A hidden door slides open, allowing the entrance of a woman. Dumbstruck by her beauty, Reynard forgets to leap toward escape before the door reseals.
The cold doesn’t bother her bare creamy-white skin. She keeps her eyes averted toward the floor. Her dark hair cascades over her shoulder, hanging just above the tray of food she carries.
The smell of the shellfish permeates the room. His stomach rumbles, but this young woman quickens his blood.
Woven into her black hair is a fully blooming pink water rose, highlighting her porcelain tone.
“Thank you for the food.”
She never raises her lowered face, just places the tray to the floor. “All of this is for you.”
Including you? He reaches to brush the hair off her shoulder to expose the teasing breast.
She allows his touch of her hair, never flinching or rejecting it, but she doesn’t invite him to explore further.
He takes a liquid drink from the tray. Saline still coats his mouth. He cleanses his palate with the fluid.
She refuses to raise her head.
Reynard wonders at her eye color.
She remains statuesque as he lifts her chin. She still averts her eyes toward the floor.
His quickening heart warms his body temperature. “Thank you.” He replaces the cup on the tray. Not sure about this girl who won’t meet his eyes, he says, “I’m going to get some more sleep.”
Unmoved by his insinuated dismissal, she remains.
“I don’t need you to hold the tray while I eat.”
Reynard wonders if she breaths as her chest shows no rise.
“You are dismissed.”
“All is for your desires,” she says.
“Huh.” He sits on the edge of the bed. She shudders as his finger runs along the back of her calf. Even unextended, they are solid muscle like well-formed dancer’s legs. Good thing I’m not Scott. “I’m not hungry. You can leave.”
She places the tray on the floor. Her skin remains cool against his as she straddles his lap. Reynard’s hand secures her waist just above the woven rose petal belt. He lifts her off of him in a defining No.
Blood pumps into his groin. He grabs her arms just below her elbows, keeping his touch sensual. She raises her chin, allowing him to gaze into the royal purple spheres. Her doe eyes lack fear.
“Master, I belong to you.”
Her warm tone invites him closer. Reynard rests the side of his face against her flat stomach where she would have a navel if she were an Osirian.
His hand forgets to be gentle as it clamps on her silky-white breast.
His heart picks up speed as his lips draw across hers. Moist wet lips relax, accepting a kiss. His fingertips tickle down her spine to the small of her back. His hand caresses over the curve of her hip, allowing him to scoop her up. His arms press less than a hundred pounds of weight. As his biceps rub her skin, his mind draws just enough blood to note her ribs are not like any Osirian woman’s he’s hugged.
Too fast.
Slow down, Reynard.
I nearly died.
She said she was for me. It might insult my host if I don’t.
Holding her, he recalls a multitude of dangers when participating in an interspecies mating. She seems close enough to Osirian—two arms, two legs, a pair of breasts, two beautiful eyes. She lacks body hair. A navel. He makes a quick glance at her female equipment in the correct location.
His admiration of her breasts clouds the questions he should be asking this girl—most importantly—why she’s available to me? With every second he touches her skin against his he loses sight of logic.
Reynard shifts her on the bed so his bulk doesn’t crush her. As they kiss she follows his tongue from her mouth into his. He opens his eyes, meeting her gaze. Her eyes glimpse into his soul. Her next blink releases herself to him. Aundrea once gave him the same stare when she told him she loved him.
SPLINTERING CRAMPS RIPPLE up and down JC’s legs. She forces herself to move. Nothing. She reaches down and clamps her finger around her thigh, massaging the muscle. The free-flowing blood restores her circulation.
Scott belts Amye to the examination table. “She attacks another crewmember—I’m going to space her.”
“Harsh much, Lieutenant?”
“Discipline should be educational—death teaches nothing,” Australia snaps at her lover.
“She’s going to kill one of us.” Scott weaves the belt end back through the loop. “Where the smerth did you learn to fight like Joe?”
“A long time ago. Get back to the bridge and locate Reynard,” JC orders.
“Her directive is correct,” Australia confirms.
“Then you two work out what to do about her.” Scott storms from the medical bay.
As soon as the door seals, Australia orders, “Blank her.”
“No.”
“I know of no other way to rid her of her demons.”
“Blanking is forbidden. I don’t know how,” JC lies. “It won’t fix genetic problems. If she’s predisposed to addiction, Blanking won’t prevent her from returning to the bottle.”
“Commander Reynard will have to discharge her. She is a danger to herself and the crew,” Australia says.
“You work it out with William after we recover him,” JC says.
“Keep her sedated until we recover the commander,” Australia orders.
“Athena, prepare a sedative to inhibit alcohol absorption.”
“There are medications to prevent her from desiring the taste of alcohol,” Australia says.
JC loads a syringe gun. “Drugs to prevent the ingestion of other body-altering substances will not cure her. Addictions are in the mind.”
“Which is the justification to why you should Blank her.”
“Blanking is much like a computer reset. You would have to reload the software. I’m not going to reteach her to wipe after she uses the bathroom,” JC says as she places two squares on each side of Amye’s forehead. Vital life sign readouts appear on the monitor. “It was developed for serial murders, not as a cure for drug dependency.” JC unzips her jacket, exposing the scratches and bruises on her
