Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Emma’s hands wouldn’t stop shaking. She gripped the flight controls tighter, as if that might somehow steady the trembling that had taken root somewhere deep in her chest and radiated outward through every limb.
The flyer responded to her death grip with a slight wobble, and she forced herself to ease up before she sent them careening into a chunk of debris.
Breathe. Just breathe.
Behind her, she could hear the male who’d rescued them moving around the small cabin. Fabric rustled. He hissed through his teeth, a sound that was more cat than human, and she found herself glancing over her shoulder despite her better judgment.
He’d stripped off his shirt.
Her breath caught. She told herself it was surprise.
Or lingering adrenaline. Or the fact that she’d just witnessed him kill people and then drag himself aboard a moving spacecraft with a hole in his shoulder.
It definitely wasn’t because his torso looked like it had been sculpted by someone with very specific ideas about male perfection.
Golden fur covered his skin in a fine layer, darker along his spine and shoulders, lighter across his stomach.
Muscles shifted beneath that fur as he pressed a wad of bandaging against his wound, and his face betrayed nothing but mild irritation.
Like getting shot was an inconvenience rather than a life-threatening injury.
His long furred tail was currently twitching with what she suspected was pain, though his expression gave nothing away.
“Eyes forward,” he said without looking up. “Unless you want to fly us into a hull fragment.”
Heat flooded her cheeks, and she snapped her attention back to the viewport, where the burning wreckage of the Ithyian ship was already shrinking behind them. Debris floated in lazy spirals, catching the light of distant stars, almost beautiful if you didn’t think about what it represented.
People died on that ship.
People who kidnapped you, a harder voice reminded her. People who were going to sell you.
She didn’t know how to feel about that. Relief, certainly, but also something uncomfortable and complicated that she didn’t have the emotional bandwidth to examine right now.
The baby made a soft sound from where Emma had strapped her into the safety harness. Not quite a cry, more like a question.
“I know, sweetheart,” she murmured. “I know. Just give me a minute.”
“You’re doing fine.”
She startled. The male had moved closer without her hearing him, and now he was leaning over her shoulder, his breath warm against her ear.
He smelled like blood and metal and something musky and not unpleasant.
His chest was still bare, the bandage secured around his shoulder with what looked like actual medical tape.
“The course is good,” he continued. “We’re clear of the debris field. I can take over.”
“Your shoulder—”
“Will be fine.” He straightened, and she felt the loss of his warmth more acutely than she should have. “Move.”
It wasn’t a request. She found herself standing before she’d consciously decided to comply, and then he was sliding into the pilot’s seat with a fluid grace that had no business belonging to a male who’d been shot twenty minutes ago.
His hands moved easily over the controls and the slight wobble in their flight path smoothed out immediately. The tension in his shoulders eased by a fraction.
This is his element, she decided. Flying, escaping, surviving. She wondered how many times he’d done exactly that.
“There should be supplies for the baby in the rear compartment,” he said. “This vessel belonged to a diplomat—they tend to travel prepared for anything.”
“A diplomat?”
“The Ithyians stole it.” His tail flicked with something that looked like satisfaction. “Now I’ve stolen it from them. Circle of life.”
She opened her mouth to point out the logical flaws in that particular philosophy, then decided she didn’t have the energy.
The baby was making more insistent sounds now, her small fists waving in the air, and she unstrapped her, cradling her against her chest. Her silver skin reflected the cockpit lights and her big, dark eyes fixed on Emma’s face with an intensity that felt almost ancient.
What are you? she wondered. What kind of life were you born into?
The baby’s face scrunched, and she recognized the expression from years of working with children. Discomfort, probably hunger.
“Hang on, little one. Let me see what I can find.”
The rear compartment was surprisingly spacious for a vessel this small.
Rich blue fabric lined the walls, and covered a plush bench seat.
The small wooden table and storage cabinets with polished metal handles were beautifully crafted.
Whoever had owned this flyer before its life of crime had been someone important.
She searched through the cabinets and found a section of robes in jewel tones, impractical but beautiful. She also found ration packs, basic medical equipment, and water containers, but very little in the way of food.
The baby was crying in earnest now, tiny wails that echoed through the cabin, and in desperation Emma grabbed a box of what appeared to be some kind of protein powder.
She tested it against her tongue and found it bland and slightly sweet.
When she dipped her finger in it and held it against the baby’s mouth, the infant sucked eagerly.
“I guess this will have to do.”
Since there wasn’t anything resembling a bottle, she continued dipping her finger in the powder and bringing it to the baby’s lips.
Silence fell, broken only by the soft sounds of feeding and the hum of the engines.
She sank onto the bench seat, her legs suddenly unwilling to support her weight, and watched the baby eat.
I’m in space. I was kidnapped by aliens, escaped during an attack by different aliens, and now I’m feeding an alien baby in a stolen spaceship.
Her quiet life had certainly taken a turn.
“You’re good with her.”
Her head snapped up. The male stood in the doorway to the rear compartment, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed over his bare chest. The bandage on his shoulder was already showing a spot of red seeping through.
“You should be flying the ship.”
“Autopilot.” He tilted his head, studying her with those striking blue eyes. In the soft lighting of the cabin, his features looked almost human—if you ignored the fur, the pointed ears, and the feline cast to his bone structure. “You’ve cared for children before. Your children?”
There was something on his face she couldn’t quite read as she shook her head.
“No. I’m an elementary school teacher.” The words felt strange in her mouth, like they belonged to a different person. A person who worried about lesson plans and parent-teacher conferences, not alien warriors and mysterious babies. “And I did a lot of babysitting growing up.”
“Useful skills.”
“I somehow doubt my ability to manage a classroom of seven-year-olds is going to be relevant out here.”
His mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “You might be surprised. Children are children, regardless of species. Demanding, irrational, prone to tantrums.” His tail swished. “Much like most adults I’ve encountered.”
She found herself almost smiling back. It felt wrong somehow, smiling at the alien who’d dragged her through a firefight, but her body seemed to have different ideas about appropriate emotional responses.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“Doren va Karr.” He sketched an elaborate bow that would have looked ridiculous if he hadn’t performed it with such obvious irony. “Captain of the Vagabond, treasure hunter, occasional smuggler, and apparently now nursemaid to the galaxy’s most wanted infant.”
“Most wanted?”
“I exaggerate.” He straightened, moving into the compartment with the fluid grace she was starting to associate with him. “But not by much. The Grorn have been searching for her, or rather what she is, for a very long time.”
“And what is she?”
He was quiet for a moment, his gaze dropping to the baby in her arms.
“That,” he said, “is a very long story.”
“I have time.”
“Which means I have time to tell you the story.” He opened one of the cabinets, pulling out a robe in deep burgundy and tossing it to her. “You should dress. You’re shivering.”
She was. The thin slave gown offered no protection against the chill of the recycled air, and her bare feet had gone numb against the metal deck. She hadn’t noticed until he pointed it out. He bent down and held out his arms for the now sleeping baby.
“I’ll hold her while you change.”
She hesitated for only a second, then carefully placed the baby in his arms. When her fingers brushed against his warm, fur-covered skin, a shiver ran through her that had nothing to do with the temperature.
“Turn around,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.
His eyebrows rose. “Modesty? After everything?”
“Turn. Around.”
He obeyed, but not before she caught the flash of amusement in his eyes.
She quickly stripped off the flimsy gown and pulled on the robe he’d given her.
It was far too big for her, but the fabric was soft and warm, and she belted it around her waist with a sigh of relief.
When she turned back, the sight of the big, dangerous-looking male cradling the tiny silver baby made something in her chest hurt.
“Better?” His voice carried a teasing note that she found both charming and irritating in equal measure.
“Better.”
His gaze swept over her with an appreciation he didn’t bother to hide. “The color suits you.”
“Flattery isn’t going to make me trust you.”
“No?” He moved closer, close enough that she could see the individual strands of golden fur along his jaw, the faint scars that crossed his torso. “What would?”
Honesty, she thought. Answers. Some indication that you’re not going to abandon me on the nearest planet the moment I become inconvenient.
“You could start by telling me the truth about the baby.”
His expression flickered. He glanced at the infant in his arms and something like conflict passed through his eyes. He passed the baby back to her, then settled onto the bench next to her, his long legs stretched out, his tail curling around his ankle. “You said the Grorn mentioned the Vault?”
“Yes. What is it?”
“Most people would tell you it’s a legend. The greatest treasure in the known galaxy, sealed away behind the Serpent’s Maw eons ago by a civilization that died before most spacefaring species learned to walk upright.”
“But you don’t think it’s a legend?”
“No. I’ve seen it.” He hesitated, then gave a half-shrug. “More accurately, I’ve seen the Serpent’s Maw and the path to it. I haven’t passed through the Serpent’s Maw. No one alive has passed through it.”
“But you believe that the Vault is there, and that it contains that treasure.”
It wasn’t a question, but he nodded anyway. “Yes. Although no one is sure what the treasure actually consists of.”
“What do you think it is?”
“Precursor technology, powerful beyond anything we currently have. The Grorn believe it has the power to perform a divine transformation and remake the galaxy in their image. Which is what makes them especially dangerous.”
“They’re religious fanatics.”
“Yes.”
“And the baby?”
“They believe they need seven biological Keys to open the Vault. They’ve spent centuries hunting those Keys. I suspect that they already have two within their possession. There is a third that they do not control.”
“And she’s the fourth?”
His jaw tightened. “Yes. A living genetic cipher, engineered by whoever built the Vault to be the literal key to its locks.”
“And now they know about her.”
“Now they know about her.” He met her eyes, and for the first time, she saw something beneath the charming facade—something hard and calculating. “Which means she, and anyone associated with her, will be hunted until the Grorn are satisfied.”
The weight of his words settled over her. She was going to be hunted because she’d made the choice to protect a baby she didn’t know, from aliens she didn’t understand, in a galaxy she’d never asked to visit.
“So what happens now?” Her voice came out unexpectedly calm. “Where do we go?”
“First, we put some distance between us and the Grorn ship.” He rose, moving toward the cockpit. “The jump point is forty minutes out. Once we’re in hyperspace, we’ll have time to plan.”
“Plan what?”
He paused in the doorway, looking back at her over his shoulder. The lighting caught the sharp angles of his face, the gleam of his eyes, and for a moment, he looked less like a charming rogue and more like the predator his species had evolved from.
“How to survive,” he said. “How to keep her safe. And how to find the others before the Grorn do.”
“Others?”
“The other Keys.” His smile was sharp-edged and dangerous. “This child isn’t the only Key. And if we want to stay ahead of the Grorn, we need to find them first.”
He disappeared into the cockpit, leaving her alone with a sleeping alien baby and a thousand unanswered questions.
She pulled the robe tighter around herself and stared out the small viewport at the passing stars.
Somewhere back there, beyond the debris field and the burning ships, was Earth.
Her home. Her life. Everything she’d known.
She wondered if she’d ever see it again.
The baby stirred in her arms, dark eyes blinking open.
For a moment, those ancient eyes seemed to look right through her, seeing something Emma couldn’t begin to understand.
Then the baby yawned, and the spell broke, and she was just an infant again.
Small and helpless and entirely dependent on two strangers who’d stumbled into her life by accident.
“I’ve got you,” she murmured, the same words she’d said a hundred times to a hundred frightened children. “Whatever happens, I’ve got you.”
She didn’t know if it was a promise she could keep. But she was damn well going to try.