How bizarre that he could read the minds of others but only feel her emotions.
He leaned closer and rubbed his cheek against hers. “In truth, I have become dependent on the experience.”
With a sigh, she melted into him, her back to his front, then frowned at the viewer. “I don’t think the nebula will evernotmake me nervous. I’d like to see.”
“As you wish.”
The image returned and stole her breath again. She inspected it, trying to see what existed beyond the colorful gases, but couldn’t discern much at all. Her stomach twisted itself in knots. The clouds throbbed like a living entity.
And they headed right for it.
Rightinsideit.
The more she thought about it, the more she felt that familiar itch on her skin. She took a deep breath, willing the ship to stop spinning, but it didn’t help. She felt that slip, that loss of control that would send her into panic.
Then warm flesh connected with hers, stalling her breath.
Iax’s fingers wrapped around her wrist. It grounded her in a way she’d never thought possible from touch alone. He seemed to know intrinsically what she required, and since he experienced her emotions, it made sense. That connection kept her in Iax’s lap instead of falling into an abyss of hyperfixation.
The need for pain dissipated, and the ship settled around her. Wynn turned into him, pressing her face into his throat while entwining her fingers with his.
“Thank you,” she whispered against his skin, and gave his fingers a squeeze.
He nodded slightly, rubbed his cheek against her forehead, then turned so he was square to the viewer. The image changed back to the vast view of stars, but his arms remained around her.
Wynn stared at him for a moment. She wasn’t a pilot, or knowledgeable about ships, but she knew he didn’t control the ship the way Sawyer had, the way she’d seen others do. He never touched the console or adjusted the settings.
“How are you doing that?” she asked, keeping her gaze on his face.
“Doing what?” he asked, glancing at her.
“Piloting the ship without piloting the ship.” She cocked her head toward the controls.
He blinked, then hesitated long enough she thought he was choosing his words carefully, or didn’t want to answer at all.
“It is my essence,” he finally said, his tone even.
“Your essence,” she repeated. “You’ve used that term before. What does it mean?”
“My Calypson essence coalesces with the ship’s systems, making it unnecessary for me to use the tactile interface.”
She swiveled until the edge of the control panel supported her back, and she faced him. “Like how you do with people? You merge with the ship like you did with those people aboard theCorvus?”
“Yes. Merge is a good word for it. We work together.”
“And it’s the same for all Calypsons? This working together?”
“Yes.”
She didn’t know how it was possible, but she’d seen it with her own eyes. If she dwelt on what happened on theCorvusfor any length of time, swirling panic took hold. Not because he would have merged with everyone and taken the whole warship to Sector Ten to save her, but because she should have felt guilt over that truth and was finding it hard to do so. Every time she thought about what they’d done to her, whatmore they’d been planning to do, bile rose in her throat. She’d thought she would die in that box. That they would keep her there and she would never be free.
Would the same thing happen in Sector Ten? Were the Calypsons just as bad? Ready to sacrifice her in the name of science?
“Your negative emotions are resurfacing.” He encircled her wrist with his fingers.
“I think I just need a distraction,” she said, turning to rest against his chest, her cheek pressed to the soft material of his shirt.
He remained still for a moment, then let go of her wrist to place his hand flat against the terminal. “I have something to show you. From back on Earth.”
