Chapter 5
The little robot was so cute it was unreal.
The little machine chittered, low and pleased, as it batted at the loose thread Delilah dragged across the floor. She bit back a grin and flicked the thread the other way. Pouncing after it, all six legs scrambling on the smooth metal, the machine sent her into fits of giggles with its antics.
“You’re so silly,” she whispered, and it chirped again.
She’d pulled the thread from one of the hoodies the LMP had packed for her, royal blue with the program logo embroidered on the sleeve, and she didn’t feel even a little bad about it. The hoodie would survive, and her little robot was having the time of its life.
It skittered sideways, tried to pounce again, missed, and tumbled over itself in a heap of legs. She smiled and scooped it up, the metal warm under her palms and its weight solid and real against her chest.
“Okay, you’re definitely some kind of cleaning bot,” she told it, settling cross-legged on the floor with it in her lap. “Am I right? You got bored vacuuming hallways and decided to stage a jailbreak? Then you ended up with those big scary robots and got scared?”
It tilted its head, well… its whole body really…
and the motion was so dog-like her throat went tight.
Reaching up, she scratched the top of its head.
Once she’d gotten around the feeling of warm, smooth metal instead of warm, soft fur, it was just like a dog with the advantage that no one would be allergic to it.
Leaning into her hand, it started that pleased hum up again, and her chest filled with the warm and fuzzies.
It was hers. As soon as they’d gotten back to the cabin, it had tucked itself against her when she sat down, as if it wanted to be here. With her. It hadn’t even left her when she’d found the bathroom and taken a shower, sitting on the floor outside the door waiting for her.
The machine chirped and nudged her hand with its head, and she blinked hard, dragging the thread across the floor again.
“Yeah, okay,” she said. “I’m playing. I’m playing.”
It pounced, and she let herself smile, the ache in her chest folding itself back down where it belonged.
They played for another ten minutes, maybe fifteen, the thread getting shorter and more frayed as the little robot got braver with its jumps. It misjudged one and went skidding under the bunk, and she leaned down to coax it back out, laughing.
“You’re fine, come on out. You just startled yourself.”
It crept forward, slower this time, and when it reached her it didn’t bounce or chirp. It just pressed itself against her leg and went still.
The change in its manner knocked the air out of her. She sat back on her heels, one hand hovering over its back, and it made a small sound. One that was small and lost and so familiar she had to close her eyes.
“Hey,” she whispered. “It’s okay.”
It wasn’t, though. It leaned into her, its whole body drooping under some weight she couldn’t see. It was sad. Not broken, or hurt, but sad somehow. How could a robot be sad?
Carefully, she scooped it up and held it against her chest, one hand cradling its back, the other stroking the ridge of its head. It didn’t chirp, just tucked itself closer. She rocked it slightly, her chin resting on top of it.
“Yeah,” she said quietly. “I know. But it’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”
The door chimed, and the robot bolted. One second it was in her arms, and the next it was gone, a blur of motion as it skittered across the floor and under the bunk. Her heart dropped into her stomach. Did someone know she’d taken it and had come to get it back?
“It’s okay,” she whispered over her shoulder as she crossed to the door. “Just stay under there. Don’t make a sound.”
Schooling her face, she dragged in a breath and hit the door release. It slid open with a soft hiss, revealing Kellat on the other side.
Instantly, her brain went offline.
Holy shit.
She’d seen him before, obviously. In his medical bay with him looming over her, all professional and stern.
But she’d been groggy and terrified and half-convinced she was dying, and now she was awake and fed, and he was just…
right there, filling the damn doorway as if he owned it. Which, he did. This was his shuttle.
His silver hair was in those little braids again, and his eyes—violet shading into blue, and the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen—were fixed on her. Like she was a puzzle he was still solving.
Her gaze slid over his jaw, the hard line of it, then down to the shoulders that went out forever and the teal sash cutting across all that muscle, and her mouth went dry, because… holy shit.
If he were human, she’d have climbed him like a tree by now. But he wasn’t; he was an alien, which was so unfair, and to add insult to injury, he was her doctor. There had to be some kind of rule about that. Didn’t there? Doctor-patient relationships were like illegal… or unethical? Or both?
Not that it mattered; he wouldn’t be interested in someone like her anyway. She was a walking disaster, a problem he’d had to solve, not—
She shoved that thought down hard and aimed for bright instead of strangled.
“Hey. What’s up?”
Kellat didn’t move, his massive frame still blocking the light from the corridor. He looked her over, his gaze half making her feel like she was under a microscope.
“There’s going to be a memorial for a fallen warrior,” he said. “The crew will gather to honor him before we return his body to his clan. I thought you might want to attend.”
“A memorial? Like, a funeral?” She blinked, her brain playing catch-up. “You’re asking me? Why?”
He tilted his head, those violet eyes narrowing slightly. “It would be polite to attend. And most Latharian males would be honored by the presence of a female, even if it is at their memorial.”
She shifted her weight, looking down. She wore a pair of grey joggers and a royal blue hoodie, the lower hem frayed where she’d pulled the threads to play with the robot. She looked like she’d just rolled out of bed.
“I can’t,” she said, gesturing vaguely at herself. “I’d feel like garbage showing up to something formal in sweats. It wouldn’t be right.”
Kellat studied her for a long moment, and his expression was unreadable.
“One moment,” he said, then turned and vanished down the corridor before she could reply.
She stood there, her arms wrapped around herself. She glanced toward the bunk where the robot was hiding, then back at the empty doorway.
Wait, what… what was ‘one moment’ supposed to mean?
Before she could stick her head out into the corridor and call after him, he reappeared in the doorway, holding something in his hands.
It was a dress.
But it wasn’t the kind of cheap, scratchy things she and Harper used to buy at the malls back home to wear on a night out… the ones that smelled like chemicals and clung to her skin in all the wrong places. This was a Dress.
The fabric was heavy but fluid, the color shifting from a deep, iridescent plum to a shimmering silver as it caught the light. It was the kind of dress that belonged in a high-end boutique with security guards and air that smelled like expensive perfume every time the door opened.
Her jaw dropped. Kellat had a dress? How—where on earth had he gotten a dress?
“Where did you—“
“Get changed,” he cut her off, shoving the dress into her hands. Then he simply stepped back and let the door slide shut. She stared at the closed door, then down at the fabric in her hands.
“Well, okay then.”
She kicked off her joggers and peeled out of the hoodie, leaving a pile of laundry on the floor that looked pathetic compared to the shimmering heap in her hands.
Holding the dress up, she turned it around.
Then frowned. Okay, it didn’t make sense.
The straps were in the wrong place and way too long.
“How the hell do you put this thing on?”
She tried to slide it over her head, but the fabric slid right off her shoulder and pooled around her ankles in a heap.
Huffing, she gathered it up and tried again, this time wrapping it around her waist and trying to find a waist-tie or a hidden clasp.
But there was nothing. No zipper. No buttons. No nothing.
“You have got to be kidding me,” she muttered.
She spent the next five minutes in a full-blown wrestling match with the damn thing.
At one point, she had it wrapped so tightly around her midsection that she looked like a very fancy, purple burrito, and the neckline gaped open at the shoulder, exposing half her chest to the air.
She twisted, tugged, and nearly tripped over the hem, her face flushing red.
“I am smarter than a damn dress,” she snapped. “I’ve broken AI systems. I can figure out a piece of fucking cloth.”
Taking a breath, she stepped back and tried a different angle.
She draped it over her shoulder first, crossing the fabric diagonally across her chest and tucking the end under her opposite arm.
There was a slight click, and suddenly the fabric tightened.
It flowed over her hips, hugging every curve before spilling down to the floor in a soft, shimmering wave.
It didn’t just fit. It settled into place like it had been made specifically for her.
She froze, her eyes wide. Then she turned slowly, glancing at the dark porthole glass since the cabin didn’t have a mirror.
Annnnnd… she didn’t recognize the woman looking back at her.
The color made her blue eyes pop, and the silver highlights caught the light with every move, showcasing her curves. The dress didn’t make her look like the girl who’d spent her signing bonus on tequila and crashed a flyer car.
She looked… elegant. Sophisticated. She looked like the kind of woman who belonged at formal events and memorials. Like someone who didn’t have to apologize for taking up space or laugh off her mistakes to make other people comfortable.
Someone worth choosing.
The thought hit her hard, making her suck in a breath. Then she blinked, and the spell broke.