Chapter 3
Nia’s wrist screamed as she tried to get away. Her hands reached blindly, searching for the laser scalpel to defend herself. The Tellusian caught her ankle and flipped her on her stomach, straddling her hips.
Trying to dislodge his weight on her bottom, she clawed and bucked. “Monster!” she spat.
Rip.Her uniform tore open, cool air pricking her skin. She gasped ragged breaths. Why was he doing this? She’d helped him and he was going to—
The hum of a medical device made her freeze. Turning her head, she saw the scanner he held. He waved it over her shoulder blade.
“No.” She bucked again, trying to break free. “Don’t.”
The scanner beeped. She thrashed.
He pressed against her harder. “Hold still.” The click and buzz of a laser scalpel halted her movements. If aimed wrong, he would slice her right to the bone.
Lava-hot pain slashed her skin. Tears pooled in her eyes, and she shut them tight. Sweat beaded her upper lip as she tried to stay motionless even though every instinct in her told her to fight.
The searing pain stopped, but her shoulder throbbed. She felt a moment’s pressure as he removed the device the CORE had implanted when she’d become an officer.
“Are there more?”
“No,” she gritted through the pain.
Despite her denial, the scanner hummed again and this time he waved it over every part of her. When he got close to her feet she kicked harder, trying to get away.
It beeped over her ankle.
“No,” she panted, desperate. “It’s a lifeline. A family thing. The CORE doesn’t know about it.” She squeezed her eyes shut. Her mother’s shrewd face and father’s boisterous laughter filled her mind.
The scalpel buzzed. His body blanketed hers, keeping her still. The pain was too much, the area too bony. Everything that had happened bombarded her brain all at once. She let out a moan of anguish as the blackness claimed her.
Mace pulled the bloody chip from her ankle, its pulsing red light slowing, then dying from its lack of body heat.
She’d gone limp beneath him, and he let off his weight to collect the fallen regenerator. He regretted forcing her cooperation, but she wouldn’t have allowed it otherwise. No one would have.
The tool hummed as the skin of her ankle closed together, barely leaving a mark. He ran the regenerator over her shoulder next, healing it completely. With an absorbent cloth from the med kit, he wiped away the blood from both wounds.
The woman still had cuts on her face and hands from the initial attack on Elara Five. He clenched his jaw against a new surge of rage. Her medical station had been decimated because of his people’s recklessness. Whoever Cache had sent for him, it hadn’t been Grey. His friend wouldn’t have been so messy. Mace had a feeling he knew who’d coordinated the attack.
It was a miracle he and the woman had survived those initial blasts.
He lifted her hand to examine her wrist, her PALM flickering. They were out of range of the medical station, but the media link was trying to connect with the CORE grid. He pulled the three sensors off her pinkie, thumb, and pointer finger, and the thin film covering her palm came away from her skin. As soon as it disconnected from her body, the device went dead.
Not wanting to take any chances, he tossed it in the reclamation chamber at the stern of the ship. Her trackers went inside next. He hit the “deactivate and disassemble” control.
Returning to the woman, he crouched beside her. With a hand on her shoulder, he rolled her over. Her scent wafted toward him, CORE-issue soap mixed with a floral fragrance. It reminded him of the jasmine blooms his mother used to set on their kitchen table. He settled her head against his thigh to examine her purpling wrist.
The scanner’s readout displayed a sprain. He grasped the regenerator and waved it over the injury in a slow and methodical motion. The discoloration of her skin slowly faded. Once healed, he tilted her chin, and took care of the rest of her scrapes and bruises.
With the last of the cuts healed, he set the regenerator, scanner, and scalpel into the med kit. Carefully, he scooped her into his arms and stood. She weighed next to nothing, had barely reached his chin when standing. Holding her tight, he kicked the side panel on the hull and a bench lowered with a grating hum.
Mace laid her on her side then retrieved a blanket from the overhead compartment. When he tucked it around her body, a chain around her neck glinted in the light. He pulled it out from her torn her uniform. Etched vines swirled on the surface of the ancient-looking locket. He opened the latch to find it empty, then closed it with a light click and tucked it under her black medical uniform.
Curls fell over her forehead and temples. He brushed one away from her heart-shaped face, examining her wide nose and lush mouth. Dark lashes fanned her cheeks. When she’d glared at him, her russet eyes had flashed with hate. He pressed two fingers to her throat, her pulse strong. She was a fighter.
The corner of his mouth turned upward as he remembered the insults she’d thrown at him. What was a “waste humping bastard” anyway? He pulled his hand away, tilting her chin so he could make sure he’d healed all the cuts on her face, ignoring the voice telling him he lingered too long over the task.
Wincing, he stood, and stowed the med kit in the hull compartment before returning to the pilot’s seat. He sat with a groan. Every part of him ached. It wasn’t only the wounds, it was every bone, and his heart too.
He’d lost good people on his last op, young warriors. He wouldn’t obsess on the luck and logistics it would have taken to arrive on a CORE medical station as an unconscious patient without being discovered.
Running a hand over his head, he glanced at the woman. He should have left her. Why the hell had he taken her? Because she would have died with everyone else on the station. He didn’t know that for sure, but it was what his instincts had screamed at him. From the second he woke, he’d planned to leave her in the maintenance bay—until his feet touched the Raven’s ramp. Now he was stuck with a captive.
What the hell was he supposed to do with her? He knew, of course. He had put her through processing, what every captive went through as soon as they set foot on a Tellusian ship or station.
Fuck, he was an idiot. If turning around and taking her back wouldn’t mean suicide, he’d do it.
Closing his eyes, he leaned his head against the headrest. He needed sleep. Already his energy waned beyond what he could push through on determination alone. He’d lost too much blood, would’ve passed out, maybe died, if she hadn’t healed him.
He glanced at her again. Why had she? Shaking his head, he closed his eyes once more. He’d rest for a moment.
Drifting in and out of sleep, Mace was unsure of how much time passed when he felt the shift in the air as the woman tensed her entire body. He didn’t move, kept his eyes closed and breathing level, so he wouldn’t startle her.
Disjointed images made her twitch, achy awareness traveling through her limbs. The hum of a vessel vibrated through her spine. Nia’s eyes flew open, her body stiffening beneath a blanket.
A ship. The attack. The Tellusian warrior. It all came back to her in waves.
Trying not to let the panic strangle her, she levered upright. The blanket fell to the deck. He was right there, only two meters away. The rise and fall of his naked chest remained slow and rhythmic, and some of her panic abated. He wasn’t going to attack her again, or force her—not while he slept.
From what she could see, his injury hadn’t deteriorated, though she wouldn’t know for sure until she gave him a scan. Wanting to stay as far away from him as possible, she remained seated, staring. Even at this distance, she could feel the heat of him, the vitality that had halted her from sending him to palliative when she’d first laid her hand on him.
Relaxed in sleep, he didn’t seem nearly as threatening as he did on Elara Five. His black hair caught the light of the control panel, and his scruff of beard didn’t look as savage.
Keeping her gaze on him to make sure he didn’t stir, she rolled her shoulders. The dull ache of a healed wound throbbed through her muscles. She turned her head to get a better look where her uniform was torn open, then ran her fingers over the healed skin. She frowned. He could have left me to bleed.
An echoing tingle in her wrist made her take a closer look. She rotated it and felt no pain. A strange feeling infused her stomach. Why had he healed her? He was a killer. Her injuries shouldn’t have mattered to him.
She shivered. The cool air of the ship permeated through her torn uniform. Nia collected the blanket from the deck and wrapped it around her shoulders. Its warmth calmed the tremors racing through her body.
Another realization slammed through her chest. He hadn’t bound her. She was free to roam the small vessel, could grab the laser scalpel and defend herself.
She glanced around, looking for the med kit, but didn’t see it. Her heart jumped when her gaze landed on an escape pod door at the stern of the ship. I can get away.
Keeping her movements as stealthy as possible, she slunk to the escape pod’s panel, then slid her hand over the screen. Nothing happened. She wiggled her fingers, realizing they didn’t feel right. Her PALM was missing.
An exposed feeling squeezed her stomach, worse than when he’d ripped open her uniform. She spun around, scanning the area by the bench, but didn’t see it anywhere. Her eyes narrowed on the reclamation chamber next to the escape pod. He must have destroyed it.
The loss of connection to the CORE made her sick to her stomach. How was she supposed to see what was going on in the solar system? To know her orders? Her ocular implant wouldn’t work without her PALM—no data stream for her eyes. She opened and closed her left hand, the flesh moving without the subtle film to cover her skin. I’m naked.
Fisting her left hand, she pressed the manual override with her right. A blinking message appeared: Access Denied.
Blast.She glanced at the Tellusian. He’d locked out the controls before taking his nap. Bastard.
Maybe she could try to override the lock from the main terminal. Licking her dry lips, she sneaked to the front of the Raven, leaving the blanket on the bench. Two more silent steps and she stopped next to his outstretched legs. Keeping her gaze on his bare chest, she counted to a hundred before she was truly satisfied he remained asleep.
Swallowing, she braced her hand against the main terminal, then leaned over his legs. Her heart pounded hard in her chest as she searched for the pod’s override. She found it on the far side, blocked by the bulk of his half-naked body. Slowly, she reached over, keeping her eyes locked on him for any hint he was about to wake up. Fully stretched out, she touched the control and it beeped, making her jump.
Her gaze shot to his face, certain she woke him. But he remained asleep, his breaths even. Popping on her tiptoes, she read the message on the panel: Passcode Required.
No!She didn’t have any hacking skills, wouldn’t know how to generate her own passcode. Now what?
The front panel lit up like a festival, beeping frantically. The Tellusian straightened. She hopped to the side, arms flailing to get away from him, and lost her balance.
“I didn’t do it!” she shouted out of self-preservation reflex.
Thwack. She landed sideways in the co-pilot’s seat. He caught her wrist, pulling her upright. She hissed out a breath and yanked her arm away.
“Does it still hurt?” he asked, glowering.
She shook her head, face heating. He’d touched her skin. Being a doctor, a surgeon, she needed to touch her patients, but that was different. CORE citizens didn’t touch, not skin-to-skin unless you knew them intimately, a friend or family member. And even then, the touch was limited.
He faced forward, his fingers skimming over the controls of the ship. “Get strapped in.”
His tone had her obeying. With shaky hands she pulled the straps over her shoulders and between her legs. Then, out of the corner of her eye, something in the deep of space glinted on the viewer.
“What are those?” she asked, the moisture in her mouth evaporating. The ship skimmed over a network of black orbs ranging in sizes, some moving, some not.
Those can’t be what I think they are—
As soon as her restraints clicked into place, he veered them off their trajectory at a furious speed. A scream lodged in her throat. She would have smashed to the roof it hadn’t been for artificial gravity and her buckle. All she could do was stare as he wove through the orbs at a suicidal speed.
We’re in a blasted minefield.