He continued to lay on his back, panting. His gaze flicked over to her, those unsettling elliptical pupils searching her face.
She needed to say something. She swallowed hard, licked her lips.
At the sight of her tongue, his pupils dilated until the golden irises were only a thin ochre ring.
She swallowed again, averting her gaze, ignoring the bolt of desire that lanced through her. “I’m sorry,” she said hoarsely. “I’m sorry if I…” she shook her head.
There was too much to apologize for. For hurting him, for taking advantage of him when he was trying to help her, to save her. For wanting, still, to ignore morality and use his obvious weakness against him. To overwhelm him with her scent and taste until he was mad with desire. To take him into her body—
She blinked, giving herself a hard shake. “I’m just sorry,” she finished lamely.
He sat up stiffly, slowly, and leaned against the cavern wall opposite of her. He averted his gaze to the fire. Lyra did the same.
“Do not apologize to me,” he said after a long silence. His voice was a deep rumble that she felt in her chest, under her skin. He spoke the Creole with distinct accent—guttural and rhotic. His voice was a low, wicked growl, even when he spoke in kindness.
She shivered, wrapping her arms tightly around herself, as if she could hold herself in place.
“This situation is not your fault,” he continued. “I didn’t—I wasn’t prepared. Scaevens have not engaged with humankind in several generations. Simply reading about you couldn’t prepare me for the reality. I… I lost my head.”
But he hadn’t taken advantage. He’d controlled himself. Tried to reason with her. Asier. She remembered his name, repeated it in her mind like a mantra. Asier.
“I lost mine, too,” she said, apology and forgiveness in one easy dismissal.
Another uneasy silence descended. Outside the cave, rain and hail crashed against the cliffs. The wind roared through the trees. Lightning flashed.
“When the storm lifts, we’ll head out for my ship. It shouldn’t be long.”
Relief flooded through Lyra. He had a ship. She had a vague recollection of his mentioning it before, when she was still in the throes of his venom. Toxin, he’d called it. Intoxication. She still felt it. Still wanted to yield to it. But she stiffened her spine, and kept her eyes pinned on the fire.
She didn’t dare look at his big, hard body. She couldn’t handle the intensity of his golden gaze, or the way his firm lips softened and parted when she made eye contact with him. Kissing him had been like kissing marble—living marble, hot as blood, that shaped to her own mouth with perfect devotion.
She huffed out a shuddering breath. Stop that right now. She forced her thoughts away from him. “What about the others?” she asked.
Asier did not respond.
Lyra lifted her eyes to search his stony face. “There were other women captured. Eighteen in total. We have to free them.”
Asier sighed. “There have been far more than eighteen women taken by traffickers. And there will continue to be many, many more, if I interfere today.”
Lyra bolted to her feet. “My crewmates are being held captive by those monsters! They’re probably being envenomated and raped as we speak!”
Asier got to his feet his feet as well, watching her warily. “I’m certain that that is not happening. Scaevens mate for life with the mother of their offspring. And human females are very fecund. The traffickers would not risk getting their chattel with child. They’d have to pay the cartel for the cost of their mate. And human females are very, very expensive.”
To hear it put in such blunt terms was a cold slap. The hungry heat simmering beneath her skin snuffed out, leaving her feeling hollow. She was no longer a decorated military pilot and highly regarded exploratory navigator. She was no longer a sister, a friend, or a person. To Asier’s species, she was only an extremely high-quality incubator. And her appeal to him was no different. He had the honor to resist, but his desire for her was only a biological impulse to stake a claim on a hospitable womb.
She reached for her zipper and pulled it back up to her throat. She turned away from him, and stared out the cave opening, watching the storm rage. She couldn’t explain to herself why she felt so let down, so insulted. He was being honest with her. She should appreciate that.
They waited in silence for the storm to abate. As he’d predicted, it didn’t take long. When the hail stopped, and the rain had turned to an intermittent patter, Asier knelt beside the fire. Using a knife he’d pulled from his jacket, he slid the blade beneath the fire ring and flipped it over. The flames snuffed out immediately.
When the rain stopped entirely, he picked up the ring and twisted it in on itself until it was no larger than a bracelet. He tucked it into an interior pocket in his jacket. The jacket was made of a durable, rigid material—she remembered the feel of it—and had a close-fitting construction. When fastened shut, it closely followed the broad contours of his chest, down to the narrower tuck of his powerful hips. And yet, from its depths, he’d already pulled an electron gun, a very large knife, and some kind of fire tech that challenged Lyra’s understanding of thermodynamics. None of it showed beneath the smooth fit of the jacket. His trousers were made of the same material, but a darker dun color. And she already knew they concealed something big.
He looked up at her. His elliptical pupils were no longer blown out. His irises were a lovely harvest gold, striated with ochre.
“Ready?” he asked. He picked up the long barreled gun propped against the cave wall and slung it over his shoulder.
“Okay.” She pretended to be deeply invested in re-braiding her hair, looking down so that he wouldn’t see the mordant blush suffusing her entire face.
“I’ll go first.”
She nodded and stepped back, giving him a wide berth. She tied off her braid as he crouched at the opening, assessing. After a second, he exited.
“It’s clear,” he called back to her.
She stepped out behind him. There was no moon, but on a planet so small, the nightside would never get completely pitch black. Even so, in the low light, she could see no colors, and could make out only the vague shapes of the landscape.
Beneath her feet, the ridge was slick with rain, half-melted hail, and wind-blown leaves. Water dripped from sagging trees. Her boot slid over a slick clump of leaves, and she staggered, grasping the rock face for balance. Asier reached for her, to steady her. He jerked back suddenly, remembering himself.
They climbed to the top of the ridge, stepping onto soft soil and into the dense press of trees and bracken.
“Be careful not to touch any plants,” Asier said.
They worked their way back in the direction Lyra had run only hours ago. She recognized the shadowy thicket of thin, whippy canes she’d tried to hide in last night. As they rounded the canes, she felt a sudden tautness in the air between them. An intense awareness of his body, even though she was not looking at him, not even close enough to touch him, overtook her. The chase replayed in her mind, over and over—especially the moment when he’d finally caught her. When he’d hauled her body against his, as easily as if weighed nothing, and pressed his lips to hers…
She had drifted closer to him as they walked. His head turned towards her. She couldn’t read his features in the moonless dark, but the intentness of his posture had gone sharp, predatory.