Lorran Page 8

  “Yes. In the back,” Mylomon said, then glared at Lorran until Mr. Charm got the hint.

  He pressed a button along the back wall and a panel slid open, revealing a bare room the size of a walk-in closet. It was probably small for a Mahdfel, considering the way Lorran’s horn scraped the ceiling.

  Rather than squeeze in together, she stood in the door and watched as he explained which buttons activated various functions. He pressed a blue circle, and a sink lowered out of the wall. Another button opened a cabinet with single-use toiletries.

  “Got it,” she said, hustling in the moment he left.

  The room was barebones but served its purpose. After, she cleaned her hands and discovered that the cleansing room used sonic waves instead of water. Experimenting with the controls, she had a full-body sonic shower going in no time. The refugee camps back on Earth used sonic showers, so she was familiar with the process but forgot how it stripped away too much moisture and left her skin too dry. Plus, her hair would be a frizzy mess. She should have worn a bonnet or wrapped her hair. Still, better than feeling all itchy and crawly.

  While scrubbing her teeth with a disposable sonic toothbrush, Wyn pictured the toothbrush erasing her anger. Her upset remained, and she doubted anything would remove it. Had Lorran asked about the sedative, she’d have agreed. Teleporting sucked, and she’d rather be asleep for the process than awake.

  But he didn’t ask. He just acted in a high-handed, arrogant fashion, making decisions for her that he had no right to, and then had the nerve to be shocked that she took offense.

  The reflective surface of the wall distorted her image. She pulled a frizzy strand and twisted it around a finger. Could she fix this? Hair, yes. She needed conditioner, a comb, and patience.

  Lorran? She didn’t know. The artificial veneer he showed her, all cocky grins and jokes, wasn’t good enough. If she could know the real him, then maybe.

  A voice—okay, Sonia’s voice—told her she didn’t have to stay. One of the pamphlets the volunteer center gave her said that. There was a waiting period before she could file for divorce but, she couldn’t remember if it was three months or six months. Maybe a year? Waiting a year seemed miserable.

  She shouldn’t make any hasty decisions. Never go grocery shopping on an empty stomach, and don’t make huge life decisions when you’re cranky.

  This was more than being cranky. This was about consent. She passed out strapped to a chair and woke up in a bunk, completely in a panic. She felt pretty good after solid sleep, her headache had vanished, and she was fully dressed, minus her sneakers. That helped calm the initial burst of panic. Her alien might be a trifling dick, but he wasn’t the kind of trifling dick who took advantage of a passed-out woman.

  Fuck. That was a low bar to set her standards.

  Feeling herself slip away and waking up in a new location made her feel as helpless as she did during the gas attack that nearly killed her. Choking, she couldn’t run or even crawl to safety. She couldn’t even breathe. Powerless, helpless, and dying, Wyn would give anything to avoid ever feeling like that again.

  Lorran didn’t know. His intentions were in a good place, even if he failed to consider how his actions would make her feel.

  “Not evil, just a butthead,” Wyn told her reflection.

  She ran a disposable towelette over her face, hands, and arms. It left behind a silky moisturizer with a pleasant fruity scent. She felt clean. Even her clothes felt clean, if rumpled.

  Taking a deep breath, she prepared to face her alien again.

  Who was arguing with the other one. Lorran and Mylomon stood in the front of the ship, looking like they were about to lock horns. Both men looked as if they refused to back down.

  “We cannot bring your female with us,” Mylomon said.

  “I will not leave her alone,” Lorran retorted.

  Wyn softened at his words.

  “Which is why we should have returned her to the Judgment,” he added, completely erasing any soft feelings she had.

  Wyn felt compelled to give him a piece of her mind, but the view on the front screen derailed her thoughts.

  “What is that?” she asked.

  Lorran

  A badly damaged ship listed to one side, which told Lorran power to the stabilizers had failed. If the ship had minimal power, he’d be surprised. Scorch marks littered the hull. A research vessel had minimal weaponry but adequate defenses. Whatever attack happened swiftly knocked out the shielding, then followed with brutal force to destroy the ship and the crew inside.

  Swift and brutal. This was no random encounter with a smuggler or pirate vessel.

  “That is SRV-P11,” Mylomon answered.

  “The source of the distress signal,” Lorran added, because spouting off ship registry numbers told his female nothing. He might not know as much as he thought about females, but he knew that much.

  “It looks…dead,” Wyn said. She stood behind the navigator’s chair, her hand gripping the seat.

  Free from the queue, her hair tumbled around her shoulders, and the black of the screen framed her figure. Her garments were a bright slash of color in the otherwise dull monotony of the shuttle.

  She looked like she belonged. He even fancied he could see the stars reflected in her eyes, even if it was the shuttle’s lighting.

  His actions had been an error. He saw that now. Where he should begin to repair her damaged trust, he could not say, but he knew in his bones that leaving her alone on the shuttle was a mistake. Bringing her with them onto SRV-P11 would be a distraction, but if she stayed behind, his mind would be elsewhere.

  “If she accompanies us or if she stays behind, she will be a distraction,” Lorran said to Mylomon. “The female comes with us.”

  “Wow, I’m standing right here,” Wyn said.

  Lorran continued, pressing his argument. “If we leave the female alone, she could tamper with the shuttle. Who knows what damage she could inadvertently cause?”

  “Still right here.”

  Mylomon glanced up at the ceiling, as if searching for a way out of their argument. He gave a long sigh. “After the bridge is attached, I will go first. You and your female will join me only if I deem the situation secure.”

  “Understood.”

  “And she wears armor. Not whatever that…is.” Mylomon waved a hand at Wyn.

  “A cardigan? Listen, I know I’m not exactly fashionable, wearing the same clothes for more than a day now. I’d love to put on a party dress.”

  “And I’d love to see you in a party dress,” Lorran said, letting warmth heat his voice.

  Wyn rolled her eyes, proceeding to ignore his flirtation. “Do you have armor that will fit me? I’m not the smallest person, but I’m not Mahdfel-sized either.”

  “I believe we can accommodate you.” From the storage racks, he pulled out a set of armor for himself and another set in the smallest size.

  “This is a onesie,” Wyn said.

  “The fewer seams, the fewer vulnerable points.” He stripped off his shirt and had unbuckled his trousers when Wyn gasped and slapped a hand over her eyes.

  “What are you doing?” Her body turned away, but her fingers widened enough for a peek.

  “The suits are quite warm. It is better to wear minimal undergarments.” He pushed down his trousers and briefs. Her body stiffened, and she gave a small gasp, letting him know she appreciated the view.

  “Not much for modesty, are you?” she asked.

  “There is little room for privacy among warriors,” he said truthfully. Warriors learned to share accommodations, mess halls, equipment, locker rooms and nearly everything else. It was a communal life. The Judgment had enough space to offer private cabins, which were little more than a bunk. A warrior only gained true privacy and space when they had a mate and, presumably, a family. “And you are my mate. I am not shy,” he added.

  “Yeah, looks like you have nothing to be shy about.” Her cheeks darkened.

  Adorable.

/>   “Observe how to open and fasten the suit, or I will have to assist you while dressing,” he said.

  Wyn nodded, removing her hand from her eyes. Her gaze swept over him, lingering at his hips, then his shoulders, followed by another glance down. His tattoos, normally black against his lavender complexion, itched and burned with attraction. A silvery fire spread up his thighs, torso, and arms, following her gaze.

  Lorran grinned. He might be the little brother in the family, but he was not the littlest brother. Instead of sharing his very clever insight, he held up the armor. The seam at the side was not obvious, but it opened easily with a stroke. He shoved a foot into the armor. “The fabric is self-sealing and will adjust size when closed. The flexible soles on the feet provide traction and are magnetic. The closure is on the side.”

  He twisted and pushed the edges together, and the fabric melded with ease. Working quickly, he sealed the other leg, pulled the suit over his hips, and put his arms through the sleeves. The fastener closed at the shoulder, and the entire suit tightened, shrinking to fit his form.

  Wyn clutched the suit to her chest. “Can you go up front and close the door?”

  “We are mates. Do not be shy,” he said.

  “I don’t know you. No undressing in front of strangers.”

  “I am not a stranger—”

  “Oh my God, are you serious right now? I’ve known you for a few hours, and in that time you drugged me. By the way, if you had just asked, I would have agreed that the sedative was a good idea. You didn’t and I don’t know you, so that makes me feel vulnerable, which makes me upset. Next time, use your words like a big boy alien.”

  “You are correct. I will use my words.”

  She watched him, as if searching for deceit. “No joke about being a big boy?”

  “You have seen my cock. I do not need to compensate with humor.”

  She rolled her eyes, but a hint of amusement tugged at her lips. “Out.”

  Lorran joined Mylomon at the helm and closed the partition.

  As the shuttle approached, SRV-P11 increased in size on the screen. The belly of the ship slowly rotated across the screen.

  “The ship has failed to answer our hails. I believe it to be abandoned, as one escape pod has been deployed,” Mylomon said. “The likelihood of survivors has increased, but I detect no rescue beacon.”

  The male’s words barely registered. Lorran focused on the situation with his mate. Despite their earlier game of Truth or Dare, they did not know each other. His mate felt uneasy around him.

  Unacceptable.

  Yet he was at a loss at how to bridge that gap. More games?

  No. He had made a serious error, and playful games were no longer the solution. If he asked Seeran, he’d get a lecture. Mene might be more helpful, but he also defaulted to lectures.

  Lorran dreaded asking his father. He knew his mother would say the best way for a newly mated couple to get to know each other would be to give her a grandson as soon as possible.

  While that appealed to him, he did not think Wyn would approve of those tactics.

  Mylomon adjusted the buckle on the supply pack. He looked up, as if sensing Lorran watching him. “Do not,” he warned.

  “I have a question,” Lorran said.

  “Yes, I anticipated that and, again, do not.”

  “You have a mate.”

  “Not a question.”

  “My mate—”

  “Discuss the issue with your brother,” Mylomon said.

  “I need to discuss the issue with a friend, not a brother.”

  Mylomon folded his arms over his chest. “As you have observed, I do not have friends.”

  “False. We are friends.”

  Mylomon stared darkly at Lorran, not blinking and barely moving.

  “Have a cookie. I believe there may be some crumbs left,” Lorran said to fill the silence.

  “My mate wanted to share meals and watch films together. She called it date night. I suggest you do that,” the assassin said, then turned back to the console.

  “I did not ask—”

  “The shuttle is only so large. I heard all your conversations, and I know what you did. Court your mate and keep your cock to yourself.”

  “A date night,” he said. “That is sound advice. You are a good friend.”

  “I am not your friend.”

  “And humorous, too. No one mentions that you are amusing. They say, ‘Oh, Mylomon is terrifying. Oh, Mylomon lurks in shadows, waiting to sink his bare hands into your chest and squeeze your heart until it ceases beating,’ but now I know better.”

  “You know nothing,” Mylomon said, a touch less vehemently.

  They were the best of friends. Delightful.

  Lorran held out a fist to be bumped.

  Mylomon looked at him coolly.

  “Another time,” Lorran said, pulling back.

  The partition rattled open. Wyn wore the form-fitting armor, the color white to denote medical personnel. She held up the cap for the helmet. “How does this thing work?”

  “We will have a date night,” he announced.

  She blinked. “Okay, a little random. Sure? But this swim cap? I don’t think I can get this over my hair.”

  “The helmet expands. I will assist.”

  Using both hands, she redid her queue and tamed her curls. Lorran tugged the cap down, letting the fabric stretch. Designed to fit over horns, the cap had no issue containing her hair. The bottom of the cap melded with the suit, leaving an opening for the face.

  “This is a button just under your ear that will activate the face plate and environmental functions. When the faceplate is in position, the suit’s AI will be available,” Lorran explained, then guided her hand to the button. The faceplate knitted together. “Let the AI run a system check. These suits have been in storage and may require calibration.”

  He tugged on his own helmet and activated the faceplate. After a quick system check to ensure the operational status of the suit, he disengaged the faceplate. He had a med kit at the ready and a blade strapped on either thigh.

  “The shuttle is in position. Connecting the bridge,” Mylomon said.

  The shuttle gave a slight lurch as the bridge clamped onto the derelict ship. Wyn stumbled, and Lorran reached out to stabilize her.

  With the bridge in position, Mylomon stood at the shuttle’s door. “You may join me when I give the all clear,” he said, before activating his own face plate.

  With a hiss of equalizing air pressure, the door closed behind him.

  Lorran watched Mylomon’s progress through the camera. The male was across the bridge and attempted to open the ship at a hatch. He pressed a square device to the hatch’s control panel.

  “The ship’s computer is not responding,” Mylomon said through the comm channel.

  “Have you asked it nicely?”

  “I do not ask for entry.” The male pressed a hand to the hatch, then shifted his body to block the view of the camera. The image on the screen rippled, as if some distortion interfered with the camera.

  The hatch slid open.

  “I am going in. Be ready.”

  The screen switched to Mylomon’s helmet cam, giving his point of view as he made his way through the darkened ship. The occasional electrical fire provided illumination down the corridors. Panels swung precariously from the ceiling, ready to crash down. Scorch marks marred the walls.

  “What happened?” Wyn asked.

  “It is a research vessel with a small crew. Basic functions are performed by bots and drones. The ship was not meant for combat, but this territory is within the safe zone. We will know more when we retrieve the logs.” Anything could have befallen the crew, raiders or an encounter with smugglers, but he knew the signs of Suhlik attack: brutal and no survivors.

  Mylomon slowly made his way through the empty ship. Eventually he arrived where the escape pods were stored.

  A body sprawled across the floor. Lorran recognized the male but di
d not know him well. He had been in the clan but left when the previous warlord, Omas, grew unstable. So many good warriors had left the clan.

  “Ulrik,” Mylomon said, identifying the male.

  The camera feed switched off.

  “I will go to Engineering and see about getting power back. Go to the helm and access the logs. Determine the path of the escape pod. This may still be a rescue mission,” Mylomon said.

  “Understood.” Lorran checked his equipment and Wyn’s suit once more. He handed her a portable light source, then another as a precaution. “One for each hand. Are you ready?”

  She hesitated at the door. “I’m not thrilled about exploring the ghost ship, to be honest, but I sure as hell don’t want to be on my own.”

  “All will be well. The ship is empty, and I am excited for our first date,” Lorran announced.

  Chapter 8

  Wyn

  A date?

  “I can’t believe you’re trying to pass off a haunted ghost ship as a date.” There was a body, and everything was pitch black. Whatever attacked the ship and killed that man could still be on board. She’d stick as close to Lorran as possible because the best Wyn could do would be to throw a flashlight at the attacker and scream.

  “It is not ideal, but I do not want you to be alone.” The curve of the faceplate distorted his expression, but his voice came in loud and clear in her ear.

  “Yeah. Big agree from me.”

  The door to the shuttle opened and Lorran steered her onto the connecting bridge. The door sealed shut behind them, and then she was standing on the thinnest of material, almost as transparent as the high-tech glass on her helmet. Her boots adhered to the bridge. Stepping forward was not as simple as lifting her foot. Rolling forward on to the balls of her feet broke her free from the magnetic grip, but each step still took twice as much effort as normal.

  The bridge itself was a web of silver threads that stretched from the shuttle to the ghost ship. Starlight filtered in through the gaps in the webbing.