Page 13 of Phoenix's Last Heist
Fuck.
“Ada,” I grit out. “Ventilate the rooms in the living quarters, pod 3.”
Lyra blinks, the haze of desire clearing and a slow smile spreading across her face. The fans whir to life, and Lyra throws back her head and laughs.
“Damn,” she chuckles. “This is going to be a huge fucking shitshow.”
For once, I know she’s telling the truth.
5
lyra
Something About This Was Inevitable
After six daysof avoiding each other as much as possible in the cramped corridors of my ship, I know I’ve got a major problem.
I want to sleep with the stars-damned, goody-two-shoes ranger. Even worse is the fact that I can tell he’s attracted to me, too, but clearly doesn’t want to be.Son of a bitch.Nothing like a man scoping out your ass and looking like he’d rather punch himself in the face than give it a grab. Talk about going fromsizzletofizzle.
I’ve done everything in my power to distract myself and to avoid running into him around the ship as he occupies himself with small, menial tasks. Without a word, he set about cleaning his berth and the common areas, organizing my books on a newly dusted shelf, scrubbing out the water filtration system and the kitchen cupboards. It’salmostbeen enough to keep us away from each other.
Today, however, I’m taking stock of our meager supplies in the hold when Ada pings me, informing me that our illustriousguest requested my presence in my abandoned laboratory—one of the few rooms on my ship I’m happy to avoid. The depressing lab is more of a junk repository for me these days, despite it being equipped with state-of-the art tech that can analyze and study just about anything, as well as a long fallow biosphere where crops can be grown on long distance voyages. My dad was a bit of a science nut in his spare time, and when he wasn’t teaching me how to sneak, steal, and survive, he taught me everything he knew about Earth sciences and space travel. The only piece of him I kept close to me is his tattered old journal, filled with notes on desirable treasures across galaxies and haphazard daily logs detailing his adventures. I’m still working my way through the crinkled, yellowing pages. I let everything else fall to ruin—too cowardly to confront the disordered mess of both his legacy and my emotions. I haven’t had the heart to clear out his gear after he died and left theAldrin-136to me.
“I’m not going in there just because hesummonedme,” I snap. “Tell him I’m busy.”
Orion politely requests your presence, all the same.
“He is so obnoxious! First, he complains about the food, and then when I finally relent and dig through the supplies in the hold, he starts pestering me to drop what I’m doing to go attend to him for stars-know-what reason. I’m sorry I don’t have a gourmet kitchen and an epicurean cook to whip up something fresh whenever His Highness’s tummy growls. And anyway, what’s wrong with protein pills and carbo shakes? I mean, what the hell else do Xylothians eat?” I rant.
Is this an opportunity for a joke?Ada replies.
I wince at that. Perhaps it was unfair of me to unleash a wave ofvelliaon him last week when we were both exhausted, hungry, filthy, and sore from our messy getaway. He needs to understand, though; we can’t afford to let any false horniness derail our deal. I did him a favor, really, by being so honest. Atleast that’s what I told myself after I saw the look of disgusted betrayal in his eyes in the wake of my little demonstration.
Not many can withstand the onslaught of desire my mother’s blood can summon, though it affects every species differently. I’ve never seen anyone react the way Orion did—with the fire that promises to consume us both, if we ever give it the chance to burn.
Not something I’m particularly keen on, at this point. I still don’t trust him not to turn me over to the Feds at the first opportunity. Those kinds of upstanding, holier-than-thou heroes always throw you over for the good of the universe in the end. It should be more of a relief to me that he’s particularly susceptible to myvelliain case I need an edge, but for the first time ever, thinking about using it on him again just makes me…sad.Ugh. Not something I’m interested in examining too closely at present.
Ranger Asterth has been working on something to improve this ship, and by extension, your existence. Rather than continuing to hide from him, perhaps you should see what he’s been doing.
“I’m not hiding from him,” I grumble, but brush off my dusty pants and head to the second deck and the lab.
I start to knock but catch myself. This is my ship, after all—I can go where I damn well please without anyone’s permission.
“You rang, Ranger?” I call out, startling him as the metal door slides open.
I stop in my tracks, taking in the space that used to be a disaster and now looks like it’s been restored to clean, organized, functional perfection. The last time it looked like this was before my father died. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes and I swallow around a lump in my throat, embarrassed by the unbidden grief.
“I didn’t hear you knock,” Orion grumbles with his back to me. “And I didn’t actually expect you to come.”
Grateful that my irritation masks my sadness, I’m able to shrug into that well-worn cloak of perpetual annoyance before he can see how this room affects me.
“It’s my ship,” I argue. “I don’t have to knock.”
He bristles and turns to face me, his lips drawn in a tight line. He’s wearing another borrowed outfit—a thin, white, too-small tank top that stretches across his broad chest, and soft gray sweatpants that do more than hint at his endowments.Stars save me.I can’t remember who left them on my ship, but I curse them with the fire of a thousand suns for leaving me with clothes that barely hide Orion’s god-like physique.
Despite my affinity for tentacled partners, that doesn’t seem to matter to my raging libido when I take in his powerful body, cut with lean muscle and flushed pink, either from the tepid warmth of the laboratory or his frustration with me.His bronzed shoulders are dusted with dark purplish brown freckles, dotting his skin like flickering constellations. Briefly, I fantasize about tracing shapes in those stars with my tongue and fingertips.
But the way he glares at me makes me think he’s more irritated than interested, which is probably better for both of us. He takes a step back and crosses to the other side of the center worktable, folding his arms across his chest. My attention snags on the way his muscles bunch and flex with the movement.
