She twisted and cried as she worked the outer clasps, trying to get the layers off so she could flee.
In the distance, more thumping.
"You're not getting away," he said.
She didn't turn back to look. She just wanted to get that robe free. Get herself free. She could do this.
She just had to--
A distinct cracking of metal against skull made her look.
Jedriek had slammed his forearm into the Charro's head. It was enough force that his head bent at an awkward angle. One of those angles that couldn't be repaired. His grip on her disconnected, and he fell to the ground.
Jedriek turned to her. "Are you well, princess?"
Eleanor ran to him, she was going to hug him but stopped a hand's width from him. "I am, uh. Fine. Thank you." She doubted the cyborgs were big huggers.
He stared at her, his white gaze on her eyes.
She forced herself to look away from him. The anomaly, the imperfection of her appearance, having these blue eyes. They weren't dark and formidable like the Terrans were supposed to be. She was weird. And everyone made sure she knew it too. She tucked her hand behind her back. At least she can hide that imperfection.
"We need to get you out of here."
"No doubt," she said.
She looked around. "Where is your ship?"
"Over here, I believe," he said.
"Are there more Charro on the ship?"
"My scans say there are four more on the ship."
The way he said it felt like he had more to say. "And?"
"There are also some Terran soldiers."
She blinked.
Oh no. They would know immediately who she was.
The Charro? They were likely as cluelessas these here. But Terran officers? They would know she wasn't Caoimhe. They'd recognize her blue eyes and be certain she was the other sibling, the spare, and not as appealing as perfect Caoimhe. "Yes, we need to get out of here as soon as we can.."
"Are you comfortable riding on me again?"
Her cheeks blushed at the implications of his words hit her, and she looked away.
"If it gets us out of here faster, then yes. I'm all about it." Pressed against him had been strange at first, but she was almost used to it. And how could she complain, truly? He was incredibly well shaped--she'd love to explore those...
Focus.
You must stop that derailed thinking, she told herself.
It was the kind of thing a mother would say.
Wouldn't she?
Bianca would have said it, and she was the closest thing Eleanor could remember of having a mother.
