She froze, her hand still pressed against his forearm, her body leaning far too close for safety. His eyes were unfocused, still caught somewhere between sleep and waking, but they found her anyway, locking onto her face with an intensity that made her breath catch.
Brilliant ice-blue, even in the dimness. She’d noticed the color before, but not like this. Not when they were looking directly at her, pinning her in place like a butterfly mounted on a board.
Move. I need to move.
But her body wasn’t listening. Her heart was hammering against her ribs, loud enough that he could probably hear it, and every nerve ending she possessed was suddenly, acutely aware of the minimal distance between them.
He blinked. Slowly. Like a cat trying to decide if the mouse was worth the effort of catching.
Then his hand came up too fast for her to react and closed around her wrist.
“Wait—” The word came out strangled, her pulse skyrocketing as his grip tightened just enough to anchor her in place. His other arm was moving, sliding around her waist, and before she could process what was happening, he was pulling her down.
Oh no. Oh shit. Oh?—
She landed on the bunk beside him with a startled yelp, her body pressed against the impossible warmth of his side. His wing shifted, curling around them both like a silver-white curtain, and his arm settled across her waist with a weight that was somehow both terrifying and grounding.
He’s going to kill me. He’s confused and he thinks I’m a threat and he’s going to?—
“Sleep.”
The word was rough, barely recognizable, but unmistakably deliberate. A command, not a threat, and her racing thoughts stuttered to a halt. “What?”
His eyes had already closed again, his breathing evening out into the slow rhythm of sleep. His grip on her waist remained firm, but not painful—anchoring rather than restraining.
“Sleep,” he said again, quieter this time. More of a sigh than a word.
And then he was out, his body relaxing around hers with the boneless ease of the truly unconscious.
He wants me to… sleep?
The absurdity of the situation crashed over her in a wave. She was lying on her own bunk, pressed against the side of an ancient Martian dragon, his wing forming a canopy over them and his arm holding her in place like she was some kind of living security blanket.
She should leave. She should carefully extract herself from his grip and get back to the important business of monitoring the storm and checking her equipment rather than cuddling with strange aliens.
She told herself that several times before she actually tried an experimental shift to test his hold. As soon as she did, his arm tightened fractionally. A soft rumble vibrated through his chest, not quite a growl, more like a sound of protest. His tail twitched, curling closer to where their bodies pressed together.
He’s not going to let me go.
The realization should have triggered panic. Instead, something in her chest unknotted slightly, the tension she’d been carrying for days easing by increments.
He was warm. So warm. And the bunk was amazingly comfortable after all those hours in the chair. And she was so, so tired.
Just for a minute,she thought, her resolve crumbling in the face of exhaustion.I’ll just rest my eyes for a minute and then figure out how to get free.
The storm continued to howl outside, a constant white-noise backdrop that had become almost soothing in its familiarity. The lights hummed their soft rhythm. And his heartbeat thuddedagainst her shoulder blade, slow and steady and impossibly alive.
Her eyes drifted closed.
Just for a minute…
The darkness rose up to meet her, gentle and welcoming, and she let it take her.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Adjar surfaced from sleep slowly, his consciousness returning in lazy waves rather than the sharp, violent awakening he’d experienced the previous times. For a moment, he simply existed, suspended in that liminal space between dreaming and waking where the past and present blurred together like ice melting into water.
Something was different.
