Chapter 5
Vesh, Private Quarters, Moon Base Arturri
I knew she was going to ask about Tavik. I intended to tell her the shortest version possible. Tavik was my brother. He died. I did not want another co-pilot. End of discussion.
Priya ruined that plan before I sat down.
She had changed out of her uniform and into loose Earth clothes that slipped off one shoulder.
Her bare feet were tucked beneath her in one of the low chairs in our common room.
She held a cup of Velerion bitter-root tea between both hands and regarded it with deep suspicion.
“This tastes like somebody boiled a fence post.”
“It is considered soothing.”
“By whom?”
“The manufacturer, presumably.”
Her mouth twitched. “There he is.”
“Who?”
“The man who pretends he doesn’t have a sense of humor.”
“I do not pretend. I do not find many things funny.”
“Right.” She took another drink, made the same offended face, and swallowed anyway. Then she reached over to the small table beside her and held out a second mug of the steaming beverage. “Here."
No one had offered me food or beverage that I had not paid for in years.
The base fed me because I fought their war.
The merchants offered me food and drink because I paid.
This was something else, something that made me unable to look her in the eye.
I wrapped my hand around the warm mug and stepped back, holding it like it would break in my hand.
"Tell me about your brother.” Damn, she was direct. No careful approach. No opportunity to evade. I remained standing.
Priya glanced at the chair across from her. “You pacing around like you’re about to interrogate me isn’t going to make this easier.”
“I do not pace.”
“You’re doing it now.”
I stopped.
“Sit down, Vesh. Please.”
I had faced Dark Fleet execution teams with less reluctance.
I sat. For a moment, neither of us spoke.
The base had shifted to its night cycle.
The lamps were dim, the air recyclers quiet, the corridors beyond our quarters nearly silent.
Priya waited. She was good at that. I wondered if all women learned how to let silence make other people nervous. It worked.
“His name was Tavik,” I said. “He was my first scout partner.”
“How old were you?”
“Nineteen. He was twenty-two.”
“You were a baby.”
“I was a commissioned officer.”
“Those two things aren’t mutually exclusive.”
I ignored that. “He was the best pilot in our training class.”
“Better than you?”
“Yes.”
Her eyebrows rose. “That had to hurt.”
“It was intolerable.”
She smiled into her cup. “Did you not like him?” The question hit harder than it should have. "I know sometimes family can be hard."
“Tavik laughed too loudly, spoke when silence was required, and believed regulations were suggestions written for less talented pilots.” I sighed all the way to my toes. "I loved him, Priya."
“Sounds like he was just like you.”
I stared at her.
“Sorry. Keep going.” She did not look remorseful.
“Before every flight, he struck his fist against the hull and said, All right, beautiful. Don’t kill us.”
“To you?”
“To the ship.”
“That’s kinda sweet.”
“It was idiotic.”
“You still hear him say it.”
“Every time I launch.” Her amusement disappeared with my words.
I looked down at the warm mug she had placed in my hands. I had not tasted the tea. Didn't much care for it. And when speaking of my brother, I preferred something with a bit more bite. Something that could make me forget.
“We flew together for two years,” I continued.
“He knew what I would do before I touched the controls. I knew when he was about to violate an order by the disarming charm he would put in his voice. He trusted instinct more than instruments. Command hated that until it saved a mission. Then they called him gifted.”
“Like you called me today.”
“Yes.”
Priya lowered her cup to her knee. “What happened?”
I had repeated the official report many times. Coordinates. Orders. Damage. Casualties. Facts were simple. Facts did not include Tavik's laughs, or the way he would steal food from my plate. Or watching him bleed to death because I we didn't have enough compression bandages to save him.
The official report did not include the fact that our parents were already gone. That I begged him not to leave me alone. “Command sent us through a transit corridor intelligence had classified as blind. No enemy presence. No active sensors. We had used it before. But they were waiting.”
"An ambush?"
“Yes.”
Her fingers tightened around her cup.
“Tavik sensed the trap before the Wraith registered the weapons lock. He rolled the ship and put his side of the cockpit between me and the first round.”
Priya went still. “He did it on purpose?”
“He saved the ship.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“It is the answer I have.”
“Vesh.”
I met her gaze. “Yes. He did it to save me.”
She closed her eyes for one breath.
“He lost consciousness, but the ship was operational. I destroyed the two interceptors and flew him home.” My voice sounded normal.
I had spent six years learning how to talk about my brother without feeling anything.
With her, it was far more difficult to keep the pain out of my tone than it should have been.
“As soon as we were out of danger, I tried to save him.
I used everything we had on the ship to stop the bleeding.
But it wasn't enough. He bled to death in minutes. The medics said he probably was dead before we even cleared enemy space.”
“How long did it take you to get back to base?”
“Eleven hours.”
Her hands trembled. She set her cup on the table before she dropped it. "I'm so sorry."
“Afterward, I requested permanent solo assignment. The Wraith is, technically, my ship. I can be operated by one scout, and I made certain no commander had reason to refuse me.”
“You became too useful to argue with.”
“I became very good at working alone.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
No. It was not. Priya studied me with the same complete and total focus with which she did everything. “Is that why you think Captain Wroxxon doesn't like you much?”
“Wroxxon believes my methods are reckless and that Tavik paid the price for them. Tavik was a better pilot than I was. He was better at everything.”
“Do you truly believe that?”
I should have answered immediately. I did not. I have her question honest thought. “Every day of my life,” I said at last.
Her expression softened, which was almost worse than pity. I could withstand pity. I was not prepared for understanding.
“And then the program matched you with me,” she said. "And didn't give you a choice."
“A woman with Tavik’s instinct, less training, and no respect for my authority.”
“I respect your authority.”
“You argued with every order I gave you this morning.”
“That was professional curiosity.”
“You called me a control freak.”
“An accurate professional assessment.”
I almost smiled. The impulse felt wrong in the middle of this conversation. Priya seemed to understand, because she did not push the joke further, although I saw a sparkle in her eyes that let me know she was teasing. No one had dared since Tavik. Her boldness made me want to kiss her. Bad idea.
“When I keep my distance,” I said, “it is not because I do not believe you are an amazing female, Priya.”
Her gaze locked on mine and I saw the hurt I had caused, the disappointment she couldn't hide from me.
I knew she wanted more from me. She wanted a true bondmate, a male who would love and adore her.
She wanted my heart, but the damn thing was too broken to give her.
I had said too much already. Might as well get this conversation out of the way.
I didn't want to break her heart. Best she understood the way things needed to be between us.
“I can't lose another partner the way I lost my brother. I am broken, Priya. The program never should have matched us. I can't pretend the risk does not exist simply because you wish me to.”
“You think caring about me will make you a worse scout?”
“I think losing you would make me nothing at all.”
The words left my mouth before discipline could stop them.
Priya stood. Every muscle in my body tightened as she crossed the four steps between us.
She crouched in front of my chair and put one hand against the side of my neck, wrapped her fingers around me, directly over my mark.
Heat moved through the bond. Her touch was warm. Her pulse fast. So was mine.
“I’m not going to promise I won’t die,” she said.
“Good. It would be a stupid promise. One that neither of us could keep.”
Her thumb moved once over my skin. My cock hardened. This was not the appropriate response to a serious conversation. My body did not care.
“One of us could die,” she said. “We fly a stealth ship into enemy territory. I understand the job. But you don’t get to decide that being alone is safer for both of us. It’s safer for you. There’s a difference.”
“Priya—”
“I spent fifteen years talking airplanes full of strangers out of the sky. Everybody needed me. I made damn sure I never needed any of them. Then I drove back to an empty apartment and told myself being useful was the same as being loved. It's not.”
I covered her wrist with my hand. I meant to move her touch away from the mark before the bond destroyed what remained of my control. Instead, I held her palm more firmly against me.
“You flew alone,” she said. “I lived alone. We were both very competent and very lonely. Congratulations to us.”
“You are making light of the risks.”
“A little.” Her eyes did not leave mine. “Because if I don’t, I might cry, and this nasty tea is already punishment enough.”
I laughed. The sound was brief and rough from disuse, but it was a laugh. Priya smiled. Not the small, cautious version I had seen before. This one reached her eyes.