by Presley Hall
My heart is beating hard again, nerves flaring up as I look out the window. I haven’t been in a ship since the Kalixians brought us here from Wauru, and I hadn’t really expected to get in one again. Before being abducted, I’d never even so much as been on an airplane. I trust Zatir, but I can’t keep my hands from trembling a little. I shove them tightly between my knees, not wanting him to see.
He leans in to help me with the straps, and as he does, a new kind of tremor works through my body.
His fingers skim over the bare skin just below my collarbone as he draws the straps over my shoulders, and though he’s careful not to touch my breasts as he buckles them, his fingers are so close. I can imagine them skimming over the soft flesh of my chest, grazing over my nipples, and I feel them tighten in response to that thought, hardening under the light wool of my dress.
The sensation is both arousing and embarrassing all at once, and I feel myself flush as Zatir buckles the strap over my stomach, his fingers grazing against my belly. As he looks up, his gaze catches mine, and I know he can see the flush climbing up my chest and neck.
The flecks of amber in his dark eyes begin to expand, and the sight sends a shiver through me. I know what that change in his eye color means. For a Kalixian, it’s a sign of arousal. Touching me is turning him on too.
I keep my eyes fixed on his, but I want so badly to let them drift over his body, down over his muscled chest and stomach, and even lower than that.
When he followed me onto the balcony last night, he was dressed in the manner of most of the ordinary citizens of Jocia: a tunic and trousers in a soft, light wool. But now, on an ordinary day, he’s wearing the typical garb of the Kalixian warriors—which is to say, almost nothing. Just a leather loincloth tied at his hips, the barest nod to modesty, and the rest of him gorgeously on display. He looks like a carved statue, all muscled arms and broad chest, rippling abdomen and powerful thighs. His beautiful bronze skin is perfectly complemented by the dark markings that swirl over his arms and shoulders.
“Are you ready?” he murmurs, breaking the loaded silence between us.
“Yes.” Tugging my bottom lip between my teeth, I nod once. I definitely wasn’t expecting our “walk” to turn into a trip to space, but the thrill of it is intoxicating.
Zatir slides into his own seat, flipping on the controls and powering up the ship’s engine. The sound of it fills me with nervous excitement, all tangled up with the lust and curiosity and strange affection that I feel for him already.
“Hang on,” he says, looking over at me with that wry, cocky smile that’s becoming more and more familiar to me. “We’re about to take off.”
I’m pretty sure Zatir’s version of take off is somewhat different from the more standard Kalixian pilots.
Cora has mentioned how much Druxik loves to fly, but from what she’s said, he’s largely focused on technique and skill, on being the best pilot there is through training and execution. I can tell from the moment we take off that Zatir has plenty of skill as a pilot, but I can also tell that he likes to be showy about it.
Before we start to go up toward the atmosphere, he does another spin over Jocia, dipping and swirling as I grip the sides of the chair. I know if I asked him to take it down a notch, he would, but the truth is, I don’t want him to. Despite the exhilaration, excitement, and nerves that are fighting for dominance in my stomach, making me feel a little queasy, I love it. It sends an almost electric thrill through me as we start to rise above the city.
My stomach drops as if we’re on a rollercoaster as Zatir navigates the wind patterns and the process of getting up into Kalix’s atmosphere. I’ve never been on a ship small enough that it’s possible to feel the turbulence and changes in the way it flies before, and my knuckles turn white as some of my excitement shifts into nervous anxiety.
Still, I’m glad I came up here.
Zatir is laser-focused on the ship for the moment, all of his efforts funneled into flying, and it gives me an opportunity just to watch him—to take in the handsome, chiseled lines of his face, the way he seems relaxed and in his element at the ship’s controls. I know it must take a good deal of effort to fly manually, but he makes it look as if it takes none at all.
Once we’re above the atmosphere, Zatir keeps going until we’re a fair distance from the planet. I don’t know exactly how to measure it, but he flies us out until all I can see around us in the view from the windows is open, vast space.
“You can unbuckle the straps now,” he says as he slows the ship, flipping controls to hold us there, and I do so, leaning forward as I stare out in amazement.
I’ve been in spaceships before, of course—the Orkun ship that abducted me and the other women, and the Kalixian ship that picked us all up from Wauru—but I never really spent a lot of time looking out. I never even went up to the observation decks. Brielle wanted to stay in the cabin for the most part, and I was a little too shell-shocked and scared then to really want to look or appreciate the glimpses that I saw. It was all new and frightening and strange, and a part of me wanted to pretend that none of it was happening.
But now that it’s not so new and shocking, I can take the opportunity to really look. To see the vastness of space that Zatir has brought us out into and truly appreciate what I’m seeing.
“It’s amazing,” I breathe, staring out the window, my eyes wide as I try to take it all in.
“I’ll never get tired of this sight.”
Zatir’s voice is a deep rumble from beside me. As I look over at him, I realize he’s not staring out the window like I am. He’s not talking about the stars and space outside—instead, he was looking at me when he said those words.
He means that he would never get tired of looking at me.
Our gazes lock again, and I feel breathless. I can’t believe that this man, this alien, really feels this way about me. I’ve never thought of myself as someone who could be the focus of this kind of attention, but the way Zatir is gazing at me makes my pulse leap into my throat, my entire body prickling with awareness.
We’re alone now, out in space, far beyond the reaches of curious party guests or his commander or my overprotective sister. It’s just the two of us. I can finally choose what I want to happen next.
Part of me almost wishes I wasn’t so drawn to him. Then I could be rational about it, tell him to slow down, or even just say no. I could tell myself that it’s ridiculous to feel this way about someone who said I was his mate before he even knew my name.
But I can’t deny the pull that I feel toward him.
I can’t deny the way he makes me feel as if every nerve in my body is awake and alive all at once, as if I’ve come back to life after being afraid of making the wrong choice for so long.
He’s so very close, his chair right beside mine. He leans in, one arm going around my waist, and the move is so confident and possessive that it sends a thrill through me, making my breath catch in my throat. As he pulls me toward him, I feel myself going without the slightest hint of a struggle.
I don’t want to fight it. I don’t want to tell him no. I want to know what it feels like when he kisses me. I want to know what happens after the point where we were stopped on the balcony. I want to know if it’s anything like what I dreamed.
He lifts me as if I weigh nothing, his arm around my waist as he pulls me onto his lap so that I’m straddling him. His other hand comes up to press against my cheek, his fingertips in my hair as he cups my face, and I know he’s going to kiss me. His eyes are pure amber now, glowing and warm, and I know if I settled myself lower onto his lap instead of straddling it with my legs on either side of his, I would feel him thick and hard against me.
In this moment, I wish I were braver, more like Lucy. Lucy wouldn’t hover, waiting for him to kiss her. She’d settle in his lap, rock her hips against him, kiss him before he could decide to kiss her.
But I’m not that brave yet.
I’m just daring enough to stay here, my heart beating so hard that h
e can probably hear it, my lips parted and on the verge of begging him to just kiss me already.
When he does, it’s like nothing I’d ever imagined. It’s so much better. Better than what I fantasized about, better than my dream.
He dips his head, and I lift my chin, my body reacting to his movement without my thinking about it, knowing what I want, what I need. His lips are full and firm and warm, and his hand slides around to the back of my head, holding me in a possessive grip as his other arm tightens around my waist.
My mouth opens without thinking, and he takes full advantage of the opportunity. His tongue is warm against mine, plunging into my mouth as he deepens the kiss, and arousal flares through every inch of my body. I feel hot, oversensitive, as if I’m burning up. My skin feels tight, and I’m aching down to my very core, my clit throbbing as if it has its own heartbeat.
I want more. More of his lips and hands, more of all of him. I want to finally find out what it feels like to have a man inside me, to be completely and thoroughly possessed by someone else. I want it to be him.
My mate.
The thought flashes through my head, startling me, but not enough to make me stop.
I lean into the kiss, reaching up to bury my hands in his thick, dark hair, leaning forward against him. Zatir rocks back in the chair, his arm around my waist pulling me against his chest, and I think I feel the brush of his cock against my thigh through the thin fabric of my dress.
“Zatir,” I whisper, his name lost in the hot press of our mouths. He groans in response, both of his arms enveloping me as he reaches up with one hand and buries it in my hair again, holding my mouth hard against his.
I never want to stop. I want to float out in space with him forever, tangled up like this. I forget about Brielle’s caution and my uncertainty, about how fast it’s all happening, about my doubts. The bond has never been wrong before. And I want him. We can figure everything else out afterward.
I’ve almost gotten up the courage to sink into his lap, to spread my thighs a little wider and grind down against him so that I can feel him pressed against me. So that I can let him know, without words, that I want to keep going—because I can’t find the words to say it.
But just as I begin to move, the entire ship rocks sideways. A tremor runs through it as it jerks so hard that I’m almost dislodged from Zatir’s lap. A flare of light bursts outside the ship, and my heart leaps into my throat.
Oh.
Oh, shit.
We’re being attacked.
10
Zatir
Krax.
I’ve been attacked too many times to not know exactly what the blast from an enemy ship feels like, and I go on high alert within the space of a heartbeat. I pull away from Nadia, breaking our kiss, trying to force myself to focus. For a moment, my brain feels slow, lost in the fog of desire and the sweet sensation of her lips against mine, her mouth open, soft and yielding, the scent and the taste of her…
Desh it all. I shake my head fiercely.
We’re in danger, and I’ll never forgive myself if something happens to Nadia after I convinced her to come up here with me.
But that won’t happen. I’d never let it happen.
I quickly but gently lift Nadia off my lap, sliding her back into her seat before swinging around to the controls, engaging the drive for evasive maneuvers.
“We’re going to be fine,” I tell my mate in a tight voice. “Buckle up. I’m going to try to outrun them.”
I swing the ship around, and the attacking vessel comes into view as they fire off another round of bolts. I return fire, hard and fast, then hit the throttle.
“Is it the Orkun?” Nadia’s voice is full of sudden fear, and I shake my head firmly, wishing I could do more to comfort her. But the best thing I can do for us both in this moment is get us away safely.
“No, it’s not Orkun. A pirate, most likely.”
I see her eyes go wide just before I refocus on evading the ship, swinging my ship away and veering below the arc of their bolts.
The ship is definitely not Orkun—not the type of sleek, high-tech vessel that they’d use. It’s a heavily modified personal ship, probably stolen from some defeated, high-ranking alien who used it as his battle ship. It’s more than a little beat up and worse for wear, but quick and scrappy. I’d be impressed if it weren’t trying to kill us.
Normally, I would fight back. This kind of dogfight in space, one I’m almost certain that I could win, is the kind of thing that gets my blood up, that makes me feel alive.
But I’m not going to risk Nadia.
I zoom forward, ducking and weaving, cursing inwardly as I realize that the other ship’s occupant not only isn’t dissuaded once they see that I’m a skilled pilot and not some easy mark, but is also easily able to keep pace with me. Another bolt hits us, not enough to do much damage but enough to make the ship shudder and bank to the right, and Nadia lets out a frightened squeak.
When it’s clear that we aren’t going to outrun the attacking ship and that they aren’t going to give up, I realize with a knot in my gut that there’s no choice but to try to take them out.
This isn’t what I wanted. I don’t imagine that our romantic excursion turning into a battle is going to endear Nadia to me. She’s been traumatized already, and I hate more than anything that I’m adding to that, even though it’s involuntary.
She’s probably never going to get on a ship again, I think with a touch of sadness as I spin the vessel around, slowing down to try to get a solid hit on our attacker. I have them in my sights, ready to send a volley of bolts their way, but right before I can press the trigger, the other ship fires a pulse. It’s a dead hit.
When I press the trigger, nothing happens. The ship’s engines grind to a halt as the lights in the cabin flicker. I hit the controls hard, growling under my breath as I press button after button, but nothing is working. We’re floating dead in the middle of space, and Nadia gasps as she undoubtedly pieces together some idea of what’s going on.
My heart drops as I hear the sound of the enemy ship connecting with mine. Another shudder goes through it, and then the sound of the seal they’ve created. I know what they’re about to do—they’re going to blast the doors open and board my ship.
I grab my weapons, which are laid out next to the controls, and leap out of the captain’s seat. Putting myself in front of Nadia, I turn toward the cockpit door.
“Stay there,” I tell her sharply. I want nothing more than to look back at her, to imprint the vision of her face on my mind before I go through that door. But I can’t afford even a moment’s distraction. When this is over, when we’re safe, I’ll have all the time in the universe.
If she’s not so angry or frightened that she never wants me to touch her again, that is.
When the blast comes, I feel the vibrations of it through my entire body. Whoever our attacker is, they’ve blown open my ship’s outer doors.
“They’ve made it on board,” I tell her, my voice low. “I’ll deal with them. Whatever happens, don’t move from that chair.”
“What if you—”
I cut her off before she can say it. “I won’t,” I tell her firmly. “Just stay there.”
A small whimper comes from her, but she does as I’ve said. I don’t see her move even a fraction as I press the button to open the cockpit door. The moment it opens, a gangly alien rushes toward me, all four of his hands holding weapons—two knives and two blasters. Nadia makes another frightened sound, but I hold my ground. I’ve fought things with more than four arms and killed them, and I’ll kill this one too.
He makes a high-pitched chittering sound as he rushes at me, screeching some alien war-cry, but I don’t make a sound. Instead, I move into the familiar motions that I’ve practiced all my life, the fighting forms of a Kalixian warrior. Before he even has a chance to reach me, two of his limbs are on the ground, sliced neatly at the upper arm, writhing tentacle-like on my ship’s floor. Blue-black blood
spurts over the wall, and I grimace, but I don’t allow it to distract me from the fight. The alien might only have two arms left, and he’s shrieking in pain, but he advances on me nonetheless.
He’s a fool. His ship might have been a match for mine, but he’s no match for a Kalixian hand to hand. I duck to one side as he jabs at me with his knife, a spurt of his blood from a severed arm splashing over my midsection, and I snarl as I strike out, severing that arm as well.
The fight is fast and brutal. With my opponent down another weapon, I advance on the alien, backing him toward the blown-out doors. I elbow him hard in the face, knocking him to one side against the wall. He slides down a little, trying to rise and strike out at me with his remaining knife, and I lunge for him.
In one quick, efficient movement, I slash his throat.
The alien slumps to the ground, the light going out of his eyes as he falls.
“Bleeding all over my deshing ship,” I growl, looking down at him.
The immediate threat is gone, but I’m not satisfied. Desh it all. This shouldn’t have happened. I stopped the ship well before there should have been any real threat to us—I wouldn’t have taken Nadia deep out into space for there to be actual danger.
Nadia.
Worry rushes through me, and I turn toward my mate.
She’s still exactly where I left her, her blue eyes wide and round. Shock is written on every line of her beautiful face.
11
Nadia
The fight happened so quickly that it takes me a moment to process it all. As I watch the alien attacker slump to the floor, his throat slashed open in one quick motion by Zatir, my heart pounds in my chest, and I press one hand against it, trying to breathe.
This is far, far more intense than watching Zatir wrangle that ox-like creature back on Kalix. It’s the first time I’ve really seen what these warriors are like in action. Brielle never let me go to the fights on Wauru, and I’ve never seen them train in the arena on Kalix. I’d heard about it, but nothing could have prepared me for seeing Zatir really fight.
