Page 40 of Phoenix's Last Heist
“She—isn’t—yours!” Fobos coughs.
“She ismine,” Orion roars. “And you are unworthy to try and take her from this world.”
With that, he throws Fobos clear across the vault, letting him smash into the back wall with a nauseating crack. I gape in astonishment as Orion readies himself to fight his way back through the hallway of security guards.
His words hit me with more force than the plasma blast, twisting my insides into a Gordian knot of emotion. It’s thevellia,I tell myself. Only thevellia.Orion is no more mine than I am his. And—technically speaking—I belong to Brill, which makes me adamant that I don’t ever want to belong to anyone.So, what’s with the fluttering in my stomach at his words?
“Orion!” I call again. “Forget it. Let’s go!”
Finally, he lifts his gaze to me and nods. He bolts down the hallway, vaulting over the remaining guards. We barrel through the casino and out the front door, not pausing for breath until we reach the ship.
“Ada, we need to get gonenow!” I say. “Is our route to Omicron-13 clear? I want us in light speed as fast as, well, light speed. You got it?”
Calculating route to Omicron-13. Mild traffic in the Farin sector, but no active Fed incidents. Now scanning for beacons from any known Void Stalker craft or Ooneryx-registered vehicle. Bringing light speed engines online. I take it the mission didn’t go as planned?
“That’s putting it lightly,” I say, turning to look at Orion for the first time since I witnessed his violent outburst. He stands behind the navigator’s chair, white knuckles gripping the headrest like he’s about to wrench it from the seat. His whole form radiates tension, as if a soft breeze might blow in and snaphim into the monster he was mere moments before. His eyes are still dilated black and the tendons along his neck strain beneath his skin. Warnings sound in my head—something dangerous skates beneath the ice of Orion’s exterior.
“Orion?” I ask cautiously. “Are you okay?”
He shakes his head slowly.
“No.”
“Are you injured? Were you hurt?” I ask, concern bringing me to my feet.
He takes a step back from me—his face filled with warning. The possessiveness and lust in his eyes steals my breath, but with the tensing of his muscles, I can see how hard he’s fighting his response to thevellia.
“Stay away from me, Lyra” he growls.
Excitement thrums in my veins. When I use myvellia,I’m usually stressed to the point that sex is unappealing, but seeing the way Orion wants me now is utterly intoxicating. Ignoring the magnetic pull I feel for him seems impossible. I move slowly in his direction.
“Please,” he rasps. “I can’t—I don’t want…”
I shake my head to clear it and take a step back.What the hell am I doing?I can’t—won’t—take advantage of him. The thought makes me sick. Despite wanting him like my next breath, I can’t take him like this. Disappointment and shame burn through my insides. The pain in my shoulder throbs in earnest and I wince. Orion catches the movement and his nostrils flare.
“You’ll need help patching that up,” he says, his voice gravelly.
“I’m fine,” I argue, waving him off. He snags my hand out of the air and holds it in a vice-like grip. I arch a brow and something in his gaze softens almost painfully.
“Please,” he says quietly. “I can’t stand to see you hurt right now.”
Part of me wants to push him away, but given what we’ve just been through and how unsettled he seems, I nod. I slowly lower my hand from his grasp.
“Okay,” I concede. “Thank you. The first aid supplies are in?—”
“…the laboratory,” he finishes. “I know. I organized them before we arrived.”
Ada engages the autopilot and shoots us through the atmosphere of Mallorus, pulling away from the swirling red and black planet with as much speed as she can muster. Passing moons blur into streaks of soft gray as we enter light speed, but the inside of the ship remains still and quiet. Orion and I walk toward the lab, the thick silence between us growing heavy with the weight of unsaid words.
“Sit,” he commands, pointing to the cot in the corner of the lab. I glare at him, but bite back my curt reply. I’ll give him both barrels tomorrow—when we’ve both had some time to sleep off the nerves of everything we’d just been through.
I hop up on the edge of the bed and angle my wounded shoulder toward the light he drags over, giving him the opportunity to survey the damage.
“Well?” I ask, trying to ease some of the tension. “Will I live, Doc?”
His brows pinch together in irritation.
“Take off your shirt,” he says.
