Chapter 4 Orion #2
She flinches at my touch, and I freeze, hovering above her lips, ready to detonate with a kiss like a world-ending bomb.
“Ada, ventilate the rooms in the living quarters, pod 3,” she murmurs, stepping back.
The low whir of fans and soft breeze clears the stale air from the room, and after a few heart-pounding moments, helps to dissipate some of the chaotic desire that has taken hold of my body.
Horror grips me at how out of control I felt, how close I was to sinking to my knees and begging to worship her—how willing I’d been in courting my own destruction in the face of keen sexual need.
She notes the anger and disgust on my face and nods, satisfied.
“Good. You get it. I can keep a lid on it most of the time,” she says.
“It’s worse from a full-blooded Velusian, so you can thank my reprobate human father for the diluted blood.
Also, it’s not completely universal. Some species are totally immune to it—including Void Stalkers.
Actually, I don’t think they desire much beyond torment and death, so trying to use sex as a weapon against them is pointless. ”
“Pointless,” I echo thickly. It’s taking too long for my head to clear—I need to get away from her. I shift to leave, but she holds out her hand.
“No need to run, I’m outta here. I just wanted you to understand.
You and I have struck a bargain—nothing more.
As soon as I take you to the second dealer, I’ll drop you back on Xylothia and we’re done for good.
I go on my merry way and you keep your mouth shut to the Feds.
That was the deal. Anything you think you might feel for me is a lie, thanks to my overbearing mother’s obnoxious genetics. Don’t trust it.”
I frown, feeling exposed and vulnerable after losing control of my senses.
I don’t know what to do with the anger I feel at the violation, despite the fact that nothing happened between us.
I clench my fists, wanting to smash something.
Before I can gather enough words to rage at her, she tosses a towel at me and makes for the door.
“You can shower first. Sometimes that helps after getting a full blast of vellia. I’ll be on the bridge. Ada can help you with whatever you need—just ask,” she offers nonchalantly, as if she’s oblivious to the storm raging inside me.
Before I can help myself, I call after her.
“What’s it like?” I ask, gripping the towel so hard, my knuckles turn white. “For you, I mean. What do you feel when you’re giving it off? Do you sense what it does to others?”
If she has any indication of the intensity of my feelings, I might as well leap out the outer door and die in the frozen vacuum of space.
She stops a few steps down the hallway, but doesn’t turn around.
“No,” she replies. “I don’t feel anything.” Then, finally throwing a glance over her shoulder, she grins. “But even if I did, you don’t have anything to worry about. You’re not my type.”
I don’t want to smile at her teasing—not after what happened. Sour words fall from my lips as she disappears down the corridor.
“Undoubtedly,” I call out. “I’m not a lying, cheating, thieving criminal!”
“Nah,” she shouts back. “That’s not it. You don’t have enough tentacles to interest me.”
It’s easier for me to seize the relief I feel at that fact than it is to acknowledge the sliver of disappointment cutting through my wild emotions.
She’s right—the shower helps. I grimace at the thought of putting on my filthy uniform again, and I curse myself for leaving without my pack or any supplies of my own. Then again, Lyra mentioned she might have some clothes for me to wear.
Ignoring the discomfort I feel speaking into the silence of the bathroom, I clear my throat.
“Ada?”
Ranger Asterth. How may I be of assistance?
“Oh. You can call me Orion, I guess,” I mumble awkwardly.
Very well, Orion. How may I be of assistance? Ada asks again.
“Lyra said something about clean clothes. Can you direct me to the lockers she mentioned?” I ask, wiping the fogged mirror with the edge of my towel.
I’m afraid the lower decks are off limits to Lyra’s visitors. It would be better for you to wait in your living quarters. I will inform Lyra that you require fresh attire.
Despite the politeness of Ada’s words and her virtual nature, her tone brooks no refusal.
“Thank you,” I reply, wrapping the towel tightly around my waist and padding down the corridor to my temporary room.
The door opens automatically and I take in Lyra’s feeble attempt at tidying.
The bunk has been stripped of sheets and the clean bedding lies in a pile beneath a dingy pillow.
Most of the dust and grime still remains on the furniture and the floor, but at least the boxes of junk have been moved—minus a stray paperback romance that has escaped notice and found a spare corner of floor to inhabit.
As soon as I get some clean clothes, I’ll fix up the place myself.
Not that I’m going to hide in here…I’m not afraid of Lyra, exactly, but…
If it’s going to be two weeks until we make it to Minaris, that is two weeks too long to be around someone whose very presence can make me climb out of my skin with barely restrained lust. And two weeks too long to be around that same someone who thinks my people are a resource to be exploited, and sees me as an inconvenient means to an unsatisfying end.
No. Despite the lingering effects of desire that continue to burrow through my veins—even after pleasuring myself twice in the shower—tangling with Lyra Phoenix more than absolutely necessary is the quickest way to find myself facing a supernova of destructive forces.
My ancestors were stalwart, single-minded, celibate warrior monks and I’ll simply have to inhabit the same kind of mastery over my senses and needs.
She’s just another woman, after all, and an obnoxious one at that.
Her half-Velusian blood works against me, but it’s purely chemical.
She told me herself—anything you think you might feel for me is a lie. Don’t trust it.
I won’t trust my feelings for her any more than I trust her, and when all is said and done, I can still hand her over to the Feds if things get messy.
The door whooshes again, and Lyra storms in, bundle of garments in her arms and an annoyed expression on her face.
“Look, Ranger...” She begins, freezing in the doorway.
Her eyes rove down my body, devouring my towel-clad form with what I can only describe as hunger.
I smirk at first, smug in the knowledge that she isn’t as immune to lust as she’d made out earlier.
The realization is quickly followed by an even more disturbing one: if she feels romantic stirrings for me, it’s obvious there is little I could do to prevent her from using her abilities to take advantage of me at will.
It’ll be a dangerous balancing act to ensure she doesn’t turn me into a puddle of desire, drop me off on the nearest moon, and take off with the idol.
That thought leaves me as cold as the rivulets of water dripping off my hair down my shoulders.
“Thank you for the clothes,” I say, hoping to get her out of my room and with any luck, far away on the other side of the ship.
“Yes, clothes,” she repeats, her pouty lips hanging open in a soft o shape. “I have some for you.”
She holds them out, but her gaze doesn’t stray from my bare chest. The heat sparking in her violet eyes stirs my blood again and I can’t resist the onslaught of images that race through my brain—her legs hooked over my shoulders, grinding her sex against my tongue.
I lean forward, drawn to her like a heavenly body finding a new orbit.
Fuck.
“Ada,” I grit out. “Ventilate the rooms in the living quarters, pod 3.”
Lyra blinks, the haze of desire clearing and a slow smile spreading across her face. The fans whir to life, and Lyra throws back her head and laughs.
“Damn,” she chuckles. “This is going to be a huge fucking shitshow.”
For once, I know she’s telling the truth.