Page 28 of Signed, Sealed, Seduced
Instead, his massive hand covers mine where it rests on the container. His skin is warm, almost burning, and I can feel the crystalline patterns on his forearm pulsing with rapid rhythm.
“You were unaware of its nature?” he asks, though it doesn’t sound like a question.
The gentle tone, the way he’s looking at me—not with suspicion but with something that might be protective concern—nearly undoes me.
“Of course I was unaware!” My voice rises despite my efforts to control it. “I’m a courier, not a saboteur. I pick up packages, I deliver them, I get paid. That’s it. That’s the job.”
His thumb brushes across my knuckles, a gesture so subtle I almost miss it. “You are distressed,” he observes, his voice softer now.
“Distressed?” I let out a laugh that sounds more like a sob. “I’ve been used, Henrok. Someone violated my ship, my life, my choices. They turned me into a weapon against you.” My voice cracks on the last words. “Against you, and I didn’t even know it.”
Something shifts in his expression—a hardening around his eyes, a tension in his jaw. The crystalline markings on his arms pulse faster, deeper red now.
“Who?” The single word vibrates with lethal intent. Not directed at me, I realize. At whoever did this to me.
“I don’t know.” I run my free hand through my hair, frustration mounting. “The package was a standard pickup from the Junction. Routine job, triple pay for hazard delivery to Zater Reach. I never saw the client.”
He lifts the container with his free hand, opening it to examine the beacon. The crystalline markings along his arms pulse with what I’m learning to recognize as barely contained rage.
“This device,” he says, his voice dangerously soft, “could have disabled our entire defensive network. In the middle of an ion storm, when we are most vulnerable.”
“I know that now,” I say, my anger giving way to a sick feeling of guilt and fear. “Someone set me up. Used me. And they could have gotten you killed.”
The last words slip out before I can stop them, revealing more than I intended. Henrok’s eyes snap to mine, something intense and unreadable flickering in their depths.
“You are concerned for my safety,” he says, and there’s something almost wondering in his tone.
“Of course I am.” The admission comes easier than it should. “Whatever else this is, whatever game someone’s playing, I don’t want you to get hurt because of me.”
He sets the beacon down carefully, then turns to face me fully. This close, I can see the fine details of his face—the sharp angles of his cheekbones, the way his crystalline markings pulse in rhythm with his heartbeat, the intensity of his gaze as he studies me.
“Triple pay,” he says suddenly. “For a ‘routine’ delivery.”
Put like that, it does sound suspicious. I should have questioned it more. But in my line of work, unusual requests with generous compensation aren’t exactly rare.
“I needed the credits,” I admit, looking away. “My ship needed repairs, I had debts to clear. It seemed like... luck.”
“There is no such thing as luck in matters of war,” Henrok says, his voice hard. “Only calculation.”
He moves to the holographic display, tapping a sequence that brings up a new image—my ship, suspended in the repair cradle.
“Your vessel was sabotaged,” he states flatly. “Precision work. The navigation system was programmed to fail at exactly the right coordinates, forcing you to crash at my personal landingpad. The communications array was similarly compromised, preventing you from sending distress signals to anyone but us.”
I stare at the display, a cold knot forming in my stomach. “They wanted me to crash here. To be brought inside.”
“Yes.” His expression is grim as he turns back to me. “And in the confusion of your arrival, the package would be delivered without the usual security protocols. A clever strategy.”
“But it didn’t work,” I point out. “You didn’t trust me from the beginning. You had the package scanned, kept under guard.”
“Standard procedure,” he says, though there’s something in his tone that suggests it wasn’t just procedure that made him cautious. His eyes meet mine again, and I see something there that makes my breath catch. “Though I admit, my caution was not entirely... professional.”
“What do you mean?”
He’s quiet for a long moment, studying me with that intensity that seems to see straight through to my soul. “You were not what I expected,” he says finally. “Your defiance, your competence, your...” He pauses, seeming to search for words. “Your effect on me was... unexpected.”
My heart does something complicated in my chest. “Effect?”
“You made me want to trust you,” he says simply. “Despite every tactical instinct I possess. That concerned me.”
