Page 19

Letting Sleeping Wolves Lie

SAVVINE

T hey fished in silence.

At first, it unnerved her, the absence of background chatter, the lack of urgency.

No team members shouting updates, no boots stomping down steel corridors, no comms crackling in her ear, only stillness.

Water lapping against the shore. The occasional splash of a fish.

The soft whir of her line spinning out over the lake.

In time, she relaxed.

Her shoulders unwound, and her breathing slowed. She stopped gripping the rod like a plasma rifle and let it rest on her palm, easy and loose.

Fireflies began to appear, gliding over the lagoon like drifting stars.

In the distance, a few delicate-winged flyers hummed overhead, their glow barely noticeable.

Across the water, golden lights winked on in lakeside cabins, homes filled with laughter, the clatter of dishes, and residents enjoying quiet lives.

She glanced around her, stunned again, still unbelieving that she was on a spaceship. How had they achieved this?

He broke the silence, his voice rumbling, filling in the blanks in her mind, somehow reading her thoughts.

‘The crew who built this deck were ex-cons, shifters, metas, the unwanted and despised,’ Xander said, eyes on the lake.

‘We knew we’d never see Earth again. Many of us had never seen lakes, even on Earth, for we came from favelas, ghettos, poverty, and despair.

We needed healing and hope, so we created a place never to forget Earth as it used to be, and a sanctuary that could be a balm in Gilead. ’

She turned to him, her breath catching.

He continued. ‘We all take care of it, from the security guards to the business owners and merchants on the Sombra . We keep this park running, tend the soil, build cabins, and maintain the irrigation. We even have market gardens, sell fresh produce to the mess halls, and ship the excess to outlying rigs.’

Savvine took an inhale. ‘Tis impressive.’

He cast his line again, smooth as silk. ‘Tis a lifeline we believed in.’

‘How did you integrate the ex-cons and rebels in different factions to work as one?’

‘We had a reconciliation panel,’ he said.

‘We worked at it for years, and used various methods like mediation, restitution, and shared work. People stared each other in the eye, talked about the worst things they’d ever done, and chose to move forward.

We still have scars, but we live in relative peace now. ’

She was quiet, absorbing it.

Xander tilted his head. ‘It’s not my people who worry me now. Tis the shit show outside this ship that keeps my team and me up at night.’

She gazed at him then, really studied him. Tall, calm, this strange mix of soft and steel, she recognized not just the power, the danger, but the purpose for the first time.

She cleared her throat. ‘About why I’m here -.’

He cut her off, the shift in tone unmistakable.

‘ Mi reina ,’ he drawled, that voice like molten whiskey over gravel, ‘let’s not start with the hard talk now. How about we fish, eat, share a bottle of my finest Tansinian bourbon, and save the hard talk for later?’

She understood enough Spanish to understand he’d called her his queen.

Her soul jolted.

The way he said it, husky, slow, smiling just enough, sent a wave of heat down her spine, a ripple that landed deep in her aching soul.

Damn him.

This man was dangerous in ways she never accounted for.

What made him potentially more lethal to her heart was how he’d sucked the skepticism and worry about him being a savage security operator and a mostro right out of her, replacing it with heated intrigue.

Savvine clenched her jaw and glanced back out over the reservoir.

She’d need to keep a very close eye on Alexandr-Alexandr Levine Roman.

As dusk unfurled across the lake, painting the treetops in strokes of intense violet and burnt gold, Xander crouched beside the fire pit and struck the flint.

Sparks crackled, caught, and bloomed into flame, casting warm light against the smooth planes of his inked back and shoulders.

Savvine sat curled in one of the cozy outdoor chairs, a soft, woolen, violet and gold blanket shawl draped over her legs, keeping her warm.

Moments earlier, he handed it to her without a word, not asking, instinctively guessing her need for it.

This man.

She observed him in silence.

There was a precarious and sensual way he moved, unhurried, grounded.

He was barefoot, and she found her gaze lingering on his sinewed calves, and his lean, well-shaped feet, with a gentle arch, honey-toned, clean, and pedicured.

Above that, his thick thighs, and lean waist and that ass. Oh my.

His calloused hands expertly fed kindling to the growing fire, coaxing it like a ritual.

As he leaned forward to blow and stoke it, his back muscles flexed and shifted beneath sun-kissed, rune-etched skin.

The dim light turned his profile into shadowed art.

Once again, she blinked to remember she was still on a spaceship.

He stood and moved to the water, where she gazed at him wide-eyed as he cleaned and gutted the fish.

He strolled back, grabbed a pan, slathered butter across its base in one smooth stroke, and placed it on the coals.

He bathed the fish in olive oil, salt, and lemon on a separate plate and dropped the trout onto the hot pan on the fire with a satisfying hiss.

The air filled with the scent of citrus, herbs, and sizzling deliciousness.

‘Cutlery’s in the basket, guapa ,’ he drawled over his shoulder, his rasp husky and heated. ‘So are the plates. Might want to make yourself useful.’

His timbred bass needed to come with a warning.

She smirked despite herself, rose from the chair, and headed to the picnic hamper.

Inside, she found hand-crafted ceramic tableware and sleek cutlery in leather rolls.

And, bless him, a dark glass bottle of bourbon, aged and sealed, nestled beside two heavy crystal tumblers.

She laid it all out on the table, then turned to find him striding over with the skillet.

The scent of crisped fish hit her hard, smoky, buttery, and fragrant.

He set the pan down with care, then walked to the cookout setup.

She followed him with her eyes, unable to look away.

Inside the barbecue, ears of roasted corn rested in husks beside caramelized vegetables, thick wedges of root, and dark greens licked with char.

He plated with competent skill, not bothering to show off or ask for praise.

They sat and ate.

The buttery fish melted in her mouth, and the smokiness of the vegetables had her salivating for more.

Twilight spilled lilac and honey across the sky, and the lake shimmered in deep blue sighs, its glassy surface disturbed only by the occasional breeze.

The fire crackled beside them, sending embers into the starlit sky above.

Above, artificial constellations twinkled to life, programmed to mimic the celestial canopy from Earth’s Southern Hemisphere, complete with a moon.

It was so impossibly beautiful it hurt.

Her eyes sliced to him, and once again, her heart lurched.

He was so undeniably hot, ruin your whole bloodline levels, lycan-chem hot.

She broke the hush when she set her plate aside. ‘ Sante , that was delicious.’

‘My pleasure.’

Their eyes locked, and her face scorched. She tore her eyes away, yet remained intrigued.

So much so, she gave in to curiosity. ‘I’ve got a question about your nature, your spectral wolf form.’

‘Mmmm.’

His burred grunt sent shivers down her skin.

‘How is it,’ she hesitated, eyes on the stars beyond the viewport, ‘that your shifter form allows you to breathe and walk in among the stars, without oxygen or suits?’

Xander’s gaze flicked to the sky, where the lunar orb hung like an ancient sentinel.

Then he glanced back at her, a quiet ferocity in his voice.

‘I’m not au fait with the physiology, but I believe that for the same reason wolves on Earth howl at the stars, Savvine, because it’s our origin.

We came from the astral heavens. Long before any pack claimed land, we belonged to the black between the constellations.

That’s why we’re here. Why we exist within it because the void isn’t foreign to us; it’s home. ’

‘You know this to be true?’

He shot her a lazy, sensual grin. ‘To the core of my freakin’ aetheric bones.’

In time, he asked, ‘And you? Tell me about your world. Your family.’

She hesitated, then opened up about her siblings and her mother’s clinic.

Also, about her father’s constant engineering adjustments to the Venantia Eterna .

She spoke of her role. The burden of it. The endless vigilance. The ache of loyalty to a playboy that was now wearing thin.

He listened without interrupting.

When she fell silent, he leaned forward to the table and opened a cake tin with the flick of his thumb.

Inside, a still-warm, amber-hued confection shone in the firelight, its center soft, edges crisped, dusted in citrus sugar. He cut two slices and handed one to her.

Their fingers brushed, electricity arced between them, sudden, hot, intimate.

‘ Sante .’

He acknowledged her gratitude with a chin lift.

Then she took a bite.

The honey cake melted on her tongue. It was fluffy and moist, spiced with cardamon and orange zest.

Her eyes fluttered closed, and a muted moan escaped her lips before she could stop it.

‘ Fokk ,’ she whispered, licking a syrup smear from her finger. ‘That’s criminal.’

When she opened her eyes again, he was studying her, eyelids at half mast, heat simmering and steady in his gaze.

She swallowed, breath tight.

The air between them thickened, charged, and electrified.

Neither of them moved.

Their eyes met with heat as he leaned over for the bourbon bottle and poured a generous measure each.

Xander leaned back in his chair, tumbler cradled in his hand, the firelight casting soft gold across his jaw.

His eyes, still trained on her with that unflinching focus, softened as he asked, ‘So what do you do when you’re not chasing cartels and stopping flotilla-wide wars?’

Savvine smiled, a little shy now under his heat and his calm.