Chapter 5 #3
Kirr was there immediately, his hand finding the small of her back. Not pushing. Just there.
"Thank you," she managed. "For bringing me."
"You needed to see her." He guided her toward the exit. "I'll bring you every day during visiting hours."
Every day. Another promise.
She didn't know if she believed him yet, but the offer settled something tight in her chest.
The corridor outside medical bay was busier than before—shift change, probably. Harper pulled his jacket tighter and fell into step beside him. Her thoughts were too scattered to process anything beyond putting one foot in front of the other.
They'd gone twenty feet when she realized she was staring at him again.
Not at his body this time. At his hair.
The orange strands caught the corridor lighting, and she noticed the styling more clearly now. Short on the sides, longer on top, swept up into a high quiff. It was... distinctive. Bold. Nothing like the long braids she'd seen on every other Latharian.
"Why is your hair different?" The question came out before she could stop it.
Kirr glanced at her, one eyebrow raised. "Different how?"
"Short." She gestured vaguely at his head. "Everyone else has long hair. With braids and those bead things. But yours is..."
"Cut." His lips quirked. "War-Commanders cut their hair when they're promoted."
"Why?"
"Because our acts of bravery belong to the empire after that." He said it matter-of-fact, like it was common knowledge. "Honor braids mark personal achievements. War-Commanders serve the empire, not personal glory. So we cut our hair."
Harper processed that. "So the short hair means you're... what, exactly? What does a War-Commander do?"
"I'm responsible for station security. Emergency response. Protection of civilians and military personnel." He kept his pace slow, matching her shorter stride. "I coordinate defense protocols, manage combat teams, handle diplomatic security when necessary."
Her stomach dropped. "You're like a general."
"Close enough as a comparison."
Oh god.
Harper's face went hot. She'd been defensive and prickly since they met. Had fled from him last night like he was a threat instead of—instead of whatever the hell a War-Commander was in the hierarchy. Had told him she didn't need a babysitter and he should leave her alone.
And he'd let her.
Hadn't pulled rank. Hadn't reminded her that he was apparently military royalty. Had just... taken it.
"Rank doesn't change how I treat people." His voice was gentle. Absolute, like he'd read her thoughts. "You've been dealing with trauma and grief and a situation you never asked for. If you need to be defensive or angry or prickly, that's fine. I can handle it."
Something tight in her chest cracked.
She looked away before he saw how much that undid her. "Still. You could've mentioned the whole general thing."
"Respect is earned." He started walking again, his long strides eating distance. "Not demanded because of rank."
Harper hurried to keep up, her thoughts spinning. A War-Commander. Responsible for the entire station's security, and he'd taken personal responsibility for supervising her because she'd breached her LMP contract.
The weight of that settled over her shoulders, heavy and uncomfortable.
They'd almost reached the residential section when Kirr spoke again. "I need to check on something at my ship. You're cleared for station access as long as you're with me." He glanced down at her. "Want to come?"
Her first instinct was to say no. To retreat to the guest room and hide from the way he made her feel seen and protected and terrified all at once.
But her mouth said, "Sure."
Because apparently she was done listening to her survival instincts where Kirr M'Aab was concerned.
The docking ring was massive—easily the size of three football fields, with ships of various sizes secured in berths along the curved walls.
The ceiling stretched high overhead, dotted with work lights and maintenance equipment.
The clang of metal on metal echoed from somewhere to the left where a repair crew worked on a damaged hull.
Fuel vapor hung in the air, sharp and chemical, mixing with the burnt ozone smell of welding torches.
The deck plates vibrated under her feet from the hum of idling engines.
Harper tried not to gawk like a tourist, but it was hard when everything was so damn alien. Literally.
Kirr navigated through the organized chaos with easy confidence, nodding to personnel they passed. His hand stayed on her back—not controlling, just grounding. Making sure she didn't get separated in the crowd.
They were halfway across the bay when a voice shouted from the left.
"Kirr M'Aab! Keep your eyes on your own ship and stop stealing other people's!"
Harper's head snapped toward the sound. A Latharian male stood near one of the larger vessels, his dark hair braided with what looked like precious gems woven through.
A human woman stood beside him, holding a little girl who couldn't be more than four.
The woman was smiling, clearly amused by whatever was happening.
Kirr's lips curved into a grin. "Says the male whose ship is smaller than mine!"
The other male laughed. "Size isn't everything, War-Commander!"
"Keep telling yourself that, Prince!"
Prince?
Harper's brain stuttered.
Kirr had just insulted a prince. Shouted an insult about ship size across a crowded docking bay. To royalty.
The prince and his family moved on, the little girl's laughter echoing as they disappeared around a massive cargo hauler.
Harper stared up at Kirr. "Did you just—"
"What?" He looked confused by her expression.
"You insulted a prince." Her voice came out too high. "You told him his ship was smaller than yours."
Kirr shrugged. "Rohn knows I'm joking."
"But he's a prince!"
"And I'm a War-Commander." He said it like that explained everything. "Technically, I outrank him. The only War-Commanders who outrank me are those from the K'Vass line, directly related to the emperor."
Harper's world tilted. "You outrank royalty."
"In military matters, yes."
The full weight of it crashed down on her. She'd been living with someone who outranked princes. Who answered only to the emperor's direct bloodline. "That whole thing sounded exactly like a pissing contest."
Kirr's confusion was immediate. "A what?"
Oh no.
"A pissing contest." She gestured vaguely. "It's a human thing. Males comparing sizes. You know."
His amber eyes narrowed. "Comparing sizes of what?"
Harper's face flamed. "You know. Their... equipment."
Silence.
Then Kirr blinked at her, his expression shifting from confusion to something that looked suspiciously like amusement. "You think Rohn and I were comparing our cocks?"
"Well—I mean—" She stumbled over the words, her thoughts scattering. "Human males are obsessed with dick size. Who's bigger. It's this whole stupid dominance thing."
"I'm not interested in males." Kirr's voice was flat. Matter-of-fact. "So why would I show Rohn my cock?"
Oh god.
"No, that's not—I didn't mean—" Harper's hands flew up, trying to salvage this trainwreck of a conversation. "It's just an expression. Humans say it when people are competing over stupid things. I wasn't saying you're actually interested in—"
She was making this worse.
So much worse.
Kirr's lips quirked. Not quite a smile, but close. "I see."
They started walking again, moving toward a sleek vessel near the far wall. The deck plates were cooler here, the vibration from idling engines stronger. Harper kept her attention on her feet, trying to will the fire in her face to cool.
Professional. She needed to be professional. Stop thinking about his cock or ship sizes or the way his hand felt against her back or—
He leaned down, his breath warm against her ear. "But mine is definitely bigger than Rohn's."
Harper stumbled.
Kirr's arm wrapped around her waist, steadying her before she face-planted on the deck. His body was solid against her side, his warmth cutting through the jacket and her borrowed shirt. His voice rumbled through his chest into her shoulder where they were pressed together.
"Careful."
She couldn't breathe.
Couldn't think.
Couldn't process anything beyond the fact that he'd just told her his cock was bigger than the prince's and now he was holding her like she weighed nothing and his mouth was right there, close enough that she felt his breath against her temple.
Her pulse kicked hard, rabbit-fast against her throat.
Every nerve ending lit up where his arm banded around her waist, where his chest pressed against her shoulder, where his breath stirred the fine hairs at her temple.
The spice-and-warmth scent of him flooded her senses, and she was acutely, impossibly aware of exactly how small she was against his frame.
"I'm fine." The words came out strangled. "Just—caught my foot."
His arm stayed around her waist for three more seconds.
She felt each one tick past, measured in heartbeats and the warmth of his palm splayed across her hip.
Then he released her, his hand sliding away slow enough that she felt every inch of contact, his fingers trailing across the small of her back before falling away completely.
Professional distance.
Right.
Except his amber eyes were laughing when she looked up at him, and that low chuckle still rumbled in his chest, and she knew—absolutely knew—that he'd done that on purpose.
The bastard.
Harper's pulse hammered in her throat, her face burning, her entire body hyperaware of how close he was. How easily he'd caught her. How his strength made her feel small and breakable and protected all at once.
Dangerous.
This was so dangerous.
But when Kirr's hand found the small of her back again and guided her toward his ship, she didn't pull away.
Didn't rebuild the walls.
Just let herself be led, her thoughts a chaotic mess of ship sizes and low chuckles and the way his voice did impossible things to her pulse when he leaned close.
Tomorrow, she'd remember that attraction was a luxury she couldn't afford.
Tonight, she'd just survive the knowledge that Kirr M'Aab knew exactly what he was doing to her.
And he was enjoying every second of it.