"I'm fine."
She wasn't. In the dim emergency lighting, he could see the bruise darkening on her cheekbone. The cut on her arm was deeper than it had looked from across the cargo bay.
Every instinct screamed at him to tear through the door, to hunt down Horris and show him what happened to those who drew blood from his people. The fury was volcanic, threatening to consume his façade of uselessness. His skin felt too tight. His temperature was rising. He wanted to blow a hole in the door and murder everyone.
His hands trembled with the effort of not shifting, of not letting his claws extend and his scales surface.
But Mercy was watching him. Even in the bad light, her sharp eyes missed nothing. Those eyes that had catalogued every one of his tells in three days. But he couldn't risk her getting caught up in the violence of a fight. Pirates had backup plans. Dead man's switches. If he killed Horris, the rest of the crew might destroy the ship out of spite.
So he kept his voice weak, let his hands shake for different reasons. Played the pampered lord while everything inside him wanted to rage.
"I can offer them more money," he said, keeping his voice weak and uncertain. "My family?—"
"Your money won't help." Mercy shifted, wincing. The movement brought fresh blood welling from the cut on her arm. "They want something to do with my father. The bastard's been gone for twenty years and he's still fucking up my life."
"What about your father?"
"Nothing. He left. That's all." Her voice was flat. Final.
Despite her steady voice, he could feel the fine tremors running through her body where she pressed against him. Fear or adrenaline or both, carefully controlled but impossible to hide when they were this close. Her breathing had gone shallow.
"We need to get out of here," she said. "Can you fight?"
"I … I've had some training," Zane said carefully. "Self-defense lessons. Dancing. That sort of thing."
Mercy stared at him in the dim light. "Dancing."
"The waltz can be quite athletic."
"Get your shit together, Lord Zane. These are actual pirates. They will actually kill us."
"I'm aware of that."
"Then stop acting like a—" She cut herself off. Her eyes narrowed, studying him with an intensity that made his breath catch. "You can't actually be this useless."
His pulse jumped. She was too smart, too observant. His mind raced for a deflection, something to throw her off the scent. His hand found his cufflink. Damn it.
"I'm exactly as useful as I appear," he said.
She was quiet for a long moment. Her breath whispered across his throat as she seemed to weigh his words. Her eyes dropped to his hand, still on the cufflink. Back to his face. "Right. Of course you are."
The sounds of destruction filtered through the door. Metal shrieked as panels were torn away. Glass shattered, probably the few personal items Mercy had in her quarters. That sound made her flinch. Something breakable, then. Something that mattered. Boots stomped overhead, and something heavy crashed to the deck. They were being thorough, systematic. This wasn't random looting.
"Check behind the nav console," Horris's voice carried through the walls. "These old ships sometimes have hidden compartments."
Mercy tensed against him. Her fingers curled into his shirt, an unconscious gesture that told him they'd find something she didn't want found. Emergency credits? Weapons? Whatever it was, the pirates were getting closer to it.
"How long before they realize you don't have whatever they're looking for?" Zane asked.
"Not long enough."
4
Mercy had been pressed against plenty of people before. Crowded transport shuttles, packed marketplaces, the occasional bar crush right before it turned into a fight. But being wedged against Lord Zane in a closet the size of a coffin was something else entirely.
He was warm.
Too warm.
