Sabine
Two in the morning. Station time. The kind of hour when even the casino's endless twilight felt heavy.
I sat cross-legged on my narrow bed, back against the wall, watching Varrick pace my quarters. Three steps, turn. Three steps, turn. His shoulders brushed the walls each time. The space was too small for him—for the heat of him, for the way he made the air feel thin.
My sheets still smelled like sex. Like us. From two nights ago in the private gaming room. Neither of us mentioned it.
“You're hunting them,” I said, pulling my knees up, making myself smaller. Creating distance. “The Conclave.”
“We're destroying them.” He stopped pacing, those red eyes finding mine in the dim light. His fangs showed slightly—that tell I'd cataloged when he was concentrating hard. “Piece by piece. Vault by vault. Until there's nothing left of the empire that murdered our mentor.”
The Conclave. I twisted the regulation blanket between my fingers, needing something to do with my hands. Half the galaxy's shadow economy ran through their networks. They owned senators, controlled trade routes, bought and sold lives like inventory.
“Good.” The word came out flat. Final.
He moved closer, sat on the edge of my bed. The mattress dipped. I had to brace my hand to keep from sliding toward him. “Tell me why.”
His thigh was inches from my foot. I could feel the heat through my thin sleep pants. I pulled my legs tighter against my chest and found the words I'd kept locked away for five years.
“Rigellan fever.” I picked at a loose thread on the blanket, focusing on the small destruction instead of his proximity. “Off-world virus. Rare. Curable, if you have credits.”
He shifted, and his knee touched mine for a heartbeat before I pulled back. “How much?”
“Five hundred thousand.” The thread came loose. I wound it around my finger until the tip went white. “For the treatment that might work. Might.”
Varrick's hand moved toward mine, then stopped. Rested on the mattress between us instead. Close enough that I could grab it. Far enough that I could pretend not to notice.
“Vonni was twenty-two.” I unwound the thread, wound it again. Tighter this time. “My baby sister, though she hated it when I called her that. She was going to be somebody.”
I stood abruptly, needing to move. Crossed to my small desk in three steps. Started pulling things out of drawers—data pads, credit chips, anything to keep my hands busy. “I borrowed from everyone. Legitimate lenders at first.”
He turned on the bed to track my movement. The mattress creaked. “Then?”
“Then sharks.” I found what I was looking for—the maintenance panel under the desk. Popped it open with practiced ease. “Then worse. Signed contracts I didn't read.”
My fingers found the static-proof cloth by touch. Behind me, I heard him stand. Felt him move closer but not too close. Giving me space while taking up all of it.
“The treatment didn't work.” I pulled out the device, turned to face him. He was two feet away. “She died anyway. Drowned in her own blood while I held her hand.”
His jaw tightened. A muscle jumped near his temple. His hands flexed like he wanted to reach for me.
I held up the device between us—a barrier and an offering. “The legitimate lenders sold my debt to predators. The predators sold it to Qeth. Three hundred thousand credits.”
He took the device carefully, our fingers brushing. That small contact sent heat up my arm. I pulled back, turned to my data pad on the desk. “I've saved twenty-seven thousand in five years.”
“Come with me,” he said, examining the device's circuits. “After this—”
“With what?” I laughed, but it came out cracked. I pulled up files on the data pad, needing the distraction of data. “I need thirty-five thousand minimum just to disappear. New identity, transport, bribes.”
I scrolled through identity files, showed him the screen. Anything to avoid looking at his face. “Maria Voss, transport worker. Jana Reed, teacher. Alara Kim, nurse. Two years of planning routes that go nowhere without credits.”
He set the device down carefully, moved to stand beside me at the desk. His arm brushed mine as he leaned in to look at the screen. I didn't pull away this time. Couldn't.
“But I built that too.” I nodded at the device. “Six months of stolen parts. Every 'maintenance' shift, I'd pocket one component.”
His fingers traced the device's edge. Long fingers. Elegant. I remembered them on my skin and forced myself to focus.
“What does it do?” His voice was lower. Closer. His breath stirred my hair.
I pulled up the technical specifications, turned the data pad so he could see. Our shoulders touched. “Creates a feedback loop in Qeth's degraded algorithms. When activated with admin access—”
“Which I can provide.” His hand covered mine on the data pad. Not holding. Just... there.
“—it'll broadcast everything.” I didn't move my hand. Couldn't. “Every crime, every murder, every credit. All hidden in the system's memory.”
I pulled up the timeline file, had to lean across him to reach the second data pad. His scent—ozone from a ship's corridor and something spicy that was uniquely his—made my head swim. “But the real advantage is this.”
The timeline filled the screen. Five years of observations. I traced the pattern with my finger, hyperfocused on the data instead of how his chest pressed against my shoulder. “Qeth takes Nexian neural enhancers at the start of each of the four shifts.”
“Never varies?” His thumb moved against my hand. Tiny motion. Probably unconscious.
“Never.” I highlighted sections, glad for something to do. “Hours one and two after each dose, he's sharp. Dangerous.”
He leaned closer to see the screen. His chin nearly touched my shoulder. “Hours three and four?”
“Declining. You can see it in his eyes.” I scrolled to video footage, tried not to think about his breath on my neck. “But hours five and six? He's gone. Paranoid. Arguing with people who aren't there.”
“The window just before the first shift… that’s when Qeth takes a dose.” His voice rumbled through where our bodies touched.
“His most vulnerable moment.” I pulled away, needed distance, moved to the wall where I'd hidden handwritten notes. Started pulling them down, arranging them on the bed. “Five years of patterns. Seventeen routes through service tunnels.”
He followed, picked up one of the maps. Our fingers tangled as we both reached for the same page. I jerked back. He didn't.
“Every blind spot.” I grabbed another map, focused on laying them out in order. The bed wasn't big enough. We kept bumping hands, arms, hips. “The twelve-minute gap during the final shift on Level 19.”
“You've been planning your own heist.” He was standing too close. I could feel the heat of him down my entire left side.
“I've been planning survival.” I gathered the maps, needed something to do with my hands that wasn't touching him. “But I couldn't crack the vault alone.”
I moved to put the maps back, had to squeeze past him. For a moment we were chest to chest. His hands came up to my waist to steady me. Or to keep me there.
“But with my algorithms—” His thumbs pressed against my hip bones through the thin fabric.
“We can hijack them.” I should have pulled away. Didn't. “Turn his stolen system against him.”
We stood frozen, pressed together in the narrow space between bed and wall. His pupils were dilated. The green traceries on his neck stood out against his skin.
“Vonni would have liked you,” I said suddenly, needing to break whatever was building.
I stepped back, and his hands fell away.
The loss of his touch left a cold space.
He turned then, moving to the desk to give me room, and started reassembling the device with steady hands.
“She had a thing for dangerous men with complicated plans.”
“What would she say now?”
“That I should take the chance.” I touched my neck, the spot where bruises would be if he'd bitten me two nights ago. He tracked the movement. “That dying while trying beats living while dead inside.”
“She was right.” He finished with the device, held it out to me.
I crossed to take it. “Unlike with Vonni, I'm not sacrificing everything for just a chance.”
“No.” He caught my wrist as I took the device. Not hard. Just... holding. “We do this smart, or we don't do it.”
His thumb found my pulse. It was racing. He had to feel it.
“Day Ten.” His other hand came up, fingers barely grazing my jaw. “The window before the first shift.”
“And after?” I couldn't look away from his mouth. Those fangs that could claim me. Mark me. Make me his.
“After, you're under my protection.” His hand slid from my jaw to my neck. Not squeezing. Just resting there. Possessive. “Permanently.”
I should have argued. Should have pulled away. Instead, I leaned into his touch. Just barely. Just enough.
“I can't lose someone else.” My voice came out rough. “Can't go through what I went through with Vonni—”
“You won't.” His forehead touched mine. We breathed the same air. “I promise you that.”
Promises were just words. But with his hands on me, his body blocking out everything else, I wanted to believe.
“You should go.” I didn't move. Neither did he.
“I should.” His thumb stroked once along my throat.
We stayed frozen for three more breaths. Then he stepped back, the loss of heat almost painful.
At the door, he paused. “Get some sleep.”
“Varrick?”
He looked back.
“Thank you. For listening. About Vonni.”
“She was worth saving.” Not a question.
“She was.” My throat tightened. “She really was.”
He left. I stood in my empty quarters, skin still burning where he'd touched me, thinking about chances and choices.