Page 22 of Phoenix's Last Heist
“Yourvellia! Turn it down, or off, or whatever it is you do to emit it. Just stop it, okay?” He releases my hand, stalks back to the dressing room and whisks the curtain closed again, leaving me standing alone, mouth gaping like a dying fish. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, shaken by his sudden change in demeanor. For once, myvelliais subdued—under control, even. I don’t understand what he’s talking about.
I follow him into the dressing room, anger spurring my movements.
“Excuse me, but you cannottalk to me like that and then just walk away!” I pull the curtain back and return his scowl. The bell on the shop door chimes and I duck into the cramped room with him to avoid making a scene, whisking the curtain closed behind me. The muffled voices of other shoppers weave through the tension between us, giving me a moment to breathe.
“Get out of here!” he hisses.
“What is your problem?” I whisper back. “Myvelliais under wraps! Everything was going fine between us until you lost your fucking shit.”
“You’re lying,” he accuses. “You’re using it to try and manipulate me—it’s not going to work.”
“Manipulate you?” I return, my hushed voice turning shrill. “How the hell am I manipulating you? I’m taking you shopping! And I got you lunch! I’m not being nice to manipulate you. We have a deal and I’m holding up my end of it!”
“Oh, and I’m just supposed to believe that you offering medessertdoesn’t mean anything?” he scoffs, yanking the suit jacket off and tossing it in a heap on the floor. Stars, hisshoulders are so gloriously broad, it’s hard to focus on my righteous pique.
“Dessert,” I repeat. “That’s what this is about. You’re pissed because I offered you dessert and you think I’m trying to hop into bed with you?”
“Well?” he accuses. “Aren’t you? It’d probably be easier to control me—to get what you want if I’m so desperate to bury myself inside you that I can’t tell which way is up. Isn’t that how yourvelliaworks?”
The heat percolating beneath my skin arrows straight to my core at his deliciously filthy words and I squeeze my legs together to fight the ache building between them. Despite what he obviously thinks about me, I’ve never used myvelliato con another person into bed with me. Most of the time I rarely use it—only when I’m in serious trouble or a tight spot. Orion seems to believe I wield it like a plasma pistol to get whatever I want. I’m almost sorry to disappoint him.
“Dessert,” I say again, showing him the fruit pie I procured with the savory ones for lunch. His eyes widen at the sight of the golden pastry oozing with reddish-purple jam. Regret and embarrassment skitters across his face. His cheeks flush almost as red as the jam.
“I’m sorry, I thought…” he starts. But whatever he thinks, I’m not interested. I’ve had just about enough of Ranger Righteous for one day, so I do what any self-respecting woman would do.
I shove the fruit pie right in his face.
He stands stock still, stunned, as sticky globs of fuchsia jelly ooze down his face and drip onto his bare chest.
“And for your information,” I say, turning to leave the dressing room. “I’ve never used myvelliato bed anyone. Truthfully, I’ve never needed it.”
I walk back to the front of the store, pay the shop owner for stupid Orion’s new wardrobe, and ask her to bring him a towel.
“My lord got a little overexcited with his lunch,” I explain. And then, to Orion, I shout: “I’m heading back to the ship to oversee the loading of our purchased supplies, my lord. I’ll attend to you when you’re ready to return.”
I storm from the clothing shop, not caring that my fury might cast doubts about our cover. We’re leaving this port post haste and stars help anyone who comes for me now. By the time I reach the end of the dock, the sun hangs low on the horizon, casting the endless Amphitrean sea in the muted rainbow of dusk. The gentle lap of the waves against the metal floats beneath the dock are oddly soothing, and help to cool my temper.
One by one, crates of food, fuel, spare parts, ammunition, and other dry goods are wheeled down the dock on carts and loaded into the ship’s cargo hold. I sit on the edge of the dock, dangling my toes in the warm turquoise sea below, keeping my eye on the dock runners coming in and out of my ship. Schools of small, glittering fish dart around my feet, flashing neon colors in the water.
Idly, I wonder if I’ve been unfair to Orion. Granted, he’s way off base accusing me of manipulating him, but we don’t really know each other. What does he know about me? He caught me looting the most sacred site of his people, dealing with space scum, and now he knows about my frustrating genetic quirk. I suppose I can’t fault him for jumping to the wrong conclusions, but it smarts nonetheless.
Maybe he’s right to keep his distance. If I were him, I wouldn’t trust me either. The truth is, trust isn’t a luxury I can afford—not with what’s on the line.
If he knew what I’ve done to survive…would he think differently of me? I don’t want his pity, but maybe a modicum of understanding. The line betweenscoundrelandsurvivorisn’t something most people cared to parse, and Orion has alreadymade his judgments, apparently. It won’t matter in the long run— especially once I find a way to leverage the Solar Mother idol. I thought about stealing it, of course, maybe even sneaking back to the ship and taking off if the chance came up, but there’s no doubt in my mind he'd send the Feds after me the first chance he got and I’m not about to trade a leash for a prison cell.
The barest whisper of guilt threads through me. Will I still be able to steal the idol after everything? After knowing what it means to him—to his people? I smile ruefully to myself.Probably. It wouldn’t be the first time my Sisyphean quest for freedom silenced my feelings of guilt…shame…regret.
Assuming we don’t end up in bed together, after all. At that, my thoughts turn to all the ways wemightend up in bed together, and soon it’s more than the tropical temperatures and my waning ire heating my blood.
“Well, if it isn’t lusty little Lyra!”
The shout has dread climbing up my spine and my stomach turning to stone. That voice shouldn’t be here—not this far from the trade routes.Shit. It can’t be. Turning back toward the booming voice, I force a smile.
“Iathos,” I drawl, laying eyes on the sexiest space pirate I’ve ever met and the second biggest mistake of my life. Ugh, could this day get any worse?
Iathos grins mischievously as he approaches and sits down next to me, his pale blue skin and thick, backwards curving horns almost glowing in the golden light of sunset.
“I can’t say I’m shocked to run into you here, but I am surprised to see you in the garb of your mother’s house. Whatcanyou be up to, I wonder?” he says, showing off his pearly white fangs.
