Chapter 12
ZARA
Iwoke up slowly, aware of warmth and weight and the unfamiliar sensation of another body pressed against mine.
For a moment, I couldn’t remember where I was or why every muscle in my body felt pleasantly loose and satisfied.
Then memory came flooding back—Torven’s hands on my skin, his mouth between my legs, the way he’d made me come apart with a skill that blew up what I thought was good sex.
And we hadn’t even had actual, penetrative sex.
I’d be redefining my parameters of sexual pleasure based on this new data…
and the data I’d be collecting with each new intimate encounter I experienced with Torven.
Heat flooded my cheeks as I remembered how I’d cried out his name, how I’d gripped his hair and arched beneath him like some sort of wanton creature. I’d never been so responsive with anyone before, never felt pleasure that intense and all-consuming.
I turned my head carefully, not wanting to wake him, and studied his sleeping face.
He was lying on his back, one arm thrown over his head, his breathing deep and even, with the faintest hint of a snore.
In sleep, the harsh lines of his face were softer, making him look younger somehow.
His skin was a soft, warm bronze with lavender patches that looked like clouds moving slowly over his body.
The mating marks on his neck were clearly visible, the dark patterns that marked me as his and him as mine.
My mate. The concept still felt surreal, but right in some mystical, illogical way. I wanted to think that I wouldn’t overanalyze it, but I would. I knew I would.
I let my gaze drift lower, taking in the strong column of his throat, the broad expanse of his chest rising and falling with each breath.
I could see faint scars scattered across his torso—evidence of his warrior past, probably.
My fingers itched to trace those marks, to explore every inch of him the way he’d explored me.
The memory of his restraint last night made something clench low in my belly.
The way he’d stopped my hand when I’d tried to touch him, the tight control in his voice when he’d said he wanted to maintain what little self-discipline he had left.
I understood it, but I also wanted to see that control shatter completely.
As I watched him sleep, a thought crystallized in my mind with startling clarity.
We might not make it out of this situation alive.
Despite our determination to survive, despite our plans and hopes, the reality was that we were trapped on a hostile planet with dwindling resources and unknown enemies potentially hunting us.
So why were we waiting?
I was a practical person. I believed in making decisions based on available data and logical assessment of outcomes.
And the data suggested that if we were going to die anyway, we might as well enjoy whatever time we had left.
More than that—I wanted him. I wanted to know what it felt like to have him inside me, to experience that final connection that would make us truly mates in every sense of the word.
The decision felt right, inevitable. I was done waiting.
Moving carefully so as not to wake him, I shifted closer and let my hand drift down his chest, tracing the line of muscle definition from his collarbone to his abdomen. His skin was warm and smooth under my palm, and I could feel his heartbeat strong and steady beneath my fingertips.
When I reached the waistband of his pants, I hesitated for just a moment. Then I slipped my hand lower, palming the impressive bulge that had been straining against the fabric last night.
He was already hard.
The moment I touched him, his entire body went rigid on a sharp intake of breath. His eyes snapped open, instantly alert and focused on my face with an intensity that made my pulse quicken.
“Rivers,” he growled in a warning tone. “What are you doing?”
“I changed my mind,” I said simply. “About waiting.”
Something primal flashed across his features, and he rolled toward me with a low groan that vibrated through his chest. His hand came up to cup my face, his thumb stroking across my cheekbone as he looked at me with eyes that glittered like dark emeralds.
“Are you sure?” he asked, though I could see the strain it cost him to give me the chance to back out.
“I’m sure,” I breathed, leaning into his touch. “I’ve thought about the probabilities of our survival and I want—”
BANG. BANG. BANG.
The sound of heavy impacts on the outer hatch shattered the intimate moment like glass.
We both froze, staring at each other in shock before tossing off the blanket and scrambling up to standing.
It was too rhythmic to be storm debris, too purposeful to be anything other than someone—or something—demanding entry.
“Get dressed,” Torven ordered, already scanning the room for something—a weapon, probably. “Now.”
“I am,” I muttered, scrambling for my discarded garments.
I was the only one of us who was naked and I definitely didn’t want to deal with whoever was outside that hatch in such a state.
My heart slammed against my ribs as the pounding stopped and the outer hatch creaked open loudly.
They were in the air lock vestibule. Working on the inner hatch.
I had never pulled on clothing so quickly before.
I couldn’t find my bra or my socks, and one shoe was missing.
It was the best I could do under the circumstances.
Torven had pulled on his shirt and grabbed a piece of twisted metal debris from the pile of salvage near the wall. It wasn’t much of a weapon, but it was better than nothing. His face had gone hard and focused, and his skin had shifted to dark blues with brilliant purple streaks.
“Behind me,” he said, positioning himself between me and the inner hatch as I finished fastening my jacket with shaking fingers.
The screech of metal on metal was excruciating as someone worked at the inner hatch mechanism. I pressed myself against Torven’s back, wishing that we had real weapons instead of improvised clubs and tenuous hope.
“I wish we had some weapons right about now,” I muttered.
“Me too,” he replied grimly. “If they’d survived the crash, they’d be in our hands right now.”
The hatch swung open with a grinding protest of hinges, and cold air rushed into the chamber along with a small gust of the acrid-smelling atmosphere outside.
For a moment, all I could see were dark silhouettes against the gray morning light.
Then they stepped inside, and I got my first clear look at our uninvited visitors.
There were six of them, tall and imposing in heavy cloaks that obscured their forms. They wore full face masks that looked like some kind of breathing apparatus, with tubes and filters that suggested the outside air was as poisonous to them as it was to us.
They moved with military precision, spreading out to cover the room’s exits in a combat-type of formation.
I peered around Torven’s shoulder. My curiosity warred with very real fear.
They were humanoid, that much was clear, but their bulk suggested they were larger and more heavily built than either humans or Destrans.
The way they held themselves, the coordination of their movements—these weren’t random scavengers or desperate survivors.
This was an organized force with clear objectives.
If they were here to kill us, we were fucked.
The figure in the lead stepped forward and slowly reached up to pull back his hood.
While the rest of his party stood still and covered in their garments, his movements were deliberate and nonthreatening.
Calm, even, like this was just another day for him.
I could feel Torven’s muscles coiled tight with readiness to fight if this went bad.
The leader then removed the breathing mask to reveal features that made me gasp in recognition.
He was definitely humanoid, with all the facial features that Destrans and humans had in common.
The bone structure was similar, but everything was more robust. His skin was thicker and more weathered than a Destran’s, with a texture that reminded me of leather.
Most striking were his eyes, which shifted from pale blue to vivid green as I watched.
His age was anyone’s guess, but judging by the quiet confidence and clear control he had, I guessed he was an older, more seasoned leader.
Torven’s body remained rigid and ready. “Who are you?”
The male didn’t reply, but continued his careful reveal, pushing back his cloak to show clothing that looked handmade but well-fitted and sophisticated.
When he finally spoke, his voice was deep and gravelly, but the words that emerged made my heart race with excitement. “I am called Vikkat. Leader of this search party.” His pronunciation was careful, the syntax slightly off but understandable. “It is helpful that we can speak with each other.”
The language was definitely related to Destran. Similar root words, comparable grammatical structures, but simplified somehow. Like hearing an ancient dialect of a modern tongue. This was one of the more surreal experiences of my life. Who were these people?
Torven slowly lowered his makeshift weapon, though he didn’t relax his defensive posture. “You understand us?”
Vikkat nodded. “We detected ship crash. Then heard transmission intercept. Came to investigate.”
“I’m Captain Torven Korvath of the Destran transport ship Teg-2991B,” Torven said. “We came on a research mission. We mean you no harm.”
Vikkat’s gaze shifted to the scrap metal in Torven’s hand. “Then drop metal.” He spread his arms. “We aim no weapons at you.”
“There’s no way they came here unarmed,” he muttered to me. “I guarantee they have blasters or something under those cloaks.”
“Do what he says,” I whispered back. “They seem peaceful. Don’t provoke them.”