Sarda Page 10

  With Dyr awake and lumbering about, though, the stupid cot made her look ridiculous. She looked like a silly lass who couldn't be more than a whistle away from her man. Gods, and she truly looked terrible, all covered in filth. She smelled terrible too. Dyr, Direis bless him, he must've held her for an hour as she cried her stupid tears.

  Now she just lay there, drained as a sieve, listening to him muck around in the engine cluster, inspecting all her repairs.

  "You're gonna bust everythin' up!" she yelled, her palms pressed to her tear-swollen eyes.

  "Throttle your thrusters!" His deep voice boomed, rattling her chest and filling her ears with the marvelous yammering of another person. "I'm not going to bust anything."

  She laughed and, damn that arse, more tears squeezed from her closed eyes.

  His boots scraped along the deck as he approached. He blocked the overhead lights of the engine room, casting a shadow as he stood at the head of her cot.

  "You do good work, Sarda."

  She shifted her hands from her face to her belly, all so she could roll her eyes at him. Did nothing but dizzy herself, though, with him all upside down and looming overhead.

  The big bastard just beamed brighter at her, bending over further and placing his clade-inked hands on the cot on either side of her head. He'd changed back into a jumper and undershirt, and his thick black hair fell forward, curtaining his forehead.

  Unholde done dug up the clay while Direis broke the mold with this one, didn't they?

  "I can help you finish," he said to her.

  She huffed. "I'm sure you can."

  "Just give you a helping hand, is all." His thumb brushed the grease smudge on her cheek, rushing blood to her face.

  "I remember your helpin' hands." Oh, did she. Her clyccana clenched and her nipples peaked.

  His voice dipped lower. "They're incredibly handy, my hands."

  "You've been outta that bin for just over an hour, and you're lookin' to tussle?"

  He sank to his knees as his palms cupped her cheeks while his fingers slipped under her chin. "Honestly, Sarda?"

  "This oughta be good."

  He gently tilted her face up. "I'm harder than sard right now."

  She barked out a laugh, mortified that it shot through the engine room like a pulse blast. That first laugh cleared the way for others, and her bone-deep relief burst forth as a stampede of unbridled mirth. She did her best to maneuver around his massive hands, hands that cradled her so tenderly, to wipe her tears.

  "I'm a damn mess," she said, hiccupping.

  "You're chaos, Sarda. Brilliant chaos." He brushed his thumbs over her forehead, swept back wisps of her hair, and pressed his lips to her there.

  She gave up on stemming her tears. His thumbs did a far better job, caressing her cheeks as he brushed the wetness aside. She settled her hands on his thick wrists and sank into the sensation of skin-on-skin contact. Her chest tightened as she tuned into the strong beat of his pulse beneath her fingers. Healthy and awake, he was finally here.

  "I don't know the point of all this, Dyr," she said, still filling her vision with the sight of him. "The ship's in bad shape. Needs the repairs. But really don't know what she wants."

  Dyr rose from the deck. He eased his hands under her shoulders, lifting her so that he could slip onto the cot.

  He settled her head in his lap. "Want to hear your thoughts, anyway. You know her best."

  Knowing Kie best didn't amount to much. The ship was rather forthright with a few things.

  Vedma ticked off what she knew. "She's disgusted with the Teras. Terrified of the Gwyretti. And tolerates me."

  Dyr stroked her hair, avoiding the knotted bits, and hummed, but something in his tone said he disagreed. He was probably right. Kie probably hated her. She proved herself, over and over, to be a shit mechanic.

  "She doesn't trust you," she added.

  Dyr chuckled. "Well, I was trying to launch the signal boosting buoy when she darted me."

  She shifted, trying to get a better look at him. "There's a signal boostin' buoy? You kept this from me? All this damn time, Dyr?"

  "Now, most of this 'damn time' I was in stasis." He kept his tone soft, contrite. "Would've told you if I could've, Sarda. Believe me."

  "Ech, I believe you." She didn't believe him. "So where's this buoy?"

  "There." He pointed to a contraption that she had dragged into a corner weeks ago, so sick of shuffling around it as she worked in the engine cluster.

  She just stared at the object, feeling old anger rise about how the Athela Academe had failed her yet again. By Unholde's anthers, why wouldn't they educate the girls about a godsdamn signal buoy?

  "Fucking idiots," she grumbled under her breath, then turned back to Dyr. "Why'd Kie try to stop you from launchin' that thingy?"

  He shrugged. "I don't know. Unless she thought I was communicating with the kidnappers? That she didn't know that I recoded it with House Borac's scrum codes?"

  Surprised, she squirmed out of his lap. Righted herself so she could look him in the eyes. "You were callin' your da?"

  His tender look shifted into hard determination. "Figured, if you were taken straight from Athela Academe, and I was snatched from Prykimis, reaching out to those two places didn't guarantee our safety."

  But still. "You were gonna take me back to your house?"

  He didn't break eye contact. "Aye."

  "Without even askin'?"

  "Aye." Now he dropped his gaze. He shifted on the cot, and his hands balled into fists. "I know you don't want my oath, but I made you one promise, Sarda. That I'd never leave you, but then I broke that—"

  "Ech," she snipped at him. "You ain't broke shit, Dyr. You was taken."

  He cringed. "Vedma."

  She reached out, grasping his fist. "It was my honor to see after you."

  He snapped his eyes to her with a startled, almost hurtful look on his face. "But my oaths?"

  Perhaps she read this wrong. "I don't clutch—"

  He flinched, as though he had just taken a hit.

  "I ain't ever clutched," she rushed to say. "'Cause none of 'em really wanted me. They wanted this."

  "This?" He listed toward to her.

  She swept her free hand over her belly.

  "They all just wanted a babe. To fertilize me in a lab. Offered temporary boardin' at some way-out place. Drafted contracts to have me give birth then shove off." She swallowed back the shame that rose up like bile from her gut. "So, I got loads of thanes offerin', Dyr, but I ain't got shit, either."

  They sat in silence. Dyr glared at the deck while she did her best to prepare for his reaction.

  He swallowed thickly and gestured toward her belly. "This is why I forswore my house, Vedma. I didn't want my children conceived this way. Mass conceptions. Throwaway results. Wanted none of it."

  "Glad to hear that, Dyr." So damn glad.

  He shook his head and sighed. "I wanted one child, with one woman, and to live like a family. My father said it was immature, selfish, and detrimental to our house."

  "Your da's an arse." She knew that firsthand, too.

  "Is that what you want, Vedma? Athelas are encouraged to conceive, too. To pass on your genetics. Do you want endless clutches or..."

  She thought of just herself and her da, rubbing along together. "What you said sounded all right."

  "Why'd you reject my oaths then?"

  Gods, he sounded like a tyke who lost a toy.

  "'Cause at the time, they was no different than them other thanes."

  He scowled at her. "By Unholde, it wasn't different? How many of those thanes put their body between yours and harm, Vedma? How many?"

  He lurched to his feet and paced away from her.

  Vedma gaped at him as everything tilted.

  Oh, Unholde drag her down, she truly was an idiot. He didn't know. How could he have known?

  She stumbled after him and grabbed his hands. Held on tight, even when he tried to snatch them back
.

  "Don't need your pretty words, Vedma."

  She shook her head. "Oh, Dyr. You don't know. Ain't got no idea, do you? I got loads of thanes makin' offers—"

  "That you said were shit—"

  "House Borac offered too, you arse!"

  That shut him up. Snapped his jaws together so fast that his teeth clanked.

  He shook his head and hissed out. "My da?"

  Gods, he sounded so young. She squeezed his hands. Waited until the befuddlement in his eyes cleared and he focused on her.

  "Aye, from Thane Borac," she told him, "but on your behalf, Dyr. You'd been missin' for a bit, so it was contingent."

  "Contingent?"

  "On you bein' found." Her body thrummed, and she mumbled, "Kinda banked on you not bein' found."

  He echoed the words back at her. "Not being found? Vedma, what are you saying?"

  She waited. Her heart hammered her chest, and her palms tingled in suspense.

  His eyes darted over her, his focus banging back and forth as he scrambled over the fuck all shit she just dropped at his feet.

  "You received a clutch offer from my house?" he said slowly.

  Her shoulders hunched. "Aye."

  "And they negotiated on my behalf?"

  She hunched even further. "Aye."

  His voice grew firmer. "Even though I was absent?"

  "Aye," she sighed.

  That was kinda the best bit about it.

  "And you accepted?" He sounded rather astonished.

  She snatched her hands back from him. "Course I did. Best offer I ever had."

  "A contingent offer was your best offer?"

  "Best damn offer! Gave me a clutch so all them other arses would leave me the hell alone."

  He shook his head at her. "Clutch? How the hell is that a clutch when there's no one there to clutch with? It's a clutchless clutch."

  "Ech." She waved her hand at him. "You're pourin' soup into the stew."

  "What the hell does that even mean?"

  "You're pointin' out the pointless, Dyr. The point ain't that the clutch is clutchless. Point is I ain't havin' to clutch at all."

  He huffed. "So, it was an anti-clutch?"

  Well, now that there was a better way to phrase it. "Sorta."

  His chest heaved as he planted his hands on his hips. He stared at the hole that Kie had blasted in the bulkhead, and she guessed that his thoughts caterwauled inside his head, because he said shit about the damage.

  "So you accepted an offer to clutch with an Unsworn technopath, who you hoped would never be found, all so that other thanes would take their shitty offers and back the hell off?" He looked at her, a fierce frown on his face. "That's the gist of it?"

  She nodded her head and quietly said, "That's the gist of it."

  "So, why reject my oaths?"

  She rolled her eyes. "Didn't need you to double swear. We're not tykes."

  He hesitated. "It wasn't because of something I'd done?"

  She felt her brow wrinkle in confusion. "What could you've done? You weren't even there. Just your da."

  Again, he settled into silence and stared at the punctured bulkhead.

  Clenching his jaw, he asked, "And your hope is still the same?"

  "My hope?"

  He clenched and unclenched his fists. "Your hope that your clutch partner would never be found?"

  "Oh, by the gods, no." Vedma ran her eyes over him. Wanted him to see that she took in his measure. "He's more than I ever hoped for."

  Her heart pounded while she waited and waited for her words to penetrate. If he needed her to say it in plain language, she would. He was the best blowback she'd ever received. Better than she could have ever dreamed. Better than she deserved. Her child, though, he or she deserved Dyr a thousand times over. Only the best for her babe.

  Dyr blew a harsh breath and strode toward her. "Thank fuck for that."

  He crashed into her. She didn't dodge the collision but opened herself up to receive the impact. She absorbed the forces of his motion with an eagerness fueled by her greed for him. Entwining her hands behind his neck, she pulled him down, desperate to fuse her lips to his.

  He held her at bay. Gave her a gentle jostling until she refocused her gaze from his mouth to his eyes.

  "I am Teras, Vedma." He swore to her, his voice rumbling with conviction. "I am Borac. You have me."

  "You have me, Dyrastur." She swore in return and, in her impatience, surged up to claim him. "I choose you. You're mine."

  * * *

  Vedma reached back and dug her fingers into Dyr's flexing ass. Gods, she'd break another damn nail if she didn't ease up her grip. But he gave her little choice. What started in the sani-stall carried over to the cot, and she had to convey her frustration. Every time she tried to break his hold, to bend herself at the waist so that she jutted out further, opening herself up more to his thrusting cock, he'd only tighten his hold.

  Like now, for instance. She writhed.

  "No," he growled in her ear. "Hold, you."

  So they lay on their sides, and he held her. One arm banded under her shoulder, pillowing her head as his hand palmed her breast. The other arm banded over her middle, his inked hand cradling her round belly. His chest pressed against her back. His hips pumped against her ass. His anthers spread and stroked the lips of her cunt, tangling with her clyccana.

  He huffed into her hair. "Gods, you're a firm stroker, Sarda."

  He trembled, and the bliss that wracked his body transferred to hers.

  She wiggled against him again, testing his hold.

  "Dyr." By the gods, he reduced her to begging.

  She raked her nails along his hip. He hissed and snapped his hips harder. Good for him, only a bit better for her. Inspired, she craned her neck and bit the arm banded under her shoulder.

  He flinched and loosened his hold. She bent herself double, her belly stopping her nipples from grazing the tops of her thighs.

  Her escape had caught Dyr mid-thrust. His momentum plowed his hips forward, driving his cock deeper.

  They both moaned.

  "Shit, Sarda." Dyr sounded apologetic as his hand gripped her shoulder. He straightened his arm, locking her into place while buffering his pounding. "Fuck, this is..."

  "Better," she panted out. "Fuckin' better."

  She never knew a cock could feel so good shuttling inside of her. Using a house brace to fuck, with the man seated and the straps secured, only accommodated moderate penetration and the stroking of each other's cilia. Dyr, blowing at her back as his entire body strained, had her bowing her spine and struggling to grasp her ankles, all to take him even deeper.

  His hand on her belly slipped and hooked onto her hip. The joints of his hand rippled, exposing his urge to increase his grip.

  "Sarda," he gasped. "Fuck, Sarda."

  She heard the question in his voice. Could feel the tensing in his muscles. He neared the end, ready to burst, and he wanted her to implode with him. She eased her clyccana, cleared his path, and when he drove into her again, she clenched down on his cock. Made him battle for each thrust of ecstasy.

  He slammed into her once. Twice. Again. He bellowed, and together they both came. She shattered around him as release roared through her, blazing like an engine igniting.

  She panted. "Dyr, that was—"

  "Firing up the engines."

  Gods, exactly like firing up—

  He jerked away from her, his cock sliding free from her as her body still spasmed. A roar filled the engine room, sounding exactly like a spaceship engine.

  Vedma jolted upright. "Shit! The engines are firin' up!"

  "[I fire.]" Urgency and trepidation streaked along her technopathy.

  All that time she worked on Kie, they'd only fired up the engines once, to a colossal failure. Otherwise, the power cells had continued to thrum along, providing energy to systems like atmospheric scrubbers, water recycling, artificial gravity, and stabilizers. But even when the engines had fired up
and then failed, they'd roared like an awakening beast, only to fall silent when her repair skills proved inadequate.

  Rapid pings drew her attention. After weeks of communicating with Kie, her hearing had attuned to the notification sound of her WristCune.

  Scrambling over Dyr's legs, she made a dive for their pile of clothing on the deck. She extracted her comms device. Her body tensed when she realized that she looked at the ship's sensors and that another vessel approached.

  Dyr must have felt her jolt of alarm because he placed a steadying hand on her back. "Vedma?"

  Her heart hammered her chest. "Is it them, Kie?"

  Laughter, the laughter she associated with Fuckles, echoed through the ship-wide comms. Then the man—Fuckles—spoke, but he deviated from his typical speech.

  "This is not what it was supposed to be. They took an Athela—" The man broke off, then began again. "They want a technopathic baby for the trials. Foundlings are typically too old once they're discovered, but—" He laughed, the same mirthless laughter that Kie used to pipe through the comms for days. "There was this perfect Athela and an Unsworn technopath. Why the hell did his house let him go? But they're here, and the implantation was a godsdamn success—"

  No, not a deviation from the speech. Kie just finally played more of the recording for them, more than that endless snippet that mocked Dyr and her.

  "...they want a technopathic baby for the trials..."

  Her stomach lurched. She slapped her hands to her mouth as a cold sheen of sweat covered her skin.

  Oh gods, her baby.

  Kie replayed the recording. "They took an Athela. They want a technopathic baby for the trials."

  Then disgust rippled down her technopathy. "[I fire.]"

  She clenched the WristCune in her hand. Pressed the device to her brow in the mad hope that Kie could use more fucking words than ache, wake, and fire.

  "[I fire.]"

  The engines surged. Dyr jolted next to her and gathered her into his embrace.

  "[I fire.]"

  Another surge.

  The revelation flooded over Vedma as she twisted about in Dyr's arms and looked at the firing engines.

  She clenched Dyr's forearm as warmth bloomed inside of her. "You're firin' the engines!"

  "[I fire.]"