He turned to look at her, his helmet banging against the headrest. “You’re insane. Why do you choose to do this?”
“You mean ‘Why do you do this, Lieutenant,’” she replied automatically. The question didn’t surprise her, but his tone did. He was asking like he actually wanted an answer. “Why do you do it?”
He swallowed thickly. “If I hadn’t been selected for Military, I sure as holy hell wouldn’t be here risking my blighting life.”
“Well, someone has to. It’s not an easy job, but it’s a worthy one.” Without the risk—the sacrifice—the whole dominion would be under Ward Balias’s thumb. And Aris knew, better than most, how abhorrent that would be. “I’d rather die fighting for my dominion than sit at home watching it burn.”
He scoffed. “Like I said, you’re insane.”
A few minutes later, she gave the all clear and Milek echoed it. “Enemy threat neutralized.” He added, “There’s a lot of ground to cover in searching for survivors. I need everyone down there. This is still an active scene, so keep your solaguns up and your eyes open.”
One by one, the wingjets landed, fanning across the scarred countryside. Aris landed less gracefully than usual, enjoying Contas’s groan of discomfort as they bounced along the ground. Maybe saving someone today would make him feel differently. Then again . . . she wasn’t counting on it.
The sun was near setting, but when Aris opened the cabin’s glass hood, suffocating heat still pressed in on her. By the time they’d jumped to the ground, their solaguns held at the ready, their eyes streamed and skin stung from the thick smoke and smell of burning oil.
“Gods, I can barely breathe,” Contas said, his voice already hoarse.
Aris took out the utility knife strapped into the leg of her pants and cut away a strip of the shirt underneath her uniform jacket. She slid the fabric up under her helmet to cover her nose and mouth. It helped her breathing a little. Slowly, she and Contas picked their way over the uneven ground, flanked by the other flyers, gunners, and retrievers of their unit. Several hundred yards to their right, Milek calmly bent to check a prone body for a pulse. Aris’s heart lurched when he stood, shook his head, and moved on.
Through their helmet comms, the soldiers took stock of the dead. “Transport Three, Specialists Evander and Severn, deceased,” someone reported.
Not Evander. Aris hadn’t known him well, but she’d known him. Covered in colorful tattoos, he’d often filled the rec room with his booming voice, singing bawdy love songs and pretending to drink vutzo from an imaginary shot glass.
“Four Atalantan infantry soldiers, deceased,” said Lieutenant Daakon.
“Two Safaran soldiers, deceased,” came another voice.
It took some time to reach the wounded, but Aris could hear them, their groans, screams of pain, and prayers coaxed from desperate throats. She held her breath as she passed silent, solagun-burned bodies.
The hulking carcass of a Safaran winget belched clouds of stinking smoke across her path. A bloody arm reached from beneath the rubble, its lifeless hand curled into a claw of agony.
Contas shuffled over a torn-up ridge of dirt. “I can’t. . . . I wasn’t expecting . . .”
Aris’s gaze was still drawn to that bloody hand. “I always expect this. Only way I can handle it is to prepare for it.” The tears streaking her ash-covered cheeks were only partly caused by the venomous air.
“But how can you prepare for this?”
The hand clenched suddenly into a fist. Aris gasped. “I think we’ve got a live one.” She scrambled across the torn-up ground, sending a message over her comm requesting the closest retriever. All S and R soldiers were trained in combat mending, but retrievers were usually the best, as it was their job to stabilize victims for transport.
It wasn’t until Aris reached the crumpled wingjet that she realized the arm was clad in Safaran black. It didn’t stop her from dropping to her knees beside the soldier. Now she could see he was caught beneath the wreckage. Not the flyer, then. He was a foot soldier. She bent closer to take a pulse and got her first look at his face.
Wide, dark-brown eyes stared back at her, blinking once, twice. Dirty, blood-streaked cheeks. Thin lips drawn back in terror or pain. Gods he looked young. And so scared. Even though he was the enemy, Aris’s heart clenched for him.
“What is it?” Contas asked, coming up behind her.
“Just a kid.” Aris brushed some dirt off the boy’s shoulder, knocking his solagun away as a precaution. Not that he was in any state to use it.
Contas hunched closer and then reeled back. “Oh holy.”
The boy coughed weakly, bringing up a splatter of blood. “Help me. Please,” he whispered.
“Hold on, now. We’ll get you out.” Aris cast panicked eyes over the kid’s small frame. What she could see of it, anyway. His legs were caught beneath the still-burning wingjet. She stood up and grabbed a bent edge of wing, heaving with all her strength, but it didn’t move.
“Help me, Specialist,” she growled. Contas stood a few feet away, bent over his knees and breathing heavily. “Specialist, now. Or he’ll die.”
After a moment, Contas stood and positioned himself on the other side of the boy and grabbed the wing. Over the black, broken wingjet, he met Aris’s eyes. “He’s Safaran. Why—”
“Shut up.” Aris braced herself. “We’re search and rescue. This is what we do.”
A skittering of stones and loose dirt announced the arrival of Otto and several of the other retrievers, who scrambled down to where Aris and Contas stood. With the extra manpower, they were able to shift the jet slightly, just enough to free the boy’s legs.
But by that time, his wide stare had turned inward and the agony had left his face. With the sense of something precious wasted, Aris bent over him and gently closed his eyes.
She moved on to help those still struggling to survive, but she knew she’d be haunted by the memory of that young Safaran soldier for a long time.
Chapter 8
When they arrived back at Spiro, Aris couldn’t get out of the wingjet fast enough. As soon as the soldiers were dismissed and the other officers had filed back into the building, she hooked a finger at Contas. “Specialist, follow me.”
Once inside the building, she stalked straight to Milek’s office, ignoring the grumbles and dragging footsteps behind her. Milek and Lieutenant Daakon turned when she tapped on the open doorway. Behind them, the faces of the soldiers killed in today’s battle stared at her from the monitor on the wall.
Milek raised a brow, which hitched up the thin scar along his pale cheek. “Is there a problem, Lieutenant?”
“Indeed, sir,” Aris replied. “Specialist Contas here. He’s a problem.” She wanted to punch the guy. He didn’t even bother to stand at attention.
Lieutenant Daakon gathered his digitablet and left the office with a small nod.
“Go on.” Milek’s striking blue eyes hardened into a glare as he stared at Contas. The kid wasn’t smart enough to cower.
“It’s my opinion that Specialist Contas is not a suitable fit for this unit¸” Aris said. “His poor attitude and less-than-ideal response to high-pressure situations do not befit a soldier in such a specialized field. In addition, he sexually harassed me during the mission.”
Milek’s face tightened, but he kept his voice steady. “Your recommendation?”
“Wait, you’re going to listen to her?” Contas stared incredulously at Milek. “But she’s—”
Thunder broke over Milek’s face. Aris almost felt sorry for the soldier. Almost. “Lieutenant Haan is your superior officer. You will address her as such and treat her with the respect befitting her rank.”
“But—” Contas sputtered.
Milek snapped his gaze to Aris. “Your recommendation?”
“Reassignment to a support unit on a bigger, more central stationpoint. Preferably one that has a good handle on integration. No one should have to depend on Specialist Contas for their safety.”
In the end, he’d get what he wanted: a relatively safe job away from the front lines. But that was fine. She wouldn’t risk someone else’s life just to teach him a lesson. Still . . . “Punishment for disrespecting an officer would be appropriate as well.”
“Noted,” Milek replied. “Until your new orders come through, Specialist, you’re on waste-removal duty. If you say a single disrespectful word to Lieutenant Haan or Specialist Pallas, I’ll have Lieutenant Daakon run you until your legs fall off. And then I’ll let Commander Nyx discipline you. Understood?”
Specialist Contas stood a little straighter, though he looked like he’d swallowed glass. He nodded and spit out a “yes, sir.”
“Dismissed.” Milek turned his attention to the digitablet on his desk.
The soldier stomped out, shooting a hateful glare at Aris. She started to leave the room herself, but Milek spoke from behind her. “Lieutenant, a moment more of your time, please. Close the door.”
She did as she was told, her pulse picking a quicker, slightly unsteady beat. She turned back to face Milek. “Sir?”
He leaned back against his desk and looked at her thoughtfully. The edges of his mouth softened. “I’m sorry about Specialist Contas. I didn’t think he would be brazen enough to actually harass you. We’ll need to find you another gunner.”
“I need Dysis,” Aris said, the familiar ache returning. “It’d be so much easier if she were here.”
“She’s welcome to return.” Milek leaned forward and Aris took a step closer, drawn to him despite herself. The remnants of adrenaline still flooded her system, electrifying every nerve. She wanted to see him as any other officer, but their one kiss, the way he watched her so intently, made it impossible.
Aris smiled a little. “Oh, she knows. I tell her often enough in my comms. I think she wants to come back, but she won’t admit it. She’s determined to stay with her brother.”
He rubbed his chin, considering her words. His “hmm” told her nothing of his thoughts, but the way his strong finger ran along his bottom lip sent inappropriate fantasies rocketing through her mind. Just that small, casual gesture, an entirely innocent, unconscious brush of skin against skin, and she was a yearning, angsty mess.
She whirled toward the door to hide her blush, embarrassed and ashamed. She was a soldier for Gods’ sakes. “Well, we’ll figure something out.”
“Lieutenant Haan, are you okay?” Milek’s voice was too close.
She half turned and waved a hand. “Oh, yeah. I’m fine.” She cleared her throat. “I should get something to, um, eat.” The words stuttered out of her, awkward and stilted.
The warmth of his hand curling over hers shocked her system. Why did he keep doing that? First that kiss . . . and then the hug in Lux. And the looks, and the way he pulled her to him, with nothing but his voice.
“Are you sure?” he asked. “Perhaps, if I were to contact Specialist Latza myself—”
Aris couldn’t stand it anymore. “No. This is not about Dysis.” She spun to face him, holding his hand tightly in both of hers. She lifted it, so he’d see their joined hands clearly between them. “It’s about this. Do you touch your other officers, your other soldiers?”
A blush flared against his pale cheeks and his sky-blue eyes widened. “I . . . I don’t. But, Aris. Gods, I’m sorry. I never meant to—”
“It’s agonizing!” Stupid tears pricked her eyes. All the frustrated longing she’d been denying, trying to ignore . . . everything pushed through her in a great, ugly wave. “I keep trying to remind myself you’re my superior officer, that nothing could ever happen between us, and then you look at me like . . . like you care, too. And you talk to me, all gentle understanding, and I . . . I—”
Milek pulled free of her grip, grabbed her face with both hands, and kissed her. In the next instant, they were pressed together, hands and lips and heat everywhere.
Aris knew her own heart must be pounding, but she was only aware of Milek’s pulse racing under the hand she pressed against his chest. Her other hand curled around the nape of his neck, coaxing him even closer.
Her body ached at the hunger in his kiss, the desperation with which his lips clung to hers. He lifted her and set her on the desk, their mouths still locked together. Her legs snaked around his waist, as her hands slipped down the hard muscles of his back.
It didn’t seem possible that he could want her with such ferocity, with a force and need that matched her own. As she slid her hands up under his shirt, he pushed her jacket off her shoulders, down her arms, until the stiff fabric released her. Underneath, the shirt she’d sliced apart during the mission let a cool breath of air caress her skin.
Against his lips, against her better judgment, she whispered, “Is this allowed?”
“I don’t care.” Milek stroked her cheek with his thumb and kissed her harder.
But even before he pulled away, Aris could feel doubt creeping into his embrace.
They came back to themselves slowly, still linked by her legs around his waist. Aris had never seen so much color in Milek’s cheeks, nor his eyes so dark with desire.
The room throbbed with the sound of their quickened breathing as they stared at each other. Neither of them looked away, neither could bear to let go, and yet . . .
Reality swirled between them, threatening to tear the fragile moment apart.
“What do we do now?” Her voice was rough and quiet. Inside, her heart hung poised in the balance. One word from him, and it would fall.
Chapter 9
Galena paced her office in Sibetza, Ruslana’s capital city. Thick, gray carpet silenced her footfalls as she circled the large wooden desk, chrome benches, and low black table that filled the center of the room. One wall was hidden behind thick burgundy curtains, another covered by an enormous vid monitor.
She paused at her desk and tapped the screen of her digitablet again. Why wasn’t Milek picking up? He’d never before missed one of their weekly calls. If he had a mission, he always left her a message so she’d know not to worry.
Suddenly, the screen on the wall blinked on. Milek dropped into his office chair and into view. He was breathing heavily, as if he’d been running down the hall.
“Are you alright?” Galena perched on the edge of her own chair. His rush set her on edge. “Do you need some time? I can call back.”
Milek shook his head as he smoothed the front of his jacket. “I’m fine, Mother. Sorry. I’m just running late.”
Galena looked closely at his image. “You’re never late. What’s happened? Is there news on Elom?”
“Aris—Lieutenant Haan—returned from her first reconnaissance mission in the invisible wingjet, and I wanted to debrief her before I spoke with you,” he replied. “We hacked the comms of a few men from Elom’s security detail. Thought we had a credible lead.”
“And?” Even as Galena’s pulse raced at the news of Elom, her mother’s sense tingled. Since when was Milek on first-name terms with Aris Haan?
Milek shook his head. “She didn’t see anything definitive in the search area. But the coordinates were on the outskirts of a city, so there was a lot of activity. She thought one building looked suspicious. . . . Several black terrans surrounding it, more heat signatures than would suggest a family.”
“That sounds promising,” Galena said. She hadn’t expected to have actionable intel so soon.
Milek shrugged. “I’ll pass the details up the chain so more investigation can be done. Commander Nyx and I agreed that sending in our own team wouldn’t be wise. The location requires a covert touch. Too many civilians for an airstrike.”
Galena couldn’t stand to sit still any longer. She stood up and paced before the large monitor on the wall.
“I’m sorry I don’t have more for you,” Milek said. He looked down at her from the vid, his cool blue eyes the exact same color they’d been when he was born. He would hate knowing this, but every time she looked at him, she still saw his round baby cheeks peeking through the hard
ened soldier he’d become.
“Don’t be sorry,” she said. “You’ve already made more progress than I expected. I’m surprised you and Lieutenant Haan have the invisible wingjet out on missions already.”
“Aris was ready,” he said.
Hmm. “I’m glad she’s reacclimating so well. How is she handling the promotion? And all the media scrutiny?”
Milek sat back a little. “She hasn’t watched the news, and Commander Nyx has been able to keep reporters from coming on point to interview her. I think she’s smart to stay out of it as much as she can.”
“She’ll have to make a statement at the ceremony next week, maybe grant an interview. Is she prepared for that?” Galena was actually looking forward to the event. It wasn’t often they could justify celebrations these days.
“She’ll do fine,” Milek replied, smiling a little.
Galena watched him closely. “And are the male soldiers respecting her new position?”
There was a certain twitch he got at the corner of his mouth . . . there.
“We’ve been making progress. It will take time.” He saw her expression before she had time to settle her features. “What?”
“You and Lieutenant Haan . . .”
He ducked his head, but she could still see the wash of pink warm his cheeks.
“Milek!”
“What, Mother?” The innocence in his eyes was a complete sham.
“You like her, Milek,” she said sternly. If he thought he could lie to his own mother . . .
Milek stood so quickly his desk rattled. The screen filled with the pale-blue sheen of his jacket. She wanted to see his face. “I know it’s completely inappropriate. I’ve . . . we understand that a relationship isn’t feasible right now—”
“No, Milek,” Galena said, a sudden, unexpected wave of emotion slamming through her. “Don’t do that to yourself.”
He sat back down. Shock widened his eyes. And no wonder; she never spoke to him like that. “What do you mean?” he asked.
She wouldn’t let him make her mistakes. “I know what it’s like to deny yourself happiness because you think it’s the right thing to do. But it’s not right. If you and Aris care for each other, don’t let anything stand in your way.”
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