with a solid whump. Her eyes were open, but damn if she really saw anything. Her breath sawed in and out of her like she just finished wind sprints. Cool hands rubbed along her heated body. The thane—Zver—caressed her thighs as he gently fixed her pants.
He sat right on the edge of the medicot, his feet firmly planted on the deck, and shifted her into his lap. Lifted and encircled her with his arms. Then he crushed her, absolutely killed her, when he placed a soft, lingering kiss to her temple.
Aw hell, she wanted to cry. Again.
"Dammit, Thane." She choked out a weepy laugh. Tried again. "Zver. I mean Zver."
He just nuzzled her hair and said, "You're welcome."
She laughed, big belly rolling chuckles, as tears rolled down her cheeks. "Oh, you're an ass."
To which he grunt-hummed, as usual.
She was spent. As her breathing returned to normal, she began to feel the heavy tugs of sleep in her limbs and her eyes. Another day was about to end, and she was still no closer to getting home. The thought didn't shred her, and that, in itself, gave her a pang of guilt.
"I'm gonna crash soon," she mumbled.
"As you will."
"No. I mean fall asleep. You should probably get me into a bunk."
He rumbled. "I know. I have you. Close your eyes."
"You'll carry me to a bunk?"
He grunted. Of course.
She huffed. "Of course, you'll carry me to a bunk."
She luxuriated in the relaxation spreading through her body. Tomorrow. She'd make progress tomorrow.
Deep into the overnight shift, Zver prowled through the deserted corridors of Prykimis. The disquiet had weight because he'd unequivocally declared martial law.
Varlet, his aide, had escorted Rannik to Deleo, where his son would sleep in an officer's bunk. Seph slept in the thane's cabin—in his own bunk. A bunk he hadn't used since Deleo rendezvoused with Prykimis just days ago.
On Prykimis, Zver relocated his own officers' bunks to the Athel Hall and positioned armed guards within the general berthing. He had confined Grondin and his cache of useless senior officers to their quarters. Only Zver’s own men moved through the ship. Sentries and repair crews worked nonstop. He'd already called up several freighters from Bulan Ero, his homeworld, so he could empty Prykimis of her original crew and cargo. He planned to gut the ship of everything House Jahat, including the moldy banners in the Athel Hall.