Chapter 8 Wrapped Up In You
Wrapped Up In You
Ober
The taste of her is still on my tongue. The feel of her coming apart under my hands is burned into muscle memory that two years of separation couldn’t erase. And the sounds she made—breathless gasps of my name, desperate pleas for more—are echoing in my head like a song I thought I’d forgotten.
Mine. The word reverberates through my alien biology with the force of absolute truth. What happened between us in that pod wasn’t just physical release after years of separation. It was recognition, reclamation, the rebuilding of something that had been broken and reformed into something stronger.
“How long until they reach us?” Noomi asks PIP, forcing herself to focus on tactics instead of the way my tail is still wrapped possessively around her thigh.
Every small movement sends waves of awareness through both of us, and in this cramped pod, there’s nowhere to escape the growing heat between us.
Her scent still carries traces of our intimacy—jasmine and satisfaction and something uniquely her that makes my alien instincts sing with possessive satisfaction. I can smell myself on her skin, can detect the way her body is still humming with the aftermath of pleasure.
“Approximately eight minutes at their current approach vector,” PIP responds cheerfully.
“Shall I calculate optimal escape routes? Though I should mention that without main engines, our options are rather limited. Also, the ambient temperature has risen another two degrees since Captain Kraine joined us. Quite remarkable biological compatibility!”
“We’re not escaping,” I growl, my enhanced senses picking up the configuration details of the approaching ships—and the way Noomi’s pulse just spiked at my commanding tone. Even now, even with danger approaching, her body responds to mine with devastating awareness. “We’re gathering intelligence.”
Noomi twists in my arms to look at me, and the movement presses her more fully against my chest, sending another spike of her jasmine scent straight to parts of my brain that have nothing to do with tactical planning.
This close, I can see the way her pupils dilate slightly, can feel the way her breathing has changed.
“Intelligence? Ober, they’ve been hunting us for hours. They know exactly who we are.”
“Exactly.” I key my comm, one hand settling on her hip to steady her while my enhanced hearing picks up the rapid flutter of her heartbeat. “Which means they’ll bring us straight to Krax. Kex, status report.”
“We’re holding position at the edge of the nebula, Captain. Sensors show three hostiles approaching your position. You want us to intercept?”
“Negative. This is our chance to find Krax’s base of operations.” My voice drops to that command register that makes Noomi’s scent spike with something that’s definitely not fear. “He’s coordinating attacks across three sectors from somewhere. We need those coordinates.”
“Sir, they’ll capture you. Or kill you.”
“They won’t kill us immediately.” I catch Noomi’s eye, and something passes between us—understanding, trust, the kind of perfect synchronization that used to make us legendary.
Her lips part slightly as she processes the implications, and I have to fight not to lean down and taste that surprised intake of breath.
“We’re too valuable. Krax wants to make our deaths symbolic—destroy the reformed pirate and the Christmas crusader in front of the families we’re trying to save. ”
“That’s horrifying,” Noomi breathes, but her tactical mind is already working. I can practically see the gears turning behind those green eyes. “But also an opportunity. If he’s planning a public execution...”
“He’ll bring us to wherever he’s holding the captured families.” My tail tightens around her thigh in an unconscious claiming gesture that makes her breath hitch. “All those missing Christmas deliveries? The families whose packages were ‘lost’? They’re not dead. They’re leverage.”
The realization hits her like a plasma blast, and I smell the spike of fury in her scent—clean and sharp and absolutely lethal. “He’s been taking hostages.”
“Families who paid everything they had for Christmas deliveries. Parents separated from children. The perfect emotional weapon to break us.” I pull up the pod’s limited interface, the movement bringing my arm around her more fully.
She fits against me like she was designed for this purpose, and my alien instincts purr with satisfaction even as my human brain tries to focus on tactics.
“But if we can get close enough to transmit their location...”
“OOPS emergency protocols,” she finishes, understanding flooding her voice. “Mother can mobilize every available ship for a rescue operation.”
“Exactly.” I turn back to the comm, acutely aware of how Noomi’s body heat is making the small space feel tropical.
The memory of her naked skin against mine, the way she moved beneath my hands, threatens to derail my tactical thinking entirely.
“Kex, give us exactly sixty minutes, then bring everything. Shadowhawk, whatever OOPS ships Mother can scramble, and anyone else who wants to shut down a hostage operation disguised as Christmas revenge.”
“Sixty minutes, Captain. That’s not a lot of time if they decide to space you immediately.”
“They won’t. Krax is too much of a showman for that.
” I close the comm and focus entirely on the woman pressed against me, whose pulse is racing for reasons that have nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the way my thumb is unconsciously stroking along her hipbone.
“Besides, he’ll want to gloat first. Explain his masterplan.
Show us exactly how our moral choice destroyed all these innocent families. ”
“And while he’s monologuing?”
“We map his base, locate the hostages, and transmit coordinates to our backup.” My free hand comes up to cup her face, and the way she leans into the touch makes my chest tight with something that might be hope. “Think you can handle pretending to be a broken, defeated courier for an hour?”
Her smile goes sharp and dangerous, the expression that used to make my blood sing when we’d plan impossible heists together.
“I think I can manage looking devastated while secretly downloading his entire network configuration. Question is, can you handle pretending to be a captured pirate instead of a predator planning to tear apart everyone who threatens me?”
The words hit like a physical touch, and I have to fight not to pin her against the pod wall and show her exactly how predatory I’m feeling.
The memory of how she responded to my dominance in our intimate moments, how she surrendered to my touch while maintaining her own fierce strength, makes my alien biology sing with possessive satisfaction.
“Sweetheart, the only thing that’s going to be difficult is not claiming you properly while we’re surrounded by enemies.”
Heat floods her cheeks at the possessive declaration, and her scent spikes with arousal so sharp I have to bite back a growl. “Ober...”
“I know.” I lean down until our foreheads touch, breathing in her scent and letting my alien warmth wrap around her like armor. “Professional courier. Reformed pirate. Save the claiming for after we save Christmas.”
“After we save Christmas,” she agrees, but her voice has gone rough with want, and the way she’s looking at me suggests the professional part of her brain is losing the battle with more primal instincts.
The first of Krax’s ships—a sleek interceptor bristling with weapons—slides alongside our pod with predatory grace.
A boarding tube extends with mechanical precision, and I can feel Noomi’s pulse spike as the reality hits us.
We’re about to walk into the hands of enemies who want us dead, with nothing but our wits and sixty minutes to save dozens of families.
“PIP,” I murmur, keeping my voice low as docking clamps engage with metallic thuds. “Can you maintain a connection to our ship’s systems? Monitor for incoming OOPS transmissions?”
“I can establish a passive monitoring link through the pod’s emergency beacon,” PIP responds, his voice dropping to match my whisper.
“Any incoming rescue coordination will be relayed to you through your standard comm frequency. However, I should warn you—if they scan me, they’ll detect the monitoring capability. ”
“Then we better make sure they don’t scan you too closely.” Noomi reaches for PIP’s portable core, sliding it into a hidden pocket in her courier jacket with practiced ease. “Emergency protocols allow couriers to carry their AI cores during ship abandonment. Standard procedure.”
“Clever girl,” I murmur, and catch the way her breathing quickens at the praise. Everything about her—the tactical thinking, the steady hands under pressure, the way she’s preparing to walk into hell itself to save innocent families—makes my alien instincts sing with possessive pride.
Mine. The thought pulses through me with primal certainty.
Not just the physical claiming we shared, though the memory of her coming apart under my hands is burned into every nerve ending.
But this—her courage, her determination, her absolute refusal to let innocent people suffer because of choices she made in the past.
“Incoming transmission,” the pod’s speakers crackle to life with a voice like poisoned honey. “Attention, vessel in distress. Prepare for emergency boarding. Any resistance will be met with immediate spacing.”
Vex Korvain. I’d recognize that melodic, beautiful tone anywhere—like listening to a symphony while watching a massacre. Noomi stiffens against me, recognizing the threat in that voice even if she doesn’t know the speaker.
“That’s Vex,” I murmur against her ear, my breath stirring the hair at her temple and making her shiver. “Information broker, occasional pirate, and Krax’s right hand. He’s the one who’s been coordinating the intercepts.”