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CHAPTER NINE

K ara was lost in the kiss when Thraxar suddenly pulled back, staring down at her face with an unreadable expression before he took a step back.

“I apologize,” he said gruffly. “I did not mean to… take advantage of the situation.”

“Take advantage?” She blinked, then shook her head. “You didn’t. I wanted that.”

“Why?” he asked, his voice low. “As a distraction from your troubles? An escape from the uncertainty of your future?”

“Maybe,” she admitted, her eyes searching his face. “But maybe it’s just you. You make me feel safe in a way I haven’t felt in a long time. And I’m… attracted to you.”

“You do not know me,” he said. “I have done things in the past that you would find abhorrent.”

“I doubt that,” she said, but he shook his head.

“I told you I was a mercenary. I have fought and killed.”

“Have you ever killed an innocent person?”

“Of course not,” he growled, and she smiled.

“Then I do not find your former profession as abhorrent as you seem to think. Do you want me to leave?”

She expected him to say yes, but he shook his head. She returned to the couch and patted the space next to her. After another long pause he joined her and they sipped their drinks in silence.

“And you?” he asked finally. “Before the asteroid, what was your life?”

“Ordinary. I worked long shifts at a hospital. Came home to Rory. We had a small apartment in a decent neighborhood. Nothing special, but it was ours. Our neighbor was an older woman who took care of Rory while I worked. She was wonderful. I wonder what she thinks happened to us.” The memory of their former life felt distant now, like something she’d read about rather than lived.

“Once the Vedeckians took us, I was only focused on survival.”

“You did more than survive. You protected your son in a place designed to destroy such bonds.”

She shrugged, uncomfortable with his admiration. “What choice did I have?”

“Many would have broken. You did not.”

“The way you talk about yourself. Like you’re just… a trader. Nothing special.” She gestured with her glass. “But you fought pirates to deliver medicine. You knocked out that guard to protect us. You’re risking your ship and your freedom to help complete strangers.”

“These are not exceptional actions. They are merely correct ones.”

“In my experience, doing the right thing when it costs you something is pretty exceptional.”

He looked away, clearly uncomfortable with her assessment. “You credit me with more virtue than I possess.”

“I doubt that.” She finished her drink, feeling the pleasant warmth of the alcohol spreading through her limbs. “But I’ve learned to trust my judgment about people. It’s kept Rory and me alive this long.”

Thraxar fell silent, his expression unreadable.

Kara found herself studying him again—the strong line of his jaw, the alert, intelligent eyes, the careful way he held himself, as if constantly aware of his size and strength.

She wondered how long it had been since anyone had touched him with kindness rather than violence.

The thought created an ache in her chest that had nothing to do with physical attraction and everything to do with recognition. She knew what it was to be alone, to hold yourself apart from others because connection meant vulnerability.

“It’s getting late,” she said finally, setting down her empty glass. “I should check on Rory.”

Thraxar nodded, rising to his feet in one fluid motion. “Of course. Thank you for the conversation. It has been… most pleasant.”

“It has.” She stood as well, suddenly aware of how close they were in the small lounge area. His height made her feel small in a way that wasn’t threatening, just… different. “And thank you for the drink. And for listening.”

“You are welcome.”

Neither of them moved. The ship hummed around them, the soft, rhythmic sound of the life support systems creating an intimate cocoon of white noise.

Kara felt the moment stretching, tension building not from fear or anxiety but from something else entirely—something she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in years.

Before she could overthink it, she rose on her tiptoes and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek—or what passed for a cheek on his alien face. It was meant to be a simple gesture of gratitude, nothing more.

But as she started to pull away, Thraxar turned his head slightly, and suddenly her lips were brushing against the corner of his mouth. The accidental contact sent a jolt through her body that had nothing to do with the whiskey.

She should have stepped back immediately. Instead, she hesitated just long enough for Thraxar to respond, his large hand coming up to cup her face with surprising gentleness.

The kiss deepened, evolving from an accident to a deliberate exploration. His lips were warmer than a human’s, his taste exotic but not unpleasant. Kara’s hands found their way to his chest, palms pressing against the firm muscle there, feeling the rapid beat of what she assumed was his heart.

The sensation of his skin beneath her fingers was intoxicating—smooth in some places, textured in others, radiating heat that seemed to flow directly into her core. His tail curled around her ankle in a gesture that felt possessive and thrilling.

For precious seconds, she lost herself in the contact, in the simple pleasure of being touched and desired after so long.

Then reality crashed back—the precariousness of their situation, the fact that Rory depended on her completely, the risk of complicating their escape with emotional entanglements.

Kara broke the kiss, stepping back so abruptly that she nearly stumbled. Thraxar’s hands fell away immediately, though his expression revealed both confusion and unmistakable desire.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice unsteady. “I didn’t mean to—I should go.”

“Kara—”

“Goodnight, Thraxar.” She turned and hurried from the lounge, not trusting herself to say more.

The corridor to their cabin seemed longer than before, each step an effort as her mind replayed the kiss in vivid detail. By the time she reached the door, her heart rate had barely slowed.

Inside, Rory slept peacefully, curled around the small blanket Thraxar had provided, his face relaxed in the innocence of childhood. The sight of him centered her, as it always did. Whatever else happened, whatever complications arose, he remained her constant, her purpose.

She checked his breathing, a habit formed during their time on the asteroid when illness could sweep through the miners’ quarters without warning. Satisfied that he was well, she slipped into the narrow bunk beside him, careful not to disturb his rest.

Sleep should have been impossible with her mind racing and her body still humming from the encounter in the lounge.

Yet exhaustion claimed her quickly, dragging her down into dreams filled with strong green hands, intricate patterns that shifted beneath her touch, and a pair of eyes that saw her—truly saw her—for the first time in years.

In her dreams, she didn’t pull away.