Chapter 9

Wyn:

The moment stretched between them, warm, sweet, and as sticky as caramel.

His eyes fell to her lips, and his hands gripped her shoulders, firm and strong. He radiated strength. Maybe it was the adrenaline leaving her system or the way he had a good six inches of height on her and had carried her like she weighed nothing, but she felt a growing excitement zip through her body.

“You know, it’s tradition to end the date with a kiss,” she said, her voice low.

His eyes gleamed with something akin to hunger.

“I will respectfully observe your Terran traditions,” he replied. Confidence crept back into his grin, but it lacked his previous cockiness, when she felt as if he hid behind a handsome face and empty words.

She stretched up on her tiptoes. His head lowered.

A throat cleared. Lorran’s hands fell away as he stepped back.

She let out a long sigh, frustrated that she forgot about the other guy.

“Move the shuttle away. I will see to my mate,” Lorran said, still holding Wyn’s gaze like he wanted to eat her.

The other man grumbled but didn’t protest. Without a word, Mylomon peeled off his armor, stripping down to his wherewithalls.

And…now Lorran was undressing.

Wyn turned round and looked directly up at the ceiling.

Wow. While before she merely thought Lorran had no modesty and zero reason to be humble, having been in his arms and felt his muscles firsthand, now she was sure of it.

“Wyn, we are alone. Remove your armor so that it may be cleaned.” He placed his armor in a crate. “It is a self-cleaning unit,” he explained, as if that was the reason she hesitated.

She glanced around. The partition to the front had been closed, giving them some privacy. She wanted a shower with tons of water and soap to wash away the grime on her skin. The suit had been warm, all her bits felt sweaty, and the scent of smoke made her head hurt.

Had her sweaty and smelly behind really been seconds away from kissing Lorran? The day was playing with her head because gross. The suit must have had a malfunction. Clearly, her brain didn’t get enough oxygen.

“Okay, please don’t judge me,” she said.

He tilted his head to one side. That must be his curious expression, she reasoned.

“Judge you how? Because you required assistance to evacuate the ship?”

“Because I’m not strong like you and I’m not, you know, fit.” She focused on undoing the boots because she’d die from embarrassment if she had to look at him. It’d be easier to cry shyness rather than explain to the gorgeous six-foot-something alien that she had body issues because of her fat ass. “Just don’t look.”

“As you say. My eyes are closed.”

Wyn kicked off the boots and opened the seam on the suit. It peeled away easily, like it hated being on her as much as she hated wearing it.

In nothing but her undies, she shoved the suit at Lorran. “Keep ’em closed. Let me go into a shower.” He grinned but kept his eyes closed.

The sonic shower ran through two cycles before she got rid of the scent of burnt plastic. She lavishly used the bottle of thin liquid soap to chase away the odor. Industrial clean was better than smoke any day. The downside of her long shower was her hair turned into a frizzy mess again. Still better than smelling like a campfire.

Outside the cleansing room, she found a stack of Mahdfel-sized clothes and more silver foil packets of the heat-and-eat meals. Neatly folded at the top rested a dark orange shirt with pale blue trim at the collar and cuffs.

Lorran’s shirt.

She sniffed the fabric strictly to determine its level of cleanliness, not because she was crushing on her gorgeous guy. The fabric smelled like sleet and the bracing air on a wintry day. She shivered, wondering if Lorran emitted some genetically engineered super pheromone because she was inhaling a dirty shirt and practically moaning with want.

Changed into fresh undies, she slipped on the shirt. Hitting her at mid-thigh, the soft fabric looked like a dress. She swam in his shirt and she honestly could not remember the last night she had swum in anything. Certainly not since she was a little kid wearing her father’s old T-shirts as nightgowns.

Always a tall child, Wyn had been bigger than the other kids in her class. Then one day, puberty hit. Seemingly overnight, she got adult-sized with all the adult specifications. She had felt like a giant, standing taller than the kids her own age and wishing she could make herself invisible.

Ugh, all these issues. Wyn rarely beat herself up over her body.

This was stress, an adrenaline crash or her blood sugar dropping. Getting clean helped her to reach a place a lot closer to normal. Food and sleep would do the rest.

Wyn sat on her bunk and tore open the foil packet. The aroma of tomatoes wafted up. She tore off the flimsy spork attached to the packet and dug in. The meal, some sort of rice in watery tomato sauce, tasted of salt and little else. With the carbs hitting her system, tension drained away.

So Lorran’s idea of a date was actually terrifying.

Wyn dug around the bottom of the packet, getting the last spoonful.

How weird was it that she enjoyed the date on the haunted ghost ship?

Lorran:

“The shuttle sustained damage. The engine is operating at a diminished capacity,” Mylomon said.

Less than ideal. The shuttle would travel at reduced speeds, extending their time together, but it would continue to function.

“Do you know the nature of Ulrik’s research?” Lorran dropped into the navigator’s chair. Boots clattered to the floor while he pulled a shirt over his head.

“You are undressed,” Mylomon said, the master of observation.

“My mate would not remove her armor until I left. She is shy and demands privacy.” Which made no sense. They were mates. Nothing was hidden or forbidden between them. Thin scraps of fabric might cover her skin, but he had already seen the want and hunger in her eyes and detected the way her scent changed with desire.

He longed to discover her taste, to spread her thighs, revel in her scent and feast…

Lorran discreetly adjusted himself as he bent to pull on his boots.

Perhaps there was wisdom in demanding privacy. The shuttle had no privacy and all that he wanted to do with his mate, to explore her form, to learn how to best bring her pleasure until she trembled and gasped and begged…

He tightened the laces on the boots with vigor.

“Terrans have many taboos with displaying their bodies. It is difficult to know them all.”

“Yes!” Finally, someone understood. How many mornings did he innocently meditate on the back lawn of his parents’ home, enjoying the still of the new day and the sounds of leaves rustling in the breeze, only to hear his brother’s mate, Rosemary, squawk and flap her arms, shouting at him to “put on some dang pants?” Too many to count.

He wore a pair of briefs. He had been covered. Rosemary’s protests made no sense.

“I was not briefed on the nature of Ulrik’s research,” Mylomon said, dragging Lorran back to the mission.

“The warlord called him a friend. Was he also a geneticist?” Before taking control of the clan, Paax had been a scientist. No one believed the mere scientist could best a skilled warrior in combat, but the warlord had threatened Paax’s mate.

Anyone with sense should not have been surprised.

“What do you make of this?” Mylomon withdrew the pottery shard from a pouch and held it up for inspection.

Lorran took the fragment, seeing now that it was far too delicate to be pottery. Off-white, gold pigments speckled the surface, shimmering in the light. He recognized the material, despite never having seen it in person. “Shell? They had Suhlik eggs?”

“That would explain why the Suhlik were so determined to destroy the lab.” The Suhlik guarded the location of their hatcheries behind layers and layers of protection. One did not stumble upon an active hatchery. The occasional abandoned hatchery would turn up once a decade. No viable eggs had ever been recovered.

“The incubators.” He had thought them to be tanks for specimens. In a twisted way, they were.

Did the Council know of Ulrik’s research? Someone gave him the funds for the ship and the equipment. How did he acquire Suhlik eggs? Were they only fragments? No. The incubators suggested whole, fertilized eggs.

A sense of unease crawled up his spine. This was an ethical issue he would gladly avoid. Experimentation on living subjects—even Suhlik—was forbidden. It was one of the few tenets all the clans agreed upon. The Suhlik had no such scruples and regularly captured Mahdfel children for research. Some survived their ordeals. Most did not.

Lorran looked to Mylomon, whose expression remained unreadable.

“There was no…yolk,” Lorran said, unable to find the correct word. “No biological material. The shells were dry.”

Yet Ulrik had been on the fringes of Sangrin space, almost in hiding, the only crew his mate, child, and a known slippery creature. Records of the ship’s travels and communications had been destroyed. The circumstantial evidence did not favor Ulrik.

“I do not believe I have sufficient rank to be burdened by the implications of this,” Lorran concluded.

“The first intelligent thing you have said.” Mylomon’s mouth turned down in a frown. “I will set the destination for this abandoned facility. We will see what there is to be discovered. See to your mate. Take the opportunity for rest.”

Lorran nodded, proud that his mate found the archaic map and understood its purpose.

“And warrior, separate bunks. It is a small shuttle,” Mylomon warned.

“Understood.”

Lorran pulled the partition open. His mate sat on a bunk, her bare legs dangling over the side. The sight of her wearing his shirt pleased him. He originally left a new shirt pulled from the stock of clothing supplies, but then swapped in his own shirt. Now his scent surrounded her. Other males would know she belonged to him.

He did not want to think too hard about the fact that the only other male was Mylomon, who was happily mated. It was not logical. Instinct urged him to claim his mate, and since that was not happening with Mylomon listening in, covering her with his scent helped ease his need.

She looked up, eating utensil in her mouth. A wicked look sparkled in her eyes. Slowly, she withdrew the tool and licked it clean. He had never been jealous of an eating utensil.

Soon.

They would have privacy soon. If he had to blind and sedate Mylomon, so be it.

“Are you well?” he asked.

“Better. Tired. Hungry?” She tossed a ration packet, which he caught with ease.

Lorran sat on a crate and consumed the ration. The scent of smoke lingered in the shuttle, not quite filtered out, and he wondered if it aggravated his mate’s breathing. His personal hygiene would also benefit from a shower.

His mate finished her meal, then retrieved grooming products from her luggage. Sitting on the bunk, she worked a white cream in her hair, then dragged a comb through her curls. “Any idea when I can call my mom?”

“That is inadvisable at this time,” he said. When her shoulders slumped, he immediately wanted to reel the words back. “SRV-P11 was attacked by the Suhlik. Probability is high that they are still in the sector, and this shuttle has only basic defenses.”

“Right. Run silent, run deep.” She nodded. He did not know her idiomatic phrase, but the meaning was understood. “What’s going to happen to the ship? Will it explode?”

“The fire will die out when environmental support fails. Or the fire will burn until the hull is damaged, and the atmosphere is vented. It is unlikely the vessel will explode.”

“But it already did.”

“A little explosion. Hardly of consequence.”

She chuffed. For a moment, Lorran worried his mate had difficulty breathing again, but then she rolled her eyes. “Just a little explosion, he says.”

“Tiny.” He held up his thumb and forefinger to demonstrate the insignificance.

“And the guy? Um, I forget his name.”

“Ulrik?”

“Yes, Ulrik. Did we leave him?”

Lorran glanced down at the floor beneath his feet. “Mylomon retrieved the fallen one.”

Wyn paused, the comb not moving through her hair. “That’s where he is?”

“Stored in a controlled environment.”

“Morbid, but good to know.” She yawned. “Sorry. I think the day is catching up with me.”

“You should rest. We are en route to the decommissioned facility you discovered.”

“I didn’t discover it. I just found a piece of paper,” she protested, but her skin flushed, as if proud.

“It is the logical destination for the escape pod.” Plus, the base might have the parts necessary to repair the shuttle’s damaged engine. The shuttle was an older model, commonly used when the base had been active.

“Sleep sounds good.” She cleared off the bunk, then looked around in confusion.

“Here.” He moved to her side and lifted the mattress, revealing the blanket and pillow stored underneath.

“Thanks.” She took the items but did not move.

This close, he felt the heat of her body. A nutty, smokey scent tantalized his senses. He breathed deep. “What is that?”

She tugged on a curl. “Oh. My leave-in conditioner. It’s nothing special.”

Lies. Everything about her was special.

His gaze fell to her lips, full and lush. He wanted to know if they were as soft as they looked. If her skin was as soft as he imagined.

“You mentioned an Earth tradition,” he said.

She turned to face him, the collar of his shirt falling open to display her tender throat. Her pulse danced, and her heart thumped loud enough to drown out the ambient noise of the shuttle.

“We kiss at the end of a date,” she said. Her pink tongue peeked out for an instant, then disappeared.

Gently, he placed a finger under her chin and lifted her face. Her eyes sparkled, such a warm and deep brown. “We should honor the tradition of your ancestors. It is only right,” he said.

He lowered his face, their mouths nearly touching and sharing the same breath.

Wyn surged up, her hands on the back of his neck. The first soft touch warmed him, pleasant and sweet.

She pulled away slightly, lips brushing his. “Good, but we can do better. Traditional and all.”

Another touch, soft, and the kiss deepened as she opened to him. Awareness coursed through him, aware of her body pressed to him, of the heat of her tongue and the softness of her lips, and the way she melted in his arms. His fang snagged her bottom lip, and she moaned, the sound going straight to his cock.

His arms tightened around her waist, lifting her to hold her closer. Wyn squealed in surprise, then laughed and pressed her smiling mouth against his.

Yes, his mate was sweet, soft, and better than he imagined.

Reluctantly, he set her back down on her feet but did not pull away. “Sleep. Tomorrow will be a trying day.”

She licked her lip, eyes sparking with mischief, but she stepped back. “I don’t know how you expect me to sleep after that.”

“It is a very small shuttle.”

“Ah, the magic words.” Her mouth quirked up in a sly grin.

Sarcasm. Terrans excelled at the communication form. He had only ever experienced it when his brother’s mates were distressed. He enjoyed it a great deal.

“That kiss pulled victory from the jaws of defeat. Thanks for a memorable date. Very memorable. Next time, I get to pick.”

He detected no sarcasm, and that pleased him immensely.