“Protect me?” What a joke. She had an energy shield, a unique ability that had kept her safe her entire life. An ability that now defined her in a way she despised. She was the last person who needed protection. “From what?”
“From those who would seek to hurt or control you.”
She snorted. “I’m not a weakling, and you know it.”
“Neither is your mother. That’s not the point.” Mya swept her arm to encompass the ship. “Look around you. Look at what happened to the Necri and how it affected both of us. Can you honestly say you’re invincible?”
“I don’t know.” And the uncertainty was driving her insane. This was exactly what she’d been avoiding. She didn’t have answers. Only questions.
She had to get out of here. For the first time in her life, being around Mya was draining her. And she knew exactly where she wanted to go. Shoving to her feet, she headed for the door.
“Aurora.”
She stopped, glancing over her shoulder at her lifelong friend. “I believe you, Mya. I do.”
“Then let’s—”
She held up her hand. “But I need you to understand that I can’t deal with this right now. I just can’t. And if you’re the friend you say you are, please respect that.”
Turning away, she stepped into the corridor as the door closed softly behind her.
51
Cade sat alone on the utilitarian bridge, running through a final check of the navigation systems while he waited for the engineering team to give the all clear to take the ship back to Gaia.
He’d be bringing the ship in from behind the moon onto the night side of the planet, which would shield it from view by anyone on the planet’s surface. Not that they were likely to see it anyway with the Kraed hull doing its job. He’d been stunned to learn that piece of information from Drew. He couldn’t imagine how anyone had stolen the technology from the over-protective Kraed race, but the revelation had to be eating Clarek alive.
The back and forth communications with Admiral Schreiber over the past few days had been intense. He’d appointed Cade’s team as the security detail for the Necri, at least for the time being. They were responsible for returning the Necri to the planet’s surface and hiding the ship on the island while the Starhawke remained in orbit as sentry.
The official word given to the Gaian chancellor was that the guerrilla force responsible for the attacks had been killed when their ship self-destructed shortly after they’d left the planet. The Argo was due to arrive in a couple of days to take over the Starhawke’s position, which gave Aurora and her crew time to settle the Necri in their temporary housing and finish treating their injuries before any new personnel showed up.
Cade hadn’t seen much of Aurora over the past few days. When he had, she’d looked strung out. He’d wanted to ask her what had happened when she’d returned to the Starhawke to help Mya, but the abrupt change in her attitude had held him in check. At least Mya seemed in good health, although tension lined her face, too. Then again, they all looked road-weary.
He’d spent most of his time on the bridge, figuring out the controls to the ship and getting everything back online. The auto-destruct system had completely disabled all the navigation controls. Whoever had built this ship had wanted to make sure no one else could take it over. If Aurora hadn’t been onboard, they would have gotten their wish.
Not that the ship was much to write home about. The Kraed hull was the most remarkable thing about it, but unlike the Starhawke’s elegance, this thing was a mish-mash of appropriated technology all grouped together in bizarre and often confusing ways. It was built like a battering ram, with heavy weapons systems and a hull and shielding design that could deflect damn near everything. But the controls left much to be desired. Drew had helped him sort some of it out, and she’d also spent time with Clarek in engineering, repairing the damage her device had caused to the engines.
When the Argo arrived, Cade would be responsible for training whoever would be piloting the ship back to Earth for storage and study. His data pad was already filled with detailed notes and images of the ship’s quirks.
“Mind if I join you?”
He glanced over his shoulder. Aurora stood in the doorway, her slumped posture betraying her exhaustion. “Of course not.”
He expected her to come over to his station or take a seat in the command chair. Instead, she bypassed both and settled at the console to his right. She clasped her hands in her lap and stared at the image of the Starhawke on the bridgescreen. But she looked a million miles away.
“Are you okay?”
She glanced at him briefly before returning her gaze to the screen. Her jaw clenched and her breath hitched in and out, as though each inhale cost her more energy than she had to spare. Her eyelids drifted down on a weak sigh. “No.” Her voice sounded strangled. “No, I am most definitely not okay.”
Oh, hell. Things must be much worse than he’d suspected. Pushing his console out of the way he faced her, resting his elbows on his knees. “Do you want to talk about it?”
She opened her eyes and met his gaze. “Not really.”
Of course she wouldn’t. It had been a long time since she’d viewed him as a confidant, and with good reason. That’s why her next words threw him for a loop.
“I just needed to see a friendly face.”
Him? The comment rocked him back in his chair and triggered all kinds of alarm bells. If she’d chosen to come to him rather than seeking out Mya, Cardiff or Clarek, who were all on the ship somewhere, something was really not right in her world.
He quickly reviewed the events of the last few days, looking for clues. She’d saved the Necri, they’d successfully taken control of the enemy ship, and no one on their team had been killed. He’d also heard from Williams that the Necri were doing amazingly well. So what was so wrong?
He gave her a small smile of encouragement. “I’m glad you think of me as a friend.”
The corner of her mouth trembled slightly, a failed attempt to return the gesture. “Yeah. Well. I know we’ve had our issues, but I’ll say this for you. You’ve never lied to me.”
Wrong. The list of lies he’d told her could fill this bridge.
She paused, a small line appearing between her brows. “Well, that’s not true. This mission involved quite a few lies. And I realize now you lied about the reason for your training at the Academy. But that’s different.” She flicked those major transgressions away with a flip of her fingers, then tapped the center of her chest. “You’ve never lied about what was in here.”
Also not true. He distinctly remembered telling her before he left the Academy that he didn’t love her anymore. Turns out he’d been lying to both of them. But now wasn’t the time to bring it up. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”
She returned her gaze to the bridgescreen. “I could tell you, but…” She trailed off, her eyes going unfocused again.
“But then you’d have to kill me?” he finished, hoping to lighten the mood.
It didn’t work. “No.” She sighed. “Although the thought has occurred to me on occasion.”
No doubt.
Her expression turned bleak. “I’m just not sure you’ll believe me.”
The hell he wouldn’t. She was the most honest person he knew. It ran through her core like tempered steel. She could tell him she’d created the universe and he’d believe her. “Try me.”
She studied him for a moment, her expression wary. But apparently the need to talk to someone overrode her concerns. She turned in her chair, mirroring his pose. “Okay, here goes.” She took a deep breath. “I’m a queen.”
What?
“Or at the very least a princess of some sort. Of the Necri.”
The Necri? He hadn’t seen that coming. “Did they confer some type of ceremonial honor on you for saving them?” Anything was possible.
She shook her head. “No, this has nothing to do with choice or gratitude. I wish it did.” Bitterness overl
aid her words. “Turns out my mother forgot to mention one teeny tiny detail when she told me about our family history. Her family…my family…is from the same homeworld as the Necri. The same species, actually. And in that society, my abilities proclaim me as the guardian of the race, and therefore, the ruler.”
He blinked. Allowed the words to filter into his brain. Blinked again. “But…” He didn’t have anything to add. His thought process had stalled. She was a queen? Of the Necri? He tried again. “But didn’t you tell me that your homeworld was destroyed and your race exterminated?”
“Yep. My mother lied.”
Oh this was not good, on so many levels.
“And that’s not all. Mya has known all along and never told me.”
Click. The pieces fell into place. Now he understood her mood.
She’d always been close to her mother, and Mya had been her best friend since birth. They represented her connection to her non-human half. If those two women had lied to her about something this major, the devastation to Aurora’s faith in the world would have shaken her to her foundation, making her doubt everything and everyone who had been a part of that reality.
Anger flared, but he pushed it away. That wasn’t what she needed from him right now. “I’m sorry.” The words slipped out without conscious thought, followed by a soft oath. “I’m so sorry.” He shoved a hand through his hair as he held her gaze. “Dammit, Aurora, you deserve better than that.”
Her lips tilted up in a sad smile. “Thank you. Believe it or not, it helps to hear you say that.”
And didn’t that just make him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. “Then I’ll say it again.” He reached out and clasped her hand in his. “You deserve so much better than that.”
She gave his hand a gentle squeeze. But as the moment stretched out and neither of them let go, his palm and forearm started tingling. The sensation had nothing to do with warm fuzzies and everything to do with the energy field that had appeared around Aurora and was moving up his arm from their joined hands.
The look in her eyes had shifted, too, but not in a way he would have liked. The woman he had always seen as a pillar of strength and confidence suddenly looked as fragile as an intricate blown-glass sculpture, one that was one small nudge away from smashing into a million pieces.
He needed to get closer. The distance between the two consoles was a little wide, but he was a tall man with a good reach, especially when motivated. And he was highly motivated to protect her from the impending maelstrom he saw brewing inside.
As he moved his center of gravity forward, he kept his focus on her eyes, those incredible green eyes that could shift from the bright color of forest leaves to the dark tones of a stormy ocean, but were always interwoven with flecks of hidden gold. At the moment, they resembled the flat gray of a dead calm sea right before a typhoon.
His knees hit the floor with a soft thud. He kept his hold on her arm with one hand, and moved the other up to her shoulder. Tension gathered around her eyes as she watched him. He didn’t have her gift for feeling the emotions of others, but in this instance he didn’t need it. She was torn between two conflicting desires—to let go and allow herself to be comforted, and to maintain the self-reliance for which she was so well known.
But as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, she lost the battle, leaning toward him as her eyes began to close.
“Clarek to Ellis.”
The Kraed’s voice acted like a bomb, blasting them apart. A slew of obscenities swarmed through his head as Aurora jerked back, breaking the connection.
Cade slammed his hand on the comm switch. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Clarek had them under surveillance. “What?” he barked.
“We’re ready to power up the engines.” Clarek’s reply held an edge that indicated he didn’t like Cade’s tone.
Too damn bad. Cade was feeling hostile. The behemoth had interrupted a very private moment. Then the words registered. Engines? Oh, right. The ship. Heading back to Gaia. Work. Duty. All those things that had vanished like vapor as he’d gazed into Aurora’s eyes.
No going back, either. She’d turned to face the screen and had crossed her arms over her chest, her body taut.
He came up with a few more choice names for the damn Kraed. “Fine. Ready when you are.” He settled back into his chair.
The engine of this ship wasn’t what anyone would call refined. In fact, as it powered up, all the objects in the room vibrated, creating a hum that cut through the silence.
Would Aurora use the departure as an excuse to leave? He watched her out of the corner of his eye. So far, she looked like she was staying put.
“Engines powered and ready. All systems functional,” Clarek said.
“Acknowledged.” He opened a channel to the Starhawke. “Ellis to Emoto. We’re ready when you are.”
“We’ll follow you in.”
“On our way.” He engaged the system’s navigation controls and eased the ship forward. It obeyed his commands, but man, flying this thing after being at the helm of the Starhawke was like going from his jetbike to a horse and buggy. However, nothing on the console indicated any sign of trouble. He glanced at his silent traveling companion.
She turned her head to meet his gaze. “So far, so good.”
He nodded. “Seems to be.”
Her expression was hard to read. She’d obviously slammed a few walls into place, but the sadness remained. “Cade, I…” She paused as if searching for the right words. “My head’s kind of a mess right now.”
“I can understand that.”
“Just so you know, I’m not sorry.”
“About what?” Almost losing control? Coming to him for comfort?
“About you. You and me. The past. Any of it.”
Her admission stunned him. He’d always assumed she had a slew of regrets when it came to him. Of course, she was inclined to be charitable at the moment, considering her friends and family had just blasted her into next week. It didn’t mean she’d feel the same way after the storm passed.
“And I meant what I said,” she added. “I would like to be friends.”
Just friends? The question was on the tip of his tongue, begging to be turned loose. But he’d never ask. Besides, he already knew the answer. If what she’d told him was true, and he had every reason to believe it was, she was more unattainable now than she’d been at the Academy. And they’d been doomed back then. “So would I.”
The small smile that touched her lips was heartbreaking. “I’m glad. That means a lot to me.”
It meant a lot to him, too. More than she’d ever know.
“I should probably get back to the Necri.” She stood, but a frown creased her brow.
“Something wrong?”
Her frown deepened. “It’s that name. I really don’t want to keep calling them that, especially knowing…” She shuddered.
“You could call them something else.” Something that fit their emerging identity. He pictured the beautiful energy ribbons Aurora and the teens had generated. That was their true nature, not the deformed beings the Necri had been turned into. Despite appearances they, like her, were beings of light, not darkness. And their name should reflect that. “How about Lumians?”
“Lumians?” She mulled it over. “Lumians. Huh. I like that.” The bleakness ghosted over her face once more. “Much better than being the queen of the dead, that’s for sure.”
His throat constricted. He didn’t want her to carry this burden alone. “Aurora, I—”
She stopped him. “It’s okay. Really. I’ll be fine.” She took a step toward the doorway. “Thanks for listening.”
He nodded. “Anytime.” And he meant it.
52
Aurora was losing her mind.
First the revelation about the Setarips, then the scene with Mya, followed by her encounter with Cade. What a day. Her behavior was completely out of character—proof positive that she was slipping into madness.
The Lum
ians, however, were remarkably calm. And why wouldn’t they be? They clearly trusted her to protect them. How ironic. The more relaxed they became, the more tension she carried.
The trip down to Gaia was bumpy, the shaking continuing almost until they reached their destination. When they touched down, air hissed through the ducts as the room pressurized to match the exterior, then the bay doors opened. Outside, night held sway, the only lighting coming from small lamps that bordered the path to the camp.
Nodding at the teens, Aurora stepped onto the ramp. Like ducklings leaving a pond, the Lumians followed in her wake, with Williams and Celia on either side and Mya bringing up the rear. Aurora stopped briefly to slip off her boots, allowing the warm sand to caress her bare toes. She’d always been a sucker for the tactile experience of walking on a beach, but that was only part of the reason for the footwear change. The Lumians were all barefoot. If the path became rocky or uncomfortable, she wanted to know before their feet took a beating.
Leading the way, she followed the line of lights that Byrnes and Reynolds had set out to guide them to the camp on the other side of the island. What would happen when they arrived was anyone’s guess. Some of the Lumians still had difficulty interacting with other adults, let alone their own kids. The shock of being together might be more than they were prepared to handle.
In her fantasy, the kids ran to their parents and everyone was instantly happy. But this was reality, and the adults and children had suffered deep, long-term trauma. It might be months or even years before they could experience openness and trust.
The soft shwoosh-shwoosh of the sand and the touch of a gentle breeze lent a feeling of serenity to the scene. Thank goodness their destination was a fairly long walk. It gave her time to breathe in the cleansing salt air and release the toxic emotions that had battered her for days.
As they drew closer to the camp, however, she felt a shift in the emotions coming from the Lumians. She also picked up on the emotional tenor of the children up ahead. A low-level fear and apprehension predominated for both, as well as resigned acceptance, but also flares of hope and even excitement.
The Dark of Light (Starhawke Rising Book 1) Page 24
