First, my body temperature spikes dangerously. My enhanced metabolism runs naturally warmer than human baseline, but under stress—or when touching this particular human—that difference becomes pronounced. I feel her sharp intake of breath as heat radiates through her shirt.
Second, my enhanced senses are flooded with information about her—elevated heart rate, the adrenaline in her bloodstream, the subtle shift in her natural scent that speaks of fear and something else. Something that makes my skin flush with heat that has nothing to do with stress response.
Third, and most dangerous, is the protective instinct that surges through me. It’s overwhelming, possessive, completely inappropriate for a professional arrangement. My body wants to shield her, claim her, ensure her safety by any means necessary.
The realization that I’m responding to this human with such intensity sends a jolt of alarmed arousal through my system that I can’t entirely suppress.
“Emergency drop in three, two—” Polly doesn’t finish the countdown.
The Pink Slip is wrenched from hyperspace like a toy in the hands of an angry child. The blue-white tunnel collapses around us in a kaleidoscope of fractured light, and my enhanced vision captures every detail of the reality distortion with painful clarity.
During the chaos, my other arm moves without conscious thought, wrapping around Polly’s waist to anchor her against the brutal deceleration. The protective gesture brings her body flush against mine, and I’m suddenly, intensely aware of every point of contact. Her back pressed against my chest, her subtle curves molding against me, the way she fits perfectly within my arms despite our height difference.
The protective instinct intensifies, but now it’s tangled with something far more dangerous—desire. Raw, inappropriate, completely unprofessional desire for this irreverent human who smells like strawberries and pilots like she’s dancing with death.
“Come on, baby, hold together,” she murmurs, and for one confused moment I think she’s talking to me before I realize she means the ship.
I find myself transfixed by her competence under pressure, by the way her breathing changes from fear to determination. My enhanced hearing picks up every subtle shift in her heartbeat, and I’m ashamed by how much I want to know what other activities might affect her pulse in similar ways.
The protective instinct intensifies.
Gradually, the spinning stops. The alarms quiet, though several warning lights continue to pulse on the console. I realize I’m still holding her—my arm around her waist, my other handon her shoulder—and the contact is wreaking havoc on my carefully maintained composure.
Her warmth is seeping through my formal shirt, and where our bodies touch, my skin responds with that telltale shimmer. Worse, she’s not pulling away. If anything, she seems to be leaning into my elevated temperature, unconsciously seeking the heat I radiate.
I need to move away before she notices the changes in my skin, but my enhanced biology is screaming at me not to release her. Not while she might still be in danger. Not when she fits so perfectly against me. Not when I can feel the rapid flutter of her pulse through her clothes and know I’m affecting her as much as she’s affecting me.
“Status?” I ask, proud of how steady my voice sounds despite the chaos of sensation and desire threatening to overwhelm my control.
Polly takes a shaky breath that I feel against my arm, and I have to suppress a groan. “We’re alive, which is the good news. The bad news is we’ve got significant damage to the FTL drive.”
She turns in her seat to face me, and suddenly we’re dangerously close. Close enough that I can see the gold flecks in her brown eyes, close enough that my enhanced senses are cataloging every detail of her face with disturbing intensity. Close enough that she might notice the way my skin catches and reflects the instrument lights differently than it should.
Close enough that the subtle scent of her arousal mingles with her natural fragrance, and my control nearly snaps entirely.
“Can it be repaired?” I manage.
“Eventually. But not quickly, and not without parts we don’t have.” She meets my gaze directly, unaware of how her proximity is affecting my carefully maintained control. “We’re stranded, Rynn.”
The implications flood my mind with cold certainty. My mission—three generations of planning—hangs in the balance. The bio-locked crystal in my jacket pocket represents the culmination of my grandmother’s life work, my father’s political maneuvering, and my own careful infiltration of STI diplomatic channels. If I fail to deliver it within the designated window, the biological stasis field will degrade, and the data will be lost forever. House Valorian loses its claim to the Baltharax territories. Our enemies will consolidate power while my family faces exile.
But underneath that practical concern, something darker stirs. We’re alone. Isolated. And this human’s casual competence in the face of disaster is affecting my carefully maintained control in ways that should terrify me.
Instead, I find myself strangely... anticipatory.
“That is unacceptable,” I state, though the words ring hollow even as I say them. “The delivery must proceed on schedule.”
My mind races through contingencies, but they all lead to the same conclusion: failure. The Baltharax Accords expire. Without the data to prove House Valorian’s historical claim to the disputed territories, the STI Council will award them to the Meridian Consortium—our family’s oldest enemies. Everything my grandmother died protecting, everything my father sacrificed his youth to secure, will be lost because I couldn’t resist the appeal of an efficient courier service over a more reliable but slower option.
The weight of three generations of sacrifice presses down on me, even as I’m distracted by the way this human pilot’s eyes flash with irritation.
For the first time since I boarded her ship, Polly’s expression hardens. “Look around you,” she says, her voice cutting. “We just survived something that should have killed us both. Myship saved our lives. So maybe instead of worrying about your precious schedule, you could show a little gratitude.”
The rebuke strikes home, partly because she’s right, and partly because the fire in her eyes when she’s angry is affecting my biology in ways no human should be able to manage. But she doesn’t understand what’s at stake.
“You don’t know what you’re asking,” I say, my careful composure finally cracking. “This isn’t just about schedule or convenience. My grandmother spent forty years tracking down proof of our territorial claim. My father sacrificed his health negotiating preliminary agreements with the STI Council. The data in this crystal is locked behind a bio-wall that requires a level of biological intensity I have never achieved. That is why I must go to Helios—they have amplifiers. If I don’t get there... the lock degrades.”
I lean closer, and her scent hits my enhanced senses like a drug. “If I fail to deliver this package, my family loses everything. Our holdings, our status, our home. My people—the ones who depend on House Valorian for protection—will be left defenseless against our enemies. So forgive me if your inconvenience seems trivial compared to the destruction of everything I’ve ever known.”
