by JC Hay
“So that’s why it’s better to keep things light. I saw how my parents were. I know who I am underneath. Genetics works. No one deserves to be put through that.”
Of course, that’s what he’d take from a history like that. Never be serious about anything. Or anyone. Then he could avoid getting hurt again. She rotated around his hip, turning until she could have both arms around him. Until she could be in the circle of his embrace. “No offense to your parents, but they sound like assholes.”
The words shocked a laugh from him, and he dropped his gaze. This close, she could see the flecks of orange and brown nested in his amber-colored eyes, like a fire opal. His voice stayed soft as he traced the backs of his fingers along her cheek. “I really want to—”
“Then shut up and do it.” The hell with caution. At the moment, she just wanted to comfort and be comforted. To lose herself in the pleasure of another person.
Tender, almost frustratingly tentative, his lips brushed over hers. She moaned and pressed tighter, fingers digging into the wiry muscles of his back. His mouth opened, and her tongue chased his, eager to claim and be claimed. When he broke the kiss to trail along the line of her jaw, the cords of her neck, his lips didn’t just burn, they scorched. Like a fire, they consumed and left nothing behind.
The proximity alarm sounded, and she shoved away in a panic to check the pilot’s station. A few quick taps on the console brought up the reason for the alarm and doused any flame that remained in her blood.
She managed to get out the words “Brace for imp—" before the debris struck the ship and sent her hurtling off the back wall and down the ladder.
Seven
Imee woke up in her rack with a splitting headache and two-thirds of her pillow covered by invisible wolf. The cabin was too small for a bed and a chair, so Grenville lounged on the floor with his back against the cabinet that served as dresser and washbasin. As soon as she started to move, he was on his feet. His long limbs carried him across the room in a step, and nothing disguised the worry in his face as he knelt next to her rack, one hand on her arm.
Despite the innocence of the contact, warmth blossomed under her skin and heated her cheeks. Her eyes were immediately drawn to his mouth. It was impossible to look at him and not remember the taste of their kiss.
"Take it easy," he whispered. “You had a bit of a fall. Even at three-quarters gravity you cracked into the deck pretty hard."
She swallowed, but her mouth still tasted coppery and sour. She must have bitten her tongue when she landed. Over his shoulder, the hall outside her cabin was bathed in amber emergency lighting. Panic strengthened her limbs, and she leaned forward against the press of his hand. “What’s wrong with the ship?”
“I don’t know if you’re concussed. You should really lie—”
“We don’t have time for me to convalesce. If we’re compromised...” His arm was like iron, and struggling against it made her pulse pound in her skull. Before she could make any headway toward sitting upright, a heavy pair of paws locked over her shoulder and weighed her down. Djehuti may have been mostly invisible, but the wolf’s warm weight was enough to tip the balance. She collapsed back to the pillow and glared at the blur. “Really? I have to get it from both of you?”
In response, the wolf merely woofed quietly and licked her cheek. Grenville chuckled and nodded. "Yes, well, he's very protective of his pack."
His words sent a tingle of warmth through her blood. Pack just sounded nice. Belonging felt nice. But none of it would matter if they both died in this godforsaken rattrap of a spaceship. “Let me up, please? I want to check the ship.”
“The ship’s fine, for now.” He sucked on his front teeth as he reached a hand toward her hairline. "It’s better than you at the moment. I got your scalp to stop bleeding, and closed it up with SkinSeal, but I'm pretty worried about a concussion."
"That's what I like about you, Grenville." She attempted to squirm out from under the wolf, but Djehuti planted himself until it was like fighting the gravity well of a black hole. She let out a huff and collapsed back into the pillows. "You constantly find a way to understate the important things. So, can you at least fill me in on what's going on with the ship? Last I recall we were being struck by a piece of space debris."
He smiled, and God but he could be cute when he was being charming. "Can we go back to the part where you said you like me? I think that's going to be more enjoyable to discuss than the ship." He stretched a hand toward her, then changed directions to pet the wolf that half covered her.
She reached up to pet Djehuti as well, allowing her fingers to brush his in the wolf’s fur. The lensing effect melded their two hands together, a single limb that joined them both through the wolf.
Imee smiled at the image before focusing on the ship again. “So, things are bad.” She studied his face for a response and decided she wouldn’t want to play poker against him. "Look, if you're worried I have a concussion, the last thing I can do is go to sleep. Unfortunately, if you keep me in this bed, and if this giant, fluffy heater doesn’t move, that's exactly what's going to happen. I need something to do. Preferably right now."
Grenville chewed over her words, and she supposed she should be flattered that consideration even took place. After whatever internal dialogue he required, Grenville came to a conclusion, lips drawn tight. "The primary airlock took the brunt of the damage. It's off-line. We're on secondary power, but I can't tell if that’s because the main power units are down, or if they shut down in an emergency situation. Oh, and the delicate, sensitive monitoring equipment from military intelligence came out of its cargo locks and tumbled its boxes over a third of our cargo bay."
She winced, but it had nothing to do with her headache. The airlock damage couldn't be fixed without drydock. There would be secondary hatches so she and Grenville could exit the ship, but none of them would be big enough to allow them to remove the equipment for the listening post. That meant they’d have to vent the cargo hold to vacuum once they reached Castulus. Depending on the strength of the hatches, that might as well be putting the whole ship in vacuum.
She leaned forward enough to nuzzle into Djehuti’s shoulder. “How good are you at getting around in minimal atmosphere?”
Grenville chuckled. "Zoomie, that wolf’s a Ranger. He’s probably more comfortable in a vac-suit than I am."
Imee caught a grumble of disagreement from the wolf, but she didn't want to argue the point. "For the time being, it sounds like a job for each of us. You figure out how broken the communications rig is, and I'll try to bring main power back online." As an afterthought she added, "I promise, I'm not going to overexert myself."
He narrowed his eyes. "Fine. But Djehuti stays with you. At least I know you’ll be likely to listen to him if he thinks you’re overdoing it.”
And the bond between the two would keep him apprised of her situation as well. The idea of being protected opened a soft warmth in her chest that spread through her body in time with her pulse. “I’m good with that.”
Her word seemed to be good enough for the wolf, who pulled back from her shoulders and allowed her to sit up. Grenville watched, unable to hide his concern from his face, but he didn't reach out for her.
The room spun a little but stopped its gavotte after a few tense heartbeats. Getting to her feet was harder, but Grenville kept a safe distance, as though he didn’t trust himself not to help her, but knew it was something she needed to do on her own. The consideration made her smile.
Once her feet were steady, she gave a slight nod. “Okay. Let’s get to work.”
GRENVILLE LOOKED AT the scattered array of boxes and tried to keep his hopes up. At least MilInt and Delta Company had the common decency to number the crates. Though if experience told him anything, there’d be pieces he needed early on in the box labeled 3. Getting the system together and making sure it was operational would be a challenge, and normally his brain was up for challenges. Unfortunately, it kept drifting back to Imee inst
ead.
No. He wouldn’t lie to himself. It kept drifting back to kissing Imee.
They’d crossed a line, and not just the officer-enlisted gulf. Yes, he’d considered her his Valkyrie, his savior, since she’d plucked him off the battlefield a few years back, but this was different. He wanted her; not to protect or to worship, but to celebrate. To share in each other’s triumphs. To wake up next to, until the stars went dim. He’d never wanted that kind of a connection with anyone other than Djehuti, since...
He shook his head. Grenville couldn’t believe he’d talked to her about Alastair. About his family. She’d sounded so broken talking about her idiot fiancé that he wanted her to know he understood. Shared things he hadn’t even told his battle-family.
The idea of the humiliation she’d suffered made him want to find her one-time fiancé and have a quiet discussion with him in a dark alley. Being angry on her behalf was new; he was used to sharing and complementing Djehuti’s moods. But the idea that someone hadn’t treated Imee the way she deserved triggered a sense of protective machismo that was unusual for him.
At least if Djehuti were nearby, he’d be able to focus. The wolf always did help him keep his brain straight. Unfortunately, he’d sent him off with her, so he couldn’t even borrow the wolf’s razor-sharp focus. Had to rely on his own addled senses.
Still, Imee and Djehuti weren’t that far away. Reflexively, he relaxed his mind and stretched his awareness along the bond. He felt the warmth and confidence Djehuti had in him; felt the wolf’s quiet assurance that all was well.
Felt the vague tingle of Imee’s concentration.
Grenville pulled away from the bond like a rubber band. There were stories of rangers who’d bonded so strongly to their wolves that they could share the animal’s senses. For him, the bond was shared emotion. An understanding of what the wolf experienced and felt. When he was being sarcastic, or playful, or concerned. But he shouldn’t feel Imee’s state through Djehuti. Not unless the wolf was opening himself up to her.
He scrubbed the back of his neck, fighting against the sudden curl of jealousy that coiled in his chest. Djehuti liked Imee too. Who wouldn’t? He wasn’t choosing her over Grenville. That wasn’t how the bond even worked.
He was just being stupid. Over a woman. And God knows he’d mocked his battle-buddy since Ren had gone all moony-eyed over an old flame. He didn’t need to get tangled up over a meaningless moment, especially one they both knew couldn’t go anywhere.
But God, was he ever tempted.
Who was he kidding? He wasn’t the kind of person people wanted a relationship with. She’d said it herself. Good-time Grenville. Not the sort of person anyone’d want to be serious about. And who could blame them? He’d had plenty of experience being exactly as advertised, and none whatsoever at being something more. Hell, he didn’t even have any good examples to serve as a role model for what a healthy relationship might look like.
Grenville rolled his eyes at the turn his thoughts had taken. Feeling sorry for himself was never a good sign. Or rather, it was a sign that he needed to go be a clown. Take someone else’s mind off their problems for a while. Except the only other person on the ship was Imee, and seeing her would only bring all the complicated shit hanging between them into stark relief.
No. He needed a distraction, and there was only two available. Since breaking into the rum he’d brought would do away with what little willpower he had, that left only one option.
He unpacked the first crate, which was reasonably cushioned inside by R&D standards. Even looking at the parts in the box made his hands itch to hold tools and begin working. Curiosity sparked through him, chasing away his other thoughts and giving him something to focus on. With a grin, he folded himself to the deck and lifted out the computer housing.
An hour later, he had the device mostly assembled. Attaching the giant mess of antenna would take up too much of the remaining space, but he could at least connect it to the shielded power supply and have the rig run a self-diagnostic. He hooked up the final cables, crossed his fingers, and flipped the switch.
Nothing happened, just long enough for frustrated panic to squeeze his throat, then the screen came to life and began scrolling through data.
Grenville rubbed the back of his neck with a sigh. “Okay, that’s one complicated, impossible thing taken care of.” His legs protested as he unfolded himself to stand and walked across the hold. He thumbed the intercom to life. “Looks like everything’s good with Tyler’s little listening station. How’s main power looking?”
As a response, the lights coming through the ladder hatch switched over from amber to white. Imee’s husky, knee-weakening voice answered back. “On line. So...”
Even separated by three floors of ship, he could feel the heavy air hanging between them. “So...”
“We need to talk. Meet me in the galley?” Her voice was flat, and while it felt like a request, it was just as easy to hear the words as an order. An officer issuing a command. It felt unfair to make the association.
He bit back against the sir-yes-sir that formed in his throat as he pushed the button. “Sure thing. Let me close up here, and I’ll be right up.” He tried to keep his tone cheery, but the acid souring the back of his mouth left him wishing for a ship large enough he could lose himself in it.
He could play through the scene in his head: she’d say she overstepped, he’d apologize for his role in it. She’d remind him of their ranks, and how they couldn’t be together. He’d agree, and they’d go back to being the sort of people who interacted clumsily to keep things from feeling weird. Over time they’d see less of each other, and then it would be over.
The ache he felt at the thought of not seeing Imee again, of not telling lousy jokes or watching her fight not to laugh at them, cut sharp enough to leave scars. The only bright spot would be that for the near future he’d be able to talk to her. Perhaps he could store up enough memories to carry him through.
Eight
Imee crossed her arms over her chest, gripping her sleeves so her hands wouldn’t fidget. She hated being like this. She’d spent her entire career being absolutely sure and terrifyingly precise. The zero-G sense of disorientation Grenville created just by being around her was unwelcome. Or would be, if it didn’t also feel like flying.
She paced from the table to the chiller unit and then back again. Not that it was particularly far to walk. Hell, you could reach out and touch one while standing at the other. She was half tempted to pull a packet of juice out just to have something to do with her hands once Grenville arrived. The last thing she needed was for them to be idle and itching to touch him instead.
Djehuti had followed her in, refusing to let her out of his sight. Though she’d gotten better at spotting the hazy blur of the wolf’s presence, she’d not noticed him until the tik-tik-tik of Djehuti drinking from the ball valve of his water bottle gave him away. After that, the wolf had curled up in the corner, its invisibility occasionally broken up by the presence of one night-black eye opening and watching her with what certainly felt like amusement.
She knelt at Djehuti’s side, and he rolled over to present his belly and beg for rubs. Her smile threatened to break into a laugh. "At least you’re easy to read. Any tips for understanding your bondmate?"
"Trust me, that wolf’s as irritating as I am. Or so I’m told." Amusement tinged Grenville’s voice as he entered the tiny mess.
“Perhaps, but he makes up for it by being cuter, and not snoring.”
“I don’t snore when someone’s in my bed.” His grin rushed past sinful and straight into honeyed damnation. A streak of pale orange grease smeared his cheek, to the right of his nose. Somehow the little bit of dishevelment made him sexier. He tucked his hands into the pocket of his coveralls and leaned against the wall with a casual stance too perfect to be accidental.
She stopped petting the wolf and stood, which earned her a huff of displeasure. “Djehuti says you’re a liar.” She looked back down a
nd nodded. “Right, sorry. He said a damn liar.”
Color rushed away from Grenville’s face. "Djehuti didn't actually say anything that you could hear, did he? You’re just fucking with me?"
Her laughter bubbled up before she could stop it. "I’m sorry, Grenville, but no. If I could actually have a conversation with your wolf, I'd have him in my quarters every spare moment until I learned all your dark little secrets." The idea held a lot of appeal, and once she'd spoken the words, she wished it were possible. It would be like being given a decoder ring to Grenville's mind.
He scoffed quietly. "You've already heard the worst of them."
"Maybe. I'd probably ask him to tell me what we do about this." She waved her hand in the space between them, surprised she couldn’t actually feel the resistance of the tension between them. Their kisses had certainly seemed mutual. Then again, so had Arnulf’s. Interest didn't make a particularly good indicator.
Thinking about their kiss drew her gaze down to his lips. He was, she had to admit, deliciously kissable. Like his mouth had been designed for it. Soft lips, full, but not too much. Imee caught him watching her, and her cheeks heated. She should feel worse about it, but him knowing she was replaying their kisses in her head tightened a knot of need in her belly.
She cursed her roommate. Not that it made Akomi wrong; Grenville was preternaturally attractive, in all the ways that fired her engines.
"You say it like there’s a choice in what we do about this,” he said at last. He dragged his hand out of his pocket and rubbed the back of his neck. “The Forces sort of made our decision for us."
He was right, of course. The gulf of rank between them created an assortment of potentially career-ending complications, which the various branches all lumped under the umbrella of fraternization. People were discharged for less, right or wrong. And she’d fought too hard to get where she was, against too much of the institutionalized boys’ club that made up the pilots, to risk that for a few kisses. No matter how hot they were.
