The auretian had been a male he recognized, Stelas. He worked on board theGidalan,where Rentir had served the first five years of his term as a guard. They stationed only hybrid security on Yulaira to protect their interests, but theGidalan, the massive investment it was, was staffed by a mix of hybrid and auretian guards. Many of those auretians had been deployed during the chaos of the rebellion, never to return to themothership. The miners had swarmed like insects, pulling them to pieces. Stelas had been one of the few who had made it back.
Because of my foolishness.
He had been loyal to the wrong cause, and now his female was injured. He ground his teeth, turning his face into her shoulder and breathing in her feminine scent, reassuring himself she was still with him. If Stelas had not wanted her alive, she would be dead in his arms, not sedated. They’d stolen the other, the one Cordelia had called Thea.
He looked skyward. What did they want with the human females? They already had human genetic code. What purpose did it serve to take them now?
Mated, Stelas had said with such horror in his eyes. Such fear. What had he meant? If Rentir had not been in the grips of bloodlust, he would have kept the male alive to question him. That would have been the wiser course of action. He could always have killed him later. Rentir had been beyond reason. The scent of Cordelia’s blood was blooming in the air, and he became the animal Stelas accused him of being. He was mindless to anything but destroying the threat to Cordelia.
He looked down at her, her mouth slack from the sedative, all the muscles in her face at peace. She looked so fragile like this, without the fire in her eyes to declare her true nature.
She was the commander of her ship. Responsible for all the lives that had been on board. She would not rest until she retrieved them, he knew. Their leader, Thalen, was no different. He had refused to execute Rentir after the rebellion. It had been Thalen who had talked him down from his madness, who had brought Haerune to him to remind him what they were fighting for.
Cordelia would throw herself into danger as many times as it took to either bring her people to safety or spend her own life in trying. Though she valued the lives of her crew, it wasbecoming clearer and clearer to him that she did not hold the same appreciation for her own. First, she had willingly intended to crash with her ship. Then, she had thrown herself at an enemy that far outclassed her in strength to protect him.
Fear gripped his heart in its talons. How was he meant to protect her if she was determined to end her life? She’d been a part of his life so briefly, and already he struggled to imagine a future without her. The thought of losing her made him physically ill. His chest tightened, and his stomach churned.
What’s happening to me? What is this desperation?
It felt like a sickness burning inside him, the only cure for which was the female in his arms. When she’d wandered out of sight, it had nearly been enough to stop his heart. The only other he’d held such a deep affection for was Haerune, and that was born of a lifetime of relying on one another. This female barely tolerated him. Why should he feel so decimated by her loss?
He didn’t know how he was meant to live like this, strangled every second by the thought of being parted from her. He could not get close enough to her, even while he was cradling her to his chest. It was ludicrous, especially knowing they were doomed to be parted. Either she would find some way to return to her planet without him, or she would realize why he was so ill-liked on his own world.
He crushed her closer and dropped his head to bury his nose in her hair. If he breathed her in deeply, it soothed some of the cloying suffocation that threatened to seize his lungs. Her scent was quite literally otherworldly. He had nothing to compare it to that would come close to describing what it was to him. Every breath soothed the jagged edges of his emotions a little further. A balm to his soul.
He snorted at the thought, imagining her reaction to such a declaration. She didn’t seem the sentimental type. As little as sheappreciated his touch, he predicted she’d think even less of his poetic, obsessive feelings.
At last, the hovercraft came into view. His knees buckled.
It was a smoldering wreck, little more than a red-hot chassis left behind. He cradled Cordelia in his lap as he knelt by the wreckage, staring at the dying flames. She needed medical attention. He could not walk her all the way back to the base. It would take at least three days on foot under ideal circumstances, and he had a weakened leg and a sedated female.
He lowered her gently into the bracken, careful not to kneel on her long hair as it fanned out around her head. Satisfied, he flicked through the apps on his comm device. He couldn’t radio for retrieval if they were monitoring communications—not until they got the all-clear from Fendar. If he tried, he could bring another dropship down on their heads, and he couldn’t take another auretian in combat without treating his injuries. He pulled up a map of the area, letting his eyes drift over the topographical lines.
It would take too long to reach the base on foot. His eyes drifted down to the valley below the mountain, where the trees grew sparse. There was a marker there, one he’d never given much thought to. The lodge. The same lodge they’d tried to evacuate of hybrids earlier that week. It would be empty, but there should be food, water, and potentially even a medpod.
He set his destination in the app and lifted Cordelia back into his arms.
CHAPTER 14
Cordelia feltlike a child being carried to bed from the living room. Her fingers were cold, but the rest of her was blessedly warm. A steady, powerful purring filled her ear, lulling her back toward sleep.
Something warm and smooth brushed over her cheek, tickling her. She swatted at it, turning her face into the firm muscles that cradled her. Her cheek bounced as the one cradling her laughed. She peeled her eyes open to look at him. Green eyes with cat-like pupils met her own, crinkled at the corners with mirth. They were so striking against his lavender skin. He looked like the Cheshire cat.
That tickle came again, and she turned toward it, realizing it was the tip of his tail. The scales were all lying flat, no sign of the deadly edge they could take on when stretched into that spearhead shape.
“You’re purring,” she murmured, peering at him.
He cleared his throat, and the sound abruptly stopped. “I apologize.”
“Don’t stop,” she urged, settling back against him.
Obediently, he resumed. The sound made her muscles languid.
She’d had a cat when she was younger, an orange tomcat she would let in out of the cold when her mother wasn’t home. He’d curled up on her chest when she was lonely and purred just like this, soothing the yawning isolation that plagued her. The neighborhood hadn’t been all that safe, and she’d often been left to herself as her mother took odd jobs to supplement her meager teacher’s pay. There was nothing a cat was going to do to save her if a burglar broke in, but it had always comforted her to have the company, anyway.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, his voice warbling from the purr.
“Tired. Pain’s coming back a bit now.” It was no longer the searing pain it had been before; instead, it was a dull, persistent throbbing where the knife had been.
