"I'm fine." Paige catches his hand before he can adjust her pillows again. "But I could really go for some gherro and cookie dough ice cream."
L'Awai blinks.
"Can the replicator mix them together in a bowl?"
I watch L'Awai process this information. Gherro is a Cerastean vegetable which tastes similar to a cheesy potato chip. Delicious on its own, but the thought of mixing it with ice cream makes my stomach turn. L'Awai's expression suggests he's having similar thoughts.
But then his face smooths into acceptance. "Of course, my mate. I'll get it for you right away."
"Oh! And chocolate sauce on top!" Paige calls after him as he heads toward the replicator.
L'Awai doesn't even break stride. "Of course."
That's love, right there. Watching an almost seven-foot alien warrior accept without question that his mate wants Cheeto-flavored leaves mixed with cookie-dough ice cream and drizzled with chocolate sauce.
L'Awai heads toward the food replicator, but his path takes him past my chair, and he pauses. His eyes sweep over me, taking in my casual sprawl and the book clutched in my hands, and a knowing look sparks in his expression.
"Goober." He reaches down and claps a hand onto my shoulder.
I manage not to wince, but it's a near thing. L'Awai is careful to temper his strength around the human women, butapparently, being a fighter pilot means I get the full Cerastean experience. I have to force myself not to rub the spot after he lets go.
"L'Awai." I nod at him. "How's it going?"
"Very well." His scales catch the light as he tilts his head. "You flew well this afternoon. Your maneuvers during the supply run were impressive. For a human."
"Thanks. I think."
He gestures at the book I'm clutching. "What is that?"
I hold it up so he can see the cover. "Book about different types of architecture from Earth. You know… buildings, structures, that kind of thing."
L'Awai studies the image of the Colosseum. Then his gaze slides from the book to the closed door of Dr. Singh's office, and his knowing look intensifies into an outright smirk.
"She'll love it," he says.
I arrange my features into what I hope is an expression of innocent confusion. "I don't know who you're talking about."
L'Awai rolls his eyes, a gesture he definitely picked up from Paige, and makes a sound that I can only describe as a Cerastean snort. "Uh huh."
Before I can defend myself, he's already moving toward the food replicator, leaving me sputtering in his wake. I open my mouth to call after him – something witty and devastating, I'm sure, but the words die in my throat.
Because the door to Dr. Singh's office is opening.
A'Vanti steps through.
Everything else fades into background noise. L'Awai punching commands into the replicator. Paige shifting on the couch. The hum of the ship's engines. All of it goes fuzzy and distant as my attention narrows to the Cerastean female crossing the lounge.
She's looking down at a tablet in her hands, her golden brows drawn together in concentration. Four months ago, that expression would have worried me. Four months ago, A'Vanti walked these halls like she was waiting for an attack, her shoulders rigid with tension, her eyes darting from shadow to shadow. Every therapy session left her looking hollowed out, like Dr. Singh had reached inside her chest and scraped out something vital.
Dr. Singh had mentioned to me once, casually, that her door was open for any crew member. Not just the rescued captives. I'd smiled and told her I was good. Iamgood.
But now… now she looks thoughtful. Her shoulders are relaxed. Her stride is easy and unhurried. She carries herself with a regal bearing, like a queen surveying her domain, but the sharp edges have softened.
I take a moment to just… look at her.
She's dressed in that way she's developed over the past few months – a blend of human and Cerastean that somehow works. Today, it's slim-fitting rust-colored trousers tucked into soft boots, paired with a flowing Cerastean tunic in deep forest green, the fabric draping elegantly over her tall frame. The colors warm her golden scales, making them glow like gleaming caramel in the ship's lights.
God, those scales. They shimmer in shades of gold and amber, catching the light with every movement. Her face has a sharpness to it that's purely Cerastean. She has high, angular cheekbones that could cut glass, and features that remind me of a viper. Beautiful and dangerous in equal measure. Her hair is the same golden color as her skin, more like spun metal than anything human. It falls past her shoulders in a shimmering curtain. She's tall and willowy, all long limbs and graceful lines. Everything about her is elegant. Refined. Slightly untouchable, like a work of art in a museum.
