Page 23 of Rook
The truck's taillights vanished around a bend. Sasha jammed her foot down hard, reckless now. She refused to lose them.
He was silent, wrestling whatever truths warred inside him. His hand trembled once on his thigh, then stilled. The van jolted again, and her hand slipped off the gear stick, brushing his thigh. They both froze. Heat ripped up her arm, the taste of danger sweet and devastating.
Sasha exhaled a shaky breath, trying to steady herself before she came undone. She watched the road, winding faster, biting at the edge of what the ancient van could handle.
They sped past a roadside cross, then a sudden scatter of rocks, headlights flaring across the battered blue mailbox she'd always joked would spell her doom. Not tonight.
But her van was sputtering and heaving, and the higher they climbed, the less sure she was they'd make it anywhere.
13
Rook winced as Sasha took a corner at high speed. The Earth vehicle didn't feel safe, and he was worried it might explode and take them with it before he could bring the slavers to justice.
At least he would die by his mate's side.
His mate.
He still couldn't quite believe it. But he'd seen it. He'd felt it. His fire had found her and had done her no harm.
The revelation crashed through him like a tidal wave, changing the landscape of everything he thought he knew. His chest felt too tight, his pulse throbbing in his temples. Since he'd left Vemion, he'd been certain of one thing: his mission.
Now that certainty had shattered, replaced by something wilder, more primal, more terrifying. Not the comfortable weight of duty, but this reckless, burning need to protect her, to claim her, to never let her out of his sight again.
He'd always expected to find his mate among his own kind. Not there. Not this stubborn, brave, impossibly fragile human woman with her ridiculous van and her inability to back down from a fight.
"Right?" Sasha was saying.
"Right," he agreed, without any idea of what she'd just said.
"You're telling me that little green men live in your engine and—fuck!" The vehicle jolted, and Rook pitched forward in his seat, forehead smacking against the dashboard. "Seatbelt!" Sasha yelled, too late.
The van gave a final, wheezing cough before the engine died completely. Steam hissed from under the hood, smelling of scorched metal and burning oil. The silence that followed was deafening after the constant rattle and groan of the dying engine. Something ticked, hot metal cooling in the night air. The headlights flickered once, twice, then plunged them into darkness.
"No, no, no," Sasha muttered, smacking the steering wheel with both palms. She twisted the key again and again. The engine made a grinding noise but refused to turn over. "Come on, you piece of garbage." She reached under the dash and fiddled with something, cursing under her breath. "They're fucking getting away, and you go and fail me now. I should have scrapped you months ago." She slammed her fist down on the console, and he heard a mechanical pop.
He didn't need to know Earth technology to know that that wasn't good.
"May I be of assistance?" he asked.
Sasha jabbed at the strap holding her in place until it released and shoved her car door open, not responding.
His mate had a temper.
Noted.
Mate. Mate. Mate. The word kept echoing in his head. He had more important things to think about. The slavers had taken at least half a dozen humans, humans that Sasha knew. He had to get them back.
He pushed his door open, following her into the cool night air. The road stretched empty before them, curving away into darkness. No sign of the box truck. No sign of anything but trees and the distant pinpricks of stars above. The scent of pine and damp earth filled his nostrils, familiar now after days in that forest.
Sasha had already popped the hood and was bent over the engine, her frustrated breaths coming out in small white puffs in the cool air. The moonlight caught her silhouette, painting her in silver and shadow. Her hair had fallen loose from its tie, cascading in wild waves around her shoulders. One hand was braced against the vehicle, her body leaning forward, curves outlined in the ghostly light.
She was beauty incarnate.
Fire sang in his blood, and he smelled a faint hint of smoke. He wanted her. Now. Tomorrow. Whenever she would have him.
But he'd already ruined that, hadn't he? Speaking of duty as if his most sacred duty wasn't standing right in front of him.
He moved closer, coming to stand beside her. Heat radiated from the engine, a complex maze of wires and metal parts that meant nothing to him. On Vemion, vehicles weren't nearly this complicated or finicky. He could handle the propulsion system on a battle cruiser, but this jumble of primitive technology might as well have been a puzzle box with no solution.
