Chapter 5 Lyra
lyra
Something About This Was Inevitable
After six days of avoiding each other as much as possible in the cramped corridors of my ship, I know I’ve got a major problem.
I want to sleep with the stars-damned, goody-two-shoes ranger.
Even worse is the fact that I can tell he’s attracted to me, too, but clearly doesn’t want to be.
Son of a bitch. Nothing like a man scoping out your ass and looking like he’d rather punch himself in the face than give it a grab. Talk about going from sizzle to fizzle.
I’ve done everything in my power to distract myself and to avoid running into him around the ship as he occupies himself with small, menial tasks.
Without a word, he set about cleaning his berth and the common areas, organizing my books on a newly dusted shelf, scrubbing out the water filtration system and the kitchen cupboards.
It’s almost been enough to keep us away from each other.
Today, however, I’m taking stock of our meager supplies in the hold when Ada pings me, informing me that our illustrious guest requested my presence in my abandoned laboratory—one of the few rooms on my ship I’m happy to avoid.
The depressing lab is more of a junk repository for me these days, despite it being equipped with state-of-the art tech that can analyze and study just about anything, as well as a long fallow biosphere where crops can be grown on long distance voyages.
My dad was a bit of a science nut in his spare time, and when he wasn’t teaching me how to sneak, steal, and survive, he taught me everything he knew about Earth sciences and space travel.
The only piece of him I kept close to me is his tattered old journal, filled with notes on desirable treasures across galaxies and haphazard daily logs detailing his adventures.
I’m still working my way through the crinkled, yellowing pages.
I let everything else fall to ruin—too cowardly to confront the disordered mess of both his legacy and my emotions.
I haven’t had the heart to clear out his gear after he died and left the Aldrin-136 to me.
“I’m not going in there just because he summoned me,” I snap. “Tell him I’m busy.”
Orion politely requests your presence, all the same.
“He is so obnoxious! First, he complains about the food, and then when I finally relent and dig through the supplies in the hold, he starts pestering me to drop what I’m doing to go attend to him for stars-know-what reason.
I’m sorry I don’t have a gourmet kitchen and an epicurean cook to whip up something fresh whenever His Highness’s tummy growls.
And anyway, what’s wrong with protein pills and carbo shakes?
I mean, what the hell else do Xylothians eat? ” I rant.
Is this an opportunity for a joke? Ada replies.
I wince at that. Perhaps it was unfair of me to unleash a wave of vellia on him last week when we were both exhausted, hungry, filthy, and sore from our messy getaway.
He needs to understand, though; we can’t afford to let any false horniness derail our deal.
I did him a favor, really, by being so honest. At least that’s what I told myself after I saw the look of disgusted betrayal in his eyes in the wake of my little demonstration.
Not many can withstand the onslaught of desire my mother’s blood can summon, though it affects every species differently. I’ve never seen anyone react the way Orion did—with the fire that promises to consume us both, if we ever give it the chance to burn.
Not something I’m particularly keen on, at this point.
I still don’t trust him not to turn me over to the Feds at the first opportunity.
Those kinds of upstanding, holier-than-thou heroes always throw you over for the good of the universe in the end.
It should be more of a relief to me that he’s particularly susceptible to my vellia in case I need an edge, but for the first time ever, thinking about using it on him again just makes me…
sad. Ugh. Not something I’m interested in examining too closely at present.
Ranger Asterth has been working on something to improve this ship, and by extension, your existence. Rather than continuing to hide from him, perhaps you should see what he’s been doing.
“I’m not hiding from him,” I grumble, but brush off my dusty pants and head to the second deck and the lab.
I start to knock but catch myself. This is my ship, after all—I can go where I damn well please without anyone’s permission.
“You rang, Ranger?” I call out, startling him as the metal door slides open.
I stop in my tracks, taking in the space that used to be a disaster and now looks like it’s been restored to clean, organized, functional perfection.
The last time it looked like this was before my father died.
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes and I swallow around a lump in my throat, embarrassed by the unbidden grief.
“I didn’t hear you knock,” Orion grumbles with his back to me. “And I didn’t actually expect you to come.”
Grateful that my irritation masks my sadness, I’m able to shrug into that well-worn cloak of perpetual annoyance before he can see how this room affects me.
“It’s my ship,” I argue. “I don’t have to knock.”
He bristles and turns to face me, his lips drawn in a tight line.
He’s wearing another borrowed outfit—a thin, white, too-small tank top that stretches across his broad chest, and soft gray sweatpants that do more than hint at his endowments.
Stars save me. I can’t remember who left them on my ship, but I curse them with the fire of a thousand suns for leaving me with clothes that barely hide Orion’s god-like physique.
Despite my affinity for tentacled partners, that doesn’t seem to matter to my raging libido when I take in his powerful body, cut with lean muscle and flushed pink, either from the tepid warmth of the laboratory or his frustration with me.
His bronzed shoulders are dusted with dark purplish brown freckles, dotting his skin like flickering constellations.
Briefly, I fantasize about tracing shapes in those stars with my tongue and fingertips.
But the way he glares at me makes me think he’s more irritated than interested, which is probably better for both of us.
He takes a step back and crosses to the other side of the center worktable, folding his arms across his chest. My attention snags on the way his muscles bunch and flex with the movement.
“If you’re done ogling me,” he quips sharply. “I can show you what I’ve been doing in here.”
“I’m not ogling.” I am, though. “I’m assessing.”
“Assessing,” he repeats, arching a brow. “Assessing me for, what, weaknesses? Are you still planning to—how did you put it—kick my ass?”
“Yeah,” I say, my mouth dry. The purplish freckles on his skin darken with his exasperation and I’m momentarily transfixed.
The longer I stare, the darker they get.
He clears his throat and I pull my gaze back to his face with great effort.
The look he wears is very disapproving professor and right now, I want nothing more than to be his naughty student.
“Well?” he prompts.
I look around the room and nod with approval.
“You cleaned,” I say simply.
He rolls his eyes. “Yes, I know that’s a foreign concept to you, but I wasn’t referring to the cleanliness.”
“What’d you do with all my stuff?” I ask, refusing to clarify that it’s actually my dad’s stuff.
The accompanying grief is a sucker punch straight to the chest and almost renders me breathless.
“I had some important things in there, you know. And maybe there were some private things in there that you shouldn’t have been digging through. ”
“They’re in the storage lockers off the main hallway,” he replies.
I gape. “I have storage lockers?”
The corners of his lips quirk at that, but he swallows the smile before it can take its full, blinding shape. Stars-damn those dimples.
“I just asked you in here so I could show you the biosphere,” he says. “Do you know how it works? It looks like it hasn’t been used in a few years.”
“I know how it works,” I cut in, glaring at him, already pushing back against the unwanted memories of afternoons spent in here with my father. “I just didn’t have time to get it set up in between runs.”
His brow furrows at that. “Thefts, you mean.”
I shrug.
He sighs. “Well, you actually had most of what you needed to get a healthy garden going. Everything was in cold storage—the seeds, soil amendments, and fertilizer. I planted a variety of fruits and vegetables from a couple different planets, at least the ones that I’m familiar with, and programmed their care into the system.
Ada helped. In a few weeks, we’ll be able to eat something other than that dehydrated, processed garbage you seem to love. ”
I want to rail at him—to yell at him for coming into my ship and messing up my stuff.
I hate that I haven’t had a fresh fruit or vegetable from the lab since my dad died and that it’s Orion bringing them back.
I hate how the sight of the lab pokes at the ulcers of my grief, and that it’s made worse because it’s stupid Orion who keeps sneaking through my carefully crafted emotional defenses.
Not that he knows, of course. I’d rather swallow a Uranian slug than open up to him.
But…he worked hard, and beneath the grief—loath as I am to admit it—is a kind of hopeful nostalgia at seeing the small plants erupting from the little pods of soil.
“It’s…” I struggle to wrangle my emotions and find an appropriate response. “You did good.”
He lifts a shoulder in forced nonchalance, but there’s a flash of pride on his face that lights up his eyes and makes his freckles flicker.
“Thanks. It was nice to have something to do,” he says. “I think I’m a bit stir-crazy being cooped up in a metal box without any nature nearby.”
“I take it all Xylothians have a green thumb,” I hedge.
“Green thumb?”