by Zoë Archer
Focus, goddamn it.
“We’ll be at Ryge soon,” she said, totally unaware of the fact that he wanted to fuck her up against the control panel.
He barely managed to growl his assent. They couldn’t get to Ryge soon enough. Even a man as tightly controlled as Kell had a breaking point, and he was getting dangerously close to his.
Chapter Four
She played with fire.
Mara studied her reflection in the mirror, a knowing smile curving her lips. It was dangerous, what she was doing, but she couldn’t stop herself. After breaching Ilden’s Lash, she’d seen the raw hunger and need in Kell’s face, and the same impulse that had her laughing all the way through the band of dangerous protoplanets made her choose the clothing she now wore.
She had gone a little overboard—deliberately. Yes, the scavengers and smugglers on Ryge liked to dress flamboyantly. Calling cards for how successful they were. A drab scavenger clearly wasn’t doing well, and they were a collection of braggarts. Nobody respected the soft-spoken, the humble. Reputation wasn’t everything, but it counted for a lot.
Mara’s reputation gleamed, and everybody in the Smoke knew if they wanted merch moved, or prime scrap, she was the one to see. So she dressed the part.
As the Arcadia neared Ryge, she had slipped into her quarters to change from her usual working clothes to her Smoke persona. The rationale being she needed to learn any intel on the whereabouts of Lieutenant Jur and her Wraith ship, and the best way to glean intel was to cut a wide and respected swath through the watering holes of Beskidt By.
But, as she stared at her image reflected back at her, Mara knew the real reason she’d selected these particular clothes. And he was sitting in the cockpit right now.
She took a deep breath and walked from her quarters into the galley.
Hearing her footsteps behind him, Kell spoke. “We need to formulate a—” His deep voice trailed off as he turned and saw her, an expression of complete and total wonderment on his face.
“Formulate a what?”
“A…strategy.” He couldn’t even blink. “A strategy to…uh…to…” Then he simply stopped speaking and stared.
She resisted the impulse to pose, though she very much wanted to. She knew she looked good, drew power from that, as she held herself still for his amazed stare.
Her typical uniform of cargo pants, heavy boots, tank top and nyyrikki-skin jacket was now on the floor of her quarters. Instead, a crimson koen-hide skirt clung to her hips, ending at mid thigh. Her cap-sleeved, gold tissue blouse scooped low on her chest, revealing an expanse of tawny skin. She’d laced herself into a corset of dark red Hadaza silk, which ended just beneath her breasts and lifted them up in unashamed display. Koen-hide gauntlets covered her from wrist to elbow, held in place by a series of buckled straps. Her matching sharp-heeled boots climbed to just above her knees, and more buckles gleamed in deliberate provocation. It would take patience and resolve for him to strip her of the boots, unlace her from the corset and unbuckle the gauntlets, but she knew the rewards would be worth it.
Naturally, she still wore her plasma pistol. And naturally, she could fight or run in her boots.
Unfiltered desire tightened Kell’s features. Slowly, he began to rise from his seat in the cockpit, his eyes never leaving her. A growl resonated low in his throat, making him sound more beast than man. It had been at least a day since his last shave, and the dark bristle across his jaw only strengthened his rough, animal appearance.
She pressed her thighs together as a rush of arousal flooded her. Last night, she had lain in her bed and listened to Kell moving his big body restlessly across the hovermattress. It had taken more self control than she’d thought she possessed to keep from pinning him down on that mattress. She’d had to sleep on top of her hands to keep from touching herself.
“Back on my homeworld,” he said, his voice low and roughened, “there were these feral macskacats. No one knew how such wild creatures got into the cities. But they adapted to their urban environment, hunted in the shadows. Sometimes street orphans disappeared, and we knew the macskacats got them. One cornered me, once, when I was alone after dark.” His dark stare burned her. “Barely made it out alive.” He pulled on the cropped sleeve of his shirt to reveal an old scar across his shoulder—four deep gouges from an animal’s claws.
“But think of the thrill from facing the beast.”
“Foolish to discount the threat of a dangerous animal.”
“Better watch your back. I might leave you with more claw marks.”
There was nothing warm or friendly about his smile. It was pure predator. “In this analogy, you aren’t the animal.”
Mara sauntered forward, though her heart beat faster. “Whatever wildness you’re capable of, I can take it.” Then she started. “Fuck.”
His eyes darkened even further. “Exactly.”
“No, I mean—” she pointed over his shoulder, “—fuck.”
Kell turned and cursed under his breath. “That’s Ryge?”
“On a bad day.” Mara squeezed past him, and though her body heated as it rubbed so closely against his, her attention was fixed on what she saw out the cockpit window.
A swirling energy storm encircled the planet, its heavy mass broken by flashes of lightning. The roiling clouds were sickly yellow, and through them one could barely see the surface of the planet.
“The pollution on Ryge does this sometimes.” She sank into her seat. “Nobody can fly in or out until the storm abates.”
Kell took his seat beside her. “How long does that take?”
“Could be days.”
He cursed again, surprising Mara with his extensive vocabulary of foul language. She had no idea 8th Wing even knew such words existed.
“We don’t have that kind of time.” He growled his frustration.
“If we can’t get through, no one else can, either.” She pointed toward the forms of other ships orbiting Ryge, all of them waiting out the storm. “That means that whoever has the lieutenant and her ship probably won’t do anything until the storm clears.”
“‘Probably’ isn’t good enough. I need certainties.” His jaw hardened as he stared at the tempest surrounding the planet. “Have you ever flown through one of these storms?”
“No.” She fought against a rush of embarrassment.
After a moment, he said, “I’ll fly us through.”
Had she misheard? “Hell, no.”
“I understand if you’re scared—”
She was, a little. Still, the thought of anybody but her at the Arcadia’s controls made her palms damp and her stomach hurt. She had fought too much to surrender her ship to anyone.
“—but I refuse to let the slightest delay keep me from securing Lieutenant Jur’s safety, or the safety of her ship.”
The man who’d spoken with fierce, sexual hunger moments earlier was gone. A hard-edged soldier had taken his place, one who refused any capitulation. She discovered she found them both equally alluring.
Beyond this, she saw that he worried for the safety of his squadron. The intensity of his gaze showed concern that went beyond mere duty. Lieutenant Jur was Kell’s friend, and that meant something to him. Had anyone ever cared for her with such ferocity? Being in the presence of that kind of loyalty humbled her, made her yearn for something she had never known.
“We take on the storm,” she finally said. “But I’m piloting the ship.”
He looked like he wanted to argue. But spines weren’t reserved just for 8th Wing flyboys. Mara had one, too, and she wouldn’t back down. Arcadia was hers. Only hers. He saw that she would not yield, then grudgingly acquiesced, settling into his seat with only a slight grumble.
If he really wanted to, he could have lifted her bodily from the captain’s seat. Found some way of restraining her while he took the controls and flew them through the storm. But he didn’t. True, she’d demonstrated her skill by getting them through Ilden’s Lash. But, dangerous as the Las
h was, ships breached it often. No one was attempting to breach the energy storm.
Kell, however, trusted her. His trust moved her, more deeply than his blatant desire. She had never allowed any of her supposed scavenger friends close enough to develop trust. Yet in the short time she had known Kell, he’d seen something within her, something he believed in.
Suddenly, navigating the storm seemed a little less daunting—knowing she was in control, but having him beside her.
“It’s time,” he said.
“Time to make this energy storm our slave.”
A corner of his mouth curved up, and she wanted to trace the shape with the tips of her fingers or, better yet, her tongue. Instead, she rubbed her slightly damp palms on her skirt. She didn’t miss how his eyes followed her movement, his gaze lingering on the expanse of bare thigh between her boots and her skirt. The heat in his eyes matched the fury of the storm.
Taking the controls, Mara guided the ship forward. As they neared the outer edge of the storm, the comm line shrilled.
“Skiren, what the hell are you doing?” She recognized the voice as belonging to a fellow scavenger.
“Heading toward Ryge, Vachan.”
“Have you lost your damn mind?”
“A long time ago.”
The ship shuddered as it breached the first energy clouds. Kell kept himself remarkably still.
“If you make it through in one piece, you’ll be a legend,” Vachan said.
“If I don’t, have a drink in my honor. And charge it to Sekou. That bastard never pays for his own drinks.”
Vachan rasped his hoarse laugh. Then, quieter, “See you in the Treasure House.”
“See you.”
The comm line fuzzed out as the clouds thickened around the ship. Mara gripped the controls tighter, struggling for stability.
“Is the Treasure House a bar?” Kell asked above the rattling hull.
“Scavenger’s afterlife.”
He gave a small nod, thick with understanding, and then everything went insane.
Arcadia was a solidly-built ship. It had to be, to produce enough power to tow sizeable cargo. Mara made minor repairs from time to time on the hull, but it held together without problem, unlike some of the cheap, old ships she saw clattering through the galaxy.
Right now, flying into the energy storm around Ryge, she seriously considered that the Arcadia was going to break into tiny fragments. The ship quaked and shuddered as energy clouds buffeted it from every side. It sounded like they were being attacked by sonic hammers.
She gripped the controls until her hands ached, fighting to keep the ship steady.
Beside her, Kell stared ahead, grim and focused. The cockpit was filled with sulfurous light, painting his stern face in harsh yellow illumination.
There was no fear in his eyes, only determination. That helped stabilize her, even as the ship was knocked back and forth like a child’s mechtop.
She cursed. “The damn energy currents are shoving us all over the place.” As she said this, they were flung to the side, and only her seatbelt kept her from being thrown to the wall.
“Don’t fight them.” Kell’s voice was level, raised only to be heard above the clamor. “Use their swells to move forward.”
It sounded like a bad idea, since she had no idea where the currents would take them, but things couldn’t get worse. At this rate, she and Kell would soon be burning fragment falling to Ryge. So, instead of wrestling the ship away from the energy swells, she steered with them.
For a moment, they careened, out of control, as the swell’s momentum took hold. Mara knew a brief panic as command of the ship vanished. The Arcadia belonged to another creature. It belonged to the storm. She wanted to pull hard on the controls, seize her ship back.
“Wait,” Kell said.
She shouted above the clamor, “We’re going to be cosmic powder in a second.”
“Wait,” he said again. Then, “Trust me.”
Despite the chaos of the storm around them, she held his dark, cool gaze. Once more, she marveled that he trusted her enough to put his life in her hands.
So she waited, letting the energy current take the ship where it willed. Incredibly, the hull’s shaking subsided, and the ship’s wild trajectory evened. Mara felt the controls ease back into her command.
“How?” she asked.
“Sometimes, it’s better to let the current take you where it wants to go.”
She chuckled, then cursed when a blade of lightning shot from the clouds and clipped Arcadia’s wing. The ship screamed and bucked. Mara held tight to the controls.
Checking the energy shield’s readout, she saw that Arcadia couldn’t take many more direct hits. More lightning struck, and Mara just managed to steer away from them—barely. She used every ounce of piloting skill she possessed to weave and dodge the lightning, sweat filming her back.
Kell’s brow furrowed, and the flashes of garish light from the lightning carved the lines and hollows of his hard face.
“Does the cockpit window have viewing filters?” he asked.
“Yes—using the planetary filter now.” The filter allowed her to keep track of planetary masses, no matter what obstruction blocked her view. The shape of Ryge could be seen through the thick morass of energy clouds.
“Use the spectral resonance filter.”
She frowned. “Why?”
“No time to explain why. Do it.”
She never took kindly to having people tell her what to do, but Mara wasn’t foolish. Now was not the time to take offense. She tapped her fingers on the control panel. The filter overlaying the cockpit window shifted, switching to spectral resonance.
What she saw made her gasp. The sickly yellow clouds now appeared as multihued shapes. It took a moment for her eyes to acclimate as she learned how to read the images. With the filter engaged, she could see the patterns of energy as they shifted and formed.
Including seeing the hot blue glow that coalesced in the moments before lightning formed. Which meant she knew the areas to avoid as she steered the ship closer to Ryge’s surface.
“Brilliant,” she crowed. She knocked a fist into Kell’s solid shoulder, and he grinned at her—a mesmerizing sight.
No time to appreciate it now. She still had to get them safely to the other side of the storm. Using the spectral resonance to sidestep developing lightning, Mara guided them through a complex dance. She saw gathering energy and slipped around it, then took advantage of a swell to shoot forward. Time lost its significance as her world narrowed. All she knew was the shifting forms of energy, the narrow passages of safety. It took precision, delicacy. Her heart beat with a combination of fear and excitement.
They rose one final current of energy and then—suddenly—the clouds parted. Ryge’s surface appeared. Its grimy seas and sandy wastes, and the glittering sores of its cities. No one ever thought Ryge was a pretty planet, but at that moment, Mara had never been so glad to see the old rubbish lump.
She switched off the spectral resonance filter to better see the planet that came as close as any to home.
The comm line trilled. “Arcadia, this is Beskidt By Control. Am I drunk, or did you just fly through that son-of-a-bitch energy storm?”
“You probably are drunk,” she answered, “but, yes, I did fly through that bastard.” With one incredibly smart and daring 8th Wing flyboy beside her.
Whomever was at the other end of the comm line whistled. “Well, hell. You’re cleared to land at Dock 32-Rho.”
Mara cut the line and focused on landing. The familiar skyline of Beskidt By drew closer, spires and slums crisscrossed by small darting craft and larger shuttles ferrying people from one nefarious destination to another. Everything lay washed in tawdry light from countless signs and advertisements, and some buildings crumbled while new monstrosities rose toward the sky. The city stretched like a riddle with no answer, as though it had been designed by a mad specerij addict.
She knew her way to th
e docks and didn’t need the flashing lights along the landing strips to guide her there. The only thing that struck her as odd was how quiet it seemed around the docks—until she remembered that no one was coming in to or leaving Ryge while the storm continued to rage. Only she—and Kell—had managed to get through.
“Nice flying,” Kell said, and though his eyes never stopped moving, taking in everything around him, when he did glance at her, his gaze was warm with admiration.
“I did it,” she breathed. “We did it.” She started to laugh—it felt wild and freeing after the tension of the last hour.
His low, husky laugh blended with hers. “Hell of a ride.”
The atmosphere between them thickened, sultry as a heat typhoon, heavy with promise.
They finally touched down at the designated dock. The moment the landing gear contacted the ground, Mara and Kell’s gazes locked. Heat washed over her. She didn’t know who moved first, maybe him, maybe her, maybe both at the same time. But one moment they stared at one another, and the next, they undid their seatbelts and surged toward each other. Met in the space between their seats.
She felt the texture of his lips, his mouth against hers, firm, seeking. Even before their mouths opened, need slammed into her. He licked at her, then delved inside, stroking his tongue against hers. His taste intoxicated her, rough and male, and she drank him in as she did her own exploring. They had kept their hungers tightly leashed. Now the leash had broken and they had free rein, both of them fierce and demanding.
Kell’s kiss moved through her body in hot, humid waves. Her breasts grew heavy and sensitive. Her pussy dampened, a fast clench of need that wanted to be filled.
She felt his large hand cupping the back of her head, angling her to take his kiss deeper. And when she did, he groaned his praise.
Using strength gleaned from desire, Mara pushed him back so he sat in his chair. He went willingly, understanding her intent. She straddled him, her arms wrapped around the width of his shoulders. His hand still held the back of her head, while his other hand gripped her waist hard. Mara pressed her hypersensitive body to his and found that he was as tight and solid as she’d imagined. But it was better, so much better, than in her imagination. He had a fighter’s body and a fighter’s strength, and all of it, all of his strength and fire, was focused on her.
