Page 18

Roslyn

“You’ll never keep your feet with a stance like that.”

Zandrel kicks lightly at the inside of my right ankle, nudging me to plant it wider in the sand.

“Better,” he grunts, casting an appraising eye on my form. “Fates, what do they teach you in that human military of yours?”

I want to be insulted by the question, but I just snort a laugh. “Not a whole hell of a lot.”

Maybe some more specialized units get better training, but I wasn’t in one of them. I got my ass kicked by a couple months of basic training, learned the very barest combat essentials, and then got shipped out to learn to fly on Jurva.

That’s where I really shined.

I love flying. Not just the big freighters we took through hyperspace routes and jumpgates that transported us thousands of light-years in a blink, but the smaller crafts used for interplanetary travel and even the personal hovers we hopped around on between bases or from building to building in some of the larger encampments.

It’s been one more hard thing about leaving service—losing my wings. Not that it’s the most challenging out of everything else I’ve faced, not by a long shot, but damn to I miss flying.

Getting to Savvie was the main point of trying to steal the small transport hover, but I’d be a liar if I said there wasn’t also an electric thrill that went through my blood at the idea of lifting off and feeling that freedom again.

Soon, I have to remind myself.

I’ll feel that freedom again soon.

If I trust Zandrel’s being honest with me. If I trust he really is going to help me find her.

“Again.”

The stern command in his voice pulls me back to the present, and though I grumble a little at how damn dictatorial he’s being, there’s no true malice behind it. I take my stance again and grin in challenge.

“Give me your worst.”

He chuckles, and I don’t want that deep, ominous sound to do anything to me other than remind me exactly who my opponent is. I don’t want it to tighten the bottom of my belly or send a thrill through my blood as he takes a half-step closer and shakes his head.

“You wouldn’t survive my worst, human.”

I huff. He’s probably right, but this is too much fun.

“A little full of yourself, huh? Was arrogance a part of the Aux training curricula?”

He lunges for me and I dodge with a turn, sand shifting under my feet.

“No. That I earned myself.”

A swipe of his huge, muscled arm attempting to grab me around the waist and I turn again, jabbing an elbow into his side.

He’s pulling all his punches. Beyond a few soft taps to point out where I’m leaving myself unguarded, and some truly diabolical footwork that’s sent me sprawling into the sand half a dozen times, he’s taking it way easy on me.

But I’m not playing by the same rules.

We’ve already established that even at full strength, he barely feels my hits through his plating, and I’m taking full advantage of that fact.

Around us, three hovers capture our every movement.

It might be a Mate Match first, two supposedly-in-love contestants engaging in physical combat instead of spending their time… I don’t know. Kissing, talking, lounging on the beach, whatever normal couples do.

And maybe we should do that instead. But I still cringe inwardly when I remember our previous attempts at acting like a normal couple.

Granted, that was before our truce three days ago, but given what Zandrel said about the courtship customs on Revexor… maybe this counts as flirting?

I don’t know.

No one has come over to chew us out, though, and we’ve stopped earning ourselves so many disappointed looks from production.

In fact, a dozen or so meters away, Sella’s wandered over to see how her stars are doing. Judging by the wide—if somewhat bemused—smile on her face, I’d say we’re performing adequately.

Especially when Zandrel gets close enough to swing an arm around my waist and pull me close.

To the cameras, it probably looks playful, like he’s taking advantage of our sparring session to get me right where he wants me. But when he leans down to speak into my ear, it’s anything but affection or sweetness.

He touches a hand first to his belt and then to my side, where I’m sure some vital organ sits beneath my soft, fallible human skin.

“If I carried the plasma blade I usually wear here,” he murmurs, lips hovering just over my skin, breath breaking across my neck in a way that definitely, absolutely doesn’t send another thrill down my spine, “you’d already be incapacitated.”

I can’t help it, another gruff laugh slips out. “And that’s why I’d never leave my ship to engage in combat with a soldier like you.”

God, I can almost feel his silent preen. The very last thing he needs is me stroking his ego.

Zandrel lets me go, and as I stumble back a step, he folds his arms over his chest. He looks me up and down, appraising.

“We all have to lean into our strengths, I suppose.”

I just roll my eyes. “And yours are, what? Irritating your enemies to death? Striking them down with the sheer force of your arrogance?”

“Among many other talents,” he says dryly.

“Again?” I ask, dropping back into my starting stance.

“Again,” he agrees, and I could almost mistake the glint in his galaxy eyes as approval.

By the end of our first week as an official Mate Match couple, Zandrel and I have gotten our feet a little more firmly beneath us.

We’re on the same page, in lock-step about the mission and what it calls for.

Throw the cameras a bone, try to look like we don’t want to murder each other, and we seem to be keeping production happy enough with us.

At least for now.

It’s fascinating, watching the way storylines unfold on the beach. And with Zandrel’s steady stream of murmured, barbed commentary, it gets even easier to suss out all the machinations. Right now, there are a couple of love triangles, a messy breakup, and a dramatic declaration of matehood that are sucking up all the oxygen and a lot of the camera time, diverting attention away from us.

But we both expect that tide to turn one of these days.

“They’ll need our story to keep moving forward,” Zandrel tells me one morning while he’s doing push-ups—of all godforsaken things—on the floor of the living space.

Never a moment of rest for this formidable warrior.

“It goes in phases,” he continues, not even a little out of breath and perfectly able to keep up a conversation during his workout. “Right now, they’re laying the groundwork for the relationships they’ll follow to the end. Sooner or later, they’ll check off whatever boxes they need to with everyone else and turn their attention back to us.”

“So what? What’s the play?”

Zandrel stands, and I very deliberately don’t look at the way his tight, black, sleeveless top stretches across his broad chest and muscled abdomen, or the obscenely close cut of his black shorts, clinging to trim hips and powerful thighs.

“Probably a date. I’d wager it’s coming in the next few days. Big production value. Lots of cameras. If they’re leaning into us as hard as I suspect they are, they’ll make it a centerpiece of the season.”

I swallow back a wave of nausea as a sickening, swooping sensation rolls through my gut.

Fuck, I hate to be the center of attention.

Not a great quality for pulling off this whole plan, even before it all went ass-up and I got stuck with Zandrel. Somehow, I’d been expecting to skate by, keep to the sidelines, escape too much notice while I was here and be edited down as a forgettable side character when the show aired.

I’m not sure I could have been more wrong if I’d tried.

My number was up from the second I stepped off the cruiser, and I suppose it’s another mark in Zandrel’s favor that he’s got a pulse on how all of this works.

Not that it makes me feel a whole hell of a lot better knowing that we’re still going to have to up our game.

But that’s a problem for tomorrow-Roslyn.

Today, we’re still waiting in the wings for our next big act as we leave the bungalow and head down to the beach.

Today, I’ve got a formidable Revexoran warrior at my side and plans in motion.

Today, I’m going to choose to believe all of this will turn out alright.

I have to, if I don’t want to lose my marbles entirely. I have to believe in him, and in myself, enough to keep my wits about me.

I’m not sure I’ll ever fully trust Zandrel. Not with how he behaved toward me before our truce, and not when I know how much his own goal of getting back in with the Aux means to him. If given the opportunity to choose getting his rank back at the expense of me finding Savvie, I don’t doubt for a second he’d choose himself.

I know, because that’s exactly what I tried to do to him. So I couldn’t even blame him if the tables were turned.

But for now, our goals align and it’s still in our best interests to continue helping each other, so I can trust in that, at least. I can trust I have some value to him as his fake girlfriend for however long this whole act lasts.

It’s an act that’s easy to pull off as the lazy day rolls by and we’re left mostly to our own devices. Beyond a few fly-bys from the hovers, we’re in the clear. Apparently a Sendahlan-Aventri-Jurvian trio is having some sort of epic break up in one of the bungalows on the other end of the beach, so this end is pretty quiet.

“Swim?” Zandrel asks me late in the afternoon.

I’m a bit sweaty and have sand in a few unmentionable locations after a day on the beach, but the idea of stripping down to a swimsuit and going for a dip in front of all the cameras makes the skin of my scarred shoulder twinge uncomfortably.

“Nah,” I tell him. “You go ahead. I’m going to catch up with Juni.”

I nod to the row of loungers where she’s soaking up the afternoon sun, and he just gives me a shrug that clearly says suit yourself before he takes off his shirt

I turn away, again making a point not to dwell too closely on all of those muscles, the cut of his armor, the lean grace of his stride as he heads toward the ocean.

Only, as I plop down into the seat next to Juni, I can’t help but glance back over and find Zandrel never made it to the surf.

He’s been intercepted by Rhevar, of all people. They chat for a moment before Zandrel nods and follows him over to where a few of the male contestants are getting ready to play a pickup game of the strange soccer-rugby-wrestling combo they all find so fascinating.

Juni’s got her eyes on the game, too, watching her own paramour make some sort of move that earns him a few whooping cheers from his team.

“How’s Tev?” I ask her when the excitement dies down.

“He’s good. Still sexy. Still obsessed with me.”

I snort a laugh.

“Only…” Juni starts, trailing off.

“Only what?”

“Only, I might be in a bit of a… situation.”

Despite what could be cause for alarm, there’s a heavy dose of humor in Juni’s tone. I look over, and she sighs dramatically, like I’m twisting her arm and demanding she spill the tea.

“Alright. Alright. It’s not a situation, per se. But it is a Sendahlan.”

“A Sendahlan,” I deadpan.

“A very handsome Sendahlan named Serril who just so happens to have caught my eye, and who just so happens to be open to… sharing.”

“Sharing. As in…”

“As in, exactly what you’re thinking. And, I mean, he does have two—”

“Ah,” I interrupt, absolutely not in the mood to hear about her potential boyfriend’s penises. “I got it. And what does Tev think about the prospect of sharing?”

“Tev thinks…” she trails off, eyes wandering to where Tev’s got the ball again, putting on a truly impressive athletic display dodging opponents as he makes his way to what seems to be an end-zone of some sort.

At least until Zandrel pummels him into the sand in a full-body tackle.

Juni and I both wince, but a few seconds later, Zandrel hoists Tev to his feet, claps him on the shoulder, and the game goes on.

“Tev’s a little overwhelmed with it all, but…” The corner of her mouth quirks into a devious smile.

“But?”

“I think he might be more attracted to Serril than I am.”

I bark out a laugh. “So, no problem then?”

“No problem,” she says, but something in her tone gives me pause.

“And it’s all just for show, anyway, right?” I prompt. “Just a little fun and screentime?”

“Right. Just for fun.”

Arching a brow, I lower my sunshades. “Unless you… like him? Like both of them?”

Juni is silent for long enough that it’s my turn to smile like the cat that caught the canary.

She groans. “ Stop .”

The word comes out in a long whine, and my smile only grows wider. “Juni. Don’t tell me you’re in—”

“Absolutely not,” she interrupts, aghast. “It’s just… they’re both… both so…”

“Dreamy? Wonderful? They make your heart race? Put big, ooey gooey stars in your eyes and—”

“Point made,” she grumbles. “And it would be just like me to mess this all up and actually fall for someone here.”

I nudge her with my shoulder. “Hey, would it be so bad? Fame and a lover… or two? Plans have a way of changing, you know?”

She huffs a laugh. “Yeah, I guess. And you would know.”

A bit of color climbs my cheeks, and my eyes drift back to the game, where Zandrel is surprisingly still in the thick of things. And, even more surprising, he seems to be enjoying himself. Or, at least not in acute distress over having to socialize.

Despite his initial standoffishness, Zandrel is… making friends. Wild.

Or maybe all the guys are just star-struck over having the chance to hang out with a living, breathing member of the Aux. Honestly, all things considered, that possibility isn’t entirely far-fetched. They’re practically in danger of bursting a blood vessel with the way they flex and posture when he’s around.

But still, Zandrel’s making an effort. And it’s earning us even more brownie points with production.

“How are you and Zandrel?” Juni asks, interrupting those thoughts. “Things seem… better.”

I swallow around a wave of guilt.

There’s no way I can tell Juni what Zandrel and I are actually up to. Not that I think she would run off and tattle to production, but it’s just… too much of a risk.

Still, I feel like an ass for keeping it from her.

“Yeah,” I say, and that guilty pit gets even deeper. “We’re good.”

“How could you not be?” Juni asks with a dreamy sigh. “I mean, look at him.”

Powerless to stop myself from doing just that, I turn my eyes back to the game.

Zandrel is shirtless, and with the benefits of the dark shades covering my eyes, I let myself admire him for a few long moments.

The plated ridges on his arms and shoulders continue onto the broad expanse of his chest. Like a full suit of living armor, they cover his torso, contoured around his pecs and abdominals and lower. The ridges continue all the way to dip beneath the waistband of his black swim shorts, and I can’t help but wonder if—

No. Not going there.

Sure, the Revexoran is kind of hot.

Maybe.

By some people's standards.

But we still barely trust each other. We’re using each other to get what we want while we’re here, and letting my thoughts stray down any other path would be monumentally stupid.

So I shut down that train of thought immediately.

For the sake of the performance, though, I give Juni some murmured non-answer, hoping it’ll be good enough.

I should have known better.

“Oh come on ,” she says. “You can’t be blasé, not about that. Not about him . Have you seen him?”

“Fine,” I huff. “He’s… attractive.”

She gapes at me. “Wait. Is this some kind of human thing? Some weird hangup about admitting how fuckable your big, handsome—”

“It’s not,” I hastily assure her. “I just…”

Flailing helplessly, and with a hovercam drifting close enough to Juni and me to be privy to the conversation, my eyes land on Zandrel.

Only to find Zandrel staring right back at me.

And, if I had any confidence reading his thoughts in all the hard, stoic lines of his face, I’d say he almost looks… smug.

Fuck.

He can’t… hear us? Can he?

He’s twenty freaking yards away, but as soon as he catches me staring, the corners of his lips quirk up.

I look away.

“He’s handsome,” I say reluctantly. “And… hot.”

“And fuckable,” Juni adds.

“And… that.”

She laughs, satisfied with the confession she’s squeezed out of me, and mercifully changes the topic of conversation back to her and Tev and Serril and their budding throuple.

When the game breaks half an hour later, Juni gets up and dashes off to Tev. I stand, too, heading for the edge of the beach and the path back to the bungalows, knowing my huge, hulking shadow will be right on my heels before long.

“Good conversation?” he asks, falling into step beside me a short minute later.

I just grumble, absolutely not about to give him the satisfaction.

“You could try being a little more enthusiastic next time,” he continues, tone casual, with just a hint of the self-satisfied smugness he was wearing all over his face earlier. “Really play it up, you know? How hot you find me, how fu—”

I stop walking and round on him. “Or maybe I could just—”

“Three o’clock.”

I see the camera coming up on his left side as he speaks, biting back the rest of my sentence and taking a step closer to him.

“You were saying?” he asks, deliberately provoking.

“I don’t think you want me to finish that sentence.”

“No?” He runs a hand idly over my bicep, my shoulder, to the back of my neck, where he gives me a gentle squeeze for the benefit of the cameras.

Just for the benefit of the cameras.

And maybe I’ve got heatstroke or something, because the heavy pressure of his enormous hand and the steady strength of his grip ratchets down some of my irritation a little. At least enough to remember my earlier question about just how the hell he knew what we were talking about.

“You were eavesdropping.”

He huffs a breath. “Hard not to when you two were so loud.”

“Loud?” I ask, indignant. “We were barely talking above a—you know what? Nevermind. You’ve obviously got freakishly good hearing.”

“Honed by many, many years needing to listen closely and observe my targets,” he says matter-of-factly. “And a specially tuned earpiece.”

He pushes his hair back to prove it, and I huff a laugh.

“So that makes me what? Your target?”

The camera drifts even closer, nearly close enough now to pick up our conversation, and he leans in before he answers. “My partner . Just keeping tabs in case you needed backup.”

“I doubt I need any backup with Juni.”

“Even so,” he murmurs, “we’re in this together, and it’s my job to evaluate and deal with any possible threat.”

Now that isn’t doing a whole lot for my heatstroke-induced tolerance of him, because the assurance only makes me relax into him further. Desperately, I claw my sanity back to me, eying the approaching camera warily.

“Might want to stop talking about threats.”

Zandrel’s already a step ahead of me. The hand he has on my neck slides into my hair, tipping my head back so he can press a performative kiss to my lips.

Despite his earlier smugness, the kiss is almost… polite.

Light, tentative, just like every time we’ve kissed since our truce.

Whether out of courtesy or awkwardness or some kind of honor, he’s keeping himself in check.

It shouldn’t bother me.

It shouldn’t make me wonder what’s changed, or whether the only thrill in it before was the fact that we hated each other’s guts.

Whatever the case, this one stays just as chaste as all the others we’ve shared in the past few days. It must be as boring for the cameras as it is for us, because the hover tailing us gives up after only a minute or two.

I watch it go with a frown. “That doesn’t seem… great.”

“It’s not,” he says with a frown of his own. “But, like I said, we probably won’t be back in the line of fire for a few days at least.”

My stomach twists at the reminder.

“So shouldn’t we… do something now?” I ask in a low hush, still keeping tabs on the camera while it retreats. “Isn’t this the perfect time, while we’re not in the spotlight? Why should we wait until we’ve got more eyes on us to go look for Savvie? We should—”

“Roslyn,” he says, laying a hand on my shoulder in another touch that shouldn’t be so damn comforting.

Zandrel stares down at me for a few long heartbeats, the lines of his face set in all those unreadable angles, the supernovas in his eyes swirling.

“As soon as we’ve got an opportunity, we’ll take it. I promise you that.”

It feels like another test. Another impasse.

Days have passed since I agreed to all of this. Days to stew in my decision. Days to doubt and over-think and deal with the stress of keeping up this whole fake dating act.

Days to decide I want to take it all back.

But under the weight of his steady black gaze and the hand he still has on my shoulder, I find myself nodding.

“Yeah. I… yeah, okay.”

“Believe me, I know what it’s like to be forced to wait and bide your time. I know how frustrating it can be, and I know you’ve already waited months for this chance to see her.”

My throat tightens, but I nod again.

“I don’t give my word lightly, and I never take it back once it’s given. I promise you that as well, Roslyn.”

I… believe him.

Maybe it’s just the whole big-stoic-intimidating-Aux-warrior thing he’s got going on, but the words have weight to them.

They sound like an oath.

So, letting out a shaky laugh to expel some of the tension still clenching my muscles, I accept him at his word.

“Alright. Freak-out averted. Let’s just get through the next few days and hope attention doesn’t turn back our way too soon.”

Zandrel murmurs his agreement, and we start back down the path.

We make it a few dozen yards, everything he just said still rolling around in my head, when another thought occurs to me.

“You can call me Ros, by the way.” The offer slips out before I can think better of it, and when I catch his questioning look, I clarify. “It’s a nickname. Something my friends call me.”

“Ros.” He tests the name, thinking for a moment. “Occasionally, I’ve been called Zan by those I consider friends or by trusted members of my squadron.”

I arch a brow. “Which am I?”

He returns the look, something like amusement softening his features. “Co-conspirators may also have the privilege of informality.”

“Works for me,” I say gamely, and add, “Zan.”

The warmth in his expression is unmistakable this time, and I don’t have to try too hard to make grabbing his hand and walking up the path with him feel almost natural.