"Move." He pushed her ahead of him out into the corridor. She twisted in his grip, her bare feet skidding on the carpet as she looked up at him, wide-eyed. The fear in her eyes almost did him in there and then.
“No! Tell me what's happening!"
"They're going to board." He got her to the bedroom door and shoved her through it, into the one space on the Vett'an he could seal. "This room locks. The bulkheads are rated. You stay in here, you keep the cat in here, and you do not open that door for anything that isn't me."
"You're not—" She grabbed for the doorframe, her expression stubborn as Barnaby wound himself around her ankles. “No! You can't just lock me in here and go out there alone! Why are you doing this?”
“Because you’re my mate, that’s why!” he roared, everything he felt exploding through him.
She stopped, her expression shocked.
“The bond hit me when you broke my nose with that bat." The words rumbled over each other, fast and rough. “My entire existence stopped and rewrote itself around you. Every minute since I walked through your door. It's been you."
Her eyes went wide, her mouth opening and closing. There. He'd said it. Out loud, with pirates at the hull and no time to say any of the rest of it. Hell of a time to tell a female she was his.
Managing to pry her grip off the doorframe without hurting her, he stepped back and triggered the door release.
"Thyaar—"
The seal hissed home, cutting her off mid-word. Closing his eyes, he stood there for a second with his palm flat against the cold metal. His female, as safe as he could make her.
Then he turned away and went to meet the boarders.
8
The seal hissed home. It didn't even have the decency to slam.
It just... closed.
"No," she said, to the door. "No, no, you absolute?—"
She hit it. Flat-palmed, both hands, the way she'd never once in her life hit anything she actually expected to give. The metal didn't move. Didn't flex. Her palms stung and she hit it again anyway, harder, and the impact rang up through her wrists into her elbows and did exactly nothing.
"You don't get to do that!" Her voice cracked on it. "You don't get to say that and then lock me in a fucking room! Thyaar!"
Nothing.
Barnaby paced a tight circle by her ankles, tail lashing, throwing up that low engine-trouble growl he saved for thunderstorms and the vacuum cleaner. She wanted to scream with him. She wanted to put her foot through the wall.
Because you’re my mate, that’s why! The bond hit me when you broke my nose with that bat. My entire existence stopped and rewrote itself around you. Every minute since I walked through your door. It's been you.
The ship lurched, throwing her into the doorframe. She winced, rubbing her shoulder as beyond the door, the sound of something heavy hit something else, and a deep voice shouted an order. Tilting her head, she narrowed her eyes. That wasn’t Thyaar. It was a voice she didn't know, all harsh and cruel.
The anger at Thyaar for locking her in here drained away, and she lifted her head.
What was left underneath was colder. Harder.
No, nobody got to protect her. Not unless she said. And she sure as shit hadn’t said Thyaar got to protect her. She could bloody well protect herself, thank you very much. She'd always protected herself. With a bat and a frying pan and a scream of fire instead of help if she had to, because help didn't come but rubberneckers did.
And she was not about to sit all safe and sound in what amounted to an alien saferoom while the man who’d just told her she was his mate was out there probably getting gutted by asshole pirates.
Screw. That.
She turned to glare at the panel beside the door.
It glowed softly, a neat little array of symbols she couldn't read. She didn't need to though. She didn't have to understand the thing, she just had to break it. And breaking things she understood. Eleven years on a packing line had taught her exactly how the clever machines failed, and they all failed the same way in the end… they were only as smart as the dumbest connection in them. Which was usually the operator.
"Okay," she breathed and started jabbing at buttons, not giving the thing time to catch up. "Okay. Come on."
