Page 5 of Zayrik (The Protectorate Warriors Alien Fated Mates #6)

Zayrik

THE SHIP WAS TOO SMALL .

I wasn’t claustrophobic, but I was starting to think she was.

Nyla sat stiffly in the co-pilot’s seat, arms crossed tight, one foot bouncing in an uneven rhythm. Her eyes flicked to the console, then the door, then me. Like she was mapping every exit, every possible escape route.

Yeah. She’d definitely done this before.

I adjusted our course, ignoring the way she tensed when I brushed against her arm.

“Relax,” I muttered, keeping my tone even.

“I am relaxed.”

I exhaled, amused. “Right. That’s why you’re coiled tighter than a malfunctioning stabilizer.”

Her foot stopped bouncing, but she didn’t uncross her arms.

Zep, the tiny winged Laupin currently curled on her shoulder, let out a soft chuff.

“You touch my stuff again, I touch your throat,” she cut in, deadpan.

I snorted. “You do realize I could snap your wrist before you even reach for a blade?”

Her eyes narrowed, fierce with challenge. “You could try.”

I leaned back, amused. “You always this combative?”

“You always this smug?”

She had me there.

A silence fell between us. Not tense. Just... something else.

She was watching me now. Not openly. Not obviously. But I caught the way her eyes flicked toward my hands on the controls, the way she studied my movements like she was trying to figure something out.

I didn’t acknowledge it. Just let her look.

Let her try to guess who I really was.

A few minutes passed, the hum of the engines the only sound between us.

Then, she muttered, “You’re too clean.”

I arched a brow. “What?”

Her gaze flicked to me, then away, like she hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

“You’re too clean,” she repeated, slower this time. “Your not expensive but pristine clothing. Your movements. Your posture.” She shrugged, feigning disinterest. “You’re not just some gambler who got lucky. You’re trained.”

I smirked. Clever thief. “Interesting theory.”

She shot me a dry look. “It’s not a theory. It’s an observation.”

I didn’t confirm or deny. Let her stew in it.

Zep, still perched on her shoulder, fluffed his wings and let out a soft trill. Nav hummed from her wrist. “I believe he’s amused.”

Nyla exhaled. “Yeah, I got that.”

I didn’t say anything. But I kept smirking.

Because finally she was actually paying attention to me.

I sat at the console, jaw tight as I scrolled through the damage report. The engines were shot to hell.

The ship had taken a full hit to the aft stabilizers during our escape, and while we weren’t dead in space, we were running on barely functioning thrusters.

“Katar Station’s got a damn good sensor grid,” I muttered. “If they tagged us before we jumped, we won’t be the only ones limping toward the next outpost.”

I was met with silence. I turned.

Nyla was watching me from her seat, legs stretched out, arms folded, her expression carefully blank. Suspicious.

“You got something to add, thief?”

She arched a brow. “Just enjoying the fact that you look like the one in trouble now.”

I exhaled slow, pressing a hand to my temple. She was impossible.

“You do realize you’re on this ship too, right?” I muttered. “If we go down, you go down with us.”

Nyla just grinned. Like she didn’t give a damn.

Like this was a game.

I wanted to be annoyed. But something about that cocky little smirk? The way her eyes lit up with challenge?

Yeah. That was going to be a problem.

Zephyr trilled softly from where he perched on the arm of her seat. Nyla ran a casual hand over his wings. “So, Captain, what’s the verdict?”

I ignored the mocking in her tone.

“Navigation’s offline,” I said. “Repulsors are barely functioning, and the ship’s directory is a glorified trash heap.”

She lifted a shoulder. “Sounds like you bought yourself a steal.”

I dragged a hand down my face. “I won it.”

“Uh-huh.” She kicked her boots up onto the console, making herself at home. “And I’m sure that went great for the last owner.”

I didn’t respond. Because she wasn’t wrong. And that annoyed the hell out of me. I shifted, scanning the cockpit again.

Bad bet. I knew that going in. I just didn’t expect it to come with a pissed off AI, a Laupin with attitude, and a thief who made my blood run hot and my patience thin.

But something else wasn’t sitting right.

This ship felt wrong.

Not just because of its condition, or the fact that Nyla didn’t seem surprised by what happened back on Katar station.

No. There was something else.

I let my fingers tap idly against the console, my gut twisting.

The way the station locked us down so fast . The way security moved, like they already knew .

It wasn’t proof. But my instincts had kept me alive long enough to know when to trust them.

I pushed off the console and moved past her, reaching for the auxiliary panel.

“Let’s see what I actually walked into.”

I pulled up the ship’s registry files , fingers moving over the console. The directory flickered. Old, fragmented logs, some corrupted beyond repair.

If something was off, I’d find it.

The data scrolled in front of me. Ship’s previous transactions, ownership records, some of it clean, some of it messy.

My jaw tightened. Multiple registry updates in the last six months.

Too many.

Normal for smugglers, or people trying to hide what a ship was used for.

I didn’t like it. Something wasn’t adding up, and the longer I stared at the logs, the worse the feeling got.

Behind me, Nyla shifted.

I barely noticed. Until the console flickered, kicking me out of the system.

I turned, saw the lockout notice blinking in smug red letters, and exhaled through my nose.

Of course.

She hadn’t done this. Not in her condition.

I leaned back against my chair, studying her. She was digging her heels in, trying to push me out, keep control.

She expected me to argue.

This was her damn AI.

“Nav,” I said flatly, “override the override.”

Nothing.

Then—static crackled.

“Apologies. This user does not recognize your authority.”

I rolled my eyes. “I just saved your user’s life.”

“Irrelevant to command hierarchy.”

“Okay,” I muttered, fingers flying across the secondary control pad. “Then I’m going to do this the hard way.”

I accessed the system’s diagnostic loop, traced the AI’s security shell, and keyed in a priority-level reset using the emergency override code from the ship’s default config.

The console flickered.

And just like that— I was in .

Behind me, Nyla let out a low, incredulous sound. “You just hacked my AI.”

I didn’t turn around.

“You locked me out first.”

“Nav doesn’t usually listen to anyone but me.”

“Yeah, well,” I said with a shrug, “I’m just more likable.”

She stiffened as the system flickered back to life under my access.

Nav sighed. “The two of you are insufferable.”

That was when Nyla pushed past me, reaching for the controls, too fast and too close.

I didn’t move.

Her shoulder brushed mine, her scent curling in the air between us, sweet, something warm beneath it, something that shouldn’t have distracted me. But it did.

She tensed. Not moving .

Neither did I.

I could feel her breath, just barely, her body heat radiating into the too small space between us.

She was pissed . But she was feeling it too.

She swallowed, eyes flicking up to meet mine, and for half a second, neither of us spoke.

Then she yanked the controls, breaking the moment like it hadn’t happened at all.

Fine.

She wanted control? She could have it.

For now.

But I didn’t step back.

Instead, I pulled the system logs back up. This time, I went deeper.

Nyla was still close , still bristling, still acting like she was the only one who knew what she was doing. I ignored her, focused on the screen.

There it was.

A flagged alert buried in the ship’s registry.

I frowned, scrolling through the details.

- Previous activity marked under high-risk trade routes .

- Multiple route pings through non-regulated space.

This ship had been in the wrong places, tied to the wrong people.

A low growl emanated from my throat.

Flutz. This wasn’t just a bad bet.

It was a trap .

I exhaled slowly, keeping my expression neutral. No need to let her see I’d just found something I didn’t like.

But my jaw tightened as I scrolled through the records again.

This wasn’t just a ship with a shady history. It had been flagged in connection to a smuggling network.

And I’d just walked into it blind.

Nyla was still locked onto the controls, her fingers moving fast as she reset a few of the ship’s stabilizers. Focused. Stubborn. Completely unaware.

Or maybe not.

I watched her for a second, something clicking into place .

She wasn’t just pissed about me winning the ship.

She was nervous.

I leaned against the console, arms crossed. “This ship has a history,” I said, voice low. “Tied to smuggling rings. Non-regulated space. Dirty trade routes.”

I looked at her. “Do you know anything about this, thief?”

She froze . Just for half a second .

Just long enough for me to catch it .

Then she scoffed and kept working. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Right. I pushed off the console.

This was about to get interesting.