CHAPTER SEVEN

SYREK

The human maintained the distance between them. When Syrek slowed, so did she. When he sped up, his long strides carrying him further away from her, she broke into a trot, and then a jog to keep up. With every step, his irritation grew, until he came to a dead stop in a busy corridor and spun around.

She cowered back, caught unawares by his motion. Her cheeks were flushed from exertion, but her eyes remained cautious and wary. Closed off, like she had shut a door between them.

He had savored her when she emerged after dealing with the coolant valve. Her face had captivated him. The flash of triumph, that heat and passion written in joy. It was gone the instant he had neared her.

He wanted it back. Suns take him, he wanted it back. Some irrational part of him wanted to see her light up again. He needed to see her light up again.

To be the reason she lit up.

“You,” he growled, ignoring the curious eyes surrounding them. “You’re bothering me.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled, dropping her head.

“Either walk beside me, or meet me there.”

She raised her eyes to him, studying his face. “I don’t know where we’re going.”

He stepped to the side, making room. She joined him, and they set off back down the corridor at a more reasonable pace. Her breathing remained fast, though.

The sight of Syrek walking with the human made others pause and stare. When Syrek glared them down, they instantly resumed examining the dirt under their nails or checking their shoes were fastened.

The gossipmongers will enjoy this.

But with her by his side, he found he did not care. He slowed to a stroll, taking advantage of the narrow corridors to brush his shoulder to hers. The contact sparked heat along his arms, making the back of his neck tighten with anticipation.

He shot a glance in her direction, and his heart sank. Her braid had unraveled, and her hair hid her face from his view; however, her hands were tightly gripped in front of her, the knuckles white.

He had miscalculated. He should have asked her to walk beside him, not snap orders at her like she was a hired hand. He was uncertain what exactly she was, but she wasn’t one of the grunts he kept around for dirty jobs.

“How are you enjoying Haven?” The question surprised both of them.

She glanced around. “I haven’t seen much of it.” There was a long, awkward pause before she spoke again. “It’s… big.”

“Hautk built.” He was on firmer territory now. He gestured to the walls of the ship. “An original flagship from the Hautk fleet.”

“Wow,” she said. “That’s… something.”

He plowed on. “She was built during their bid to control the universe. Capable of yearlong travels without stopping to resupply. Haven is — was — completely self-sufficient. She is one of the rare ships who has been logged crossing all of the major galaxies.”

“Is that so?”

He was losing her interest. “They conquered many planets with Haven’s might. Her weapons are known as world destroyers, capable of decimating civilizations. Which she has done. Haven is centuries old.”

“Really?” She clasped her hands behind her back and gawked like a tourist taking in the sights. “I could barely tell.”

Embarrassment coiled around his throat, cutting off his words. They walked along one of the older sectors, and rust lined the walls. Grime stuck to the corners, despite the cleaning crew’s nightly visits. They passed a wide window revealing a section of the gardens, but the view was obscured by scratches to the plastic.

Despite the wear and tear, he believed Haven remained powerful. The decades could dull her sheen, but they could never take away her full glory.

I could still fly this ship all the way to the heart of Ennoi Territory and Ennoi Cadam would piss themselves with fear.

If the accursed weapons were functional.

She must have seen the flicker of shame in his face, because she changed the topic. “What was that stuff we were doing in the pipes?”

“Rerouting coolant.” His answer was curt, but he was more annoyed with his reaction to her than by her question.

“Oh.”

They walked on in silence and Syrek’s discomfort grew. For a brief moment, he viewed his home through her fresh eyes rather than his clouded ones. Haven needed work and resources to refit her to her former status.

I’m working on it.

He opened the door to his quarters, praying that Clez hadn’t set another trap for him. To his relief, his room remained empty, save for the pale glow of the habitat wall. The human hesitated in the doorway, but stepped through.

When the door shut behind him with a click, she jumped, and turned to face him.

“Stay there,” he commanded, before striding off to the bathroom.

He was gathering laundry when he heard her gasp from the other room. “Oh! This is amazing!”

There were only two events in his room that could inspire such words, and unfortunately, he didn’t have her under him in bed. That meant she had noticed the habitat wall. With his arms full of clothing, he returned to his bedroom.

As expected, she stood before the habitat wall, her eyes locked on the square windows. The far wall of his room was lined in glass, partitioned off into individual cubes. Each cube held a single plant specimen from a different planet. The cubes mimicked the native environment in which the rare organisms grew.

The human leaned closer, peering into one of the glass containers that held a delicate purple and red flower. “It’s so beautiful. What is this?”

He dumped the clothing in the corner and approached the wall. He knew exactly what plant she viewed, but he couldn’t seem to look away from her face. The wonder in her expression pinned him just as easily as the specimens in the habitat containers captivated her.

“Rift Crocus,” he said. “Found in lush forests on Ethera.”

“What about this one?”

“Algae from the Gas Seas of Pleggra-13.”

She turned to him and smiled. “You collect plants?”

He blinked. He had never thought of it that way. “My father did. I inherited his collection. I have added a few of my own. The Ibure Orchid, for example.” He pointed to a window.

“The pink one with the gray swirls? Why did you pick that one?”

He paused, taken aback by the question. He debated lying, but in the end, he couldn’t think of a suitable fib. “It reminds me of my sister. And my mother.”

She watched his face for a while. “You miss them?”

“Yes,” he said, feeling a pang of guilt at the number of calls he had ignored from Cyndrae over the past week.

“I miss my mom, too. And my dad, I guess.”

Her tone made him believe that maybe she did understand how much he missed his family. That she might even understand his complex feelings when it came to his parents and sibling. Her eyes were warm, even awash in the pale light.

They invited him.

“It’s hard to be away from the people you love,” she whispered.

He found himself stepping closer. “It is.”

“Plants are cool,” she said, turning back to the windows.

Just like that, the spell she wove broke. Syrek blinked in confusion. What is happening?

“I always wanted to study botany,” she said. “But Dad said…” Her voice faded out. Her brow creased when she spotted a tank containing rocks. “What’s supposed to be in this one? It’s empty.”

He took a deep breath. “Dormacks from Ooorash. Watch.”

When the light flicked off, she inhaled sharply. “Wh-”

“Patience.”

But she waited. Slowly, the dormacks emerged, their delicate tendrils flaring out as they opened. The algae glowed in the dark, pale orange, and they swayed in the thick liquid of their tank.

She gasped in delight, and the sound shot straight down his spine and low into his belly, where an ache began to grow.

Her indifference to Haven seemed at such a contrast to her glee at seeing these plants. She flitted between hot and cool, and somehow, he wanted her to look at him with as much fascination as she gave the plants.

He rolled his neck, listening to it crack.

How am I supposed to focus when I am so tense?

Once he dealt with the immediate coolant issue, he could devote time to solving the issue with the human sleepers. His troubles would ease then. In the meantime, the answer stood beside him, her head tilted and her lips parted as she oohed and aahed over algae.

A little bit of physical attention could make me forget all my troubles.

Which Mara would he get? The firebrand or the icicle? The uncertainty excited him. Before his brain could catch up, he reached out and grabbed her upper arm. She turned in surprise, her mouth opening to speak.

He didn’t give her the chance. He pulled her upward, wrapping his arm around her waist, and sank his lips onto hers. For a moment, she stiffened against him. No, don’t run from me. He moved his mouth against hers, and skirted his tongue along her plump lips, coaxing her to give in. I know it’s there. Let me feel your fire.

She responded. Her lips parted, and she gasped against his mouth, a sweet little sound that let him know she wanted him as much as he wanted her. Her hand pressed against his bare chest and stroked across his skin. Where her fingers slid, his body burned. With a groan, he deepened the kiss, losing himself in her.

No one had ever kissed him like this, with a carefree, wild abandon. There was no ulterior motive. Only honesty. Just her heat and her passion and her need.

She’s mine, his blood roared. Mine.

He dropped his free hand to her hip, feeling the curve of her under his hand. Her waist was tiny, and he drifted his hand up her side and across her back, before threading his fingers through her hair.

Their kissing grew frantic. Her hand rose up to his shoulder, and her nails dug into his skin. The sharp prod of pain drove him wild. Somehow, she seemed to be pulling him, forcing him to bend closer to her, pushing her body against his so he could feel every soft curve of hers.

Mine!

He thrilled at her desire. Every low moan she made against his mouth let him know that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. He broke the kiss, not because he wanted to, but because he needed to see her face. To see that glow in her languid eyes.

“Mine,” he whispered to her. “You’re mine.”

It was the wrong thing to say. She stiffened up, her eyes growing wide. Her swollen lips clamped together, and her brow furrowed.

No, no.

He bent down and kissed her again, trying to fan the dying flames.

Her lips parted, but the heat was gone. He might as well have been kissing one of the girls for hire on New Trades.

No! Not this. Not like this.

He dropped his arms and, even though it took all his strength, he stepped away from her. His thwarted passion twisted in his guts, and he tried to compose diplomatic words that would not damage the tentative bond they had formed working together.

But tentative and diplomatic were not terms a warlord’s son needed often.

“You may take the laundry,” he said, gesturing to the pile of clothes in the corner. “I need the sheets cleaned, too.”

Her eyes narrowed. A storm began brewing in their brown depths. “Last call for laundry was days ago.”

“I know,” he ground out. “I missed it.”

“You miss a lot of things,” she said, scooping up his laundry and dumping it on the bed. She stripped it with fierce efficiency. “For a guy who runs a freaking big ship, your people skills are sorely lacking.”

He threw open the door for her, and executed his most ornate courtly bow, before slamming the door shut on her back. He counted to twenty, but his rage would not abate.

With a roar, he picked up Clez’s abandoned wine bottle and threw it against the wall. Like most vessels designed for space travel, it merely bounced off the wall, leaving a dent, and hit the floor, spilling old wine everywhere.

He had been so close. And in the end, the human did not want to give him what he wanted most.

Her.