She wouldn’t get far without her bodyguard.
Once they arrived on Morith, she’d have to go in search of mercenaries willing to help her—a task that would likely take her into dangerous places. She couldn’t do this alone, and Malik knew it.
The oath he’d sworn to her brother obviously meant a lot to him. He might not think much of her, but he thought highly of Cathal. Indeed, Malik’s loyalty to the clan-lord was likely the only reason he’d insisted on accompanying her.
“I suggest we don’t venture from this berth during the journey,” Malik said then, intruding upon her thoughts. “We can order room service … it’s safer that way.”
Jenna nodded. “Makes sense.” They hadn’t seen any Daksari while boarding, but that didn’t mean there weren’t ‘water people’ aboard the liner. It was wise not to draw attention to themselves.
The journey would be around twenty-one hours—this wasn’t a clan-chief’s shuttle but a slower craft that would make three scheduled stops en route to Morith.
The passenger liner shuddered then, the engine noise increasing to a whine. Jenna swallowed, tensing as bile stung the back of her throat.
Damn it, nausea was creeping over her.
Delving into her bag, she retrieved the small bottle of tablets Malik had given her during the departure from Idral and a canister of water.
Malik watched her as she swallowed two tablets, and Jenna grimaced. “Space sickness always hits me harder when I’m tired,” she admitted. “I didn’t sleep that well last night.”
“You didn’t?” Malik’s mouth curved. It felt odd to look at him with his green face and brow ridge. “I slept like the dead.”
“I know,” she replied dryly, wincing at his turn of phrase. “I heard your breathing change within minutes of you lying down.” She paused then, raising an eyebrow. “They say only someone with a clear conscience can go to sleep that fast.”
“Or someone who’s exhausted.” Malik heeled off his boots and stretched out on his bed, rolling over so he was staring up at the ceiling. “I suggest you try to sleep on your back,” he said. “We’ve got more make-up, but it would be best if you don’t smear your face … the lighting in here isn’t the best. It won’t be as easy to reapply.”
“I’ll do my best,” Jenna answered, following suit, and lying on her bed. She’d made sure to book a berth with two separate beds. Her eyes were gritty—from fatigue, not just the contact lenses—and her brain foggy. The assurance that they had twenty-one hours before arrival upon Morith was a relief.
She desperately needed to rest. She wanted to be fresh when they reached their destination, ready to hire a team who’d help her rescue Cathal, Isla, and Bea.
The liner shuddered, and her belly lurched.
And she would get some sleep—once they were on their way.
Malik lay upon his bed, staring up at the dull-silver metal girders that crisscrossed the ceiling of their berth. A few feet away, Ambassador Jenna Mir-Brennan slept deeply. She’d looked peaky during takeoff, but once they’d made the jump into hyperspace, the color had returned to her cheeks.
She’d stretched out on her back, as he’d suggested, the rhythmic whisper of her breathing filling the small berth.
After a good night’s sleep, Malik was well-rested. He wanted to get up and do some exercises, some bench presses and chin-ups, to work out some of the tension in his muscles. However, he’d wake Jenna up if he did so. He also could risk sweating off his carefully applied face paint. Exercise would have to wait until they reached their destination.
The faint drone of the engines vibrated through the liner, and he caught snatches of laughter and conversation in the corridor outside their berth. This ship had a lounge and a restaurant, as well as a viewing platform, where passengers could watch the streaks of light flow around them while the liner sped through hyperspace.
But he and Jenna wouldn’t be joining them.
He wasn’t paranoid, but there was a chance that the Widow Makers weren’t just remaining on Aura Terminal. Some of them might have taken passenger liners in case the Mir-Brennan ambassador slipped by.
Turning his head, Malik let his gaze settle upon the woman he’d been charged with protecting.
Damn it, he still didn’t like her plan. It was far too risky. However, he’d sworn an oath to Cathal to protect and obey those he served—and he’d uphold it.
That didn’t mean he wouldn’t question her about it on this trip though. Maybe if he pushed her a little, she’d realize she was making a mistake.
Jenna’s face was relaxed in sleep, all the lines of worry and tension from the last two days disappearing. Her full lips were slightly parted, her long eyelashes fluttering against her painted cheeks.
Even covered in face paint, she was lovely.
Malik knew he shouldn’t, knew he’d pay for it later, but he drank her in. His attention slid from her face and the halo of brown waves spread out over the pillow, to the rise and fall of her breasts. Her cloak had fallen away to reveal the green tunic he’d bought her. Unlike the ambassadorial robes, which dwarfed her small frame, her new clothes fitted her, emphasizing the ample swell of her breasts, the dip of her waist, and the curve of her hips.
Staring at her, Malik found himself imagining what it would be like to slide his hands over those curves, to push aside the silky fabric and seek out the smooth, soft skin underneath.
