Chapter 5
SOLEIL
Every other shift, so was he.
When he was home, Santiago gave her space and let her clean in peace while he worked on his terrace.
He favored a deep outdoor armchair.
He sat most times with one ankle crossed over his knee, emphasizing his thick, muscled thighs, a synth pad balanced in one hand, a mug of kahawa in the other.
In between his holo calls and furious typing, she sensed his gaze, his eyes following her.
She also perceived a power thrumming beneath his veneer, a silent, coiled force that could either protect or destroy, depending on the inclination of his heart.
As she grew more at ease with him, he initiated conversation in his timbred voice, asking her how her night had been, how her boss, Wren, was treating her, and about her work.
His questions unsettled her, peeling past her defenses with disarming ease.
Hell, she wasn’t used to a man probing about her life without wanting something in return.
She was used to leverage, manipulation tactics, and power posturing.
He gave her none of that energy, just quiet, steady interest that left her off balance.
Yet all she gave him were short, mumbled responses.
He listened as if he cared for her answers, his full attention on her when she did speak.
At first, Soleil edged on cagey and cautious.
She was here to work. That was the arrangement.
Yet her mind, body, and soul didn’t get the memo.
Every time his voice curled around her name, Soleil, it sent scorching, unprofessional, undignified desire through her.
When she mumbled and stumbled over her replies, Santi never pressed.
He gave her space as she rushed off to her duties.
She had excellent reason to avoid his rumbled questions that almost always bypassed the walls of her heart.
For if he peeked under her hood, he’d find her secrets and the biting, ugly truth of what she’d been forced to become.
Still, she began to look forward to when he greeted her at the door with a lazy ‘Mornin’, carino.’
Damn that timbre; it was hoarse, raw, and velvet-rich, always sending a tight arc of need through her core.
However, she mumbled a reply each time and slipped past him with her hover kit, pretending her heart wasn’t thudding like a war drum in her chest.
She heard him on calls, that deep voice of his rolling over her like syrup.
Smooth. Lethal. Measured.
Yet so freakin’ rasped, hoarse, and delicious.
One morning, he wandered into the kitchen as she wiped down a counter, his movements easy, unhurried.
He poured himself a cup of kahawa, the steam curling between them.
‘Do you always dodge small talk with your clients,’ he said, his utterance, rich and sinful as the brew he dispensed, ‘or is it just me? Do I put you off?’
She didn’t glance up, just kept wiping.
Her soul lurched, but she masked it with a slight, practiced smile. ‘I avoid chatter with men who look like trouble and sound like temptation. Keeps my shift clean and my conscience clearer.’
He chuckled, deep and smooth. ‘That wounds me, mi sol.’
She stilled, cloth in hand. ‘What did you call me?’
He took a slow sip, eyes on her over the rim of his glass. ‘You remind me of sunshine,’ he rasped. ‘Thus the name. It’s Spanish. Do you mind?’
She flushed, thought about it quickly, and found she liked it. ‘Not really.’
He swiveled to face her, eyes narrowed, eyes flicking over her hair, face, and freckles. ‘You’re the kind of woman whose beauty is seared into the souls of men.’
‘Stop.’
His smile curved with genuine intent, as was his shrug. ‘I call it how I see it, guapa. Which means, beautiful woman.’
With that, he pushed off and sauntered away.
Leaving her perplexed.
The next time she came by, there was a rare, handwritten note on the counter, the ink neat but forceful:
Sante for your hard work. A tidy space isn’t just about looking presentable; it’s about the sense of home it imbues. What you do is appreciated. – S
She blinked, her heart touched, as she tucked the message into her pocket, all the same.
When she got to her hovel that night, she slid it into her printed journal, taped it in place, and added it to her daily entry.
Soon, her rotations expanded.
According to Wren, Santi ordered cleaning for the neighboring lodges belonging to his fellow strong guard.
Wren pulled her aside with a grunt. ‘Boss says you’re doin’ amazing and he trusts you. The executive level was using autobots, but they don’t add a personal touch. He wants you to bring a crew to clean more cabins on that level.’
Soleil’s eyes widened. ‘I get a team?’
‘Two names. Make ‘em count.’
She didn’t even have to think. ‘Astra and Zima.’
Zima was a second-gen lunar native who decided she had had enough of the moon and wanted to live on a real planet like Dunia.
She’d sold all her gold jewelry, paid off half the ticket fee, and jumped onto The Sombra.
To pay off the rest of the fee, she worked a few days each week, like most lower-deck residents of the ship.
Astra almost fainted with delight when she stepped onto Deck 27 the next day, sweeping her eyes over the lagoon and faux skyline. ‘This is fokkin’ gorgeous.’
‘It’s freakin’ unbelievable,’ Zima breathed.
‘It is. Now shut up and grab your mops, lovelies’ Soleil muttered, smiling.
Between scrubbing and cleaning the cabins they were assigned, Astra and Zima stood at the windows or on the terrace.
Staring at the breathtaking beauty of the unimaginable lake.
It gave Soleil so much joy to share this small pleasure with them.
Wren brought down lunchboxes for them each shift, stacked tins of rice and beans, stewed protein, spiced root crisps, and chilled bottles of hydra tonic.
They ate by the water, their feet dipping into the calm, warm waters, laughing as if the starkness of the dark decks below was a distant memory.
It was heaven.
Every so often, Soleil glanced up, eyes flicking to the distance, to the terrace of Cabin 2.
To where a now familiar silhouette sat, elbows resting on the armrests, a synth pad glowing in his lap, sunglasses hiding his eyes.
At times, she spotted him raising a chin at her, and she ducked her face away, flushing at being caught eyeing him.
After that, she made pains not to stare.
Still, she sensed him and the scorching heat of his gaze.
All languid muscle and coiled restraint, the kind of male who didn’t need to pounce to be deadly; for he already was.
Santi Alvarro was everything her instincts warned her about.
Quiet. Controlled. Potent. A man accustomed to command. A man used to obedience.
He had a mysterious power about him that emanated even from so far away.
‘He’s always here when we’re working,’ Astra said over lunch one afternoon, squinting up at the cabin with a smirk.
‘For two weeks,’ Zima added, tossing pebbles into the lake. ‘Every other day we’re on duty. Is he inspecting us, seeing if our work passes muster?’
Soleil busied herself with her food, cheeks warm. ‘He’s the XO, he owns the freakin place. He has the privilege to sit wherever he wants.’
Astra snorted. ‘Nada, that’s Tess from Sanitary’s job. Still, our XO is taking advantage of his privilege and running wild with it. His eyes are on you, woman, and no one else, including me, and my boobs have never failed me. He damn sure isn’t aching over how well you clean.’
Soleil didn’t answer because, in her heart, she sensed it to be true.
He was all lean, lethal grace in the way he moved and stilled.
His presence filled a room without a sound.
Those eyes, when they focused on her, made her feel singled out and scrutinized.
While scrubbing his cabin windows one afternoon, she caught his reflection as he lounged behind her, mouth tilted in that ever-sensual quirk, a glass held in his fingers.
Dark, smoldering eyes fixed on her, unblinking.
She paused mid-swipe, because that look, that look, wasn’t idle curiosity.
It was a hunter’s possessive stare.
Yet it came with a restraint she didn’t quite understand, as most men who dared gaze at her that way often acted on it. Santi did not.
It seemed he was giving her the rare freedom to approach him on her terms, which freaked her out.
Still, the truth pressed against her ribs.
He desired her.
More troublesome was the echo that rose in her belly, answering back with equal heat.
She was on fire for him, and fokk, it felt deliciously forbidden.
The thing was, men like him, spectral lycan shifters like she knew him to be, were dangerous and territorial.
She imagined him biting down on her neck, shivering at the probability he’d get his fangs into her jugular, too.
That, terrifyingly, sounded like a fantasy she wanted to come true.
Soleil was kneeling, half-tucked beneath the polished butler’s pantry sink in Cabin 2, elbow-deep in a tangle of wires and pipe, when his voice rolled over her like silk on skin.
‘Everything flowing the way it should down there?’ Santi asked, leaning against the door frame, looking like sin incarnate.
She jerked up too fast, bonking her shoulder on the underside of the counter. ‘W-what?’
He bit back a smile, slow and lazy. ‘The pipes?’ he rasped.
‘Ah,’ she nodded. ‘They’ve been acting temperamental.
They’ve been squealing, and I thought the pressure was all wrong.
I thought I’d fix it, given I’ve been working on dual cleaning and plumbing duties below.
I think I’ve nailed it with some grease and a re-calibration of the valves. No more weird pipe noise.’
His lips quirked. ‘Wonderful. Life is always better when pipes are greased well.’
She blinked, then scrambled upright, smacking her head again.
‘Shit,’ she muttered, rubbing her scalp, mortified.
‘Careful, carino,’ he said, stepping forward with a hand out. ‘Wouldn’t want you hurting yourself on the job.’
‘I’m fine!’ she muttered, waving his hand away and backing away like he was a live wire. ‘All fine! The conduits are clean, water’s flowing.’
‘Efficient,’ he murmured. ‘I appreciate your hands-on effort.’
His eyes glittered, dark and amused, like a panther that had just swatted a mouse for fun.