“Sabine?”
“I'm here. Eighteen hours down. Fifty-four to go.”
He tried to laugh. “Always counting.”
“Tell me something,” I said. “About your brothers. Your ship. Anything.”
So he talked. About the Sovereign who'd found him. The brothers who'd become his family. The empire they were going to reclaim. When I asked about his life before the Sovereign, his jaw tightened.
“Nothing worth remembering.”
The worst came in waves. He fought invisible enemies, fangs extended, calling out warnings to people who weren't there. “Failed them... weak... worthless...”
“You're not worthless. You came back for what was yours.”
“Came back for you.”
Even in delirium, the words carried weight.
Two days later, the black veins were fading. When he opened his eyes, they were focused. Present.
“You stayed.”
“Where else would I go?”
“Anywhere. You're free now. The station's gone.”
“Someone needs to teach me to fly that ship properly.” I was exhausted. Two days of protein bars and no sleep. “Besides, I made a choice.”
“You need real food.”
“You need rest.”
“The market. Tomorrow.” His thumb traced another circle on my wrist. “Let me feed you.”
The intimacy of that offer, caring for me, made heat pool in my belly. No one had offered to take care of me in five years.
“One more day,” I said.
We both knew the toxin would be gone in twelve hours. But neither of us was ready for what came next. What returning to his ship would mean.
One more day before everything changed.
VARRICK
My shoulder ached. Not from the wound, which had closed to a silver scar, but from the memory of poison burning through my system. Every nerve remembered the toxin's path, phantom pain tracing the routes it had taken through my body.
Sabine emerged from the bathroom in her ruined dealer's uniform. Blood stained the sleeve. My blood from when she'd half-carried me through the station. Burn marks from pulse fire dotted the fabric. Three days of wear had left it wrinkled beyond salvation. She'd washed her face, pulled her dark hair back into a knot that was already coming loose, but exhaustion shadowed her eyes. Purple marks beneath them said she'd slept maybe four hours total while nursing me through the toxin.
“We need supplies,” I said.
“Food,” she corrected. “Real food. You promised.”
She was right. My body had burned through massive reserves fighting the poison. I needed calories, protein, nutrients to finish healing. And she needed everything. Three days of surviving on protein bars and determination had left her looking fragile. Breakable.
The thought made my fangs ache. A primal need to provide, to hunt for her, to be the one to keep her safe.
The market sprawled through three levels of the station's center ring. Every species in the galaxy seemed to have a stall, a shop, or at least a corner where they sold something questionable. The noise hit first. Hundreds of voices in dozens of languages, all haggling, arguing, laughing. Then the smells. Spices and meat and flowers and things I couldn't identify.
