Page 92 of Wrapped in Their Arms

“Hell, we’ve been attuned since that night we spent on theSkowprison ship,”Burnadded.

“What does that mean, though?”she asked, frowning.

“It means that if you’re in trouble, we’ll know.Justshout for us and we’ll both come running,”Brightpromised.

He gathered her into a warm, tight hug andBurnjoined in, enveloping her from behind so she was sandwiched between them, their big bodies pressing protectively to hers.

“If you need us, we’ll be there,”Brightmurmured in her ear, andBurnrumbled his agreement against her back.

Finally, reluctantly, the hug broke.

“Let’s find that key so we can get the fuck out of here!”Burnsaid.

And the three of them turned to their separate tasks, even asNoelle’sheart whispered that they were stronger together—and their time was running out.

50

BURN

The air inside the docking bay hit him like a punch to the gut.

Hot, greasy, metallic—the place smelled like engine oil, unwashed alien funk, and the faint scorched stench of fried electronics.Burnwrinkled his nose and blew out a breath through flared nostrils.

Gods, what a fucking pit.

The docking enclosure was massive—cavernous enough to hold the kind of shuttle that only a narcissistic, three-headed monstrosity would commission.Grayish-blue metal beams arched overhead like the ribs of a dead beast.Panelsof dented sheeting lined the curved ceiling, some blinking with embedded green or amber lights.Ahandful of high, square windows filtered in dusty beams of yellow light, illuminating the alien clutter that filled the room.

The shuttle sat like a gaudy, overweight king on a concrete platform stained with oil, fuel, and other fluidsBurndidn’t want to identify.Itwas a tacky monstrosity—twice the size of aKindredlong-range hauler and painted in lurid, clashing colors—shimmering gold and deep royal purple—with a pattern of jagged lightning bolts down the side.

Fucking hell, it looks like someone dipped a cargo ship in carnival puke,Burnthought.

But it could fly and that made it their only way out of here.Theydidn’t dare try to escape on foot—they wouldn’t get far enough away beforeThunecame looking for them.No, they needed to fly out of here and put a massive amount of distance between themselves and their three-headed captor.

Burn stalked into the bay, heavy boots echoing against the corrugated metal floor.Thewalls were lined with racks of tools and mechanical odds and ends, none of which looked familiar.Hepassed a row of hanging implements that looked like a cross between bone saws and tuning forks…a bucket full of stiff, bristle-covered rods dripping some kind of greenish goop…and a wall-mounted case with rows of what looked like transparent vacuum hoses curled like tentacles.

A circular device the size of a dinner plate pulsed with red light in the corner.WhenBurnnudged it with his boot, it emitted a high-pitched squeal and scurried away on spindly legs.

Okay, that was new.Somekind of cleaner bot?Hedidn’t know.

He scanned the cluttered shelving for anything resembling a key.Abiometric dongle…a crystal transmitter…even a simple ignition fob—anything at all that might start the shuttle.

But all he found were more tools and a shit-load of garbage.Crumpledfood wrappers with cartoonishly grotesque alien faces…a few severed tentacles that looked recently deflated…and what might have once been a sentient plant now dried and curling in on itself like a corpse in the corner.

Fuck.Nothinguseful.

He turned to the shuttle and stepped up onto the platform.Thestench ofTrolloxbody odor intensified.Itwas a full-on assault of sour musk, rotten onions, and something gamey and wet that made his throat clench.

Fucking disgusting.Smellslike someone stuffed a carcass with old cheese and left it out in the sun.

The ramp was down, so he climbed inside.Themoment he stepped onto the floorboards, they crunched beneath his boots.Layersof trash blanketed the interior—crushed drink containers, mummified food bits, a soggy fur coat, and—bizarrely—a bent soup ladle.Whatin theSevenHellswas the fuckingTrolloxdoing in here?

There were also wrappers with teeth marks, a used fry basket, and what might have once been a sentient wig, now curled up in the corner and softly mewling.

He sighed and bent to start clearing up the trash.Everynew item he picked up seemed worse than the last.

A fucking diaper?Isthat a diaper?No.Nope.Notthinking about it.

He tossed it aside with two fingers and kept working.