Chapter 6
Ysathea
Thatcher was the most infuriating, confusing, overbearing male I’d ever had the misfortune to deal with.
Now he’d changed the rules on me, and I didn’t understand what to think or how to react.
I was exhausted, and that made it hard to think straight.
What he was doing now, it really wasn’t helping.
Why had he taken me here? Was this his bed?
I’d not seen the inside of one of the Varakartoom’s dozens of bunk rooms unless I’d been required to make some kind of repair.
I wasn’t even quite sure who was assigned to bunk with Thatcher, but I pitied them all.
“No!” I denied. “If I’m going to sleep, I’ll do it in my own bed, thank you very much!
” He just needed to let me go, and I’d slink away to my own bed inside my quarters on the officers’ deck.
Or perhaps I’d nap on the bunk I had in my workroom—although I still had that spectral analysis to complete for a third time.
Now that I knew I was dealing with a being, a sentient, if hostile, life form, I’d been trying to track it any way I knew how.
This foothold situation couldn’t continue; it was going to be that creature or me.
Unfortunately, right now it felt like the black sludge monster was winning.
Thatcher grunted something; it wasn’t quite a word, but the meaning was clear.
If I moved, he was just going to pin me back on the bed.
Frankly, if I was forced to lie down on a semi-soft surface for much longer, I would probably lose the battle with sleep.
I couldn’t have that, but I also couldn’t physically shove Thatcher away.
Right now, I really wished there was a pillow around to throw at his stupid face.
A pillow was harmless, that skirted right around my vows of no violence; very neat.
Unfortunately, there was no pillow, and he’d had to get the blanket he was trying to drape over me from a closet.
Did the male have no comforts at all when he rested? Did he not sleep?
“Do you even sleep here? When’s the last time you slept?
” I demanded. I shoved the blanket aside for the third time, but rather than get up, I pulled my legs close to my chest and curled into a little ball.
Let him think I was obeying, sort of. I’d lull him into a false sense of victory, then bolt.
The room was pretty bare, except for the bunk across from the one I was on.
That one was a mess of clothing, blankets, food wrappers, and weapons.
A fine dusting of orangey powder coated much of one side of the pillow there.
Yuck, definitely not going to reach for that one to throw.
Thatcher rose to his feet, towering over me, and crossed his arms over his armor-clad chest. He looked massive, dark.
He looked menacing, and I should have been terrified, but I was pretty sure my lack of sleep had broken my ability to think rationally.
I just thought he looked hot, and… maybe a little worried.
The hand he’d injured had been covered in new ink, too, and I wondered when he’d had the time to do that.
Oh, when did he have the time indeed… he’d been camped outside my door for days.
“When did you last sleep?” Thatcher responded.
He arched one dark eyebrow at me as if to say, Do you even hear yourself?
That one question only confirmed the thought that had just popped into my brain.
Thatcher had slept just as little as I had, perhaps even less, because he’d been standing in a hallway all that time.
I’d caught myself dozing at my desk or at a console from time to time.
“I’ll take a nap if you take one. I need to be up in an hour to greet those stupid Strewn engineers.
” His eyes turned flinty, his mouth growing tight.
I thought he’d say no, but then he rolled one shoulder.
It was acceptance, sort of. So I scooted to the edge of his bunk, my fingers smoothing over the military-straight sheets.
“No,” he snarled again, and his hand found my shoulder and shoved.
Not roughly, mind you, but definitely forceful.
I found myself sprawled on my back on his bed again.
Furious, I started to hiss; my hands even went up as if I meant to claw his eyes out.
I dropped them, horrified that I’d almost resorted to violence.
They touched those stiff, wrinkle-free sheets again, and something in me shifted.
He had absolutely nothing soft on his bed, and not a single personal item decorated the space.
I knew what kind of males lived on this ship.
Most weren’t sentimental, but they did leave some traces of themselves.
Even Solear had little treasures, knickknacks, like a map Tass once drew for him.
Thatcher had nothing, just the clothing issued by the Varakartoom, his armor, a drab gray blanket, and a sharp knife tucked between the edge of the mattress and the wall.
The knock on the door prevented me from following my impulses.
Thatcher shifted from trying to subdue me to a protective hover in the blink of an eye.
He opened the door after taking several deep breaths, like he had to calm himself.
I never saw who was on the other side because Thatcher blocked my view.
I recognized the voice, though, because that Hoxiam rumble could only belong to one person: Brace.
A moment later, the door swished shut and Thatcher turned around with a tray of food in his hands, all of it smelling fantastic.
“You eat, and then you sleep, no more protests,” he said.
I nodded, but a plan was forming in my head.
A very risky, perhaps very stupid plan, but a plan all the same.
Whatever Brace cooked up was bound to be delicious, but I had eyes only for the crazy idea in my head, not the taste.
I was very hungry, though, and scarfed down bite after bite without thinking.
I shoved the leftovers in Thatcher’s direction, and he ate them while keeping me pinned with a glare from the head of the bed.
He’d sat down at the foot, but since I’d scrunched up, we weren’t touching.
I was crazy to think about changing that, but I was.
My eyes flicked once to the handle of the knife, just visible between the mattress and the wall.
My resolve firmed, and strangely enough, the food in my belly only helped with that.
I thought that perhaps with a return of strength, I’d realize how stupid this was, but I didn’t.
Or rather, I knew, and I was going to do it anyway.
“Fine, now the napping part,” I said, and I beckoned him.
“Come here. I won’t nap unless you’re napping with me.
” Then I spread my arms like I expected him to embrace me, just like that.
His expression was so shocked it was almost comical.
I didn’t think he had the ability to look surprised, but I’d definitely caught him off guard.
His eyes grew wide, his mouth dropped open, and he stared at me like I’d lost my head.
I smiled at him, patted the mattress at my side, and waited.
My heart pounded furiously in my chest, and I was certain he’d refuse.
I didn’t know if I wanted him to come or to reject the offer.
I was perhaps as confused by my course of action as he was.
Slowly, like he was a skittish, frightened animal testing the waters, he unfurled from his spot at the foot of the bed.
He stared at me as he put the tray with the empty plate on the floor.
Then he turned and looked at me like he didn’t actually know what to do.
I moved my arms wider, and then he shocked me by actually coming over.
The mattress dipped as he sat down on the edge by my hip.
Then he slowly, very slowly, laid down, cradling his head in his hand, elbow curled.
He was a massive wall of black armor, muscle, and Thatcher scent.
I discovered I wanted to burrow into him even if he looked as hard as a rock, and not in a fun way.
Having built it myself, I knew firsthand just how tough that armor was.
Not to mention the fact that he was stiff as a board, keeping a careful hand’s width of distance between our bodies.
It was the worst hug I’d ever received, and he usually had so little issue invading my personal space.
“I won’t bite if you won’t,” I told him.
When his mouth tilted into that half-smile I knew so well, I relaxed.
Sliding across the rough sheets and stiff mattress, I curled close, tucking my head under his chin and throwing my leg over his hip.
It didn’t take as long as I thought it would for him to return the embrace.
I thought he might not at all, just lie there awkwardly on the edge of the bed.
Thatcher proved he remembered at least some of the softer things when he gave in after only a few short moments.
His arms curled around me, hugging me to him, and his legs shifted so that one thigh ended up between mine.
My head ended up pillowed on his biceps, his chin tucked in my hair, and his breath warmed my skin.
I was out in seconds, finally claimed by the sleep that had been haunting me for days.
When I woke, I knew immediately that I hadn’t slept for a short little hour.
The light in the room had changed to that of the night cycle aboard the ship.
A datapad somewhere in the chaos of the lower bunk bed across from Thatcher’s indicated the time: past midnight, ship time.
Not good. I’d slept clear through the meeting with the Strewn engineers.
In a wild panic, I jerked upright, but Thatcher’s arms were still around me.
“Ssh, I canceled them,” he said, just as images of the utter chaos they must have created in my engine room began to flood my mind.
Canceled them? He’d canceled them? Rest hadn’t made my head any clearer, it seemed, because those words made zero sense.
Thatcher had no authority to cancel anyone, least of all an important group like the Strewn engineers.
They were costly, and you could not risk pissing them off, or they’d never want to work on your ship again.
“What do you mean?” I tried to ask, but just as getting up seemed pretty impossible, getting answers was equally hard. He said nothing, but I saw his eyes gleam in the dark. Not much more than that, my eyesight wasn’t developed for low-light settings the way most other species’ was.
Ivo, for instance, always forgot his light when he had to crawl through vents or ducts.
Grunn sometimes didn’t turn on any lights at all when he was the first to arrive at the engine room.
Thatcher, however, should have been at an equal disadvantage as I was, but it didn’t feel that way.
His hand unerringly found my braid where it began at the base of my skull, his thumb feathering over the pulse in my neck.
“Thatch, please let me up now. I did as you wanted. I ate, I napped, now let me get back to my engine room.” Even a polite request netted me absolutely nothing.
His breathing was even, steady, his pulse nonexistent because I could not feel his body heat through the armor he wore.
He was unreadable, but at the same time, that hand in my hair screamed possession.
A Ulinial placed cultural significance in their hair; we did not cut it, not for any reason.
To touch it like that… it was invasive, it was rude.
What he did was a claim only a lover, a true mate, was allowed to make.
And despite what that kiss said, I hadn’t given him that right.
Maybe I wanted to, though, if only so I could be the one soft, personal thing in his harsh, gray world.
I’d created bionics for his broken, injured body as he’d begun to recover.
I knew better than most on this ship just how bad his injuries had been, how much he’d suffered.
Damn it, why did I have such a soft spot for big, broken males?
It wasn’t like I could repair them, put them back together, the way I could with an engine.
“There are rules,” he rasped at me, low and husky, like he hadn’t talked in hours and had forgotten how to speak.
Perhaps he’d slept with me, but somehow I couldn’t help picturing him lying awake, watching over me the entire time.
My entire body seized up mid-movement, my belly clenching, all in anticipation of what he might say next.
“You will work no longer than ten hours, eat regular meals, and sleep when I tell you that you need sleep. Do you understand?” It was not so much a question as a demand.
I definitely had issues with authority, and every bone in my body wanted to scream out a denial.
Who was he to make rules, to demand I obey him?
He acted, again, like he had a claim, and he didn’t.
He was just the stupid human who followed me around like an obsessed stalker.
What came out of my mouth, however, was: “Okay.” Damn it.
Thatcher was not misunderstood; he really was an angry, vicious bastard.
So why did that okay feel like I’d just put a leash on my own personal Ferai beast?
I was playing with fire, dangerous, deadly fire.
If I continued down this road, I was certain it was going to be my heart that got burned.