He wasn't sure what he'd expected from the gruff transport captain, but it wasn't her sharp smile or the curious way her eyes would flick him up and down when she thought he wasn't looking. Or the way she'd beaten him at cards with this little smirk that made him want to lose again just to see it.
She smelled like engine oil and that clean soap she used, nothing fancy, but it had started to permeate his senses. It was in his quarters now. He'd noticed it this morning on his pillow and had spent a full minute trying to figure out how that had happened before remembering she'd helped him fix the air recycler yesterday. They'd known each other four days. But when she'd laughed at his terrible joke about the wine last night, genuine and unguarded, something in his chest had shifted.
With a pang, Zane let it go. There was no time to get caught up in could-have-beens with the pretty captain. He had to survive this first.
At least he had an excuse for why he was going to be late for his meeting with his matchmaker-selected lady.
Zane was huffing out a laugh as the door burst open and two pirates aimed blasters right for him. The barrels looked impossibly large from this angle, dark holes that promised nothing good. His first instinct was to fling fire their way, but he held back. Until he knew where Mercy was, that she was safe, he couldn't do a damned thing.
"Don't shoot!" Zane threw his hands up and let his voice go high and reedy. He added a little tremor for effect. "I'm worth more alive than dead!"
The two pirates exchanged glances. The human one snorted. His face was weathered and scarred, the kind of man who'd spent years in the worst parts of space and come out meaner for it. "Look at this one. Soft as butter."
"Please, I have money. Lots of money." Zane let his hands shake. Just a little. Enough to sell it. He'd practiced this act before. Rich, useless lordling. It wasn't even that far from the truth.
The Kellian's scales rippled with what might have been amusement. "Captain Horris wants to meet you." The human gripped his upper arm tight enough to bruise and dragged him into the hall.
They marched him out at blaster-point. Zane made sure to stumble once, catching himself on the wall with a whimper. His muttered "oh dear" made the Kellian laugh and shove him harder. The pirates relaxed their grips on their weapons.
Good. Let them think he was harmless.
Mercy stood in the cargo bay with her chin up and her hands clenched at her sides. She looked pissed, but there was a tremor in her shoulders. A thin line of blood ran down her left arm from a fresh cut. The red was shockingly bright against her pale skin. The man who must have been Captain Horris loomed over her, close enough that Zane's dragon stirred with fury.
Too close. The bastard was standing in her space, using his bulk to intimidate. Mercy hadn't backed down an inch, but Zane could see the cost of that courage in the white-knuckled grip of her fists.
"Ah, the passenger." Horris turned. His movements were casual, confident, a predator who knew his prey was already caught. "Lord Zane, according to the manifest. How fortunate."
"I can pay you," Zane said quickly. "Whatever you want. My family has extensive holdings?—"
"I'm not interested in your money, boy."
Boy? Zane bit back his real response. His jaw ached from the effort of keeping his expression meek. "Then what? I'm sure we can come to an arrangement."
Horris smiled. It wasn't pleasant. "Right now, I'm interested in Captain Webb here. You're … an annoyance."
"I told you, I don't know anything about my father," Mercy said through gritted teeth.
Her father? Zane filed that away.
"Lock them up," Horris ordered. "The aft storage closet should hold them while we search the ship properly."
Two pirates grabbed Zane. He let them, making token protests but not resisting. "Please, surely we can discuss this like civilized beings—" They shoved him and Mercy into a closet barely big enough for one person, let alone two.
The door slammed shut, and the lock engaged with a decisive click.
The space was suffocating. Zane's back pressed against shelving units that dug into his spine, while Mercy was wedged against his chest, her head barely reaching his shoulder. He could count the individual threads in her shirt from this angle. He could see a small scar on her collarbone, maybe two centimeters long, silvered with age.
Every breath she took pressed her more firmly against him. The emergency lighting cast everything in a sickly yellow glow that made the shadows deeper and the walls feel even closer.
He could feel her heartbeat.
Fast but steady, drumming against his ribs. Her hair tickled his chin, and that clean soap scent was overwhelming in the confined space. Something floral. Cheap, probably, but it worked on her. She shifted, trying to find a position that didn't involve being plastered against him, but there was nowhere to go.
Her hip pressed into his thigh. Her hand landed on his chest for balance before she jerked it away like she'd been burned. Her palm left a warm spot on his shirt. He could feel the exact shape of it.
"Sorry," she muttered, the word ghosting across his collarbone.
"Are you hurt?" Zane asked quietly. He wanted to run his hands over her and feel for himself but resisted the urge. Barely.
