Page 18 of Sixth
“Emmeline,” he said, not a question.
“I know,” she murmured. “I’m not moving. Bite me.”
His breath eased out, the kind of breath that sounded a little like a laugh without being one. He turned his head and pressed his mouth to her hair. He didn’t kiss. He simply placed his mouth there and breathed her in like that was allowed. The tiny contact burned worse than anything. She clenched her hands to keep from turning her face and takingmore.
“Tomorrow,” he said into her hair. “My wounds will heal by then and we will move at first light. We will salvage what we can. We will find water. We will build signal. If Voss follows, we will end it.”
“You plan like we have a week.”
“I plan because we have a future,” he said. “I intend to take all of it.”
The simplicity of the sentence undid her. She pressed closer. The bond throbbed between them, not steady, not calm, but alive. Her heartbeat stuttered, caught, then found his and locked there.
“Emmeline,” he said softly, and she heard the warning in it again. She also heard everything else. The wanting he didn’t bother to hide from her because truth mattered to him more than comfort. “Do not move your thigh like that.”
She froze. Then she did it again, because she was not a saint and he’d threatened to be ungentle and the ache between her thighs had turned thick and insistent.
“Later,” he said, voice rough. “I will make you forget how to say your own name.”
“I already forgot,” she whispered, dizzy from nothing but being pressed against him and the planet looking. “Remind me.”
He let out a breath that might’ve been a curse. His hand closed around the back of her neck again, firmer this time, anchoring her there without pressure. He could hold her this way without hurting himself. She liked that more than she should.
The lantern flickered. The ship creaked. The motes drifted closer until they hovered just inside the torn hull, like cautious birds deciding whether toland.
“Hello,” Emmy whispered to them, feeling slightly mad and not caring. “We won’t hurt you.”
They pulsed once, faint as a heartbeat. Apex’s grip on her neck loosened a fraction, then tightened again as if he’d sensed something she hadn’t.
“What?” she murmured.
“Listen,” he said.
She listened. The hum in the air had braided around another sound, low, layered, almost like voices but not. Not words. Alistening that had turned into an answer. Her skin prickled. She wasn’t scared. Or she was and didn’t care. The awe was bigger than thefear.
“Do you think they understand?” she asked.
“They will,” he said. “We will teach them. They will teach us.”
She smiled against his chest despite the smoke and the blood and the ruined ship. “That’s almost romantic.”
“It is tactical,” hesaid.
“Sure,” she said, and didn’t call him on the way his fingers were stroking the small triangle where skull met spine.
The planet stayed with them through the long stretch that should’ve been night. When Emmy’s eyes finally fluttered, she woke fast, not because of a sound, but because the rhythm outside changed. The light tilted toward green. The low hum sharpened and then softened again as if something vast had turned itshead.
“Apex,” she said, and his body tensed under her cheek before she’d finished hisname.
“Affirmative.”
“Your fever?”
“Controlled.”
She tipped back to look at him. The binder had held. His color was better. His eyes were clear and too awake for a man who’d bled on the floor of his own ship a few hoursago.
“Pain?” she asked.
