Once again, Lyra found herself disturbingly aware of Asier’s body, his heat, his nearness. She tried to focus on the panel he was showing her, but without the distraction of new tech, and Crurian numerals, and unreadable glyphs, she was losing the battle.
“There’s an emergency protocol. If we come under attack, if we’re boarded, you need to get to the control cabin and seal yourself inside.” Beneath his hand, the panel receded into the bulkhead, revealing a recessed lever. Asier gripped it and wrenched it down.
The closed cabin doors gave a sudden heavy thump. Lyra felt the vibration beneath her feet.
“The walls and doors of the control cabin are impenetrable when the emergency lever is engaged. It will only respond to my touch—and now yours, too. If you can make it to the control cabin and lock yourself in, you’ll be safe. Nothing can break through it.”
“Not even a Scaeven?”
“No.”
“So I have to make sure you’re in here, too.”
Asier slashed his hand through the air, as if he could cut her words down. “No. If there’s danger, you forget I exist. Run to the control cabin and lock yourself in.”
“But what if—”
“It doesn’t matter.” He reached for the lever, thrust it back into the recessed panel. The cabin doors emitted another heavy bang, then slid open. “Now you try.”
Asier stepped back for her. Lyra had to reach above her head to place her palm against the flat panel. The doors slid shut, and the panel recessed beneath her hand. She caught the lever, and pulled—but it went nowhere.
“You’re going to have to apply Scaeven levels of force,” Asier said, with a hint of amusement at her struggle.
She scowled at him, and gave the lever a vicious wrench. She only just managed to pull it down, but it was enough. A heavy sound echoed from within the sealed doors.
“Once the doors are sealed, you will send out an emergency beacon. The nearest Scaeven vessel will divert to intercept.” He returned to the instrument panel and showed her how to send out the beacon. She stared at the runic Scaeven glyphs, committing their shape to memory.
“Got all that?” Asier asked, watching her intently.
She looked up at him and nodded slowly, lost in the golden pin of his gaze. His pupils dilated.
Lyra’s skin felt too warm, too tight. Asier stood close enough that she could lean over and bite him. “Anything else I need to know?” She asked, her voice gone husky.
It took a beat before Asier spoke. When he did, his voice had gone even deeper than his usual rumbling bass. “The control cabin is the ideal location in the event of an emergency. It controls the ship—can override every control onboard. The walls are impenetrable once sealed. But if you can’t get to the control cabin, you should go to the flight deck.” He pushed out of the chair and unsealed the cabin.
Lyra followed him through the ship’s narrow passageways to the wide expanse of the flight deck. Two small shuttles, large enough for one Scaeven male, or perhaps two average-sized humans, were locked into the deck. Inset tracks connected the shuttles to sealed launch bays.
Asier pulled open the hatch on the nearest shuttle and waved Lyra in. The interior was little more than a narrow galley. At the bow, the pilot’s chair and the instrument panel. Port and starboard along the galley were filled with computronics and mechanical access hatches. The stern had a narrow bunk, lofted above the lav.
Lyra moved to the bow. The instrument panel was an abbreviated version of the one in the ship’s control cabin. She dropped into the pilot’s chair and brought the panel to life. The shuttle chirped at her, and an AI voice began growling in Scaeven.
“The shuttles are for short-range travel only. They don’t have their own fuel source—they draw a charge from the ship when they’re docked. There is enough of a charge to project a single bridge, and to travel about three parsecs through open space before it’ll be necessary to dock and recharge. If you lose a charge in open space, send out a beacon and sit tight. There’s enough oxygen, water, and nutrition to survive for three hundred zeitraums.” He glanced at her, his vulpine gaze sweeping over her body like a burn. “Though, human metabolic needs being less than Scaeven, you might be able to make it even longer.”
Lyra tore her gaze away from him, forcing herself to focus on the instrument panel. “So, here’s the emergency beacon.” She indicated it without touching. “Same protocol?”
“Yes. Depending on the danger, you’ll want to get as far from the ship as possible. If there’s a planet or station nearby, lock a heading for it. If not, just get away. Whoever responds to the emergency beacon will be able to lock onto your trajectory and intercept you.”
Lyra glanced across the panel. “The system processes are very similar to Ravanoth technology. Except theirs is not as sophisticated.”
“The Ravanoth borrowed a lot from us.”
She nodded. “I figured.” She tapped the sealed compartment beneath the instrumentation panel with the toe of her boot. “Bio-circuitry in an electro-gel matrix?”
“Yes.”
When Lyra glanced back at him, he was watching her with raw, undisguised hunger. “Is that all the important stuff?” She asked tensely. “In an emergency, the control cabin is plan A. Shuttles are plan B.”
“Yes.”
“Good.” Lyra got up from the chair.
Asier watched her approach, his gaze gone predatory. He braced himself against the open hatch, his big body closing her in as effectively as any door. Lyra stopped just in front of him. He was close enough to touch—but she didn’t. Not yet.
“You’re an impressive creature,” Asier said, his voice raw, unsteady.
“I’m glad you think so.” Lyra shifted, bringing herself just a little closer. His massive shoulders filled the span of her vision.
“I mean it.” That wide chest rose and fell on a labored breath. “You’re such a soft little thing, but you’re tough. And dangerous. And smart. You pick up foreign tech like you’re learning a child’s game, and—”
“Asier.”
He took another unsteady breath. “Yes?”
“I want to touch you.”
A shudder ran over his body. “Touch me,” he echoed in a faint rumble.
Lyra didn’t know if he was asking for clarity, or giving her permission. She didn’t wait to find out. She leapt onto his big body. He caught her in his arms, pulling her hard against him.
“Not my mouth,” he reminded her hoarsely.
She kissed his jaw, his neck, his throat. She licked his pulse as her fingers found the zipper of his jacket and swept it down. She slid her hands across the broad expanse of his muscular chest. She bit down on the muscle between his neck and shoulder, slid her touch up the back of his neck, fisted her fingers his unbound hair. It was as coarse and straight as a horse’s mane.
Asier simply held her and submitted to the onslaught of her hands and mouth. His entire body was as rigid as steel, quivering with the effort of restraint. His big hands gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her flesh, holding onto her with an intensity that belied his unmoving self-control.
“Touch me,” she whispered against the hard, hot skin of his chest.