Chapter 8
Harper had read the same paragraph four times and still couldn't tell you what the hell they grew in the agricultural zones on the station.
Not that it mattered. She wasn't actually reading.
No, she was planning her escape.
The problem was Kirr, sat at his desk in the corner of the room across from her. He hadn't moved in forty minutes. He hadn't blinked. Hadn't shifted. But she knew damn well the moment she moved, he’d notice her.
His back was a wall of muscle under his loose black shirt, dwarfing the chair. Every so often, his hand flicked through the air, slicing through whatever reports from his ship he was reading like they owed him money.
He was busy. Surely, too busy to notice one small human woman slipping out the door.
She set the dataflex down on the cushion. Quietly.
Her skin felt too tight. It was the aftermath of the training session—watching him move, watching him fight, watching that raw, leashed power he pretended was just exercise.
And it was the kiss from last night. The memory sat heavy in her belly.
Heat. Want. The kind that wouldn't quit no matter what she called it.
She needed out. She needed air that didn't smell like him—all musk and warm male skin.
The wall display read 1400. Medical visiting hours were open. She didn't need a pass for that. She just needed to get there without a seven-foot shadow looming over her shoulder.
She stood up. Her socks made no sound on the floor and Kirr didn't twitch. He was deep in a report, scrolling through lines of text that moved faster than she could read.
Perfect.
She grabbed the door access chip from the side table. Her pulse jumped. This wasn't a prison break. She wasn't doing anything wrong. She was an adult woman going to visit her sick cousin. She didn't need permission.
Taking a breath, she squared her shoulders, and headed for the door.
She made it three steps past the kitchen island.
One second, the path to the exit was clear. The next, a mountain of Latharian male blocked her way.
She gasped, stumbling back. He moved faster than anyone that big had a right to. No sound. No warning. Just there.
"Going somewhere?" he asked, one eyebrow raised and a light in his amber-orange eyes.
His voice was calm. Low. It slid under her skin and settled low in her belly.
"Fucking hell." She pressed a hand to her chest. "Do you have to sneak up on people like that?"
"I didn't sneak. But you were trying to." He crossed his arms. The movement made his biceps flex, straining the fabric of his shirt. Like always, it was open to show off the heavy musculature of his chest. Did latharians have an allergy to doing their damn shirts up or something?
"I asked you a question."
She lifted her chin. It took effort when he loomed over her like that, taking up all the oxygen in the room.
"I'm going to Medical," she said. "To see Delilah."
"I see." He didn't move. "I'll get my jacket."
"No."
The word hung in the air between them. Sharp. Defiant.
His eyes narrowed. "No?"
"I don't need an escort." The chip bit into her palm. "I don't need an escort. You were busy. I can handle a corridor and a tube."
"You don't leave without me."
"Right." She let out a short, harsh laugh. "Do I need to sign out in a logbook too? Can't I even visit my sick cousin without you stationed over my shoulder? I need five minutes where I'm not being managed."
Trying to step around him, she found him there again. Mirroring. Blocking. He didn't touch her, but he didn't have to. He didn't need to touch her. He was like a brick wall.
"Move, Kirr."
"No."
"I'm serious. Get out of my way."
"You aren't leaving alone," he said. "Non-negotiable."
"Everything with you is non-negotiable!" Harper threw her hands up. "You decide, I comply. That's the pattern. I turn around and you're there. Every time."
He growled. "It's necessary."
"It's control!" She poked him in the chest. It was like poking a steel bulkhead. "And I'm done with it. I'm done with you managing me. Just go back to your reports and let me breathe."
"I am not managing you." His voice dropped an octave, the calm veneer cracking just enough to show the steel beneath. "Yesterday a male approached you. If I hadn't been there—"
"He was just talking!"
"He wasn't just talking." Kirr's jaw tightened. "He was testing distance. Some of these younger warriors haven’t been cleared by the mate program. They see a female walking around and they assume permission."
"And you do?" She stepped closer, fueled by adrenaline and fury. "What do I look like to you, Kirr? A job? A duty? A mistake you have to babysit until the LMP decides to deport me?"
His jaw tightened.
"Is that what you think this is?" he asked. "A job?"
"I don't know what this is!" She gestured vaguely between them. "I don't know what last night was. Panic? Adrenaline? A mistake?"
Something shifted and the air between them went heavy.
Kirr went still. Deadly still.
"A mistake," he repeated.
"It happened. That's it," she lied. Her heart pounded against her ribs. "Don't make it into a thing."
A low growl rolled through his chest.
"I'll show you mistake."
He moved and she didn't even have time to blink. One hand wrapped around her waist, the other tangled in the hair at the nape of her neck. He swept her up—actually picked her up off the floor like she weighed nothing—and backed her into the granite island.
"Kirr—"
"Shut up."
His mouth crashed down on hers. Not the gentle kiss from last night. This was a claiming. It was rough and hungry and desperate. He devoured her, his tongue sweeping into her mouth with a dominance that made her knees buckle. If he hadn't been holding her up, she would have hit the floor.
Setting her on the counter, he stepped between her thighs before she could even process the movement.
Gasping, she clutched his shoulders to anchor herself. The cold stone bit into the back of her thighs, but everything else was heat. His chest was a solid wall of it against her breasts. He smelled of spice and male aggression, and god, it went straight to her head.
She should push him away. She should fight.
But she didn’t. Instead, she wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him closer.
He groaned against her lips. His hands were everywhere… gripping her hips, sliding up her ribs, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh of her waist. He was so big that he surrounded her, engulfed her.
He broke the kiss, his forehead resting against hers. His eyes burned and she couldn’t look away.
"Tell me," he rasped. "Tell me this is a mistake."
"Kirr..."
"Say it." He kissed her jaw, a biting nip that made her shiver. "Say it while you're wrapped around me."
She couldn't speak. Her ability to frame a thought? Gone. All she could feel was the hard length of him pressed right where she needed it. Thick and rigid. Impossible to ignore.
She moved her hips. Just a fraction, seeking friction. Pressure.
He hissed through his teeth and his hands tightened on her hips, holding her in place, grinding back against her with deliberate, maddening slowness.
"I saw you," he murmured against her neck. "This morning. In the training room."
She tipped her head back, gasping as his mouth moved down her throat. "I don't... know what you're talking about."
"Liar." He bit the sensitive cord of her neck, then soothed it at once with a kiss. "You watched me all the time. Watched very move. Every strike."
His hand slid up her thigh, fingers digging in. His palm was calloused and warm against her skin.
"Did you like it?" he asked, his voice dark, rough with lust. "Watching me?"
"Kirr… oh god, please."
"Did you imagine this?" He pressed harder against her, letting her feel exactly how much he wanted her. How much he needed her. "Did you imagine this? Me putting my hands on you?"
"Yes," she choked out. "God, yes."
Truth. It was the only thing left. Her defenses were done. Finished.
He made a feral sound of satisfaction and pulled back just enough to look at her. His pupils were blown wide, swallowing the gold. He looked dangerous. Like he wanted to eat her alive.
"Good," he growled. "Because I haven't thought about anything else. It’s been driving me mad."
He leaned in, capturing her mouth again, softer this time but no less possessive. His hand moved higher on her thigh, fingers brushing near the ache pooling between her thighs. She whimpered, arching into his touch.
She wanted this. She wanted him.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The sound cut through the haze between them.
He ripped his mouth from hers. "Draanth."
The comm unit on his wrist flashed red. Urgent.
He didn't let her go, his breathing as ragged as hers. Keeping one arm locked around her waist, he held her to him while he brought his wrist up.
"M'Aab," he barked at the device.
Kellat replied, his voice clipped and tight. "Commander. You need to get down here. Now."
The fire in Kirr's eyes vanished. The War-Commander snapped back into place.
"Report," he said.
"Medical is losing stable power," Kellat said. "I don’t know why. But the fluctuations are hitting the stasis units, and I have critical patients.”
Harper went ice cold. Dread pooled in her gut.
"Delilah," she whispered.
Kirr looked at her. He didn't offer empty platitudes. He didn't tell her it would be okay. He just nodded once, acknowledging the fear.
"We're on our way," Kirr said into the comm. He cut the connection.
He grabbed Harper by the waist and lifted her down from the counter. His hands were steady, his expression grim.
"We go together," he said.
Harper didn't argue.
She ran for the door, Kirr right on her heels.
* * *
Harper slammed through the double doors of the medical sector at a dead run, Kirr a half-step ahead. The quiet sanctuary she'd visited earlier had transformed into controlled chaos—alarms bleating, healers with teal sashes shouting over the din, the smell of burnt circuitry thick enough to taste.
Kellat met them near the junction to the critical care unit, his jaw tight.