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“What are the alternatives?” I ask.
Taraven hums to himself, gazing at the light show above us. “Recruit a pilot from the Razakiin fleet, I suppose—but they’re needed here, in case Dalphox comes for them. If Nixeris could spare anyone, they wouldn’t have asked us to go.”
“In that case,” I say, “I guess Ravik will be the one taking us to Liatra.”
Taraven huffs out a breath. “I guess so.”
I swallow hard, lick my lips. He’s just a few inches from me, and I can feel the heat on his scales, and on the soft flesh underneath. I wish he would be more careful, but he always foregoes the armored belts most of the Skoropi wear around their torsos; he says he wants his ‘navel to be able to breathe.’ In moments like this, it’s not so bad.
I could touch him.
It isn’t the first time the thought has crossed my mind.
My fingers twitch at my side, and his eyes dart to them. He’s so expressive, but so alien that it makes him hard to read. I lick my lips again—if I keep doing it, they’ll be raw by morning—and scuff my toe into the soil underfoot.
“Malix said something about the ship wanting him to talk to you,” I say quietly. “What did he mean?”
Taraven shakes his head with a snort. “It was nothing,” he says. “Jaya just has this way of leading people to where they’re supposed to be.”
“And Malix was supposed to be with you?”
Taraven’s breath stutters, and his eyes flash yellow. I know that color well enough; he’s uncomfortable.
“Sorry,” I say. “I didn’t have to ask.”
“No, no,” Taraven says. “It’s simple enough. I had a translator for him and I hadn’t had a chance to give it to him yet. He needed one; Jaya led him to my workshop.”
“Does it ever creep you out how smart your ship is?” I ask with a playful smile.
Taraven smirks. “I’m used to it at this point. I’ve lived on Jaya practically my whole life. In fact, she probably thinks I’m stupid.”
I laugh, shaking my head and running my fingers over my hair. The wind has picked up and blows a few dark brown ringlets around my face, and they drift over to touch Taraven’s shoulder. He tenses, his tail twitching close enough that I feel it disturb the grass beside my ankles.
“Do you have a thing for him?” I ask quietly.
He frowns. “What is…’a thing’?”
“When you like someone,” I say. My cheeks burn, my heart pounding. I’m an adult; explaining this shouldn’t be so hard, but I feel like a fucking middle schooler. “When you want to be intimate with them.”
Taraven cocks a scaled brow, a tiny gold piercing embedded in his dark hair glinting in the light of the aurora.
“I wouldn’t mind it, I suppose,” he says. “Malix is a beautiful male. But I get the impression he’s more focused on revenge right now than on this intimacy you speak of.”
“And what about you?”
“I used to engage in trysts with others in the crew,” Taraven shrugs. “Not so much anymore.”
“Why not?” I ask.
His mouth opens, then shuts again, his dark eyelashes fluttering. A wave of his scent washes over me—like tropical flowers and soil.
“There are very few things that interest me these days.”
Maybe it’s the whole verge of danger thing that’s getting to me, but that isn’t a good enough answer. I don’t move a muscle.
“Hey Taraven?” I ask.
“Yes?”
