Lorran Page 10

  He was surprised at the primitive method of information storage. From what remained of the lab, it had advanced equipment. Why record everything digitally and then transfer it to paper and put it in a binder? That made no sense.

  Nothing about this ship made sense.

  Navigational records and communications had been destroyed or removed, which was not standard procedure before evacuating a vessel. The lab had been demolished, yet papers had been left behind. Standard procedure was to destroy research to prevent it from falling into the wrong hands, which usually meant initiating a program to wipe drives.

  Or take a hammer to equipment.

  He saw no computers, tablets, or other devices—smashed or whipped—in the debris. The lab seemed almost destroyed as an act of rage, not just to protect research.

  “What were they researching?” Lorran asked.

  “I do not know.” Mylomon picked up another pottery shard. This one looked malformed with ripples across the surface. “Use the average range of an escape pod to establish a search area.”

  Pods could travel for some distance, but three people on board would tax the environmental support, decreasing the range. Even with that limitation, the search area would be massive.

  “One shuttle for such a large area…I believe you wanted to return to your mate as soon as possible,” Lorran said. He very much wanted to finish this mission, return his mate safely back to the Judgment, to his quarters and to his bed.

  Wyn sorted through the papers, making tidy piles. The suit hid her curling hair and expressive face but hugged every curve. No skin showed, yet everything was displayed.

  He felt his member strain against the front of his armor.

  Yes. In my bed as soon as possible.

  Lorran stepped in front of her, blocking her from Mylomon’s view. The male tilted his head but made no comment.

  “What about this?” His mate held out a tattered piece of plastic-coated paper, the edge curled with age.

  “Such material has not been used in a century,” he said. He did not see how this would help him recover the missing data or locate the escape pods.

  “Not the material. What’s printed on it.”

  “Ah. Trifling,” he said, because while she did not call him a trifling alien, he heard it in her tone. “I am pleased that you have a name of endearment for me already.”

  “Not a term of endearment, but sure. Looks like a map to me, but this is my second day in space. I bow to your experience.”

  She fibbed. Fondness radiated from her being.

  Against her better judgment, he suspected. He would not squander this opportunity.

  “Yes, it is a star chart. An incredibly old one.” He took the map from her, careful not to damage the edges. The plasticine film grew brittle with age, which was the major factor for its falling out of favor. Digital information transferred easily—and was lost just as easily—but analog had a way of crumbling under your fingertips if you were careless.

  The chart displayed Sangrin-Mahdfel territory. He recognized the planets, the gate to the system, and the commonly used routes. Space was vast and empty. All too easily, even the most advanced navigational system could lose its way without guideposts. Transports often kept to the same routes, using the same way markers to stay on course.

  What was different were the settlements, stations, and bases. Some names he recognized. Some he knew were not on the map, having not yet been constructed. A few names were unknown to him.

  “Is it useful?”

  “Yes. If we factor in the drift from where the distress signal was sent to where we found the ship, and the average range of an escape pod, we can narrow down the search.” He pointed to a base on a nearby planet. “I believe this is a decommissioned Mahdfel base. It is a good place to begin our search.”

  The planet would have a tolerable environment, shelter, and possibly supplies, depending on the age of the base and how long it sat empty. The decommissioned base is where he would head in such a situation.

  A red haze flashed over his helmet. The suit’s computer detected a deterioration in the ship’s atmosphere.

  Smoke.

  Wyn

  “What’s happening?” She tapped the edges of the helmet, trying to turn off the red light and the suit’s computer warning about hazardous environmental conditions. “I get it. Alarm. Turn off.”

  “Do not panic,” Lorran said. He tapped the helmet, and the alarm fell silent. “There is a fire. The vessel’s fire suppression system will contain it.”

  Only there was smoke rolling down the corridor.

  “I don’t think it’s working,” she said, pointing to the smoke.

  “Mylomon, can you activate the fire suppression system?”

  The larger man shrugged.

  Shrugged.

  “I am not an engineer,” he said. His nonchalant response wasn’t winning her over. “One of the damaged systems must have sparked and combusted.”

  Wyn thought of all the stray sparks they passed in the corridor. All those exposed wires and electricity were a disaster waiting to happen. Fire on a spaceship was never a good thing.

  She shivered.

  Lorran placed a hand under her chin and forced her to look up at him. She hadn’t realized that she had been staring at her feet. “All is well. Your suit will protect you from extreme temperatures and supply all the oxygen you need. Smoke will not harm you.”

  “But falling debris?” She remembered his words about the suits not redirecting the force of a blow. If she got hit, it would hurt.

  “Return to the shuttle,” Mylomon ordered.

  “Finally, an alien talking sense,” Wyn said.

  “Follow me,” Lorran said. Wyn grabbed her hammer and followed.

  Smoke had grown thicker, but something in the suit kicked on and she had x-ray vision. Well, night vision. The corridor had a green cast, and Lorran was a figure in front of her. Smoke still clouded the screen, but it was much improved.

  She could feel the smoke stinging her eyes, even though she knew the suit was airtight and nothing could get in. Her throat tickled, wanting to cough. Every part of her screamed this was wrong, that she needed to run out of the smoke, but Lorran kept a steady pace. As long as her alien wasn’t panicking, she was fine.

  Then the power went off.

  Her feet clamped down on the floor as the suit’s magnetic grip activated. Moving became ten times harder. In her panic, she forgot the trick of rolling onto her toes and tried to lift her foot straight off the floor.

  No joy.

  Her tiny little Terran legs couldn’t keep up. She watched helplessly as Lorran disappeared into the darkness.

  She was stuck in a cloud of smoke, positive she could feel it choking her, smothering the life out of her, burning her lungs, and there was nothing she could do. She lasted two days in space. Two fucking days. The injustice of that slight seemed the greatest insult of all, because Wyn knew she would be awesome in space if the haunted ghost ship hadn’t been hungry for more victims.

  She fumbled for the flashlight with her free hand. The beam illuminated the smoke, further blinding her.

  Alone and lost.

  “Wyn,” Lorran’s voice called over the comm link. He only said her name, but it brought her back from the edge of panic. She was not alone. She was not lost.

  “Your heart rate is elevated, and shallow breathing indicates distress,” he said, even though he couldn’t possibly hear all that.

  “The suit’s AI sent an alert to the team,” he said, as if he knew her thoughts. “Are you injured?” Lorran trotted up to her, his figure emerging from the smoke.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t—” Her chest tightened.

  “Do you require a medic?”

  “No. My boots—” Speaking felt impossible. If she had her inhaler, she’d take a dose, even though this wasn’t an asthma attack.

  A ceiling panel crashed behind her. She jumped at the noise, turning around and expecting to find a wall
of flames.

  Nothing but smoke. Her eyes watered.

  She had enough air. I’m not choking, she told herself. There was nothing but her own anxiety making her chest tighten.

  “All is well,” he said. A hand on her shoulder snagged her attention away from the ship’s imminent destruction. “I need you to breathe, Wyn.”

  His chest heaved with an exaggerated breath, and Wyn mimicked his movement. In. Out. Repeat. The pressure in her chest eased.

  “Good. I have you. I will not leave you,” he said.

  “I believe you.” She didn’t know why. Lorran had made all sorts of jokes and humble brags, and she wasn’t certain he took anything seriously, but this rang true. He would not leave her.

  “Forgive me for what I am about to do. I respect your autonomy and consent, but we have no time. The ship is unstable.” Before she could reply, he scooped her up in his arms and took off at a run.

  Wyn yelped in surprise and bounced with each step. She wasn’t a small woman. Made for the homestead, her grandmother always said. The women in her family had a sturdy, broad build meant for hard work, for farming. She would never be described as delicate, even if she lost the love handles. Yet Lorran lifted her up like she weighed nothing. She knew the Mahdfel were strong, but all those muscles hadn’t seemed real until she felt Lorran’s arms flex around her.

  She turned her face toward his chest and closed her eyes. She’d enjoy this more if the ship didn’t creak and groan so ominously. Hopefully, the bouncing would end soon. Impossibly, she still clutched the flashlight and the map.

  A booming sound rolled through the ship and Lorran stumbled as the floor shook. His arms tightened around her, but he did not drop her.

  “That did not sound good,” she squeaked.

  “An oxygen conversion tank blew. Do not be alarmed. They functioned as intended.”

  “Exploding and operating as intended, sure.” She didn’t believe it.

  At the ladder, he lifted her halfway up, and she climbed the rest of the way. The other man, Mylomon, reached down and pulled her up the rest of the way.

  The smoke was not as dense on the upper level. The flashlight’s beam faltered, fading before blinking out entirely. In the darkness, she had no idea which way to go.

  “I must carry you again,” Lorran warned before picking her back up.

  “Thank you for the warning,” she said, tucking her head down. If it wasn’t for the terror and her heart pounding in her chest, this could be nice.

  In the span of heartbeats, they dashed through the hatch and across the bridge. She counted the steps until they were back on the shuttle.

  Tension in her chest eased, having escaped the haunted ghost ship.

  Lorran set her on her feet and tugged off the helmet. Air, sound, and the stench of burnt plastic hit her all at once.

  “Bronwyn, you may open your eyes.”

  Vivid blue eyes beamed down at her with a huge grin on his face. Warm. Real. She couldn’t help but smile in return.

  “Best date ever,” he proclaimed.

  Chapter 9

  Wyn

  The moment stretched between them, warm, sweet, and as sticky as caramel.

  His eyes fell to her lips, and his hands gripped her shoulders, firm and strong. He radiated strength. Maybe it was the adrenaline leaving her system or the way he had a good six inches of height on her and had carried her like she weighed nothing, but she felt a growing excitement zip through her body.

  “You know, it’s tradition to end the date with a kiss,” she said, her voice low.

  His eyes gleamed with something akin to hunger.

  “I will respectfully observe your Terran traditions,” he replied. Confidence crept back into his grin, but it lacked his previous cockiness, when she felt as if he hid behind a handsome face and empty words.

  She stretched up on her tiptoes. His head lowered.

  A throat cleared. Lorran’s hands fell away as he stepped back.

  She let out a long sigh, frustrated that she forgot about the other guy.

  “Move the shuttle away. I will see to my mate,” Lorran said, still holding Wyn’s gaze like he wanted to eat her.

  The other man grumbled but didn’t protest. Without a word, Mylomon peeled off his armor, stripping down to his wherewithalls.

  And…now Lorran was undressing.

  Wyn turned round and looked directly up at the ceiling.

  Wow. While before she merely thought Lorran had no modesty and zero reason to be humble, having been in his arms and felt his muscles firsthand, now she was sure of it.

  “Wyn, we are alone. Remove your armor so that it may be cleaned.” He placed his armor in a crate. “It is a self-cleaning unit,” he explained, as if that was the reason she hesitated.

  She glanced around. The partition to the front had been closed, giving them some privacy. She wanted a shower with tons of water and soap to wash away the grime on her skin. The suit had been warm, all her bits felt sweaty, and the scent of smoke made her head hurt.

  Had her sweaty and smelly behind really been seconds away from kissing Lorran? The day was playing with her head because gross. The suit must have had a malfunction. Clearly, her brain didn’t get enough oxygen.

  “Okay, please don’t judge me,” she said.

  He tilted his head to one side. That must be his curious expression, she reasoned.

  “Judge you how? Because you required assistance to evacuate the ship?”

  “Because I’m not strong like you and I’m not, you know, fit.” She focused on undoing the boots because she’d die from embarrassment if she had to look at him. It’d be easier to cry shyness rather than explain to the gorgeous six-foot-something alien that she had body issues because of her fat ass. “Just don’t look.”

  “As you say. My eyes are closed.”

  Wyn kicked off the boots and opened the seam on the suit. It peeled away easily, like it hated being on her as much as she hated wearing it.

  In nothing but her undies, she shoved the suit at Lorran. “Keep ’em closed. Let me go into a shower.” He grinned but kept his eyes closed.

  The sonic shower ran through two cycles before she got rid of the scent of burnt plastic. She lavishly used the bottle of thin liquid soap to chase away the odor. Industrial clean was better than smoke any day. The downside of her long shower was her hair turned into a frizzy mess again. Still better than smelling like a campfire.

  Outside the cleansing room, she found a stack of Mahdfel-sized clothes and more silver foil packets of the heat-and-eat meals. Neatly folded at the top rested a dark orange shirt with pale blue trim at the collar and cuffs.

  Lorran’s shirt.

  She sniffed the fabric strictly to determine its level of cleanliness, not because she was crushing on her gorgeous guy. The fabric smelled like sleet and the bracing air on a wintry day. She shivered, wondering if Lorran emitted some genetically engineered super pheromone because she was inhaling a dirty shirt and practically moaning with want.

  Changed into fresh undies, she slipped on the shirt. Hitting her at mid-thigh, the soft fabric looked like a dress. She swam in his shirt and she honestly could not remember the last night she had swum in anything. Certainly not since she was a little kid wearing her father’s old T-shirts as nightgowns.

  Always a tall child, Wyn had been bigger than the other kids in her class. Then one day, puberty hit. Seemingly overnight, she got adult-sized with all the adult specifications. She had felt like a giant, standing taller than the kids her own age and wishing she could make herself invisible.

  Ugh, all these issues. Wyn rarely beat herself up over her body.

  This was stress, an adrenaline crash or her blood sugar dropping. Getting clean helped her to reach a place a lot closer to normal. Food and sleep would do the rest.

  Wyn sat on her bunk and tore open the foil packet. The aroma of tomatoes wafted up. She tore off the flimsy spork attached to the packet and dug in. The meal, some sort of rice in watery
tomato sauce, tasted of salt and little else. With the carbs hitting her system, tension drained away.

  So Lorran’s idea of a date was actually terrifying.

  Wyn dug around the bottom of the packet, getting the last spoonful.

  How weird was it that she enjoyed the date on the haunted ghost ship?

  Lorran

  “The shuttle sustained damage. The engine is operating at a diminished capacity,” Mylomon said.

  Less than ideal. The shuttle would travel at reduced speeds, extending their time together, but it would continue to function.

  “Do you know the nature of Ulrik’s research?” Lorran dropped into the navigator’s chair. Boots clattered to the floor while he pulled a shirt over his head.

  “You are undressed,” Mylomon said, the master of observation.

  “My mate would not remove her armor until I left. She is shy and demands privacy.” Which made no sense. They were mates. Nothing was hidden or forbidden between them. Thin scraps of fabric might cover her skin, but he had already seen the want and hunger in her eyes and detected the way her scent changed with desire.

  He longed to discover her taste, to spread her thighs, revel in her scent and feast…

  Lorran discreetly adjusted himself as he bent to pull on his boots.

  Perhaps there was wisdom in demanding privacy. The shuttle had no privacy and all that he wanted to do with his mate, to explore her form, to learn how to best bring her pleasure until she trembled and gasped and begged…

  He tightened the laces on the boots with vigor.

  “Terrans have many taboos with displaying their bodies. It is difficult to know them all.”

  “Yes!” Finally, someone understood. How many mornings did he innocently meditate on the back lawn of his parents’ home, enjoying the still of the new day and the sounds of leaves rustling in the breeze, only to hear his brother’s mate, Rosemary, squawk and flap her arms, shouting at him to “put on some dang pants?” Too many to count.

  He wore a pair of briefs. He had been covered. Rosemary’s protests made no sense.