Utto didn’t matter. He wasn’t important.
Feola mattered. Feola was important. And she was hiding. Fuck. She must be terrified.
He had no idea where she was, but he wouldn’t risk her freedom by calling her. What if it buzzed and she was overheard?
Call me back, baby.
5
A hundred panting women.
It wasn’t the inability to stretch that bothered Feola. She could stretch her arms out over her head, or her feet below if her knees grew stiff. It wasn’t the echoing noise that bothered her. She’d gotten used to that. She’d grown accustomed to the constant whir of air moving over her skin.
What bothered her the most was the need to be silent. It terrified her. One mistake and she was through.
She never relaxed. Terror kept her on rigid alert. Sleep was evasive, and when it did pay a visit, it brought hideous dreams that sent her bolting to wakefulness, sweating and crying, clapping her hand over her mouth, terrified she’d made a peep or a snuffle.
A wayward sound could lead to her discovery. A random warrior wouldn’t ignore a snore coming from the vents. She couldn’t believe they hadn’t already dismantled them to search for her.
Strange noises in bases were never ignored. They’d find her. She’d end up back with Utto… waiting for trial. He would hardly welcome her back with open arms. More likely an open hand—or a closed fist—basking in the glow of her cried apologies and smiled promises, pleas for mercy.
A sneeze could lead to her capture. A cough. A sniff.
For three days, she hid in the vents, crawling like an animal, moving when no one was around, nausea tangling in her belly.
She dropped into the chambers of strangers when they left for the day, to use their toilets, bathe in their pools, to wash away the blood and sweat and tears, to steal food and replenish her water.
She had to be careful to leave no trace, not to take too much or arouse suspicion.
She hid in the vents over the main hallway that led to the Guarda’s main office, unable to resist spying. Utto paced and ranted, furious, his face alight with something close to fear.
Good.
She smiled grimly, lying on her belly, looking down through vents at one of the large, open piazzas. Finally, she was safe from anyone overhearing her in the ducts. It was far too noisy here, and she was up too high.
Happy women bustled about their days, laughing, free. Even happier males bustled beside them. Holding hands. Kissing. A bead of sweat ran down her nose. Her breaths were ragged.
She’d been so stupid.
She couldn’t fall victim to her own emotions and let herself cry over the truncated conversation with Ajax three days ago. She refused to succumb to the allure of his patient, strong voice over the comm. Tears led to sniffles. Sniffles led to sobs. And sobs were loud. She needed to be silent.
The piazza was off the main hall toward the healing bay.
She’d been watching him. The Guarda had indeed interrogated him, but apparently they’d released him, which made sense. He’d arrived after Rennie’s body had been found.
She flinched at the thought.
Ajax had been staying in a guest chamber not too far from the healing bay, where he spent his days.
He came to Romeo-Two. For me.
Lightheaded, she stared through the grates, willing him to materialize. Desperate to see him again.
As if answering her prayers, he appeared. One second there was empty space at the entrance to the hall toward the healing bay. The next second—Ajax. Larger than life. Pale golden-white hair, tan skin. Calm. Even from this far away, she could feel it. He wore calm like other men wore clothes.
There was a stillness to him, a steadiness that was softer, warmer, and safer than the best blanket in the universe.
Ajax was hope. Her coiled nerves unwound a fraction, easing at the sight of him. What will he say now that they’ve told him I’m a murderer? Will he abandon me?
She had to believe he wouldn’t. She needed to believe in him. He was her only hope. Her fingers shook with the effort to keep herself silent. She wanted so badly to scream out to him.
Instead she reached for a vial. She stared at the milky fluid with distaste. Her mouth watered. Her nipples hardened in automatic response, chafing against her shirt. Her body thirsted for Utto’s serum, even as her mind and heart recoiled from it. The fever was upon her. She had no choice. She’d have liked to burn it, but she’d seen how sick a woman became if she didn’t have access to her mate’s serum.
The serum would buy her more time. She needed to be healthy to find Ajax. To run. To put as much space between herself and Utto—and the Guarda—as possible.
Keeping her eyes on Ajax, she uncorked it and tilted the vial to her tongue. The serum tasted of pure Utto. She swallowed it down, every last putrid drop.
Gritting her teeth, she squeezed her palms to keep her body still and to silence her cries. An orgasm rolled across her limbs like a riptide, so hard and rough that her eyes watered and she bit her tongue. Her whole body shuddered as an inferno spread through her veins, with her eyes locked on the piazza below, where Ajax pulled his comm from his pocket and frowned.
The orgasm left her shaking. Weak.
Replete.
Hating herself. And Utto. The treacherous, conniving bastard. It had taken a long time for her to learn exactly how he’d done it. He hadn’t played fair. He’d fought dirty in the days she’d waited for Ajax, bringing her cups of tea as if he cared. What had they called it? Septusine.
And then he’d just watched his cousin maul her. And would have let him… he would have… if she hadn’t…
Bile surged in her throat.
Life is not fair. Mamma had said that, too.
She detested that she still needed any part of Utto. She’d give anything to be free from the feel and taste of him. Moisture and heat had pooled between her thighs at the first drop of his hated serum on her tongue. She loathed the presence of any part of him in her body—she’d end that as soon as she could.
I can fight dirty, too. I am not the smiling girl I used to be.
The metal ducts around her hummed. Her panting breaths echoed down the endless metallic chute like a hundred women panting in the aftermath of putrid ecstasy, instead of just one.
Her location above the piazza provided proximity to hundreds of mated women below. Her scent would be lost amid theirs. She felt safest here, of all places on the base up high, invisible in the crowd. She’d become a ghost.
She grabbed for the comm, entered the contact for Ajax.
Through the vents, she watched as, a few stories below her, he reached for his device and held it to his ear. “Finally. Hey.”
His voice reverberated in her ear, raising all the hair follicles, arching her back. That hot place between her thighs pulsed in response to the unique pitch of his voice. Her body wanted more than satisfaction born of serum alone.
It always had. Every time Ajax had ever spoken to her in that deep, rumbly voice, she’d gone all soft, wet, and silly.
“Ajax—have the Guarda released you from suspicion?”
“Yes.” His voice was so deep—and for the first time in too long, she didn’t feel alone. No matter what, Ajax would help her. He turned away from the hallway, tilting his head down, a hand tucked in his pocket as was his custom. Broad shoulders, slim waist. Even at a distance he was beautiful.
How had she ever chosen Utto over him?
She knew how. Utto had manipulated her own chemistry with his serum. It was illegal and dirty and vile, but she had no proof.
The knives on Ajax’s chest gleamed, making her ears throb and her palms sweat with bad memories.
She squeezed her eyes shut. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Think about Ajax.
There were times in life when one had to admit they needed help. This was one of them. Ajax was strong. He knew this world. These were his people.
She took a deep breath. “Good. Can you
leave Romeo-Two?”
“Yes.”
“Can you get me out of here?”
He paused, and she held her breath.
“Not without alerting about five different failsafe systems that will register a second body aboard. They’ll know I’ve taken you. You know Utto’s uncle is a senator, right? His family’s got a lot of cred. They’ll hunt us. Everywhere. They’ve got a long reach. We’ll have to go far away. Really far.”
It wasn’t anything she hadn’t heard from Utto. She’d hoped he’d been exaggerating. “I can’t ask you to take that risk. You’ll lose your job. I’ll find another w—”
“The hell you will. Where are you? I want you off this base ten minutes ago. I ju—”
“I can’t let y—”
“You can’t stop me. I’m here. I want to help.”
She shouldn’t let him give up his life for her.
But she was going to anyway. Maybe it made her a bad person, but she cared far more about her life than she cared about Ajax’s job. She’d find a way to clear his name later. Now—she just wanted to get as far away from Utto, and Rennie’s body, and this whole horrible base as soon as possible.
“Okay.”
He sighed, his relief so palpable that little particles seemed to swirl out of the air he breathed, to pour through the comm and imbue themselves in the synapses of her brain, scattering hope.
Utto would feel that. She focused hard on Mamma, the sound of her voice in song, the way she’d always, always, found a way to look at the beauty in life. The grief stabbed home. Let Utto feel that. Let him wonder at the new emotion.
She needed to get to Ajax, and then, she needed to escape. “We need to get to your ship.”
“Can you meet me at the docks?” His voice gave her shivers, like a thousand tiny bubbles running up her spine.
She didn’t want to agree—it felt too much like a promise, a nasty dare to a cruel and hateful cosmos.
“Hey?” he asked. “Answer me.”
“Okay. Yes. Sure.”
His shoulders stiffened. “You and me, okay? You and me. We’re going to get you out of here.”
She nodded, holding her breath to make sure she didn’t cry.
“Okay?” His voice was insistent.
“Okay.”
He smiled.
And so did she, but only because no one was around to see it.
The vents narrowed as she made her way to the docks. She’d spent the last few days learning her way around. By the time she got to Ajax’s dock, only a few feet would remain between them.
Only a few feet between her and safety.
6
A smile as wide as a mile.
Ajax was more confused than ever.
Feola sounded nervous on the comm, and worried and scared. But not panicked, or anywhere near as hysterical as he had expected, given what Utto had said about Rennie.
She clearly knew he was dead, since she’d asked about the Guarda.
Her voice was so soft in his ear, barely more than the gentlest caress. He shifted his pants. He couldn’t help it. He got hard every time he heard her voice—even when it was embarrassingly inappropriate.
“I don’t think they’re watching me,” he said. “They’ve got some sort of system combing the base now. Where are you?”
Her breath threaded across the comm’s speaker. He imagined her beautiful face, the sharp chin, the enormous eyes widened in fear.
“I’ll find you there. At Dock 3.”
“H—”
She disconnected.
Moving as nonchalantly as he could, resisting the urge to sprint, he walked through the base. He stopped on his way to the train system and sipped a quick shot of eeffoc at a shop on the way, careful to give the impression of a guy just going about his business.
He’d told the Guarda he wasn’t leaving until he saw Feola. They’d seemed more concerned with locating her than worrying about why he was here.
He was just glad she was alive.
About a quarter of an hour after she’d disconnected their comm, the doors to the R-2 docks hissed open, and he stepped onto the wide gray platform.
The station was empty, which immediately made him uncomfortable. Dock 3 lay just ahead and slightly to his left. He stood still long after the train continued on its way, hissing down the tracks and into the bowels of the base.
No unusual sounds. Just the constant background din of base life. His boots echoed on the floors as he approached the docks. He pressed his index finger against a scanner, and another door opened, allowing him access to the lot where he’d parked his ship.
How the hell would Feola get in here?
A faint swish came from the ceiling over his head. He frowned, looking up.
Something was wrong. The Guarda should have followed him every step of the way. In fact, he’d be willing to bet they’d known the second he’d docked at R-2 and headed straight for the healing bay to find him.
This shouldn’t be so easy.
He headed down the main aisle and found his dock. Still no one appeared.
Moving slowly so as not to alert any Guarda who might be watching through cameras, he shifted his stance so his hand rested near his marsollian blade.
It was by far his favorite weapon. He hadn’t used it except in practice. He’d rather not have to raise it against a fellow member of the Tribe—though Utto seemed more tempting by the minute.
The ceiling clinked. A hatch opened from a vent, a square just larger than the length of his hand if he stretched his thumb and pinky as far as they’d go.
Feola’s face appeared in the square. “Hi, Ay-shocks.”
The comm hadn’t done justice to the sound of his name on her lips, in his ear, face to face. Every word she spoke sounded like a song.
He girded himself to study her face. Just how bad had her time with Utto been? How much damage had he done?
After all these months. Pink-and-orange hair shining and that perfect flash of a quick smile—and even though it was nervous, it was the same big, blindingly beautiful smile as before.
He took a step toward her. She dropped something so quickly he had to rush to catch it. A white pillowcase full of lumps, tied up with a knot.
Standing right beneath her, he looked up at her face and caught his first glimpse of citrine eyes in far too long.
A punch to the gut. For a single second, she hesitated, withdrawing her arms almost as if she feared him. The moment passed, and she stretched toward him again.
A wealth of information was written in that moment. She’d never been afraid before. Not once.
He took hold of her beneath the arms.
She slipped out of the vent, and her legs rushed down to tangle with his, and every muscle of his touched every curve of hers.
He took a deep breath that smelled like flowers and woman and—Utto.
He lowered her to the floor. There were so many questions he wanted to ask her, but this wasn’t the time. “Let’s go.”
Some wall behind her eyes fell into place. “First, let’s close the vent. So they don’t figure out how I moved around base, just in case something goes wrong.” She looked up at the ceiling above them. “Do you mind lifting me again?”
“Not at all.” He closed his hands around her tiny waist and lifted. Her hand came down to rest on his shoulder. Heaven was his nose between her breasts. The small, soft rise of them through her shirt rubbed against his cheeks. Alive and well and safe. The outline of her nipples stood out sharply against the fabric of her shirt, and it took all the strength he had not to rub his face back and forth.
He squeezed her just a little tighter than he should have.
She felt right in his arms. Simple as fact.
Even better when he needed to lift her higher. He had to adjust his grip, lower on her hips, and his fingers dug into the soft flesh of her ass. She wriggled, working her arms over her head, and all her wriggles only moved her body so the valley between her thighs was right there, i
nches in front of his face.
A better man may have done any number of things, maybe turn his head away, maybe lift her higher. He definitely could have. She didn’t weigh very much. It would be easy to hold her away from his face and lift her over his head, but he didn’t.
He just closed his eyes against the warm fabric of her shirt. She smelled nothing like Utto there, and everything like perfection. Could she possibly still be so innocent that she didn’t realize she was practically riding his face? Scissoring her thighs trying to get higher. It would be so simple to tighten his grip on her ass and—
She stopped moving. “I’m all done,” she said quietly. “Will you lower me now?”
He sighed and tilted his head back to glance at her face. It couldn’t be helped.
He slid her down his body until her breasts were about even with his face again, a riveting fantasy dancing through his mind of kissing her pouty pink lips, just once, just to prove she was really there.
That’s when it happened.
A door hissed open behind them.
Utto stepped out, with the Guarda in tow.
7
My body knows you.
Feola squealed at the sight of Utto’s furious face. All the rage and terror of the morning came out in a single ridiculous squeal. She couldn’t help it. All the old, pathetic fear came flooding back.
Shame heated her cheeks, but it was too late to take back the sound. It echoed off the walls of the wide docking bay, as pitiful as that of a wounded animal. Long and high pitched.
Everyone ignored her, of course, which grated. Utto ignored her. The Guarda ignored her. Even Ajax ignored her, which, for some reason, hurt. They all just faced off, sizing up one another.
Ajax did, however, lower her gently to the ground. The second her body left his, cold air rushed between them. She had to repress the ridiculous urge to reach out with trembling fingers, hold on to the sleeve of his shirt like a child grasping at a parent’s clothes, had to tamp down on the instinct to flee. There was nowhere to flee without Ajax. And he wasn’t moving.
He shifted, pressing a hand low on her belly, so he stood firmly in front of her, blocking her from Utto.
The Breaking Page 4
