He settled her into a wide seat near the front. The co-pilot's seat, as he moved to the pilot's position beside her. His jacket was still wrapped around her shoulders, way too big, the leather warm from his body heat.
Behind them, voices called out in that musical language. Harper twisted in her seat, ignoring the way her ribs protested, and watched as other Latharians carried Delilah's stretcher aboard. One of them moved to the back of the shuttle, hands already working over Delilah's still form.
The doctor… or some kind of paramedic. Had to be.
Her stomach dropped. He looked like he'd been in a fight himself. Scars crossed his face and hands, visible even from here.
The shuttle lifted, smooth as silk, and her stomach lurched. She gripped the armrests, knuckles white, as the ground fell away beneath them. Through the viewport, she caught glimpses of the underground bypass, emergency vehicles still swarming the crash site like insects around a wound.
Then they were out, climbing through the night sky, and Earth spread out below them in a patchwork of lights and darkness.
Oh my god, she was leaving Earth. Actually leaving Earth.
The thought should have terrified her. Instead, all she felt was numb.
"Secure for launch," Kirr called back, his hands already moving over the controls. The shuttle hummed to life around them, vibrating through the seat into Harper's bones.
She should look away. Should focus on the fact that they were about to launch into space—actual space—but her gaze kept drifting back to Kirr. Holy hell, those shoulders. Bare and massive, muscles shifting under his skin as his hands moved over the controls with easy competence, flicking switches and adjusting settings like he'd done it a thousand times.
Which he probably had.
"You're staring."
Harper jerked her attention back to Kirr. He hadn't looked away from the controls, but his lips quirked in what might have been amusement.
Heat flooded her cheeks. "I'm not—" She stopped. Cleared her throat. "Sorry."
"Don't apologize." He glanced at her then, those golden eyes warm in the dim light of the cockpit. "I don't mind."
The way he said it made something flutter in her chest. Something she had no business feeling when Delilah was dying in the back of the shuttle and her entire life was falling apart.
She forced herself to look out the viewport instead. They were climbing fast now, the curvature of Earth becoming visible, stars appearing in the black beyond. Beautiful. Terrifying.
A sound escaped her throat. Not quite a laugh, but close.
His attention snapped to her right away. "What's amusing?"
Harper shook her head, still staring out at the impossible view. "Nothing. I just..." She bit her lip. "I must be dead. That's the only explanation."
"You're not dead." His voice was firm, absolute.
"Yeah, well." She gestured vaguely at the viewport, at him, at everything. "This doesn't exactly feel real. So I figure I'm dead, and you're..." She trailed off, aware of how insane she sounded.
"I'm what?"
"An angel." The words tumbled out before she could stop them. "I'm dead and you're an angel and that's why you're so..." She waved her hand at him. "You know."
Silence. Then Kirr's laughter filled the cockpit, rich, warm and unexpected. It transformed his face, made him look younger somehow. Less intimidating.
"An angel?" He was still grinning when he looked at her. "That's a new one."
The corners of her lips quirked. "What else am I supposed to think? You show up out of nowhere, all..." She gestured at him again. "And you saved me, so. Angel."
"A half-naked angel?" His grin widened. "Is that standard for your human afterlife?"
A laugh burst out of her, surprising them both. It felt wrong, laughing when Delilah was—but it also felt good, like releasing pressure from a valve. "Only I could imagine a half-naked angel. Figures."
His eyes glinted with humor. "I'm only half-naked because you're wearing my jacket, little one."
