I rarely did this because it always left me feeling uncomfortable. Once, it had been a feature I readily used in service of the Shadow Unit and the UAR. But the United Alliance of Races had not been worthy of my loyalty, and using the technologytheyhad installed in my head felt wrong now—like I was suddenly back on a mission that furthered the goals of the rich and powerful while betraying the people I’d signed on to protect.
Through the processor, I could access my comm with a thought and send out a message. When Ysa needed help, time was of the essence, and I didn’t even care. In fact, I barely noticed the hateful itch of dislike at the back of my mind. Brace would show up with food, because while impressive, the massive Hoxiam was more scared of me than I was of him.
Reaching my bunk room, I skidded to a halt and slammed through the door with my precious cargo in my arms. Of the three grunts I shared the quarters with, only one was present. Raukesh was lying on the top bunk that belonged to him, one wing draped over the side. He jerked upright when he spotted us, paled, as far as a gray-skinned Tarkan could grow pale, and leaped from his bed. “Ah, I’m ah… needed on the bridge,” he muttered, and he scampered from the room like his tuftedtail was on fire.
The bunk room was sparse, with only limited space for each of us. Since I hardly ever spent time here, my bunk was neatly made and empty. Raukesh had left his blankets in disarray, but his space, which was above mine, was also neat as a pin. A’varon had made a mess of his corner, though, and I bared my teeth at the sight. That bastard needed a few whacks on the head as a reminder to clean up his shit.
I placed Ysa on my bunk very carefully. She wasn’t fighting, but she crossed her arms over her chest and gave me a mutinous expression. It wasn’t quite a glare, but it was definitely a warning. Behave, or else. I went to my knees beside her, my left knee groaning as the bionics engaged. The joint was probably the only part of my body that protested against my lack of sleep. It needed to go into standby mode to do a maintenance cycle.
I said nothing as I reached for her boots and began undoing the fasteners. She kicked against my hand, probably not intentionally, just in her effort to get away. It was easy to pin both legs down so I could resume the task. “What are you doing?” she demanded. “Thatch, what are you doing? I’m too tired for this, damn it!” I leveled her with a look that I hoped conveyed that this was exactly my point. If she would not take care of herself, then I would. Plain and simple.
She did not protest again when I freed her small feet from her boots. I set her footwear carefully aside because I knew she was very fond of it. Then I pressed her to the mattress and stood up to locate a blanket. I didn’t sleep with one, if I even slept at all. Lately, I’d only used the room to wash up and change my clothes. When I turned back to her with ablanket in hand, I discovered that she’d scooted to the edge of the bunk and was reaching for her boots again.
“No,” I growled, fed up. “You are taking a break.” It was the dumbest thing I’d ever done, besides, perhaps, kissing her the other day. Grabbing her small, bare, and exotically blue feet, I pushed them back onto the bed. Ah hell, she was soft even on the soles of her feet—and ticklish too, because she twitched in my hands and let out an involuntary giggle, followed by a rather indignant squeak. Yeah, screw the rules, there was no coming back from this. Wrong as it was, I was going to make her mine.
Chapter 6
Ysathea
Thatcher was the most infuriating, confusing, overbearing male I’d ever had the misfortune to deal with. Now he’d changed the rules on me, and I didn’t understand what to think or how to react. I was exhausted, and that made it hard to think straight. What he was doing now, it really wasn’t helping. Why had he taken me here? Was this his bed? I’d not seen the inside of one of theVarakartoom’s dozens of bunk rooms unless I’d been required to make some kind of repair. I wasn’t even quite sure who was assigned to bunk with Thatcher, but I pitied them all.
“No!” I denied. “If I’m going to sleep, I’ll do it in my own bed, thank you very much!” He just needed to let me go, and I’d slink away to my own bed inside my quarters on the officers’ deck. Or perhaps I’d nap on the bunk I had in myworkroom—although I still had that spectral analysis to complete for a third time. Now that I knew I was dealing with a being, a sentient, if hostile, life form, I’d been trying to track it any way I knew how. This foothold situation couldn’t continue; it was going to be that creature or me. Unfortunately, right now it felt like the black sludge monster was winning.
Thatcher grunted something; it wasn’t quite a word, but the meaning was clear. If I moved, he was just going to pin me back on the bed. Frankly, if I was forced to lie down on a semi-soft surface for much longer, I would probably lose the battle with sleep. I couldn’t have that, but I also couldn’t physically shove Thatcher away. Right now, I really wished there was a pillow around to throw at his stupid face. A pillow was harmless, that skirted right around my vows of no violence; very neat. Unfortunately, there was no pillow, and he’d had to get the blanket he was trying to drape over me from a closet. Did the male have no comforts at all when he rested? Did he not sleep?
“Do you even sleep here? When’s the last time you slept?” I demanded. I shoved the blanket aside for the third time, but rather than get up, I pulled my legs close to my chest and curled into a little ball. Let him think I was obeying, sort of. I’d lull him into a false sense of victory, then bolt. The room was pretty bare, except for the bunk across from the one I was on. That one was a mess of clothing, blankets, food wrappers, and weapons. A fine dusting of orangey powder coated much of one side of the pillow there. Yuck, definitely not going to reach for that one to throw.
Thatcher rose to his feet, towering over me, and crossed his arms over his armor-clad chest. He lookedmassive, dark. He looked menacing, and I should have been terrified, but I was pretty sure my lack of sleep had broken my ability to think rationally. I just thought he looked hot, and… maybe a little worried. The hand he’d injured had been covered in new ink, too, and I wondered when he’d had the time to do that. Oh, when did he have the time indeed… he’d been camped outside my door for days.
“When didyoulast sleep?” Thatcher responded. He arched one dark eyebrow at me as if to say, Do you even hear yourself? That one question only confirmed the thought that had just popped into my brain. Thatcher had slept just as little as I had, perhaps even less, because he’d been standing in a hallway all that time. I’d caught myself dozing at my desk or at a console from time to time.
“I’ll take a nap if you take one. I need to be up in an hour to greet those stupid Strewn engineers.” His eyes turned flinty, his mouth growing tight. I thought he’d say no, but then he rolled one shoulder. It was acceptance, sort of. So I scooted to the edge of his bunk, my fingers smoothing over the military-straight sheets.
“No,” he snarled again, and his hand found my shoulder and shoved. Not roughly, mind you, but definitely forceful. I found myself sprawled on my back on his bed again. Furious, I started to hiss; my hands even went up as if I meant to claw his eyes out. I dropped them, horrified that I’d almost resorted to violence. They touched those stiff, wrinkle-free sheets again, and something in me shifted.
He had absolutely nothing soft on his bed, and not a single personal item decorated the space. I knew what kind of males lived on this ship. Most weren’t sentimental, but they did leave some traces of themselves. Even Solear hadlittle treasures, knickknacks, like a map Tass once drew for him. Thatcher had nothing, just the clothing issued by theVarakartoom, his armor, a drab gray blanket, and a sharp knife tucked between the edge of the mattress and the wall.
The knock on the door prevented me from following my impulses. Thatcher shifted from trying to subdue me to a protective hover in the blink of an eye. He opened the door after taking several deep breaths, like he had to calm himself. I never saw who was on the other side because Thatcher blocked my view. I recognized the voice, though, because that Hoxiam rumble could only belong to one person: Brace. A moment later, the door swished shut and Thatcher turned around with a tray of food in his hands, all of it smelling fantastic.
“You eat, and then you sleep, no more protests,” he said. I nodded, but a plan was forming in my head. A very risky, perhaps very stupid plan, but a plan all the same. Whatever Brace cooked up was bound to be delicious, but I had eyes only for the crazy idea in my head, not the taste. Iwasvery hungry, though, and scarfed down bite after bite without thinking. I shoved the leftovers in Thatcher’s direction, and he ate them while keeping me pinned with a glare from the head of the bed. He’d sat down at the foot, but since I’d scrunched up, we weren’t touching. I was crazy to think about changing that, but I was.
My eyes flicked once to the handle of the knife, just visible between the mattress and the wall. My resolve firmed, and strangely enough, the food in my belly only helped with that. I thought that perhaps with a return of strength, I’d realize how stupid this was, but I didn’t. Or rather, I knew, and I was goingto do it anyway.
“Fine, now the napping part,” I said, and I beckoned him. “Come here. I won’t nap unless you’re napping with me.” Then I spread my arms like I expected him to embrace me, just like that. His expression was so shocked it was almost comical. I didn’t think he had the ability to look surprised, but I’d definitely caught him off guard. His eyes grew wide, his mouth dropped open, and he stared at me like I’d lost my head. I smiled at him, patted the mattress at my side, and waited. My heart pounded furiously in my chest, and I was certain he’d refuse. I didn’t know if I wanted him to come or to reject the offer. I was perhaps as confused by my course of action as he was.
Slowly, like he was a skittish, frightened animal testing the waters, he unfurled from his spot at the foot of the bed. He stared at me as he put the tray with the empty plate on the floor. Then he turned and looked at me like he didn’t actually know what to do. I moved my arms wider, and then he shockedmeby actually coming over. The mattress dipped as he sat down on the edge by my hip. Then he slowly, very slowly, laid down, cradling his head in his hand, elbow curled.
He was a massive wall of black armor, muscle, and Thatcher scent. I discovered I wanted to burrow into him even if he looked as hard as a rock, and not in a fun way. Having built it myself, I knew firsthand just how tough that armor was. Not to mention the fact that he was stiff as a board, keeping a careful hand’s width of distance between our bodies. It was the worst hug I’d ever received, and he usually had so little issue invading my personal space.
“I won’t bite if you won’t,” I told him. When his mouth tilted into that half-smile I knew so well, I relaxed. Slidingacross the rough sheets and stiff mattress, I curled close, tucking my head under his chin and throwing my leg over his hip. It didn’t take as long as I thought it would for him to return the embrace. I thought he might not at all, just lie there awkwardly on the edge of the bed.
Thatcher proved he remembered at least some of the softer things when he gave in after only a few short moments. His arms curled around me, hugging me to him, and his legs shifted so that one thigh ended up between mine. My head ended up pillowed on his biceps, his chin tucked in my hair, and his breath warmed my skin. I was out in seconds, finally claimed by the sleep that had been haunting me for days.
When I woke, I knew immediately that I hadn’t slept for a short little hour. The light in the room had changed to that of the night cycle aboard the ship. A datapad somewhere in the chaos of the lower bunk bed across from Thatcher’s indicated the time: past midnight, ship time. Not good. I’d slept clear through the meeting with the Strewn engineers. In a wild panic, I jerked upright, but Thatcher’s arms were still around me.
“Ssh, I canceled them,” he said, just as images of the utter chaos they must have created in my engine room began to flood my mind. Canceled them? He’d canceled them? Rest hadn’t made my head any clearer, it seemed, because those words made zero sense. Thatcher had no authority to cancel anyone, least of all an important group like the Strewn engineers. They were costly, and you could not risk pissing them off, or they’d never want to work on your ship again.
“What do you mean?” I tried to ask, but just as getting up seemed pretty impossible, getting answerswas equally hard. He said nothing, but I saw his eyes gleam in the dark. Not much more than that, my eyesight wasn’t developed for low-light settings the way most other species’ was.
