Chapter 3
Kaedren lumbered ahead of me like a silent semi-truck.
There wasn’t much in the way of human traffic onboard the ship, but the few aliens I did see made sure to get out of the four-armed man’s way as quickly as possible.
The hallways were surprisingly bright and carpeted.
I’d been expecting something darker—metal floor plates, dripping pipes, the occasional torchlit dungeon ambiance.
It was my first time on a pirate ship, and it felt like I was being prejudiced.
Who says pirates are evil, other than all the newsfeeds, movies, books, TV shows, comics, dead people, and mangled survivors?
“It’s a beautiful ship you’ve got here,” I said.
“Hmmm,” Kaedren replied.
I ran my hand across the wall. “Is this Luna Moon? I think I saw an article about this color in the last issue of Your Spaceship, Your Home.”
“It’s sugar dust,” he replied.
I almost tripped over my own feet. Security officer, speak thy truth. I was not expecting this mound of muscle to know anything about the thousands of variations in the off-white color palette. Will wonders never cease!
“Big on interior decorating?” I asked.
“I pick the colors in the ship’s public areas. This specific tone allows for a variety of visual scans across the visible and invisible parts of the light spectrum. While Luna Moon is similar, it degrades our ability to scan in the ultraviolet range.”
He didn’t even miss a step.
“Not what I would’ve gone with personally, but I get why you picked it,” I said.
“Based on where you were living before we rescued you, I don’t think interior decorating was something you much cared for.”
I stumbled again. Rude. But also… fair. Not like the company had given me many options to personalize my corporate-issued shoebox. Not that I’d tried. I just nodded and smiled—something I’d gotten far too used to doing.
Kaedren stopped in front of a set of double doors and moved to the side. “We have arrived at the bridge. The Captain is waiting for you.”
The doors whooshed open, and I stepped through.
You’ve seen the space opera serials, so you know what a starship bridge is supposed to look like: neon lighting, a super-wide 64k-resolution viewscreen, sleek metal guardrails, high-end futuristic chairs that are guaranteed to damage your spine—everything arranged for perfect camera angles.
This ship was not that.
It looked more like a war room that happened to fly.
Screens covered the walls—not for show, but dense with data streams I itched to analyze.
The captain's chair sat behind a curved desk cluttered with more displays, no dramatic dais in sight.
Three workstations faced it, each one showing signs of actual use: a forgotten coffee cup, a stylus wedged between keys, a jacket draped over a chair back.
Huh. No theatrics. No wasted space. Everything here existed because someone needed it.
I'd been expecting pirates to have more flash. What I got instead was a ship that looked like it could actually fight.
Lyrin and another man were on the bridge.
Lyrin offered me a soft smile. The other man wore a broad grin and waved—an actual wave, enthusiastic and unguarded, like we were old friends reuniting at a spaceport.
Blue skin, silver hair that floated slightly despite the artificial gravity, and grey eyes that crinkled at the corners.
That must be the science officer. Cute wasn't quite the right word. Disarming, maybe.
I waved back before I could stop myself.
Then the Captain stood up.
I only saw his back at first, but I could’ve picked him out of a crowd just based on the way he carried himself. He radiated arrogance—or at least extreme confidence.
He turned to face me.
Dark hair tied back, exposing the sharp lines of his face—high cheekbones, a jaw that could cut glass, skin the color of a midnight ocean. His golden eyes caught the light and held it, luminous in a way that felt almost predatory. I told myself to maintain eye contact. Professional. Confident.
My gaze drifted down anyway.
Half-unbuttoned shirt. Of course. Because the universe had decided today was the day I'd be held hostage by an alien who apparently didn't believe in fastening clothes.
The fabric gaped just enough to reveal the kind of chest that made me want to ask about his workout routine and also never speak again.
I caught a scent—something clean and unfamiliar, like ozone after a storm mixed with something warmer underneath. Ship recycled air shouldn't smell like that. He shouldn't smell like that.
They must have one hell of a gym on board.
"Leave us," Torvyn said. Not loud, not harsh—just absolute.
Lyrin and Vaelix stood, bowed their heads, and shuffled out through the door.
“Welcome to the Starbreaker,” Torvyn said, his deep voice vibrating through my chest.
“Thanks, but it’s not like I had much of a choice.”
“Indeed. Strange, that. A small woman, alone, at the edge of civilized space.”
“Is there a question in there, or just an accusation that I can’t take care of myself?”
His white teeth flashed as a chuckle escaped. “You must have known that your company would not have been the first to respond to your emergency beacon.”
“They told me three hours.”
He waved my words away. “We both know that was not realistic. But it would make sense for the corporations to use you as bait, would it not?”
Heat rolled up my neck. “My choices were: a) death by freezing, b) death by asphyxiation, or c) pray to god that somebody—anybody—picked me up.”
“That seems like a short-sighted plan.”
“It was the only long-term survival option available to me. Seems like my logic was sound, since I’m still breathing.”
“For now,” he said, slowly walking toward me.
“Is that a threat?”
He offered a gentle smile. “Think of it as a promise. You are a guest of ours. We will transport you to a safe harbor, ask for compensation, and then we will both be on our way.”
“Is that what you think I want?”
He shrugged. “Based on where we found you, I could not imagine anywhere else you would choose to be.”
“So I’m cargo?” I asked.
“Your words.”
“I have multiple doctorates, you know. I’ve forgotten more about the universe than you’ve learned.”
“Maybe. But I don’t see how that helps me or this ship. You do research. Thus, you are cargo.”
I tugged at my collar, jaw tightening.
“So you have everything figured out, do you?”
Torvyn took a step closer. “Do you see anything amiss? I think not. I run a tight ship.”
“Is that so? I guess that explains why your shield variance is out of focus.” I pointed toward the screens. “Your harmonics are twenty-two percent out of sync. Do you know what that means?”
Torvyn tilted his head but said nothing.
“I didn’t think so. Let me break it down for you. If another pirate ship—”
“We aren’t pirates,” he said.
It was my turn to wave his words away. “If another pirate ship fires on you, all they have to do is analyze the energy reflection feedback to figure out how to phase their next blast right through your shields. I don’t know who’s responsible for that, but you should probably fire them.”
Torvyn smirked. “Impossible.”
“Why would I lie? The last thing I need is to get killed because someone on your crew can’t do basic algebraic geometry.”
He walked to his desk and tapped on the keyboard.
I watched his jaw tighten. The glow in his yellow eyes flickered—Loss of composure? Anger? Then his expression went flat. Controlled. The kind of control that took practice.
"Oh, dear," I said, letting a grin spread across my face. "You're responsible for the shield harmonics, aren't you?"
He didn't answer. His fingers moved across the keyboard, running what I assumed were verification checks. Hoping I was wrong. I wasn't.
"How did you know?" he asked, still not looking at me.
"I know how to analyze data."
"You glanced at a screen for three seconds."
"Two and a half. But yes."
He turned to face me, and I saw something shift behind his eyes—not warmth, not yet, but reassessment. Like I'd moved from one mental category to another.
The silence stretched. I probably should have been more gracious about this. Probably.
"Look," I said, "can we start over? My entire life has been data analysis. My hab unit was supposed to come with a low-level shielding system, so I spent months getting smart on that."
"You had no shields when we found you."
"Yep. Another corporate lie. But that didn't change the fact that I basically became an expert on shield maintenance. That's what I do. I learn things, I remember them, and I apply them."
He studied me for a long moment. I couldn't read his expression—somewhere between irritation and something else I didn't have a name for.
Then he stepped closer. Close enough that the heat of his body rolled off him.
"I owe you an apology."
The words came out stiff, like they cost him something. I blinked. Men never apologized to me. Hell, they barely even acknowledged when I said something.
"You apologize?"
“Yes. I was hasty in my assessment of you. Please understand that my only concern is the safety of this crew. I did not want to rescue you. I thought you were bait.”
“Like a little worm or something?”
He blinked, confused. Okay, no more human analogies.
“No. Like something a corporation would use to flush out pirates.”
“Your crew keeps telling me you aren’t pirates.”
“We aren’t. Which is also why I didn’t want to rescue you,” he said softly.
“So why did you?”
“Because my crew asked me to, and I will do everything for them. They see something in you, something they have been looking for, for a very long time.”
“If you aren’t pirates, what are you?”
“We are something I cannot explain to you. But I can tell you this: your spine will either save you or get you killed. Even though my crew trusts you, I do not. Not yet. You are not cargo, and you may move about the ship freely—except for engineering, the armory, and the bridge. You may be escorted there, but you may not be in any of those areas alone. Do you understand?”
I nodded.
“This is not generosity,” Torvyn said, his voice tightening. “It is a privilege you have earned. It can be taken away. However… if you feel up to it, we could use your help with our science research.”
Now he was speaking my language. “I suppose I could help. I might need to check my calendar, but let’s call it a soft yes.”
Torvyn studied me with his golden eyes, and the butterflies fluttered back to life. Not all of them—just enough.
“You intrigue me, Doctor Kira Voss. I look forward to getting to know you better.”
He offered his hand.
I hesitated—just for a second—before I took it.
His palm was warm. Warmer than I expected, like he ran a few degrees hotter than human standard. His grip was careful, controlled, but I could feel the strength coiled underneath. The kind of strength that could crush if he wanted to.
He didn't want to.
My pulse flickered. I became suddenly aware of how close we were standing, how his scent had shifted to something deeper now that I was in his space. How his thumb brushed across my knuckles—once, briefly—like he was taking a measurement.
And then I felt it—a tremor. Just the faintest vibration in his fingers, there and gone so fast I almost convinced myself I'd imagined it.
Almost.
I had never been around this much muscle in—well, ever. But that wasn't what made my breath catch.
It was the possibility that I wasn't the only one affected.
He smiled. “I have summoned our Science Officer, Vaelix. He will escort you to the astrolab. It has been a pleasure meeting you. Welcome to the Starbreaker.”
The bridge door whooshed open, and Vaelix entered.
“Dr. Voss, please come with me.”