Beneath his intellectual exterior lies a ruthless bastard. And this is the first time I’ve seen it. I experience a frisson of unease, as if I’ve been sailing along a smooth sea, unaware of dangers that lurk unseen.

Between March and Doc, I have been handled.

CHAPTER 43

We bitch at each other throughout the entire jump.

I’ve never done that before, didn’t even know it was possible. We’re lucky we didn’t wind up past the Polaris system, halfway to Old Terra. I unplug and bounce out of the nav chair, glaring at March, hands on hips.

“I can’t believe I bought into this again. You and Doc, you two would say anything to keep me here. What about the stuff you said in my quarters? Was that bullshit, too?”

“No,” he answers, setting our cruise course for New Terra. “He said he’d figure something out, but I have never lied to you.”

“No, you have lackeys do that for you.”

“Are you looking for a reason to fight with me?” He unstraps and pushes to his feet. “I can’t fake anything with you. I had no fragging clue how he meant to get you back here. And when you said that about Dina dying, I almost said, ‘Huh?’”

“So why didn’t you?”

“I wanted to find out what he told you.” March cups my shoulders gently. “Look at me and swear you honestly don’t believe I thought you were never coming back.”

It’s true, he looks like shit, but I don’t want to be persuaded. I want to argue. “I don’t know.” Both my hands curl into fists at my sides. “I’m tired of having nobody I can trust. Tired of people keeping secrets from me, tired of not being sure whether I’m even working for the good guys.”

“Jax, I can’t promise we’re squeaky clean, but look at the opposition. They killed eighty-two people on the Sargasso for unknown reasons. They blew up DuPont Station with two hundred souls living there, not counting the unborn.” He breathes like merely thinking of it hurts him. “But I’m solid, right?”

“I guess so,” I mutter.

When he pulls me toward him, I lean my head against his chest, wondering if I can truly trust him. Wondering whether I can trust my own judgment. I’ve known from the beginning they intend to use me, and March is bound by so many debts and promises, none of them to me.

His hands play over my back. “I know you’re mad. Did you yell at Doc?” Feeling sheepish, I shake my head. “Why not?”

“I’m afraid to provoke him,” I confess, low. “I don’t know him like I thought I did.”

“You’re afraid to provoke Saul,” he repeats, looking incredulous. “Who’s a pacifist. So you take it out on me.” March shakes his head. “You’re one of a kind, Jax. We’ve got eight hours before New Terra. Come on.”

Put that way, I know it doesn’t make a lot of sense. I think about it, trying to quantify the feeling, but I can’t. Maybe I’m mixing Doc up with the Unit Psychs or even Canton Farr. Do I really think he’s capable of greater malice? I don’t fucking know. At best he believes the end justifies the means, and I can’t sort it out. So when March reaches for me, I take his hand and let him lead me to his quarters.

As he guides me to the bed, I whisper, “I thought you said it was too soon.”

He kisses my forehead. “Not for this. I’m tired, but I want you with me.” In an economy of movement he drops onto the mattress, then rolls to his side, back to the wall. “Unless you have somewhere else you’d rather be.” There’s a certain vulnerability in his voice, and maybe I play on that while I gaze around his cabin, pretending to take in the bunk built out from the wall, the closet adjacent to the san facilities, and the personal sys-term on the opposite wall. “Jax?”

“I think I can clear my schedule for you.”

The bunk feels firm beneath my knees; it doesn’t give as I slide down onto my side, facing him. One thing’s sure; whoever designed the Folly didn’t anticipate the crew sharing their sleep space, which seems a little shortsighted. Only centimeters separate us, then he drapes an arm over my waist, pulling me closer.

“Lights off.”

I’d know him in the dark. He always smells of citrus and a darker woodsy scent, like standing in a cedar forest at midnight. His heat washes over me, chin to shins, and my toes curl.

“Do you ever think about him?”

“Him who?” March sounds drowsy. He runs a hand over my head, knotting his fingers in the coarse curls. But gently, like I have silken princess hair.

“Baby-Z.”

We’ve never really talked about that night. It’s about time we did if we intend to move on from it.

He stirs then, pushing up on one elbow. “You feel guilty.”

“Yeah.” That seems inadequate, but I don’t have words to translate that moment where we knelt, mutually awed by the small miracle unfolding at our feet to how I felt when I realized I had splattered a helpless, living creature along with Canton Farr.

I don’t know anything about what his life might’ve been like, or how his parents may have felt when they awoke to find one of their young missing with no explanation. I don’t even have the framework to grieve properly.

I squirm, sick with remembrance of my casual brutality. Beneath the guilt, I suffer the certainty I wouldn’t have shot so fast if it had been a human child in Farr’s arms. Deep down I’m another thoughtless bigot who believes in human skin privilege. My life is worth more because I have a particular biochemistry? The realization repulses me.

And it devalues the heroism of someone who gave his life for me.

“I can’t absolve you,” he says quietly. “All I know is, if it had been you on the ground, I’d have done the same thing.”

“You feel this way a lot? Like nothing you do could be enough to make up for it.”

In the half-light, his eyes go strange and distant, fringed in those impossible lashes. “You get used to it. And occasionally you run across something you can do to try to brighten up the dark places.”

March doesn’t say it, but I know that’s why he feels like he needs to try twice as hard as anyone else. If he lets down his guard, he might go skidding down that slippery slope again. And maybe I won’t recognize what comes out the other side.

“Thus you play the hero.”

With a nod, he brushes his lips against my ear. Sparks just shimmer down my spine. This man’s pure narcotic, delicious and addictive. Don’t know how I thought I could walk away from him for good.

“Jax, I can’t think about what I’d do if something happened to you, if it had been you on that floor.” His mouth compresses into a thin white line, and a shudder runs through him. “You just don’t know…the things I’ve done. What I’m capable of. I hope you never do.”

When he gets like this, he scares me a little. I run my fingers along his jaw, feeling the tension thrumming through him. That would be why he still keeps certain things partitioned when we’re jacked in. I hope he trusts me enough to let me in, someday.

“Let it go,” I say quietly.

And realize the suggestion applies to me as well, but it’s easier said than done. I can’t just write off the guilt or stop wishing things were different. Neither can he. March acknowledges the rightness of my thought with a half smile.

Mary, I’ve never had this kind of connection with anyone. How does he bear being part of me? Sometimes I can’t stand myself.

“I’m sorry about baby-Z…he’s just one more weight on me. If we hadn’t gone to Marekeq, he’d have hatched by now. Be living out his normal span. Instead, he’s just a bunch of samples in Doc’s database.”

“I did that.”

“Yeah. But a hundred turns from now, baby-Z will be remembered. He’s making a contribution. Maybe that will help, someday, when the academy is more than a dream.”

I exhale against his throat in a long sigh and close my eyes. “I don’t imagine that would console his parents much. I wish we could tell them. Somehow.”

“Maybe we can. Somehow. Get some sleep, Jax. We can’t fix anything right now.”

March makes a good point. And I’m flat busted, so I take his good advice.

Don’t know how much later it is when I stir, finding myself wrapped tight in someone’s arms. March. I’m on the Folly again. It all comes back to me although I’m not mad anymore. How can I be when I wanted this, deep down? I couldn’t sleep for dreaming of him. To reassure myself that I’m awake, I run my hand across his waist, finding the gap between shirt and slacks. I delight in dragging my nails lightly over his lower back and feeling him shiver. Goose bumps spring up wherever I touch.

His eyes open to slits, dark choclaste, golden caramel flecks. “What’re you doing?”

“Stroking you.” I pillow my cheek on my forearm and continue inscribing patterns on his spine.

“I’m not a pet,” he murmurs. “And you’re making it hard to sleep.”

“Am I?” I smile and hook my thigh over his. The way I figure, it’s time. Life-affirming ritual, seal unspoken promises to each other, and a lot of other psychobabble that boils down to wanting sex.

And I do. But it’s more than that, this time. I needed the time away to reflect and heal, but I needed to come back, too, even if I would never have done it on my own.

“You know you are.”

He skates his palm from its innocuous resting place between my shoulder blades to curl around my hip. The heat feels good, but it pales in comparison to the tingles that sparkle through me when March slides his hand lower, cupping my thigh. Deftly, he searches out nerves on my inner thigh, caressing through the thin fabric of my trousers. I squirm against him a little, not an intentional tease; I just can’t help it.

Then he looks into my eyes. I register the silent question and nod, but as he tilts his head against mine, I realize I haven’t said yes to what I intended. Thought he was going to strip me naked, but instead he comes inside me another way. My head’s full of him, awash in sensual images I only half process as they amplify my arousal. My breasts ache, as if he’s sucking them, and I feel hot, damp, between my thighs, so ready. He hasn’t even touched me.

“March…” At that he shifts his head away, leaving me lonely and shuddering. “Wh-what did you do to me?”

“I could bring you off that way,” he whispers. “Just me, inside your head.”

Instinctively I know that’s not an idle boast. He left me so close, panting on the precipice, and if he moves, I might lose it, grinding myself against him like I’m in heat. The very idea wrenches a moan out of me.

“Have you done that often?” I’m surprised at my tone.

Oh Mary, I hate the thought of him making anyone else feel this way.

But he shakes his head, a faint smile pulling at his mouth. “Two things make this possible. Our theta waves are compatible, and you’re wide-open to me. Even untutored minds have basic shields that prevent such intrusion, Jax; it’s a fundamental human trait. With other people, I skim the surface and only see their superficial thoughts. I’ve never been…part of anyone before.” He cups my cheek in his palm, long fingers stroking my temple. “That’s what I want without you running away afterward. I want to fall asleep and know there’s no place you’d rather be.”