Page 99 of The First Spark
Never surrender a weapon—the first rule of training in the Oppallese Marines. But she was trembling. Even if he didn’t necessarily like her, he didn’t want to see a traumatized woman cowering before him.
“Take it. The safety’s on. You can hold it.”
Hannover’s fingers closed around the grip, but she recoiled and nearly dropped it. Holding it like a live explosive, she trudged across the cargo bay, put it in a hatch, and slammed it shut.
Zane’s teeth clenched. The next time he saw Grant, he’d make him pay.
Hannover dropped into one of the chairs mounted to the wall and popped a few painkillers. He’d left the bottle untouched, even though cleaning his wounds had hurt like hell. The chain of beads under his shirt and the memories that came with it were too heavy.
She grabbed a wad of gauze, squeezed her eyes shut, and peeled back the blood-spotted towel pressed to her side.
Zane inhaled sharply.
Under the tattered shreds of her dress, her burned skin was hissing, red, and raw, sliced through with cuts carved by glass. The shot must’ve grazed her, but the wound still looked nasty. Probably felt it, too. She pressed gauze to the burn, and as drops of blood stained the white fabric, tears seeped from her eyes. Her hands shook as she tipped saline solution over another pad of gauze. The saline sloshed onto the floor, and mascara tracks streamed down her face.
“Let me do that for you.”
“I’m fine.”
Her voice was high and uneven. Her body shook with grief. Clearly, she was not fine.
She splashed some disinfectant on the gauze. With a small whimper, she touched it to her side. More silent tears fell, and Zane shifted in his seat.
“Hannover. Kalie.” Saying her name sent a thrill rushing through him. It made her seem like a person, not a crown. “No one should have to do this alone.”
“It’s my own fault. I taunted him, and—and you’re right?—”
“Taunted him?” Zane’s brows shot to his hairline. “You think Carik’s behind this?”
Kalie’s face crumpled. “Everyone I love dies because of me.”
Zane drew in a slow breath. He’d thought the same thing, one dark morning in the little bar he’d managed after Oppalli. Tears had slipped down his cheeks as he’d stared at a carefully folded picture of a laughing woman. He’d brushed his thumb over her cheek, then unscrewed the bottle of pills in his lap.
“It’s for the best if I deal with it by myself,”he’d told Mira weeks later, late one night when they were both drinking.
“Bullshit,”she’d said.“Losing someone you love isn’t something you should go through on your own.”
He’d almost told Mira how close he’d come to death mere minutes before he met her. He hadn’t. Now, with Kalie, the words were on the tip of his tongue.
Zane opened his mouth, but his throat sealed shut.
She’d already called him a coward once.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” he murmured. “It’s not your fault.”
“But it is. I wanted a war. I told him I’d destroy him.” Kalie touched the blood-spotted gauze to another wound, flinched, and tossed it aside. “I thought having the crown would let me do anything. I didn’t listen to Uncle Jerran. I didn’t listen to my advisors. They chased me out, and I deserve it.” Her chin wobbled with suppressed grief.“I deserve it.”
“No.” Zane hunched over, bracing his elbows on his knees. “I know what it’s like to be driven away from your home. I don’t remember that day, but I remember how it felt. No one deserves that.”
The broken thruster’s death rattle crackled through the cabin. Kalie picked up the discarded gauze and screwed her eyes shut, dabbing at the wound.
As she cringed, Zane nudged her knee. “Let me help.”
She bit her lip but moved over, setting the saline and gauze down. Zane crossed the aisle, sat beside her, and poured some saline on a fresh square of gauze.
Clinical, detached. First rule of being a medic.
But now that he was inches away from her, with a flashlight’s bright glow shining on her tattered dress, everything was visible. Her bare skin, bloodied and burned. Her slim hips. The shredded remains of her lacy corset.
