Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 135784 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135784 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Fran does not give a shit about fussing. She toys with Kivian's flared collar, smoothing his hair and buffing one of his horns with her sleeve before adjusting his belt. He wears the same uniform as the others but…he's accessorized. He looks like a damn peacock, but I guess that's all part of the show. His horns—and ears—have been adorned with jewelry, and his neck is encircled with several shiny chains. His fingers are ringed and his boots wing out above the knee, finely tooled and made from something iridescent that had better NOT be carinoux skin. His shirt is more puffed sleeves flamboyantly open to his navel (the better to show off his bling) and he just…well, he'd be ridiculous if he didn't carry it so well. As it is, he just looks extravagant. Like he knows he's pushing the boundaries of good taste but he also knows he can get away with it.
I look over at my plainly dressed mate with his mis-matched eyes and scarred face, his hair only vaguely brushed, and he looks grimly determined. I know he's tolerating all of this because it's important to me, and my heart swells with love. When Fran brings baby Jasmine out to kiss her father goodbye, I move to Jerrok and kiss him, too.
"Come back safe or I'm going to be really mad," I whisper to him.
"I will. Don't you worry about me."
Oh, I'll worry anyhow. But I nod and move to stand with Tarekh, Cat, Iris and Zoey. Iris doesn't seem ruffled by the fact that Alyvos is heading out with a massive gun strapped to his waist, but I can see frustration on Zoey's face and know she wants to go with them. She can't, of course, because a human with a mesakkah crew means she's someone's pet, and pets aren't always safe or welcome. I can't count the number of times I was groped, fondled, or mishandled while waiting in a “safe” spot for my praxiian owner to return. It's best if she stays with us, even if she hates it.
"If you're not back tonight…" Fran begins, worried.
"We'll be back tonight," Kivian promises. "I won't stay on station. Far too dirty." He puts on a pristine white glove with a flamboyant cuff and smirks at his mate. "And you know how much cleanliness means to me."
She just snorts, holding her baby close.
"You have her ready to dock, Tarekh?" Kivian asks, turning his attention to the big, burly alien.
He nods, stepping forward and sliding into a chair on the bridge. "Just say the word and I'll acknowledge that we're pulling in."
"And the females?" Kivian asks, turning to look at our little group.
"Heading to our hidey-hole," Fran reassures him. Zoey looks unhappy, but nods.
"The plan is to bring the ship back. The Silver Mistress is my personal ship and it's not designed to tow, but we'll make do." He tugs at his gloves, adjusting them as if the fit of his cuffs is the most important thing in the world. "We're towing this hunk of junk as a favor to a good friend of mine, and I'm already on a rushed schedule as it is. Are we following?"
"And if they don't buy it?" Sentorr asks.
"Then we bribe. And if that doesn't work, we take by force." He gives the group a sly little smile that indicates he wouldn't mind if this were the case.
I swallow, trying not to panic. Suddenly, this isn't a good idea. I want to go home…with Jerrok. I want to leave and abandon everyone and everything, because I'm terrified. What if this goes wrong? What if everything fucks up and something happens to Jerrok? What if—
Jerrok's gaze meets mine. He offers me a silent thumbs up, the gesture strange on an alien hand, but it's the thoughtfulness of it that calms me. He knows I'm worried, but he's telling me silently that he's got me. I nod back, and he smiles.
I can practically hear his praise. Good girl.
* * *
Once Tarekh acknowledges The Silver Mistress is ready to land, Fran ushers us all to the cargo bay. There, she touches a secret panel in the wall and reveals a keypad. She presses her hand against it, then types in a code, and the wall slides open, revealing a cozy nest of benches decorated with tossed pillows, a small bookshelf, and a crib in the corner. It's still a closet, of course. It can't be enormous because it has to look natural in the ship itself. But this has Fran all over it—small touches that acknowledge that she's making it as comfortable as possible, and something tells me that the women on this ship spend time here regularly.
"Come on, Sleipnir," I murmur to my buddy as we file in.
Once the door is shut behind us, Cat flops down on one of the cushioned benches and puts her head down on the pillows. "Wake me up if something happens."