“Clear.” He gestured for her to follow. “Move quickly, stay quiet.”
She moved quickly. She stayed quiet. The infant slept against her shoulder, exhausted by her earlier terror.
He found his gaze drawn back to the female despite himself. The thin slave gown left nothing to the imagination—lush curves and pale skin, so different from Tajiri women with their sleek fur andangular frames. Her hair was dark, almost black in the dim light, falling in tangled waves past her shoulders.
She was beautiful. Not in the polished, deliberate way of the courtesans he’d encountered in pleasure houses across the galaxy, but in something more fundamental. Something raw and real.
Stop it. She’s a complication, not a companion.
He needed her for the child. That was all. Once they were clear of the ship, he could find someone else to care for the infant. A professional. Someone who wouldn’t distract him with brown eyes and cool skin and that infuriating scent.
“How much further?”
“One more junction.” He paused at the corner, his ears swiveling. Movement ahead—one set of footsteps, heavy and plodding. Ithyian. “We’ve got company.”
“Is there another way around?”
“No.” He weighed the knife in his hand. “Wait here.”
“Wait—”
But he was already moving, rounding the corner with the fluid grace of a born predator. The Ithyian guard never saw him coming. One moment the hulking figure was standing watch beside the hangar entrance, his weapon held loosely. The next, Doren was behind him, one arm locked around his throat, the knife pressed against the vulnerable spot beneath his jaw.
“Access code to the hangar,” he said pleasantly. “Now.”
The guard made a strangled sound that might have been a protest. He increased the pressure on his throat.
“I don’t have time for games. The code, or I start removing pieces.”
“Two-four-six-eight.” The words came out in a desperate wheeze. “Don’t?—”
He tightened his arm until the guard went limp, unconscious rather than dead. He let the body slump to the floor and retrieved the guard’s weapon.
“It’s clear.”
The female emerged from around the corner, her eyes widening at the sight of the fallen guard. “Is he...?”
“Sleeping. He’ll wake up with a headache and a valuable lesson about situational awareness.” He entered the access code, and the hangar doors slid open. “Come on.”
The hangar was designed for short-range craft rather than the larger vessels he was used to. Half a dozen flyers sat in various states of readiness—maintenance vehicles, cargo shuttles, a battered two-person craft that had seen better days.
And there, in the far corner, was the one he’d spotted on the security feed.
The flyer was sleek and fast, built for speed rather than combat. Its white hull gleamed beneath the hangar lights, blue markings identifying it as diplomatic transport. Stolen, undoubtedly—the Ithyians weren’t exactly welcome at diplomatic functions—but it would have shielded communications, encrypted navigation, and enough speed to outrun most pursuit.
“That one.” He pointed. “Get in.”
The female didn’t argue. She moved toward the flyer with quick, economical steps, the infant still sleeping against her shoulder. He followed, his senses alert for any sign of pursuit. The sounds of combat had shifted—closer now, definitely in this section of the ship. They had minutes at best before?—
The hangar doors exploded inward.
He grabbed the female and dove behind a cargo container, his body covering hers as debris rained down around them, and the infant woke with a startled cry. The female curled protectively over the small form, her breath coming in sharp gasps.
Through the smoke and chaos, he saw them coming.
Grorn warriors, six of them, spreading out in tactical formation. Their black eyes swept the hangar, weapons raised. Behind them, the massive figure of the Grorn commander emerged from the wreckage, his scaled face twisted in something that might have been satisfaction.
“Spread out,” the commander ordered. “They’re here somewhere. Find them.”
