Page 8 of Sixth
Chapter 3
APEX DREWback an inch at most, still close enough for his breath to stir the hair at Emmy’s temple. The kiss had begun soft and searching but deepened until she sensed the tremor of his restraint in the way his hands gripped her shoulders. When he tried to stop, she followed, refusing the distance, the Valenmark between them a living pulse of heat andneed.
His mouth claimed hers again, hungrier now, dominance overtaking the measured calm she had come to expect from him. His tongue slid against hers once, deliberate, astroke that drew a gasp she couldn’t contain.
He caught the sound and swallowed it, one hand sliding up the line of her neck, the other braced at her waist as if to remind himself that he could end this whenever he chose. The truth was, neither of them could. The mark burned through constraint until she arched against him, answering need with need, pulse with pulse. His breath turned ragged against her cheek.
When he broke the kiss, it wasn’t gentle. His hand stayed firm at her waist, keeping her steady while he dragged air back into his lungs. His voice came low, arough scrape of effort. “You do not understand what you ask.” He brushed his thumb across her lower lip, which trembled faintly. “I will teach you many things, Emmeline. But not this. Not yet.”
She wanted to argue. To drag him back down and taste the promise in those words. Instead, she forced a shaky laugh that came out more like a challenge. “Fine. Then teach me your ship.”
He shifted from stillness to motion in an instant, the change as clean and quiet as a blade drawn from its sheath. “Very well.” He gestured her toward the pilot seat. “Sit.”
“It looks tight.”
“It will adjust.”
Emmy sank into the chair, the seat reconfiguring around her hips. Light flowed up from the armrests and formed a translucent band around her midsection, not touching, avisible reminder to stay within the pilot’s position. Apex took the position at her shoulder rather than the seat beside her. The choice indicated trust, and that felt precarious and enormous atonce.
“Hands here,” he said. He drew her fingers to the twin arcs that rose from the console. “Left for roll, right for yaw. Pitch by heel pressure. Touch is measured, not forceful. This ship listens to intent.”
“It listens to you.”
“It will listen to you also. The mark permits it.”
Heat moved beneath her skin again at the glide of his fingers over hers. The light on the console responded to his touch andthen to hers. Lines brightened. Adistant tone shifted into a timbre she had not heard before, like a chord resolving.
He continued, voice level. “Navigation stack, upper tier. Flight map, here. Field density renders on this band. Your eyes want to chase bright. Do not. Read the gradients. The smoothest path is rarely the brightest.”
She tried to split focus, to keep her attention on his instruction rather than the awareness of his breath near her ear or the disciplined way he held his own restraint. The Valenmark didn’t help. It warmed with every brush of his hand, every time his shoulder almost met her temple, every steadying touch on her wrist.
“What happens if I do this,” she asked, angling the right arc three degrees.
The ship responded with a subtle bank. Apex’s palm hovered over the console without touching. “You slide us toward the long path rather than the fast one. Acceptable in my opinion for now.”
“What happens if I do this,” she repeated, pushing the left arc too far in compensation.
He caught her hand before she overcorrected. “You pitch the tail into drift and announce our location to anyone watching. Precision over speed.”
“Aram is watching,” she guessed. The name tasted likerust.
“Affirmative.” He leaned over her shoulder and flicked a toggle she hadn’t noticed. The cabin lights shifted to a softer spectrum that protected night vision. “He scraped a tracker over the hull. Iremoved it. But he still has your signature. We change that by changing you.”
She turned her head. “Change me how?”
“Change your patterns.” He tapped the arc to show her where to place her thumb for a smoother angle. “To shake a hunter, break habit. Humans cling to habit when frightened. They forget that fear is a pattern also.”
“I amnotfrightened,” shesaid.
He did not smile this time. “You are brave. Those are not the same.”
Her throat went tight and she looked back at the stars before he could read more than she wanted him to see. “How long until Aram finds us again?”
“That depends on how well you learn.” He straightened. “And how well I teach.”
She threaded breath through her lungs, willed her hands to steady, and moved through the sequence again. Smaller correction. Gentler angle. She sensed the difference immediately. The ship liked precision as much as its master. She could almost perceive it loosening, like a tense animal reassured by a skilled touch. Pride lifted, bright and unexpected.
“Good,” he said, with a note in his voice she hadn’t heard before. “Again.”
