AMARA
IHISS OUT an expletive as Vexar rinses my feet with whatever torture-fluid is in that damn spray bottle. “Is it supposed to sting this bad?” I ask.
Vexar’s face pulls into a confused expression. “It does not sting.”
“Maybe not for you, but for the rest of us mortals, it sucks.”
He narrows his eyes. “I am mortal.”
I pat the side of his face with a smile. “Keep telling yourself that big-guy.”
To my surprise, he laughs. It’s the first time he’s laughed since we left the cell.
Over the past hour, I’ve come to terms with being on a ship again, and my nervous system has settled down considerably. Sure, the metal decking beneath my feet is still freaking me out, but beyond that, I think I’m doing ok. And, after getting a better look at Vexar’s shoulder, I’m feeling must less stressed. The lacerations are deep, but they’re clean and were relatively easy to patch up with the regen-tape. Roveen was right, the stuff is pretty great. I’m still concerned about his ribs, but there isn’t much I can doabout that. His pain tolerance is too high for me to get an accurate read on what might be wrong.
“Is there any way to get an X-ray of your chest?” I ask.
He smooths another piece of regen-tape over the bottom of my foot and asks, “X-ray?”
“Like an image. Of your ribs. To make sure nothing’s seriously wrong.”
Lifting my feet, he carefully inspects his handiwork. “Everything is fine, but if you are worried, we can have one done on Vhorath.” He pauses and frowns. “Or when we get to wherever we are going.”
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“There is a planet with a rocky moon on the outskirts of this star system. It has no atmosphere, but it is tidally locked. We can land there and remain hidden until we have a plan.” He’s pretending to be calm and confident, but I can feel his fear and disappointment. He wanted to go home so badly.
“Well,” I say lightly, “with any luck, we can go home soon.”
His eyes flick up to mine and he stares at me with a quiet intensity, as if I’ve just anchored myself to him in a way no one else ever has. “Home?” he asks. “As in, Vhorath?”
As casually as I can, I say, “Yeah, home.”
Without a word, he lowers my feet to the deck, drops the roll of regen-tape, and stands. Black eyes full of intense desire prickle my skin as he leans over me, gripping the back of my chair. The material creaks beneath his hands. With a subtle raise of my chin, he moves, scooping me into his arms and carrying me off the bridge. I tighten my legs around his waist and kiss up his neck, tasting the salt on his skin and feeling his pulse against my lips.
We reach a small, empty room lined with gray tile, and he lowers me to the ground, eyes still swirling black.
With careful hands, he works the beaded top over my head,avoiding the raw skin on my elbows and back. His fingers trail down my sides, and with a pull of his claws, he releases the skirts from my waist. The fabric pools around my feet. Beads scatter. And Vexar drops to his knees before me.
He’s focused and reverent as his eyes roam my skin, finding every scrape and bruise, examining each of them as if he’s taking inventory of the harm done to me. My throat tightens as he begins to kiss each one. When he reaches the raised cut on my knee, he pauses. His eyes meet mine, and he guides my hands to his shoulders before lifting my leg and pressing a sorrowful kiss over the cut that sealed our bond.
This entire time, he’s been struggling with the knowledge that a simple accident may have trapped me in something I didn’t understand and hadn’t agreed to. He was terrified to tell me because there wasn’t any way to reverse it. He knew I would panic and feel trapped, and he was right. If he had told me when it happened, I would have wanted to run. But not anymore. That small cut is a symbol of how little control we had over our bond and how perfectly it worked out anyway.
He traces the circular burn marks on my stomach, courtesy of the cattle-prod, and a wave of guilt leaves him. With his hands on my lower back, he lets out a heavy exhale and hugs my stomach to the side of his face. The muscles of his neck relax beneath my hands. His right horn presses against the curve of my ribs, curling up around my breast as if it were sculpted to fit exactly there. And then his guilt turns to gratitude. An overwhelming gratitude that blurs my vision.
This is the most vulnerable I’ve seen him—knelt before me, face pressed to my skin, eyes closed, and a deep calm in his mind. He’s always so stoic, and seeing him this way feels like I’m being let in on a deep secret. A truth he shares with no one else.
Eventually, his eyes meet mine and he stands. In slowmovements, I undress him. The sound of creaking leather and short breaths surrounds us. My fingers trail over his skin, feeling the raised lines of tendons, blood vessels, and scars. He tenses and shudders, fists clenching at his sides and eyes following my every movement.
When the last of his armor falls away, he leans down and pulls me into a kiss that is both passionate and claiming. I love the way he kisses me. The heady desperation of it. The heat of his mouth, the rough feel of his hands, the desire that clouds his emotions, and the intense look in his eyes when he breaks away. It’s like he can’t get enough of me. Like he’s consumed by the idea of me.
Water begins to rain from overhead, it drips off the end of his nose, catches on his eyelashes, and all I can think is that he’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. Every perfect imperfection. Every crease and scar. His life story written on his skin.
A pleasant, woody smell perfumes the air as he lathers a bar of soap between his hands. He drags his fingers through my hair, and a wanton moan escapes my lips. I’ve never had a lover wash me before, and it’s … fuck. It’s nice. My back presses against his abdomen as he rubs my scalp in soft, caressing motions.
His strong hands begin to move down my body, rubbing gentle circles over my skin before dipping between my legs. My knees go weak but he holds me steady. The heat of his breath ghosts over my ear. His lips press to my neck. Then he’s on his knees again, spinning me to face him and running his hands down my legs as ripples of murky water disappear between the tiles at my feet.
42
