The metal is cold and smooth under my palms, vibrating with the shuttle’s power. My body slams against the angled surface, and for one horrible moment my grip slips. My fingers scrabble for purchase, nails scraping against metal.
No. Not after coming this far.
Muscles in my arms and shoulders burn as I cling to the precarious surface. The ramp continues rising, carrying me with it. My legs dangle in the air, feet kicking uselessly at nothing.
This seemed a lot more heroic in my head. In reality, I’m pretty sure I look like a demented cat trying to climb a wall.
I’m not athletic at all. It’s a miracle I’m still holding on. In retrospect, this was a really stupid plan. If this mad dash and desperation could even count as a plan.
“Help!” The word tears out of my throat, raw and desperate. “Somebody?—”
Hands close around my wrists.
The touch, both firm and careful, sends recognition singing through my nervous system before my brain fully processes what’s happening. I know these hands. Know the warmth of them, the careful way they hold me like I’m something precious and breakable at the same time.
Khatak.
His grip anchors me as he hauls me up and through the rapidly closing gap.
We tumble through the entrance in a graceless heap, landing on the shuttle’s deck in a tangle of limbs. The ramp seals shut behind us with a pneumatic hiss.
Arms wrap around me, pulling me upright and against a solid chest. The scent hits me first—warm and musky with that distinctive spice that I’ve come to associate with safety and home and Khatak. His skin is feverishly hot through his clothes, his heart pounding just as hard as mine.
I don’t need to look up to know it’s him. Would know him in the dark, would know him in a crowd of thousands. Everything about him is familiar now—the careful way he holds me, the slight tremor in his hands that says he’s just as shaken as I am, the way his tail wraps protectively around my leg.
A sob tears out of my throat before I can stop it. Then another. My hands fist in his shirt, clinging to him like he might disappear if I let go. He nearly did.
“Selene.” His voice breaks on my name, rough with emotion. “You’re hurt. Where—tell me where you’re hurt.”
His hands move over me, checking for injuries with increasing panic. Gentle touches, looking for broken bones or bleeding or any sign that my absolutely insane boarding maneuver has caused damage.
“I’m fine,” I manage between sobs. “I’m not hurt, I’m just?—“
Another sob cuts me off. I can’t seem to stop shaking, my whole body trembling with the aftermath of adrenaline and fear and relief.
“You’re crying.” He sounds utterly lost, like finding the solution to this problem is beyond anything his military upbringing taught him. “Selene, please. Tell me what hurts.”
“Nothing hurts. Well, everything hurts, but that’s not—“ I hiccup, the sound embarrassingly loud in the shuttle’s interior. “I’m sorry.”
His hands still. “Sorry?”
“I’m so sorry, Khatak.” The words pour out in a rush, all the things I should have said hours ago tumbling over each other. “I was wrong. About everything. About you.”
“Selene—”
“No, please. Let me say this.” I pull back just enough to look up at him, and the expression on his face nearly breaks me all over again.
He looks stunned. Completely, utterly bewildered. Like I’ve started speaking in a language he doesn’t understand.
“I assumed the worst,” I continue, my voice still hitching with barely-contained sobs. “I assumed you were using me, that everything between us was fake. And I didn’t even give you a chance to explain. I just... I jumped to conclusions because I was scared.”
His dark eyes search my face, those amber flecks catching the shuttle’s interior lights. “Scared?”
“I was abducted.” The confession comes out barely above a whisper. “Months ago. Taken from Earth by aliens who didn’t care that I was a person, who treated me like cargo. I woke up on a ship with no memory of how I got there, no control over anything.”
His jaw tightens, and I can practically hear his molars grinding together. I don’t give him a chance to interrupt; however, if he does, I doubt I’ll be able to keep talking. I have to get this out. I have to share this with someone. With him.
“I’ve been terrified ever since,” I admit. “Terrified of losing control again. Of trusting someone who might have hidden motives. When I found out about your reason for being at thehotel, about Rist, it felt like proof that I was right not to trust. That everyone has an agenda.”
