Ch 1-10

Summary

He’s a prisoner of his own honor. She’s the light that can set him free. On a massive ship drifting through the stars, a lone warrior waits in the shadows of a brig, forgotten by his people. For five years, he has lived in silence, shouldering a crushing guilt for a crime he didn’t commit—choosing a cage to protect a secret that would shatter his family. He has resigned himself to a life of cold isolation, until a vibrant stranger from a world he’s never seen wanders into his dark corner of the universe. She is a survivor of a different kind—scarred by a past she left behind on Earth and thrust into a galaxy of beautiful, dangerous aliens. While others see a monster behind the bars, she sees a man drowning in his own noble sacrifice. What begins as a series of stolen conversations turns into a desperate, forbidden heat. But when the truth of his past catches up to them, they are forced to flee into the reaches of deep space. Now, on the run from a ruthless enemy, they must decide if the bond growing between them is a trick of fate—or the fated soul-mark that will either save them both or lead to their destruction.

1 Zoey

SOMETIMES I CAN’T QUITE BELIEVE how beautiful space really is.

I never in my wildest dreams thought I’d see it. That I’d be in it, much less floating through on a massive ship populated by an alien species. Looking up at the constellations in the night sky was the closest I ever thought I’d get to being among the stars.

I was so, so very wrong.

But despite how overwhelming it is sometimes, it doesn’t frighten me. Space is inky, cold, and seemingly endless, but it’s lovely in a way, especially knowing what I do now. There are so many possibilities out there, more than I could ever imagine, entire systems and worlds and galaxies beyond what I’ve seen already. I feel less alone, somehow, knowing how much is out there. Knowing that I was wrong when I thought we humans were all alone in the universe.

I linger at the window in my room a moment longer, taking in the view outside, and then I pull myself away a little reluctantly. I was in the middle of getting dressed for the day when I got distracted, and now I need to hurry or I’ll miss breakfast.

It’s been weeks since I arrived—well, crashed—on The Oasis, but seeing the view outside my window every “morning” when the lights come up to mimic sunrise still occasionally catches me off guard. Sometimes when I first wake up, I forget where I am. My first thought is that I’m back in my apartment, surrounded by my own clean sheets and the scents of San Francisco wafting in through the air-conditioning unit in my window, a new day ahead of me.

And then I shake off the fog of sleep and remember I’m not on Earth anymore, and that I almost certainly never will be again. Most days, I’m okay with that. But occasionally, it hits me a little harder than usual.

I finish getting dressed, pulling one of the two outfits that the Zivonians supplied me with from the drawer near my bed. Back on Earth, I opted for long sleeves more often than not, but the Zivonians are originally from a planet that was mostly tropical. They don’t have very much in the way of clothing that isn’t light or short-sleeved, which means that neither the shirt I was given nor the dress that’s folded next to it cover my arms past the shoulders.

The result is that the scars that run the length of my arms, the result of a shattered windshield, are bare to anyone who might see.

After the ship that the other human women and I were being held captive on crashed into The Oasis and we were rescued by the Zivonians, I remember being horribly self-conscious at first in my borrowed clothes. I didn’t like how much of my dark skin they left bare, making it impossible to hide my scars. Fortunately, I quickly realized that none of the Zivonians really noticed, or if they did, they assumed that my scars were the result of some battle, and thus a badge of honor.

They’re right about that, in a way—it just wasn’t the kind of battle they probably imagine.

Despite their strangeness, the Zivonians seem to be good and honorable people. Not only did they save us from the smugglers who intended to sell us at auction on some faraway planet, but they gave us a home. Their commander, Ryven, told us we were welcome to stay on The Oasis for as long as we liked, offering us safety and community among his people on their massive ship.

And now that he’s seeking a new planet for the Zivonians to settle on, it’s been made clear to us that we’ll also be welcome there.

How incredible is that? I shake my head, grinning to myself. To make a home on an entirely new planet? I wonder what it will be like.

This all still feels a little unbelievable, like a weird dream that I might wake up from at any time. But I feel lucky to have ended up where I did, considering what would’ve likely happened to me if the smugglers’ ship hadn’t crashed. I still wake up in the middle of the night sometimes, covered in a cold sweat from dreams about my abduction and the time I

spent shoved into the cargo hold of the smugglers’ ship with the other human women.

But you don’t have to be afraid of that now, I remind myself. The Zivonians aren’t like that.

After slipping on the dress, I wrap a sash around the waist to help hold it in place, trying not to look at my scars as I do. Ever since the accident, I’ve done my best to go about my life as if they’re not there, but enough people—guys in particular—have made a point of commenting on them that I can’t help but want to hide them if I can.

Before I leave the room, I glance toward the mirror one last time, pressing my fingers against the locket that hangs down in the V-shaped neckline of my dress. It was my mother’s, oval and gold and etched with tiny flowers, and now it contains pictures of both of my parents. They passed away long before I was taken from Earth, and I started wearing the locket as a way to keep a part of them with me all the time.

It wasn’t easy to hang on to the locket after being taken prisoner by greedy alien pirates, but I managed it. Honestly, it’s possible they took one look at it and decided it wasn’t valuable enough to bother taking it from me, and if that’s the case, I’m grateful they saw it as “trash.” Because that meant I got to keep it, and there’s nothing I own that’s more important to me.

Having it close makes me feel as if I’m carrying their spirits with me, and every day, I promise them that I’ll make sure to live my life to the fullest.

Because I’m still alive, despite everything that’s happened.

I’ll make the fact that I survived worth it.

Turning away from the mirror, I walk out into the hallway. My cabin door closes behind me with a hiss as I hurry to catch up with the other women who are also headed to the commissary for breakfast. All the human women have been given cabins in the same area of the ship, allowing us to be near one another. It was another thoughtful act by a group of aliens who have proven themselves to be kinder and more generous than I ever thought they could be—especially after my initial experience of finding out that aliens are real.

There are about a dozen women who were rescued from the smugglers’ ship with me, and I’ve gotten close to a lot of them. I was always friendly and extroverted back on Earth, and I’ve done my best to maintain that here,

making a point of getting to know both the Zivonians and the people who are probably the last fellow humans I’ll ever meet.

“Morning, Zoey.” A pretty, soft-spoken woman greets me with a wave. “Hey, Callie. What’s up?”

She chuckles. “My dad always used to say ‘the sky’ whenever I asked that. But I guess that’s not really true here.”

I laugh, and we fall into step beside one another, chatting easily as we make our way down the now familiar corridors.

Every time I walk through the hallways of the huge ship, I can’t help but be a little awed by it. I learned quickly that the Zivonians are a race of aliens deeply in tune with nature, with complex cultural rituals involving plants and the ability to camouflage themselves by changing their skin tone to match their surroundings—like very attractive, humanoid chameleons. As a result, they’ve cultivated The Oasis to reflect that.

This ship has been their home for the past five years, ever since their home world was destroyed by their oldest enemies, the Kruul. In that time, they’ve managed to cultivate a variety of plants, vines, and flowers throughout the ship, turning the huge vessel into a strange and beautiful mixture of nature and technology. There are vines and flowers growing across the walls in some places, and even a room that’s been completely overtaken by plants. If I step inside that room and close my eyes, I can almost imagine I’m in a lush forest instead of floating in the depths of space.

As we enter the commissary, I catch sight of Tara and Kate sitting at one of the long tables, and they wave me and Callie over. Despite the fact they’re both mated to Zivonian warriors and spend a lot of time with their mates, they often eat breakfast with the rest of the women.

Mates.

That entire concept is still so hard for me to fathom.

Back on Earth, I dated a little bit, but it seemed more like a waste of time than anything else. Men always wanted to play games, to jump into bed but not commit, to fuck me in the dark but not want to be seen with me in the daylight, or to make excuses about how they just weren’t ready yet to be in a relationship. It all seemed so childish to me, so pointless.

I went through a terrible accident that left me with lingering scars, both inside and out, and I still did my best to open up my heart in the aftermath.

All I wanted was to find a person who could be my partner, my friend, my other half.

But on Earth, apparently that was too much to ask for. Here, though? It’s very different.

Because the Zivonians don’t date, and they definitely don’t play games. Instead, they find their perfect match through a mate bond—a connection that binds them with the other person at a soul deep level.

The whole thing sounded absolutely insane when I first heard about it. How can there be some force out there in the universe that just knows someone is the perfect match for you? But it’s hard to argue with the truth of it now. Four human women on the ship are mated to Zivonians, so I’ve seen it happen too many times to consider it a myth or an exaggeration.

It’s one of those things I think about at night, when I’m all alone and in the quiet, still darkness.

Will it happen to me? What will I do if it does? Do I even want it?

As much as I’ve longed for a partner in life, the idea of having one chosen for me sounds both incredible and terrifying at the same time.

“Hey, Tara,” I say as Callie and I sit down at the long table with our friends. “How are you feeling?”

“Not too bad. Although I’m hardly even that pregnant yet, and my back already hurts a bit,” she complains with a light chuckle, rubbing the small of her back. “I can’t imagine how it’s going to be in a few months.”

“Uh, I’m pretty sure your back isn’t sore because of the baby,” Kate pipes in with a snort.

Tara blushes, a grin spreading across her face as her gray eyes twinkle. “Okay, maybe Rok and I had a bit of extra fun last night,” she admits, tucking a piece of brown hair behind her ear. Then she rolls her shoulders a little. “Still, I could use some way to work out the kinks in my muscles. I wish there was a massage parlor on The Oasis.”

“Oh, I heard there’s something sort of like a sauna,” Callie comments, her delicate features lighting up. “They don’t call it that, but it’s basically the same thing. I just don’t know where it is.” She purses her lips, then looks at Kate. “You’re mated to the commander. Surely you know where everything is here.”

Kate shrugs. “I actually didn’t know that was a thing. But we don’t spend a lot of time talking about the layout of the ship,” she adds, flushing a little as she clears her throat.

“Watch it,” Tara comments wryly. “You’re going to get pregnant next if the two of you keep it up.”

I shift in my seat, my own cheeks growing a bit hot as they banter.

It’s no secret that the mated couples can barely keep their hands off each other. I’ve seen the way Rok looks at Tara, and the way Ryven looks at Kate, as if the entire rest of the universe ceases to exist when they focus on the women they love. The mated women tease each other about it good- naturedly, and I can’t blame them. All of their mates are some of the most gorgeous men I’ve ever seen, just like pretty much every single Zivonian male.

But thinking about the mate bonds and everything that comes with them just makes me question all over again if the bond will happen for me, and what I’ll do if it does.

“I know where it is,” I blurt out. “The sauna, I mean. I’ve been all over the ship, and I’m pretty sure I saw it once.”

“Really?” Cassidy cocks her head, her eyebrows rising in excitement. “I know certain parts of it pretty well, from the time I spent hiding out on the ship before Nyx found me, but you seem to know it even better than I do.”

“Yeah, I’ve gotten to know the layout pretty well, since I do a lap around the ship every day. Staying active helps with the aches from the accident.” I clear my throat, not wanting to linger on the subject of the car crash that nearly ended my life back on Earth. “It’s just past the garden room, after you take a left. You have to walk a little way to get there, though.”

“Cool.” Cassidy rests her elbows on the table, propping her chin in her hands as she fiddles with a few loose strands of her blonde hair. “I’ll definitely have to check it out.”

The mention of exploring the ship makes me think of the walk I took a few days ago, and how I found one spot that has stuck with me more than others. A part of the ship I didn’t know existed, and one I definitely didn’t mean to stumble upon.

“I accidentally found the brig the other day, too,” I say hesitantly. “And… there was a man down there. One of the Zivonians.”

Kate nods. “Yeah. I’ve seen him too. When I was dragged down there after I was accused of stealing.”

“Has he been down there the whole time the Zivonians have been living on this ship?” I look around at the other women, drawing my bottom lip between my teeth. “Does anyone know?”

Tara and Kate both shake their heads, and the other women shrug. “No,” Kate says finally, her green eyes serious. “And I’ve never asked Ryven. I don’t really like to think about that whole period of time.”

“He must have done something bad,” Callie murmurs quietly. “The Zivonians are so kind and honorable. They wouldn’t lock up one of their own without cause. Whatever he did, it must have been really awful.”

There’s a general murmur of agreement, and the conversation slowly shifts to other things—Tara and Callie wanting to look for the sauna, Kate’s concerns about how stressful Ryven’s search for a new planet is, and of course, the return of Rok’s and Nyx’s brother, Akos.

But even as I talk with the other women, I can’t stop thinking about the man in the brig and the way he looked at me. His expression was closed-off, and the few words he spoke to me were blunt and clipped, but there was something else burning in the depths of his gold-rimmed eyes too. I couldn’t give it a name even if I tried, but it drew me in and sparked my curiosity.

As much as I try to push the thoughts of him away, I can’t quite banish him from my mind. So without saying anything about it to the others, I finish my breakfast and excuse myself, promising to find them later after my walk.

It might be a bad idea, but I know exactly what part of the ship I want to visit today.

2 Dax

I WAKE up in my cell to the warm “sunrise” lighting, blinking awake groggily. There used to be a time, years ago, where waking up behind bars was a shock. Now it’s just another day, like every one that came before and, I assume, all the ones that will come after.

I’ve been down here for five years, ever since the Zivonians who managed to survive the Kruul attack on our home world, Zivon, boarded The Oasis and took it out into space to escape the slaughter. At least, I think it’s been five. It gets hard to keep track of time when nothing ever changes.

One of the warriors brings me breakfast not long after the lights come on, and I rise from the bed as he approaches. His name is Tyrek, but besides his name, I don’t know much about him. No one who knew me well on Zivon ever comes down here, as if they prefer to imagine that I died in the attack.

As usual, Tyrek is coolly neutral toward me, saying nothing as he pushes the tray through the slot in the bars. No one on this ship would ever attack me, verbally or physically, but I can tell anyway that he hates me. It’s in the set of his shoulders, the narrowing of his violet-rimmed blue eyes, and the way he refuses to look directly at me as he pushes the breakfast tray into my cell and turns to walk away.

I should feel lucky, really. If I weren’t Zivonian, I have no doubt that my people would have killed me for what they think I did. They might have put me to death anyway, if there weren’t so few of us left now. But one core belief of our people is that we should look out for one another, and there is a strict code of honor among us. To break it is almost unthinkable.

Honor.

That particular word sticks in my brain unpleasantly, and I grit my teeth as I lean down to pick up the breakfast tray. Once, the other Zivonians looked at me with warmth and respect. Once, I had honor.

Now? I have nothing except the contents of this cell and my endlessly churning thoughts.

You made your choice, Dax, I remind myself grimly. What’s done is done, and you had your reasons. Now you have to live with the consequences of it.

I push those unpleasant thoughts out of my head, forcing my mind to go blank as I proceed with my morning routine. I’ve built a solid regimen for myself over the long years, with every day exactly the same. It helps keep me sane. In fact, sometimes I think it might be the only reason why I haven’t fallen into madness, all alone down here in the brig.

After eating my breakfast, I push the tray back out into the corridor between the cells to be picked up later by whoever brings me my midday meal. Then I begin my training regimen, moving around in the small space of the cell as best as I can in order to keep my strength and dexterity up. I might never hunt again, or explore a wild forest, or fight in another battle, but I’ll be vrecked if I’ll let myself waste away in here.

The training helps keep my thoughts focused, which is the hardest thing to do these days. I have a data pad with limited access to reading material and some old holo-vids, although the connection that would allow me to use it for anything else is disabled to prevent my contacting anyone outside my cell. But I’ve read and watched it all, and although occasionally new material is added, it’s not enough to keep my interest for long.

As I’m finishing up my routine, standing up from a series of pushups, I realize that the Terran woman who wandered down here a few days ago is standing in the cellblock again, watching me. My muscles stiffen as I see her out of the corner of my eyes, my jaw going tight.

Perhaps I ought to be glad to have some company, but something about her presence sets me on edge.

Although she has darker skin than the other Terran female who came down here once, she radiates a sort of brightness and luminosity that makes my chest ache.

It makes me hate my cage in a way that I haven’t since I was first brought here. I thought I had resigned myself to remaining locked up for the

rest of my days, but seeing her out there, so soft and beautiful and ethereal, makes me want to wrench open the bars of my cell just so I can get closer to her.

But of course, I can’t.

Despite my size and strength, the bars are too sturdy for me to break. No amount of wishing will change the fact that I’m a prisoner, and likely to remain so for my entire life.

So I do my best to ignore her, focusing on the remainder of my regimen with my back turned toward her as I push my body through the last of the exercises. But when I finally complete them and roll my shoulders with a grunt, I know she’s still there. I don’t even have to look to confirm it. I can feel her gaze on me.

Irritated, I glance over my shoulder, narrowing my eyes. “What are you doing down here?”

My tone is harsh, and there’s a challenge plain in my expression. Most women would shrink back from the look on my face and the hard edge in my voice, but this one doesn’t.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, cocking her head as she takes a small step forward. “What did you do to wind up being the only Zivonian in a prison cell on this ship?”

Her voice isn’t hostile, just curious, but I snort anyway, turning my back on her again. I’m not about to explain to this strange woman all of the things that got me where I am now. What’s done is done, and I’m certainly not about to relive it with someone I don’t even know.

She doesn’t leave, however, and although I had no plans to really talk to her, I find my own curiosity growing in spite of myself. I remember seeing one Terran woman down here before, and now another has shown up. How did they find their way onto The Oasis?

And beyond that question, I’m curious about what’s going on above, in the rest of the ship. None of the warriors who deliver my meals talk to me or give me updates, and deep down, despite my imprisonment, I care about what’s happened to my fellow Zivonians. I wish I knew more about how they’re doing, how their lives have been since Zivon was destroyed.

Reluctantly, I turn back to face her. “So, are you here to fill me in on the latest news of The Oasis? To tell me what’s going on?”

There’s enough sarcasm in my tone that there’s no way she’ll mistake it for begging for information, which is the last thing I want. But I hope that

she’ll tell me anyway.

The woman shrugs, stepping a little closer, obviously pleased that I’m speaking to her.

In the brighter light, she’s even more beautiful, with smooth dark skin and large brown eyes fringed by long lashes. A scar cuts across her face, and there are others on her arms and upper chest, some large and some small. Her hair is black, wild and curly around her face, and she’s curvier than most women I’ve seen. Zivonian women tend to be tall and lanky, but this woman looks soft and lush.

What would her skin feel like beneath my fingertips?

That thought sends a feeling through me that I’ve avoided for a long time now, an ache that seems to shoot straight down to my much-neglected cock.

Don’t even think about it, I warn myself.

It’s bad enough being alone down here. Thinking about the fact that I’ll never touch a woman again would be enough to drive me truly mad if I allowed myself to dwell on it. I gave up even touching myself a long time ago, choosing instead to force myself to forget about physical pleasure, like some kind of celibate mystic.

“No. I don’t think I really know all the gossip anyway,” the woman says. Her voice is as sweet as her appearance, soft and gentle. “I haven’t been on the ship very long. Not nearly as long as the rest of you, at least.”

“Are there more like you? More Terrans?”

She blinks, then nods. “Oh, right! Humans. Yes, there are about a dozen of us, all women. Our ship—or rather, the smugglers’ ship we were being transported on—crashed into The Oasis. Your people rescued us.”

“How very noble of them,” I say dryly, my tone gruff. “I’m sure you were very grateful.”

“I was.” She smiles a little as she says it, her voice turning even softer than before. I can tell she’s being sincere, and her sweetness grates on me.

“What about my people? Anything interesting I should know, that you’re aware of?” I cross my arms over my chest, leaning against the bars.

The woman purses her lips, considering. They look full and soft, perfect for—

No. Stop it. Don’t even think it.

“Commander Ryven is looking for a new planet for your people to call home. And mine too, those of us who were offered safe haven on the ship.

He hasn’t found one yet, but he’s searching for somewhere to settle.”

That does surprise me, although I try not to show it. The idea of a new home tugs at my heart, a longing that I haven’t felt in years, but I do my best to ignore it. Wherever Ryven decides to make a New Zivon, it won’t be a home for me, regardless. I’ll be locked up there just the same as I am here, and the prospect of that turns my longing into a flare of jealousy.

I’ve tried hard not to be bitter about my situation, since I’m a prisoner because of the choice I made to take the blame for my brother’s actions.

But still, the thought burns in my gut.

“I’m sure he’ll find something suitable soon,” the woman finishes. “Or at least, I hope so. Honestly, I like living on a spaceship so much more than I ever would’ve imagined. But I miss things about being on an actual planet. I miss seeing sky above me, and I miss being able to go for long walks in the park. I miss the smell of the ocean, although I don’t know if we’ll end up settling someplace that has the same types of bodies of water. Even if it’s different, though, I can’t wait to explore it.”

The words all come out in a rush, and I realize as I look back at her that she’s excited about it. She’s far away from her home world for some reason

—probably due to an abduction, if she was on a smugglers’ ship and needed to be rescued—and yet she’s excited about making a new home on a strange planet with a species she isn’t even a part of. If what little I remember about Terrans is accurate, their leaders don’t even acknowledge the existence of other sentient beings in the universe. But this woman seems happy to assimilate.

I study her for a moment, unable to tear my gaze away.

There’s something so bright and optimistic about her, and I can feel it calling to some corner of my soul, even though I want to dislike her. I want to hate her, because she’s living in the place that should be my home now, among my people, enjoying the freedoms that have been taken away from me forever. But I can’t seem to summon the emotion.

Perhaps I’ve lost the ability to feel such strong emotions as hate or love. Maybe I’m just empty inside after so long down here, isolated for too many years.

“You’re happy about that? About making a home on some strange planet?” I ask skeptically, unable to resist.

The woman shrugs, one corner of her mouth tilting up higher than the other in a crooked smile.

“A home is what you make it,” she says in her lyrical voice. “It can be anywhere. It’s just in how you think about it.”

I only just manage not to grunt at that.

Anywhere, hmm?

This cell is certainly never going to feel like my home, no matter how many nice thoughts I try to summon. I don’t have a home anymore, and I’m certain that I never will again.

“What about your family? Your friends?” I dig at her a little, trying to figure out what’s under that sunny exterior. “Don’t you miss them? Don’t you want to go back?”

Her face shutters a little at that, and she looks away. “I don’t have very much to go back to,” she says finally. Something in her voice tells me that it isn’t a conversation she wants to pursue.

The door to the brig opens, and Tyrek walks down the corridor, giving the woman a strange look as he gathers up my breakfast tray. He’s probably wondering why she’s down here, and something about the way he looks at her makes my stomach twist, a strange sensation washing over me. I hear myself make a sound that’s almost a growl, moving closer to the bars, wanting him to back away from her and leave her alone.

Tyrek glares at me—the first eye contact I’ve had from anyone besides this odd woman in a while—and strides away. But the woman doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by any of it. She smiles at the man as he passes her and then pauses, glancing back at me.

“Um, I should probably go too. Goodbye.” She gives a small wave before turning to leave.

As she walks away, I can’t help but watch her. I should be glad she’s gone. She’s irritatingly positive, a reminder of everything I’ve lost and everything I’ll never have again.

But despite myself and for no discernable reason that I can understand, as soon as she’s gone… I miss her.

3 Zoey

THE REST of my day isn’t anything out of the ordinary. I do my usual walk and exploration of the ship, then spend time with the other women. But even as I go through the motions of a regular day, I can’t stop thinking about the imprisoned Zivonian.

Something about him draws me to him, an attraction I can’t quite give a name to, and I’m so curious about him despite myself. It’s weird, really, because I was never the type to be interested in bad boys, to like those kinds of men or even want to be around them.

But then again, I’m not sure that I’ve even dated enough to really know what my type is. I thought maybe it would be someone like my dad— strong, quiet, smart, a bit nerdy. He raised me on his own after my mother died when I was fourteen, and he was the best man I ever knew. He set a high bar for any other man in my life.

After he died when I was eighteen, in the same car accident that left me scarred, I felt as if my whole world was shattered. It would have been so easy to fall into despair, to let it swallow me up.

But I had to believe I’d survived for a reason, and that I would find that reason if I just made sure to take advantage of the fact that I was, against all odds, still alive. I tried to make a point to live life to the fullest every day. For a while, that included trying to date, to find a partner to take up the missing space in my life. But that didn’t last long. All it took was watching my friends doing the same thing to really turn me off of it, on top of my few experiences with men.

They would all get sucked into stupid mind games, the kind of games that seemed to be an unavoidable part of dating, and it seemed like such a waste of time and energy. I just wanted someone I could love with my whole heart, who would love me back. But after a few terrible experiences with blind dates and dating apps, I gave up and just tried to stop thinking about it. It was better than being disappointed over and over again.

The day seems to pass more slowly than usual, and I make it a point to stay busy, hoping to keep my mind off the mysterious prisoner.

Callie has taken up helping the Zivonians tend the garden rooms, and I opt to give her a hand for a few hours, losing myself in the sweet scent of the unusual plants and flowers, listening to her explain to me everything that she’s learned about them so far. After that, I find Cassidy and Tara and help them locate the sauna, and we sit in the sweltering heat for a little while.

Maybe I can sweat this curiosity out, I think wryly.

But even after we emerge relaxed, sweaty, and a little dehydrated, I still can’t stop thinking about the alien below.

He seems impossible to shake off, and I can’t understand why. I don’t even know his name.

I even dream about him that night, my sleeping mind conjuring an image of him watching me through the bars with those intense gold-rimmed brown eyes. He’s as handsome as any of the other Zivonian men, maybe even more so with his jet black hair long and loose, giving him a dangerous, slightly barbaric look. He doesn’t look like any man that I ever saw back on Earth. There’s something different about him, and it’s not just his appearance.

The next morning, after breakfast and against my better judgement, I go back down to the brig to see him again.

It’s strange to me that there aren’t any guards down here, but maybe they just can’t spare the manpower. After all, there’s only one Zivonian locked up in the entire brig, and he doesn’t seem to have any inclination to escape.

Whatever the reason that he’s down there, he seems to have accepted his fate.

As I enter the brig and make my way toward his cell, I see him doing pushups on the floor of the small living space—the same routine that I caught him doing when I came down here yesterday. My footsteps slow a

little as he finishes the pushups and begins to move through a series of what look like fighting forms, moving carefully in the somewhat confined area. It’s the exact same routine as he did yesterday, right down to the order of the movements.

Is that how he keeps from going completely crazy all alone down here?

By repeating the same things every day like clockwork?

When I was recovering from my accident, routines became very important to me. They were a way of getting through the days when I wasn’t sure I had the emotional strength to get out of bed and carry on. They gave me a sense of purpose when I felt adrift and lost.

I come to a stop several feet away from the Zivonian’s cell, staying still and quiet as I wait for him to finish. I’m not even sure he’s noticed my presence, but when he finally turns toward the bars, his eyes widen as he catches sight of me. For a split second, I swear I can see a spark of warmth in them, something like happiness.

But then his face closes down again, and he leans against the bars with the same surly expression that he wore yesterday. He pushes his dark hair back from his face, revealing the grooved markings that arc around the sides of his eyes at his temples, running from his forehead to his cheekbones.

“Don’t they give you Terrans anything to do around the ship?” he grunts. “Do you really have this much time on your hands?”

I know he’s trying to put me off, but I’m not about to let that stop me. I want to know more about this man, and his attitude isn’t going to make me any less eager to learn what I can. I’ve dealt with way worse than a grumpy alien in a cell.

“For your information, I use my spare time to walk around the ship every day,” I tell him, crossing my arms in a mirror of his. “And my path just happens to lead past this part of it.”

“Ah. I’m sure it does.” The alien snorts.

“You could at least tell me your name,” I suggest. “We’ve met three times now. Don’t you think it’s time we were introduced?”

“Why? Maybe if I don’t tell you, you’ll leave me alone.” He pushes away from the bars, still watching me.

“No. More likely, I’ll keep coming down here until I find out.”

“Huh.” The alien narrows his eyes. “You do seem a bit pesky. So if I tell you, you’ll go away?”

“Maybe. Depends on whether or not I like it.”

His mouth twitches a little at that, as if he’s doing all he can to hold back a smile. “Fine,” he growls, twisting his lips downward again. “It’s Dax.”

I grin, taking a step toward the bars, but still not getting too close. “See?

That wasn’t so hard. I’m Zoey.” “Are you going to leave now?”

There are a few benches in the middle of the open space that runs between the cells, and I sit down on the closest one, crossing my legs at the ankle. “Dax is a nice name. I think I’ll stay.”

He makes a noise deep in his throat, and shrugs. “Your choice. But I’m certain you’ll soon grow bored. Nothing happens down here.”

“I do believe that.” I grimace, looking around at the large, mostly empty space. Then I turn my attention back to Dax. “But I don’t understand why you want me to leave so badly. If nothing happens down here, surely you get bored. Don’t you want to talk to someone?”

The tall alien’s jaw clenches, but he says nothing. A long moment of silence stretches out between us, until finally, I clear my throat.

“Fine,” I say, leaning back a little on the bench. “I’ll start.”

He shrugs again, but his gold-rimmed gaze stays on me, watching me with something like curiosity. It’s a little bit like someone would watch an exotic creature they can’t quite figure out, but I’ll take what I can get for now. It’s better than the surly frown.

“You already know I’m from Earth. A Terran,” I begin, tapping my fingers lightly against the smooth seat of the bench. “I always loved the stars. My dad used to point out all the constellations to me when I was younger. He bought me my first telescope when I was eight. We’d sit out front on our lawn and find them together. My mother’s favorite was Orion, and—”

I stop talking abruptly, biting my lip. I don’t know this man well enough to tell him about my mother, even if it might feel good to talk about it. I’m curious about him, and I want to draw him out of his shell, but I’m not ready to open myself up that much when he hasn’t told me more than his name, really.

“Anyway,” I continue, shifting to a new topic, “there are lots of things on Earth that I loved. Small dogs—never big ones—Indian food, the way a gin and tonic tastes on a summer day. Oh, and flowers. Every kind of

flower. I even have a tattoo of one on my shoulder.” I turn slightly so that he can see where the leaves of the tattooed design are poking out from under my sleeve.

Dax’s mouth twists again. “Is there anything that you don’t like?”

I shrug, chuckling as I wrinkle my nose. “Sure. I absolutely hate strawberries. I’m a little afraid of birds. I think the color yellow is atrocious.” I grin at him. “Would you like me to keep going? There are a few more.”

“Well, it’s refreshing to know that you’re not all sunshine,” Dax says grumpily. “You’re a long way from Terra now. Aren’t you upset to know that you’ll never again have all those things you love so much?”

I let out a sigh. “A little. But I try to think of what I do have, instead. I was lucky enough to end up here, with aliens who are kind and who care for me, instead of being sold like the smugglers intended. Not only that, but there are other humans here too. So I’m not the only one here who has an opinion on strawberries, or who has a favorite drink from Earth, or who’s a cat or a dog person. There are other people here who understand me and where I come from, and that’s a huge relief. But now I get to learn a whole other culture too, and that’s really exciting.”

Pausing, I drag my lower lip between my teeth as I watch his expression. His brows are pulled together a little, his eyes slightly narrowed. If I weren’t so certain that the language implant in my brain is working just fine, I would almost think he can’t understand a word I’m saying. His hard features look a little baffled, as if he can’t quite believe I’m real.

“And there will be new things to learn on whatever planet Ryven and the others decide is safe to settle on,” I continue. “Maybe there will be some kind of creature that’s easy to domesticate and keep as a pet. There will be new fruits to love or hate, new flowers, new types of food. New adventures.” I shrug. “There’s always something good in any situation, even if it’s difficult to find.”

Dax curls his lips a little as if he’s trying to look disinterested, but I can tell he’s listening to me as I speak. When I pause, he turns toward the bars to face me fully, and his gaze sweeps over me. It makes my skin prickle for some reason, and I feel warm, even though it’s cooler down here than on the rest of the ship.

“Those scars,” he says abruptly. “Where did you get them? Were you in a battle?”

“In a way, I guess.”

I hesitate, my pulse speeding up a little at his blunt question. This is more intimate than our conversation has been before. I didn’t mention my mother’s death because I wasn’t ready to talk about it. I’m not sure that I’m ready to talk about this now. But if I shut this conversation down now, when he’s actually asked me a real question in a way that isn’t sarcastic or biting, he’s going to clam up again. I know it.

And he actually seems genuinely curious.

“It was a car accident,” I say quietly. “We have cars—wheeled vehicles

—on Earth that go extremely fast. They’re our main mode of transportation. But sometimes people are reckless. Sometimes they get intoxicated and drive anyway. That’s what happened to me and my dad. A drunk driver ran a red light and swerved into our lane. He hit the driver’s side head-on. Our car flipped and was totaled. My father’s seatbelt broke, and the force of the impact flung him through the windshield.”

“Did he survive?” Dax’s voice is low.

“No.” I shake my head and clear my throat, trying not to get choked up. The grief over his death isn’t as sharp as it was at first, but it’s still there, and I’m sure it always will be. “He didn’t. I almost didn’t either. And I was left with these scars.”

I touch one on my arm as I speak, feeling the ridge of it under my fingertips. My instinct is to touch the one that runs across my face, but I don’t want to draw Dax’s attention to it.

I’ve never really disliked my scars. I don’t think they’re attractive or “sexy,” but they’re a symbol to me of what I survived, that I went through something terrible and managed to make it out the other side—maybe a little broken, but still myself.

Yet for some reason, in this moment, I suddenly feel self-conscious about them. There are a handful of them across my arms and chest, and underneath my dress, there are even more.

Not that he would ever see those, I think, a flush of heat rising in my cheeks just at the idea.

I glance away, trying to somehow will the blood to drain from my face. No one has ever really affected me like this. In the past, I’ve never cared what people thought of my appearance. I’ve always just said that if a man

thought my scars were a turn-off, he didn’t deserve to see any part of me anyway. I still believe that.

But for the first time that I can remember, I really want this man to find me beautiful. And I don’t understand why.

“You shouldn’t worry about your scars,” Dax says quietly, as if he’s somehow read my mind. “There was a tree near my home back on Zivon that was once struck by lightning. It scarred the branches and the trunk of it, all the way down. We wondered if it would bloom when the next season came. It seemed impossible that something so damaged could produce flowers again.”

He pauses, and his gaze fixes on mine, as intense as always. But there’s something else there now too.

“And did it?” My question comes out hushed, as if I’m almost afraid to hear the answer.

Dax’s lips curve upward, just a little. It’s almost imperceptible, but it’s the closest thing to a smile that I’ve ever seen on his face.

“Yes,” he says finally. “It did bloom. And it was beautiful.”

My heart flutters, beating harder and faster in my chest. His gaze holds mine, and as I stare back, I can’t help but notice how deeply brown his eyes are, liquid dark pools ringed with molten gold. For a moment, I can’t tear my gaze away from his. My breath catches in my throat, and my lungs burn as I realize I’ve forgotten how to breathe. I get up suddenly, turning away from him so that he can’t see how flustered I am.

“Um, thanks for the talk,” I say quickly, not looking back at him. “Have a good day.”

It sounds stilted and awkward, not like our conversation before. I press my hand to my chest as I walk out, and I can feel the heavy thud as it races under my palm. I don’t know what just happened, and I can’t quite figure out if I’m excited or frightened by it. I have no idea why this man affects me so much—why I can’t stop thinking about him, why he makes me react in ways that I never have before.

But I know one thing for certain.

Even if I’m a little frightened by the mysterious Zivonian prisoner, this won’t be the last time I go to visit him.

4 Zoey

I DO go back.

More than once.

Every day when I leave the brig, I tell myself that I probably shouldn’t return. I still don’t even know what he did to end up in the cell. I’m torn between an instinctive, gut feeling that he doesn’t seem like the kind of man who would do anything truly terrible, and the knowledge that there’s no way the Zivonians would incarcerate one of their own unless he had.

I don’t want to ask, partially because I don’t want him to shut down again, and partially because I’m not sure I want to know.

With every visit, I feel myself getting a little more attached to Dax. I can feel us forming a friendship despite his best efforts, and his personality is such an interesting set of contrasts that I can’t help but be fascinated by him.

There’s a hard, bitter edge to him, and I can hardly blame him for it, given that he’s been locked away alone with no company and no conversation until I appeared. But every now and then, I catch a softer side to him. He likes it when I talk about the plants and flowers on Earth, which makes sense, and also when I describe the different kind of pets that people keep on my home planet. We have our longest conversation about our favorite foods, and he describes something made of sweet berries and cream that sounds delicious before shutting down.

I feel like that softer side is more of the real Dax, but he keeps it buried more often than not. I get it. He’s been imprisoned for a long time, and I’m not sure how one could possibly get through that without developing a hard

shell. And I’m always a little aware of the fact that I could be very wrong about him—he could be a murderer, or something else equally terrible.

But part of me just can’t believe it.

The man who sat and listened to me describe kittens and shared his favorite dessert with me? He isn’t a hardened criminal.

There’s something to the story that I don’t know, I’m sure of it, and I want to find out what it is. But I’m sure he won’t tell me. For every small crack of light I see in Dax’s walls, there are a dozen other spots that seem impenetrable.

I try to keep myself from obsessing over the mysterious prisoner by joining Kate, Tara, Callie, and Scarlett in working on a project the four of them have concocted.

Callie found a plant in one of the garden rooms that produces beans that smell suspiciously coffee-like, and after getting permission from Ryven, she picked a few handfuls of them. Now we’re spending the afternoon roasting them and grinding them to different consistencies, then steeping them in water and trying to see if we can actually produce a caffeinated beverage that is something akin to coffee.

“God, I hope this works.” Scarlett leans forward, sniffing one of the piles of beans. “I miss coffee so much.”

“Me too,” Kate says fervently. “I really took it for granted. I never dreamed there would be a day where I just wouldn’t be able to get it.”

We’re hovering over one of the makeshift coffee presses that Tara put together when we hear footsteps, and we turn around to see Ryven striding into the room. He goes directly toward Kate, his gaze fixed on her, and a small shiver runs down my spine at the way he looks at her. I’d always noticed the way the Zivonians look at their mates, but something about it feels different now. Like I’ve had a tiny taste of what it could be like, that day that Dax told me about the flowering tree and didn’t look away.

Don’t be ridiculous, I think as Ryven bends to kiss Kate on the lips. If one of these aliens was your mate, it wouldn’t be the one imprisoned downstairs.

Kate arches toward him as he kisses her, wrapping her arms around his neck, and Scarlett whistles loudly.

“Get a room, you two,” she calls teasingly, and Callie leans toward Tara, her face a little sad.

“I wonder if I’ll ever get a mate,” I hear her whisper.

Something in my chest aches at her quiet words. It’s something I never thought I would really relate to, but seeing Kate wrapped up in Ryven’s arms makes me want someone who looks at me like that, who touches me like that, who would take time out of his day just to come see me. A whole detour out of his way, just to say hello and steal a kiss.

Kate has a huge grin on her face when they break apart, and she stays close by his side as Ryven peers at the mess we’ve made on the countertop.

“What are you ladies doing?” he asks, shaking his head. “This doesn’t look like anything edible.”

“It’s supposed to be drinkable,” Tara points out. Then she wrinkles her nose. “But the jury’s still out on that.”

“These are the beans I told you about,” Callie explains in her soft voice, glancing up at him with her wide blue-green eyes. “The ones I asked if I could pick. They smell like a drink we had back home, one we all loved, and we’re trying to see if we can replicate it.”

“Ah. Well, I wish you good luck. Back on Zivon, some of the warriors used to eat them raw before hunts. But I never thought to roast them and drink them.” Ryven grins as he looks down at the counter again, clearly amused, and I can tell he’s glad that we’re enjoying ourselves.

“We’ll let you know how it turns out,” Kate tells him as she wraps an arm around his waist, and he squeezes her back for a brief moment.

“I’ve got to go to a meeting,” he says, kissing her temple as he releases her. “But I’ll see you at dinner tonight, my suvi.”

I hesitate for a second when he leaves, but the thought that’s been simmering in my head for the past days just won’t go away. If anyone on this ship would know why Dax is locked up, Ryven would. He’s the commander—he knows everything about The Oasis, and everyone on it. So I excuse myself quickly and hurry out into the corridor before he can get too far away.

“Commander Ryven!” I call after him. “Wait!” He slows down, turning to face me as I approach.

“Zoey.” He smiles down at me. “Is there something I can do for you?

Something you need?”

“No. I mean, yes, but it’s not about me.” I’m stammering over my words, and I try to collect my thoughts as Ryven patiently waits. I know he has somewhere to be, and I’m holding him up. Maybe it’s silly to have

chased after him at all, but I need an answer to the question that’s been burning a hole in my brain for days.

“I took a wrong turn the other day and ended up in the brig. I met the man who’s locked up down there. Dax. I’ve talked to him a little, and I just wanted to know… what did he do? Why is he locked up?”

The moment Dax’s name drops from my lips, Ryven’s entire expression changes, turning from pleasant and friendly to cold and hard in a second. I can see anger and pain in his eyes, and his jaw clenches, the muscles in his cheeks tightening.

“Dax was responsible for disabling our defensive surveillance systems the night that the Kruul attacked,” he says quietly. “We lost all but a hundred of our people at the hands of the Kruul because we had no warning, no way to see them coming. We weren’t prepared for it in any way, and many Zivonians died because of it.” His voice hardens. “Because of Dax.”

My jaw drops as he speaks, and my stomach seems to drop even farther.

As he says the final words, my heart stutters in my chest.

Because of Dax.

5 Dax

FOR SO LONG, my days have been exactly the same. And for the most part, they still are. Today, I’m in my cell, like always. The breakfast tray is waiting in the corridor to be picked up, like always. I’ve just finished my training routine, like always.

But lately, there’s been something—or rather someone—different about my days. A break in the monotony.

Zoey.

Despite myself, I’m waiting for her to appear like she has every day for the last several days, even though I don’t want to admit it to myself. I know it’s a mistake to look forward to anything, but something about the woman with the dark curly hair and sweet disposition has made me look forward to that particular disruption in my routine.

I would never tell her that out loud, of course. But although I won’t fully admit to myself that I’m waiting for her, there’s a part of me that enjoys her being here and listening to her talk. She doesn’t make me respond, she just keeps talking until I want to speak, and although I found it annoying at first, something about it is endearing now. Part of me feels as if I’m beginning to even rely on her visits—which I know is a mistake.

It’s a mistake precisely because of what seems to be happening today.

Usually, Zoey appears right around the time that I’m finishing up my training routine. But today, when I complete it and turn around, she’s not there. I find ways to keep myself occupied, telling myself that I don’t care if she shows up or not, but as time passes and there’s no sign of her, I can’t

pretend that I don’t feel a heavy weight in my chest at the thought that she won’t be here today.

I feel crushed that she didn’t bother to visit, and I don’t understand why. I’ve been imprisoned and shunned by my own people. Why am I hurt because some Terran girl didn’t want to come down here and have a one- sided chat with me?

It’s better this way, I tell myself firmly. Especially if you’re getting attached to her.

She might be bored enough to find her way down here now, but eventually, Ryven will follow through on finding a new planet to settle on, and then she’ll be busy making a new home there like everyone else, while I stay locked up there just as I am. She’ll forget about me, and it’ll hurt all the more then.

It shouldn’t hurt at all.

Why do I even care?

Terrans are backward and ignorant, refusing to accept that they’re not the only sentient beings in the universe, claiming to be so far advanced when in fact they’re so far behind that it’s laughable. Terrans are a joke in so many places around the universe.

But this girl isn’t a joke. She’s sweet and kind, and she was the first bright spot that I’ve had in a long time. If I felt capable of opening up to her

—not that I ever would—I think perhaps she would understand me. She’s been through awful tragedy too, and terrible pain. She’s lost things.

Maybe she would understand why I did what I did, in the heat of the moment.

No. How could she? She’ll hate me just like everyone else.

It’s better if I just forget about her and go back to the way things were before. It’s the only thing that’s kept me sane. Letting someone into my life now would be foolish.

The sound of footsteps breaks my train of thought, and I look up to see Zoey walking down the corridor toward my cell. For a moment, against all my better judgement, my heart leaps in my chest.

She came.

But then, as she steps into the light and I see the look on her face, my heart sinks almost as quickly.

She knows.

Someone told her why I’m imprisoned in this cell.

“Is it true?” Her voice is small and quiet as she stops in her usual spot, near the bench in front of my cell. She looks at me, and the sadness and confusion in her dark eyes almost undoes me.

My throat tightens, and for a long moment, I can’t say anything. I want to take that look out of her eyes, to see her light up again. It’s as if every bit of sunlight she ever exuded is hidden under clouds, and it makes my chest ache.

I want to tell her that I’m innocent. I want to tell her the truth. But after all this time, I can’t do it.

I don’t know why my brother did what he did all those years ago, why he chose to betray his honor and help the Kruul during their attack on our people, but in the aftermath of our escape from Zivon, I took the blame for Syrus’s betrayal. I took his crimes upon myself, allowing my fellow warriors to believe I was the one who aided the Kruul in their attack.

Some days, I still can’t understand why I did it.

Syrus never made it onto The Oasis as we fled from the attack, but as Ryven began to investigate what had happened, he realized that it had to have been either me or Syrus who disabled the surveillance systems. In the heat of the moment, I blurted out that it had been me. Maybe it’s because admitting that my brother was guilty would have destroyed everything I thought I knew about him. I couldn’t bear to face that truth, so I created a lie that allowed his memory to remain untarnished.

And I’ve lived with the consequences of that lie for five long years.

It’s too late to untangle it now, to take back what I said, so I repeat the same words to Zoey that I spoke to Ryven all those years ago.

“Yes, it’s true,” I say flatly. “I did it.”

My jaw clenches as I brace myself for her reaction, readying myself for her to leave. She will, of course, now that she thinks I’m a monster, just like everyone else does.

But to my surprise, she doesn’t. She stays where she is, looking at me with caution in her eyes, and I try to arm myself against whatever she’s about to say. She’s weakened the defenses around my heart, all of the walls that I put up, and I try to strengthen them now, to tell myself that nothing she says matters. It won’t be anything that I haven’t heard before.

Zoey steps forward, coming closer to the bars than she ever has before. Her face softens as she looks at me, although I can’t understand why. She should hate me now. She should think that I’m monstrous, the worst kind of

traitor. But instead she’s looking at me with soft, sad eyes, and I almost wish she would leave, just so I wouldn’t have to see that expression on her face. It makes my chest ache, makes my hands prickle with the desire to touch her, to show her the truth that I can’t say out loud, and that feeling after so long is almost unbearable.

I should never have allowed myself to speak to her at all.

“I always wondered what you could have done that would make the Zivonians leave you locked up for so long,” she whispers. “I see now. It makes sense.”

She’s saying the words that I expected to hear, but even now, something in her voice is soft, and there’s something in her eyes that doesn’t look like hatred. In fact, she’s looking at me as if she still doesn’t quite believe what she’s been told.

The ache in my chest intensifies. For the first time in a long time, I don’t want to defend my brother. A flash of anger fills my chest, bitterness at the fact that I’m in this position at all. I don’t want to be the one to bear the blame for what he did anymore. Not when there’s something beautiful and bright in front of me, and I’m watching it disappear.

I’ve lost so much already. I hadn’t thought there was anything left that could be taken from me.

But apparently I was vrecking wrong.

I want to tell the truth. But of course, it’s too late now. No one would believe me if I suddenly changed my story, denied my guilt and said that it wasn’t me at all who did it.

If only I could clear my name. In this moment, I wish more than anything that there was a way to do that.

“I thought that you couldn’t possibly have done something terrible,” Zoey says quietly. “But I also didn’t think the Zivonians would imprison one of their own without cause.”

“Well, now you know.” I do my best to keep my voice even. Why is she still here?

She’s gazing at me intently, her eyes still soft, drifting over my face, and it unsettles me. I almost wish she would just shut down, yell at me, walk out on me like everyone else has. That, I could handle—it would be nothing new. But this? The way she’s looking at me like she’s trying to see into my soul? I don’t know how to react to that.

“What are you doing?” I ask gruffly.

“I’m trying to see you,” she says simply. “To… to understand. I can’t reconcile it.”

“Can’t reconcile what?”

She swallows hard, the muscles in her throat working. “Who I thought you were… with who I think you are now.”

Zoey steps even closer, so that her hands are almost touching the bars. Despite myself, her presence there draws me too, and before I can stop myself, we’re very close. Closer than I’ve been to a woman in over five years.

She smells so sweet. I can smell the warmth of her skin, the light perfume of her hair, the fragrance of the soap that she must have used in the shower this morning. The thought of that brings the thought of her naked quickly on its heels, and my body tightens, my cock instantly hardening. I might have tried to push all thoughts of desire out of my head for the last several years, but I was never a monk, no matter how hard I’ve tried to turn myself into one. I’ve always loved and desired women. And this one is no exception.

If anything, I want her more.

“Are you going to stop visiting?” My voice is hushed. I don’t want her to hear the desire in it, or for her to know how badly I want her to say that she won’t. That she’ll come back again.

“I should.” Zoey looks up at me. Her eyes are dark like mine, deep and fathomless. I can’t begin to guess at what she’s thinking.

“But will you?”

She doesn’t say anything. I can see her struggling with the answer, but all I can think about is how close to me she is. How I can almost feel her warm breath against my skin.

How very, very beautiful she is, scars and all.

I know better than to let myself feel any of this. I know better than to do what I’m about to. But the craving of my body—of my soul—is too strong to deny.

Haven’t I done enough? I think to myself, as I lean forward. Haven’t I given up everything? Don’t I deserve this one thing, before it’s all taken away again?

I can’t stop myself, no matter how much I know I should. I want this one moment of pleasure before she walks away forever. I want it so badly that I almost feel as if I can’t breathe.

As if she’s drawn in by the same feeling, Zoey leans forward, her face close to the bars. And as she does, I take the thing I want most in the world.

I lean forward and kiss her.

Part of me expects her to pull away, to slap me, or to turn on her heel and leave. But instead, she makes a small noise, almost a moan, and leans into the kiss. My heart jumps as her lips soften against mine, parting ever so slightly as she breathes in, and I can’t stop myself from taking full advantage of it.

Almost of their own volition, my hands reach out through the bars as I deepen the kiss. I slide my tongue over her lower lip as I reach out to touch her for the first time, my hands brushing over the curve of her waist.

Her moan sends a jolt of lust through me, my cock growing harder than I’ve felt it in years, and a growl rumbles deep in my throat as I pull her against the bars, my own body pressed tightly against them in search of any contact with hers. The need that washes over me is deep and demanding, my body throbbing with it, and I slide my hands down to her hips, gripping her there tightly.

Zoey gasps, her hand coming up through the bars to slide through my hair. Her other hand comes up too, sliding through the bars to touch my bare chest, and I’m suddenly very glad that I hadn’t put my shirt back on after I’d finished training.

She’s kissing me back, I realize dimly, and it sends another flood of desire through me.

She tastes so sweet, warm and wet, and just that thought is enough to intensify the craving for more of her as I begin to lose myself in it, forgetting every bit of discipline that I’ve instilled in order to survive the last five years. With one kiss, I can feel myself coming alive again, and it’s in this moment that I realize I can’t bear to stay here in this cell any longer.

I’ve done five years of penance for something that was never my sin to begin with.

I’ve denied myself freedom, pleasure, touch, conversation and company, to defend the honor of a brother who had none of his own left. All for what? To preserve a memory? I’m living in the past, and here is a reminder of the future that I’ve lost right in front of me.

I would be foolish to think that Zoey is that future. But someone could

be.

As the thought enters my head and my hands slide over her hips, my fingertips brush over something small and metallic at the waistband of her dress.

A clasp.

There are several of them there, all in a row, pinching the fabric of her dress so that it bunches a little. I doubt she’ll miss one if it goes missing.

Zoey hasn’t stopped kissing me. She’s lost in it too, enough so that as I grip her waist and slip the clasp away from the fabric, she doesn’t even notice. A small sting of guilt pinches me as I palm the little piece of metal. I’ve taken advantage of her willingness to trust me, even knowing the things that she does, and her willingness to touch me like this.

It wasn’t a lie, though, I think, trying to justify my actions. I can’t deny that the kiss was real, that I want her. My aching cock is proof of that, and the desperate need that seems to have seeped into my very bones.

At last, long before I’m ready for her to, Zoey pulls back from the kiss. Her lips brush mine for just a moment, her eyes still closed, and I grit my teeth against the desire to reach for her again as her hands leave my hair. I feel hollow as soon as her touch is gone, my chest squeezing painfully with the loss. I don’t know why I feel so much for her, and I don’t even know any longer if I wish that I didn’t. It would be so much easier if I felt none of this. But at the same time, I feel as if I’ve been asleep for five years—dead, even—and Zoey has brought me back to life.

She takes a step back, and I can see that her expression is still a little dazed, her cheeks and chest flushed from the kiss.

“I should go,” she murmurs.

“Of course.” It comes out casually, as if I don’t care either way, but in reality there’s nothing I want more than to kiss her again.

Actually… there is one thing that I want to do more than that.

I want to clear my name. I want my people to trust me again. I want

Zoey to trust me again, because I know that right now, she has no reason to. But she won’t believe me if I simply blurt out the truth. No one will.

There was plenty of evidence pointing to my guilt, considering that Syrus and I both had access to the surveillance system, and I made it off Zivon while he didn’t. If I want to clear my name, I’m going to have to do more than insist I’m innocent. I’m going to have to prove it.

Zoey hesitates for a moment, just long enough for me to wonder if she’s going to come back. My hands itch with the desire to touch her again, and

my entire body is aching with need. If I didn’t have something more pressing to worry about, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from breaking a years-long streak the moment she leaves and finally giving myself some pleasure, even if my own touch isn’t what my body craves.

Zoey smiles at me once more, sadly, and then turns to leave. I stand close to the bars, watching her as she walks away. It might be the last time I ever see her, and I want to remember this. Not just the kiss, but her. The shape of her body, the way she walks, the set of her shoulders and her beautiful face.

Most of all, I want to remember her the way she was before today, when she was still the only sunshine in this dark place.

I don’t wait too long, though. Once I’m sure that she’s not going to come back and that I’m alone, I take the clasp that I slipped out of her dress and bend the metal a little, forming it into a rough lock pick. Reaching through the bars, I go by feel as I slide it into the lock on the cell door.

It’s not a simple mechanism, and it takes me several tries and a few muttered curses. But just as my palms are starting to sweat, the makeshift lock pick growing slippery in my hand, I hear a click, and the lock springs open.

My heart slams against my ribs as I drop the clasp. I did it.

I push open the door, and for the first time in five years, I step out into the corridor.

6 Zoey

AS I WALK DOWN the hall back toward the main part of The Oasis, my mind is reeling.

Why did you do that? I think, touching my mouth gingerly.

I can still feel Dax’s lips on mine, the sensation of his tongue in my mouth, his hands on my body. I have no idea what happened, or why I allowed it. I went down there to confront him about what Ryven told me, to see his reaction to the accusation, but I’m no more at peace with it now than I was before I saw Dax.

If anything, I’m less so. No one who’s ever kissed me before has made me feel like that. Dax’s kiss made me feel as if my body was on fire. It made me crave his hands on me, made me want him to keep going and never stop. As much as I don’t want to admit it, if there hadn’t been bars between us, I’m not sure how far it would have gone. I wanted him more than I’ve ever wanted someone else in my entire life. I practically melted in his arms.

And that doesn’t make any sense to me. I’ve always trusted my instincts, and they’ve usually turned out to be right.

So why did I just kiss an alien man who’s locked up in prison for aiding a horrific attack against his own people?

I haven’t been this confused in a very long time. According to what Ryven said, everything I thought about Dax, everything my instincts told me, has been wrong. But how can that be, when just seeing him again made me feel so certain that he could never do something so evil?

You don’t really know these people, I chide myself. How can you say that they’re wrong about one of their own? You weren’t even there when all of this happened.

But my gut tells me something else. It tells me Dax wouldn’t do that, despite every logical piece of evidence that shows otherwise.

As I walk down the corridor, frustrated and upset, something catches my eye—a flash of movement in the hallway to my left. I glance over, startled, and my heart leaps into my throat as I get a glimpse of long black hair and tanned skin.

It’s Dax.

Somehow he managed to break out of his cell.

He hasn’t seen me or realized that I’ve seen him. So I dart down the hallway after him, staying just far enough behind that hopefully he won’t notice me. I’m unsure of what’s going on, and as usual, I can’t stifle my curiosity.

How did he get out? And what is he planning to do?

The path he takes leads all the way to the docking bay, and I hesitate as I slide around the edge of the door that leads into the large space, still out of sight.

What do I do?

Should I leave him alone? Let him know that I’m here?

What if everything Ryven said was true? What if he’s about to do something awful?

I see him striding toward one of the smaller ships, and it hits me. He’s going to run. I can’t blame him, really. The Zivonians imprisoned him, and he finally has a chance to escape. Of course he’s going to try to take a ship and flee.

But I can’t let him do that.

“Dax!” I call out his name, running toward him through the hangar. He stops in his tracks, turning slowly to face me, his expression cold and hard again. He’s the Dax that I met the first day I found myself down in the brig, not the Dax who kissed me earlier, the one who made me feel as if my very bones were on fire.

“What are you doing?” I gasp, breathless as I reach him. “How did you even get out?”

“Skill.” He smirks at me. “I’m a man of many talents.”

I glare up at him, my jaw clenched and my stomach working itself into a tight knot. “You can’t just leave. You’re supposed to be in your cell, I know you are. You expect me to just let you escape?”

The tall alien looks down at me, his face impassive. “I need to do this,” he says, his brown and gold gaze capturing mine.

For a second, I see a glimpse of the man who kissed me earlier, and something ripples through me. I can’t break away from his gaze, and he moves toward me an inch, his massive body leaning over mine.

“Are you going to turn me in, Zoey?” he asks softly. “Raise the alarm?

If you’re going to do it, go ahead. But if you don’t, I’m leaving.”

I should. I know that I should. No one else has seen him outside his cell besides me, and I doubt anyone will be going down into the brig for hours. If I don’t call for help now, no one will know he’s escaped until it’s too late to stop him from getting away. If he flees and does something else terrible, it will be my fault.

But I can’t seem to force the words out. I can’t move to run and alert someone or open my mouth to scream. I can’t do anything to stop him. Even as my mind is shouting at me to keep him from leaving, my body just won’t cooperate.

Dax seems to realize it, because he nods once, then turns and strides away from me toward the ship.

Don’t let him go.

The thought screams through my mind again as he opens the hatch on the ship and steps inside, but this time it isn’t about alerting the Zivonians. It’s that I don’t want to let him go. The thought of never seeing him again opens up a strange pit in my stomach, and I feel strangely responsible for him. I can’t turn him in to Ryven and the others, but I also can’t just let him fly off when I have no idea where he plans to go or what he plans to do.

So before I can tell myself what a terrible idea this is, I dart toward the ship, running up the landing deck and inside just as the doors close behind me.

If he’s leaving, I’m going with him. I don’t know what insanity has prompted me to do this, but there’s no going back now.

Dax is striding toward the cockpit, but he stops when he hears me, whirling around. His features harden with visible anger as he realizes I’ve followed him.

“Get off the ship,” he snaps. “I don’t know what the vreck you’re thinking, but go. Now. I’ll open the hatch.”

“No.” I put my hands on my hips, glaring at him. “You can’t just throw me off. This isn’t even your ship.”

“Who says it isn’t?” He crosses his arms, scowling at me. “You have no business here. None of this has anything to do with you.”

“Oh, it doesn’t?” I press my lips together. “Tell me that you would have escaped if I’d never come down to the brig. You were down there for five years without ever getting free, then I start to visit you, and you find a way to break out? You used me somehow. You’re free because of me.”

He narrows his eyes. “You’re insane.” “So are you.”

Dax growls deep in his throat. “Just get off the vrecking ship, Zoey! Go, or I’ll pick you up and throw you off myself.” His eyes narrow. “You know I can do it.”

My cheeks heat a little at his words, the memory of his hands on me before still too close for comfort, but I do my best to ignore it.

“If you force me off the ship,” I say slowly, my pulse roaring in my ears, “you’ll draw attention to your escape. Is that what you want?”

Dax’s glare could melt steel. But I don’t back down, giving the same challenge back to him. We’re both at an impasse, each daring the other to be the one who gives in first. Go ahead, try to stop me, is the clear message from us both, and neither of us is willing to be the one who blinks.

Finally, as the seconds stretch out into minutes, Dax snarls, turning away from me back to the controls.

“Vreck!” he curses aloud, sitting down. “If we don’t get out of here now, someone is going to catch me anyway. Sit down and strap in,” he barks. “It’s not my fault if you get yourself vrecking hurt.”

I do as he commands, sitting down hard into the seat behind his and buckling the straps with shaking, nervous fingers. Dax ignores me entirely as he pushes the throttle forward, heading out of the hangar of The Oasis in the smaller stolen ship. My stomach drops as the ship thrusts forward, taking off into space, and I feel slightly dizzy as we increase speed, swooping and dipping through space as Dax guides us away from the massive mother ship.

I swallow hard, doubt suddenly rising up in a tidal wave inside me as I close my eyes and try to steady my breathing.

Ever since my accident, I’ve always told myself that I lived for a reason, that my survival wasn’t for nothing. I always believed that I would end up exactly where I was meant to be, and it was that faith that kept me going even after I was abducted, even after I ended up with the Zivonians with no real hope of ever returning to Earth.

But now I’m questioning everything.

Is this small ship, with this alien who’s admitted to doing something truly, unforgivably terrible where I’m supposed to be?

Or have I just made the worst mistake of my life?

7 Dax

AS I PILOT the small ship away from The Oasis, I can’t help but wonder if I’m doing the right thing. I watch the readout on the control panel with keen eyes, making certain that we weren’t followed in the small window of time before I activated the cloaking device.

It doesn’t seem as if the stolen ship was noticed, but my stomach still feels tight with nerves and doubt.

What am I doing?

The escape was bad enough, when everyone on board The Oasis believes that I’m guilty of what I admitted to, but now I’ve taken one of the Terran women with me. The Zivonians certainly aren’t going to know that Zoey practically dug her heels in and demanded I allow her to stay, and I know that they’re protective of the women. As well they should be.

Zoey is going to be missed, I know that much. There’s no way her disappearance will go unnoticed. There can’t be that many Terran women on board, for one thing, and for another, she’s one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. I can’t imagine that anyone would not notice if she suddenly went missing.

I don’t think any of the Zivonians have mated with her, at least. During one of our conversations during her earlier visits, she told me about the mate bonds, and I know I would have sealed my fate for good if I’d stolen someone’s mate, by accident or not. I wouldn’t even have enough time to explain that it was an accident, if Zoey was mated and he caught up with us. But I can’t imagine that she has one. No Zivonian male would have allowed his mate to visit me all those times. And it seems unlikely that

Zoey would have spent so much time with me if she was bonded with someone else. From what I saw of the bond when our people were still on Zivon, it makes you not want to leave the other person’s side, especially in the early days when the bond is fresh. And Zoey herself said that the women haven’t been on board The Oasis all that long.

Still, mate or no, I’ve made it that much more likely that my people will hate me even more. I’ve not only escaped my sentence and stolen a ship, but I’ve taken one of the women with me whom Ryven promised to protect. I can’t think about that now, I tell myself as I set our course on the control panel. I’ve made my choice, and I have to see it through to the end.

Zoey being here complicates matters, but it doesn’t change anything. “Where are we going?” she asks, leaning forward and cutting into my

thoughts. Her gaze is focused on the control panel, although I doubt any of it makes any sense to her.

“Zivon,” I say shortly.

Her head jerks back as a look of surprise crosses her face, followed by a wash of fear. “Zivon? Your… home planet?”

I know what she’s thinking of. She’s thinking about everything she’s learned about the Zivonians and the Kruul, how our former home world is now burned to ash, and how the Kruul did it—supposedly with my help.

Based on what she’s been told about me, it makes sense that she’d be scared, not only of the Kruul, but of what I’m planning to do once I get there. But I still don’t like the thought of her being afraid, no matter how logical it is. I never want her to be afraid of me, and as I look at her, I realize that I don’t ever want her to be afraid of anything.

“I’ll keep you safe,” I promise her, keeping my voice low. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Her face relaxes for a fraction of a heartbeat, but then her forehead creases again, her eyes narrowing as she looks at me with that piercing expression that tells me she’s trying to read between the lines, to understand me.

“What about the other Zivonians?” Zoey asks finally. “Are they going to be safe?”

Her words strike a nerve, and my reaction is sharp and instantaneous. My jaw clenches, and I have to fight the urge to snap back, to let out some quick and cutting retort. Just hearing her question hurts, because I’m tired of being distrusted all of the time.

I know it’s my own fault for taking the blame for Syrus, that everything that I’ve been through could have been avoided if I hadn’t tried to protect his memory in those early days, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m sick of being seen as the villain by everyone.

By my own people, and now by Zoey, the only person who has bothered to care about me at all in the last five years.

Anger churns inside me for all that I’ve lost, and guilt rises up to meet it, making the muscles in my shoulders bunch and tighten.

I should have been able to stop Syrus, I think, turning away from Zoey and back to the controls without answering her. I should have seen it coming, should have picked up on what he was going to do. I should have been able to do something.

“It’s safe to unbuckle now,” I tell her tersely without turning around. “You can go wherever you want on the ship.”

I’ve effectively dismissed her, and I can feel Zoey’s hurt without even looking at her. But I force myself not to care. At the end of the day, everything that’s happened in the last five years has been on account of my own actions after my brother’s crime. But even so, I can’t bring myself to tell her the truth, even to reassure her that the Zivonians and the other Terran women will be safe, that I’ll do nothing to harm them. So I simply do what I’ve learned works best since my imprisonment.

I shut down, like always, closing her out.

Vreck. If I were alone, I wouldn’t have to worry about any of this, I think grimly as Zoey’s footsteps fade away down the corridor.

Despite my best efforts, though, I can’t spend all day in the cockpit. I have to eat, use the facilities, and inspect the rest of the ship, which means I come into contact with Zoey more often than I would like. The ship is very small, with only one sleeping cabin, the galley, and a small common room. It’s meant for only one person, two at the most, and built to be quick. As a result, our space is very limited.

Being so close to her is strange and awkward, and I find myself wishing she’d just had the good sense to stay back on The Oasis.

Why would she even want to be stuck on this ship with someone like me? I clench my jaw as I have to walk past her once again, heading into the small storage area to take stock of the supplies on board.

Too many emotions are thrashing through me all at once, and I haven’t had time to untangle any of them. After spending so long locked in that

vrecking cell, just being out of it and free is strange enough. But on top of that, sharing a space with this woman who, in many ways, is still so strange to me is even more unsettling. I feel pulled in two directions every time I come close to her. Part of me wants to be near her, and another part of me wants to avoid her as much as possible.

I don’t want to deal with her questions, or her refusal to allow me to retreat into myself, or the way she constantly challenges me, but most of all, I don’t want to deal with the feelings that she rouses in me. I survived the last five years by not feeling, and after so long, now it seems as if my emotions are all flooding back at once on account of Zoey.

It’s too much—sensory overload in the worst and most confusing way

—and so I keep to myself as much as I can.

We eat together in the evening, and it’s much like the first time she came down to visit me as I sit in silence and Zoey does almost all of the talking. I focus on my tray of food, which is ironically much worse than what my fellow Zivonians fed me every day on The Oasis, and Zoey chatters away about space and how vast and beautiful and terrifying she finds it all at once, and how she never thought she’d get to see it at all, let alone explore so much of it.

I don’t want to admit how much I enjoy hearing her voice. I want to hate that she’s here at all, but I can’t.

She shouldn’t be on the ship with me, she’s a complication I don’t need, but after so much time alone, it’s hard to resent the company of another being—even if it is a Terran woman who drives me crazy with her chatter, her bright disposition, her intoxicating scent… and the way just her being close to me makes me harder than I’ve been since I was young.

I’m pretty sure it won’t matter if I survive this trip or not, because even if I live through what I have planned, I’m going to go mad with lust anyway.

When the meal is finished, I stand up, glancing at Zoey as I dispose of our trays.

“It’s late,” I tell her, as coolly as I can manage. “You can have the bed in the cabin. I’ll sleep elsewhere.”

Zoey looks up at me at the mention of bed, and for a moment, I see a flash of the same tension that I feel every time I’m near her. She breathes in as if she’s going to say something, her eyes flicking over my body so quickly that I almost think I’ve imagined it. I found a shirt as soon as the

coordinates were set, but the way she looks at me in this brief moment is the same expression I saw in her face every day when she came down just as I finished training and saw me bare-chested.

Both of us pretended back then that she hadn’t noticed me, and that I hadn’t noticed her looking.

Now, we do the same.

“Thanks,” she whispers. It’s a shockingly concise response, coming from her. “I appreciate it.”

Without another word, she slips past me, hurrying down the hall without a backward glance.

Once again, my sleeping arrangement is a surprising downgrade from my cell. I find a pull-out cot in the supply closet of the common room along with a blanket and pillow, and I resign myself to the nights ahead of me on the uncomfortable, small cot. It’s large enough for a Zivonian, but not by much.

I’m still hard from being so close to Zoey, my cock throbbing insistently, and as I settle in for bed, the urge to reach down and relieve myself is almost too strong to resist.

It wouldn’t take long, I think, and my fingers graze briefly over my length, my body shuddering with the momentary pleasure.

But I pull my hand away. It’s not what I really want—and deep down, some part of me feels that I don’t deserve it. I’ve already escaped my imprisonment, should I really be allowed this, too? And beyond that, I know that if I wrap my hand around my aching cock, it will only be Zoey that fills my thoughts. It makes me feel guilty, somehow, because I know she doesn’t entirely trust me yet. It feels like an intimacy that I haven’t earned.

So I just roll over on my side, forcing myself to ignore the insistent need, and close my eyes.

Sleep comes eventually, but it’s uneasy and restless, not just because of the uncomfortable cot but because I can’t stop going over everything that’s happened in my mind. Not just my escape, but the events of five years ago, and everything that followed.

When I do drift off, I dream of the night of the attack, something that rarely happens anymore. My dreams are full of fire and ash and screams, the memories of the raw terror and fury so visceral that it feels as if it’s happening all over again. And not just that, but the confusion that overtook

me when I discovered what my brother had done, and the grief that followed.

I’m far from rested when the lights come up in the common room, signaling that it’s time for me to wake. I feel itchy and unsettled in my own skin. Even as I quickly force down breakfast and begin my morning training regimen, I can’t find the peace in it that I normally do.

Something is going to have to change. I just don’t know what yet.

8 Zoey

THE SLEEPING CABIN is similar enough to the one I was given on The Oasis that I don’t immediately realize where I am when I first open my eyes. For a second, it feels as if everything that happened yesterday must have been a dream, that I didn’t actually lock myself in a small spaceship with an escaped criminal.

But when I sit up, it’s clear that it wasn’t a dream. This cabin is smaller than the one on the mother ship, without the window that I usually gaze out of in the mornings while I dress. I really did do everything I remember… and I’m starting to wonder why.

When I was abducted by the smugglers, I had no say in that. When the Zivonians rescued us, and it became clear that it would be difficult—if not outright impossible—to get us back to Earth, I understood that it was out of my hands.

But this? This was a choice that I consciously made.

I chose to come with Dax. I don’t know why I did it. I’ve always been spontaneous and willing to take risks, but I’m not foolish. I’ve never been this impulsive.

It’s even more unsettling now that I know where he’s planning to go. I don’t know what he means to do on Zivon, and part of me can’t help but worry that I’ve seriously misjudged him. I’ve always felt confident trusting my gut, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be wrong. And if it is wrong, if the things I think I see in him aren’t real, if he’s manipulated me somehow or I’ve been blinded by my own feelings about him, then I’ve allowed a dangerous criminal to escape and possibly finish what he started.

He could truly be a monster, guilty of all the things that he’s been accused of. Maybe I just can’t see it because he’s so handsome, or maybe I’ve convinced myself that I see something behind his shuttered eyes and cold demeanor that isn’t really there. And if that’s the case, the very people who saved my life could die because of him.

I’m still trying to reconcile the two sides of this man, and it feels impossible—as if they just won’t match up.

Still confused and frustrated, I head out of the cabin toward the common room. I’m not even hungry, although I know I should eat. Mostly, I just want to sit and think. I want to try to figure out what’s really going on, and whether I’ve made a huge mistake.

But when I step into the doorway of the common room, Dax is already there. He’s going through his training exercises, the same routine that I usually caught him finishing up every time I came to visit him in the brig, and I can’t seem to take my eyes off him. I stop just inside the room, watching. He’s not wearing a shirt, his deeply tanned skin gleaming as his broad muscles flex beneath it, and I can’t help but feel a little breathless.

He’s so handsome, unlike anyone I’ve ever seen back on Earth, and even more striking to look at than most of the other Zivonians.

I don’t want to admit that it’s because there’s something sharp and dangerous about him, something about his dark eyes and the way he wears his black hair long and loose, something even more savage and warrior-like than the others. But watching him now as he does push-ups in the middle of the room, his hair tied back and his body tensed, my skin feels electrified, my body flushed and hot.

Dax stops, pushing himself up to his knees as he finishes, and he sees me immediately. A small smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth as he realizes I was watching him, and my cheeks burn, but still I can’t tear my gaze away.

For a long moment, we hold each other’s eyes, and the air seems to thicken. Dax doesn’t move, but I can picture him rising up and crossing the room toward me. I can almost feel what it would be like to have his hands on me again.

There are no bars between us now. And I’m not entirely sure what might happen if Dax touched me.

“Did you do that every day?” My voice is rough as I motion toward him, breaking the moment between us. “While you were locked up? Your

routine, I mean.”

He leans back on his heels, his large muscles flexing.

“Not at first,” he says. “But after a while, yes. It helped me to pass the days when they started to add up. It helped me find a way to get through each day, giving me something to focus on.”

“I can understand that,” I say softly, stepping further into the room. “After my father died in the accident, and while I was recovering, I would build routines for myself to get through the day. Anything to give me something else to think about, some other reason to wake up, or eventually try to get out of bed.”

I pause, walking toward one of the chairs and sitting down with my hands clasped between my knees.

“After a while, though, doing the same thing every day and relying on those routines made my life into a blur. I just went through the motions over and over, pretending that I wasn’t hurt, that I didn’t need to heal inside as well as out. I wasn’t really living, and if I wasn’t doing that—well, what was the point of my having survived?” I shake my head, brushing my fingertips lightly over one of the scars on my arm. “I realized I had to break those routines sometimes, in order to really appreciate the life I was living.” Drawing in a breath, I glance over at Dax. He’s still motionless in the center of the room, his gaze fixed on me, and I look down again quickly. I didn’t mean to say so much, to give him so much insight into what I went

through, but the words spilled out before I could stop them.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get a chance to do that,” I finish in a low voice. “I’m sorry that things turned out for you the way they did, that you felt—”

Dax shakes his head, cutting me off. “I made my choice,” he says crisply. “I knew I’d be locked up when I took responsibility.”

Something about the way he says it piques my interest. He didn’t say when I did it, or I knew the consequences of my actions—only that he knew the consequences of taking responsibility. Those are very different things, and I can’t help but think that his word choice wasn’t an accident.

“What do you mean, ‘took responsibility’?” I ask, leaning forward curiously. “Are you saying that you weren’t actually responsible?”

Dax’s head jerks back as if I’ve slapped him. Then his face shutters, his jaw clenching, and he pushes himself to his feet in one swift, smooth motion that startles me. I’m always surprised by how graceful he is for a man of his size. All the Zivonians are like that. Despite being huge,

muscled warriors, they all move like dancers when they go through the motions of fighting, when they’re in the midst of battle or training.

“I need to check the controls,” he mutters, striding past me. “Dax!” I call after him, not wanting to let the topic go just yet.

But he keeps walking, disappearing out into the corridor and leaving me alone.

LATER IN THE DAY, to my surprise, Dax begins to land the ship. It’s a lot sooner than I expected us to touch down anywhere, and I walk into the cockpit, peering down as he begins to navigate toward a landing dock on some planet I don’t recognize.

“Why are we stopping here?” I ask, half curious and half suspicious.

“I need to trade this ship for something faster,” he says without taking his focus off the task in front of him, angling the ship down onto the docking bay. “We need to be able to travel in hyper-speed, and this vessel doesn’t have that ability.”

As we prepare to disembark, I notice that he grabs the comms unit that will allow him to get back in touch with The Oasis.

I take a deep breath, feeling some of my nerves settle. If he was planning to do something truly awful—like finishing off the rest of the Zivonians or rejoining the Kruul—why would he make sure to be able to contact The Oasis? The fact that he’s taking the comms unit means that he must plan to go back there at some point, and that has to be a good thing. Right?

Still feeling utterly confused and torn, I follow him off the ship, looking curiously around at this new planet as we walk out onto the dock.

“This is Riorda,” Dax tells me gruffly. “A small trading planet, one of the more modern ones. They’re known for having excellent mechanics, places to barter for parts, and as good places to purchase or trade for ships.” The dock itself is clean and better-smelling than a few I remember catching a glimpse—and a whiff—of when the smugglers picked up more cargo. Beyond the docks I can see the city in the distance, with buildings that appear more industrial, some of them sleek and made from materials

that don’t look like anything I’ve ever seen on Earth.

I follow Dax as he wanders through the bays, curious as to what he’s looking for. He seems to know what it is, confidently looking at ship after ship, which is good, because I have no idea what is going on or what he wants.

Several of the ships that we pass look nice, some of them very streamlined and elegant. They look fast to me, but Dax passes by all of them. The one he finally stops in front of looks as if it’s in good enough condition—to my untrained eye, of course—but it’s far less fancy than what we were already on. I’m not sure what makes a spaceship valuable, but Dax seems pleased when he sees it, and he stops to talk to the owner.

I hang back a little, keeping an eye on everyone around us. Aside from the Zivonians, my experiences with aliens so far haven’t led me to think it’s a good idea to let my guard down. But even with my gaze scanning our surroundings, I catch bits and pieces of the conversation going on next to me. The owner of the ship seems enthusiastic when Dax points out ours and suggests a trade, which makes me think I was right. Ours must be better, even if it doesn’t have the hyper-drive that Dax was looking for.

The bargain is struck before I can fully grasp what’s happening. The owner of the ship—now our ship—definitely seems to think he’s getting the better deal. A broad, pointy-toothed smile spreads across his textured face as he and Dax grasp forearms and then exchange command codes for the ships.

“We need a few other supplies,” Dax says as he rejoins me. He jerks his chin. “Come on, let’s go into town.”

As we walk through the city, I can’t help but look around at our surroundings in awe. Sometimes it still hits me out of nowhere that I’m in space, visiting alien planets and living on spaceships, and it’s wild and strange and thrilling all at once. As much as I miss Earth sometimes, this truly feels as if I’m living my life to the fullest, experiencing more than I could have ever dreamed.

No matter how frightening and strange it might be sometimes, the chance I was given when the Zivonians rescued me isn’t something I take lightly—a chance to truly live an extraordinary life.

I just wish I could tell my parents about it, somehow.

Riorda seems to be an interesting planet, and as Dax leaves the last shop where he stopped for supplies, I notice him looking around as well. We turn down another street on our way back to the ship, approaching a large

square, and I notice that something like a street festival is going on. There’s music playing, the smell of delicious food wafts through the air, and as we get closer, I can see groups of other aliens in brightly colored clothes dancing.

Impulsively, I look up at Dax. “Is this planet safe?”

He glances over at me, shrugging carelessly. “Safe enough, I suppose.

Better than a lot of other places in the universe.”

I grin, unable to help myself. I’m on a strange planet, with an escaped alien who might be my friend or might be a dangerous criminal, and all I can think about is that I want to seize this moment and experience something that I might never get to again.

“We should stop and explore,” I tell him, pushing my hair out of my face. “See what’s going on.”

His eyebrows rise slightly as he looks down at me, looking utterly nonplussed, but I grab his hand without stopping to think, pulling him toward the square.

“Come on! I want to see.”

9 Dax

I STARE at Zoey as she grabs my hand and tugs me toward the square, her face alight with excitement.

This is insane, I think, resisting for a moment. I’m on a mission. I can’t just stop and enjoy whatever I want to. I can’t just spontaneously decide to go to a festival on a planet that was just supposed to be a pit stop.

There’s no way to know for sure if Ryven will send anyone after me. Truthfully, I’m not sure that they could find me, especially now that I’ve switched ships, but I don’t want to risk getting caught. I’ve come too far to be stopped now, and I need to get to Zivon.

I need to find answers, and I pray to the gods that I’ll find them there. Unless I want to be on the run or locked up forever, I have to find some way to clear my name. The only way to do that is to truly understand what Syrus was thinking when he betrayed our people. To find some proof that he was the one who disabled the defensive surveillance systems, not me.

This is a waste of time. But as Zoey tugs at my hand again, some part of me—probably the same part that foolishly kissed her against the bars of my cell—can’t resist this woman. I can’t resist the light in her eyes or the way her face glows with joy.

“All right,” I say reluctantly, giving in. “But we can’t stay long,” I add. “We need to be gone before dark.”

Zoey seems satisfied with that. She smiles broadly as she pulls me toward the main part of the festival. I have to admit that it is beautiful, full of bright colors and energetic dancers, the music filling the air and flowing over us as we walk through the stalls of food and wares being sold.

My Terran companion seems entranced by everything, soaking it all in, and I love how unafraid she is as we explore. This planet is a lot safer than many others, just as I told her, but for a Terran woman who is unaccustomed to all of this, it could still be strange and terrifying. But Zoey seems to embrace the differences between her old world and this one, taking joy in all the new things.

She seems determined to always find the good in her situation, no matter what that situation may be, to see it as an opportunity for excitement and adventure.

It’s a large part of what draws me to her. I’ve never met someone so unabashedly open to living life, to embracing her surroundings whether they’re what she might have chosen for herself or not. I’d all but given up on a life outside of my cell, but Zoey’s presence reignited a desire for that in me, a lust for everything that I’ve been missing out on all these years.

Her joy and spontaneity are infectious.

We stop at a series of food stalls, and Zoey samples a little food from each one. They’re all things that I know she almost certainly hasn’t tried before—alien meats fried and tossed in various sauces and skewers of exotic fruits, but she takes at least a small bite from every single one, her eyes going wide when she finds one that she particularly likes.

“Here!” she says excitedly, pushing the last bite of a piece of spiced meat wrapped in pastry at me. “You’ve got to try this. It’s amazing.”

I smile despite myself, feeling my shoulders relax a bit as I take the food from her. For the first time in years, I’ve almost forgotten everything that I have to worry about, everything weighing on me, and I feel almost… happy. I like watching Zoey take this all in, like watching her try the new foods and sip gingerly at a small cup of spiked juice.

For a moment, as I watch her tilt the cup upward, her curly hair wild around her face from the humidity of the planet, it occurs to me that I could just give up my mission of going to Zivon and trying to clear my name. I could stay here, disappearing into the population of Riorda, or find some other planet with Zoey and make a life for us there, far away from the Zivonians and the past.

But even as the thought comes to mind, something in me rejects it wholeheartedly and immediately.

I can’t do it. I can’t leave my people to believe forever that I betrayed them so awfully, can’t run away when it goes against everything I was ever

taught, every bit of honor that I have remaining.

And besides, I think, watching Zoey as she trails down the path, she wouldn’t want to anyway.

She followed me onto the ship because she was afraid of what I might do, not because she wanted to run away with me and start a life together.

The music changes, shifting to a more upbeat tune, and Zoey pulls on my elbow, drawing me out of my thoughts. I follow her without resisting for once, and she leads me all the way to the part of the square where others are dancing, closer to the musicians.

Before I can really think about what’s happening, Zoey is in my arms, and we’re moving to the rhythm of the music. I haven’t danced in years, since long before the attack on Zivon, and it takes me a moment to remember how to do it. But it doesn’t matter, because Zoey is already lost in it, her body moving to the beat as she sways in my arms.

She feels perfect, and heat flares inside me, desire rising sharply and burning through my veins as I look down at her.

Her face is glowing, her dark skin beautiful and luminous in the late afternoon sunlight, and the curves of her body feel incredible under my hands. I slide them down to her waist without thinking, drawing her closer, and something sparks between us, an electricity that runs along my skin and makes me feel as if I’m losing control.

Zoey moves closer to me, swaying to the music until her body is brushing against mine, and I suck in a breath.

It takes every ounce of effort I have to keep my cock from hardening—I don’t want her to feel me getting aroused and be disgusted, or worse, frightened. But the tightening in my gut is impossible to ignore, and I struggle to maintain my composure as desire lashes through my veins.

She’s so beautiful, so wild and free. Her scars form patterns across her skin that I want to memorize, and her brown eyes gleam in the sunlight. Everything about her makes me want to throw caution away and drag her up against me, claiming her mouth for my own, and every bit of her perfect body after that.

I forgot what it was like to want, to crave, to need. I made myself forget it. It was either that, or go mad because I’d never have it again.

But now I’m free. I’m not imprisoned any longer. And Zoey is here, right here in my arms. It’s the hardest thing I’ve done in my life to not kiss

her here and now. There are no bars between us, nothing stopping us except the last shred of my own self-control.

When the song ends, I step back, every muscle in my body tense with barely restrained desire.

“We should go back to the ship,” I tell her, and I can hear that my voice sounds hoarse and strained. “It’s getting late.”

Zoey nods, and I realize that she’s flushed, her eyes glimmering as she looks up at me.

Does she feel the same thing I do?

I push the thought away before it can take root. That’s impossible. She could never crave someone like me the way I crave her.

But I know what I felt. I know that for just a moment, there was something between us.

I try not to let myself dwell on it as we walk back to the ship, but it’s impossible not to. From the day that Zoey wandered into the brig and found me there, she awakened something in me that I had done my best to put to sleep, if not kill entirely. And now, with the sweet taste of freedom on my lips, I want more.

I want her.

The desire is almost painful, five years of aching denial pushing against the dam that I built to keep it in, and I wrestle with it every step of the way back to the ship.

Because Zoey isn’t mine, and she never can be. I have a mission—one that doesn’t involve her. It doesn’t involve allowing myself to be distracted by pleasure, by a fleeting moment that can never be more than that. Because I’m not good enough for her. I’m not the man she seems to think I am.

Neither of us says a word as we walk, and every moment of silence that passes seems to increase the tension brewing inside me. When we step aboard our new ship and I make my way to the cockpit, Zoey remains close by my side. I try to focus only on the controls in front of me as I navigate us away from the planet’s surface, but some part of me remains intensely conscious of the beautiful Terran beside me.

“There.” Once we’re safely away from Riorda, I lean back in the captain’s chair as the AI takes over and begins guiding the ship smoothly through space. “Our destination is set.”

We both stand up to leave the cockpit, and as we do, something shifts in the air. Zoey is standing very close to me in the dimly lit space of the

corridor that leads to the main part of the vessel, and my nostrils flare as they catch the sweet scent of her skin, the perfume of her hair, the scent of her. The desire I’ve been attempting to push away surges up inside me, sharp and savage, impossible to deny.

“Dax…” Zoey’s footsteps falter as she turns to me, whispering my name.

Her voice is husky, and the expression on her face makes something inside me snap. She moves toward me in the same instant that I move toward her, and I surge forward, pressing her against the wall as my mouth comes crashing down on hers.

Zoey gasps, her lips parting, and my tongue tangles with hers, plunging inside without a second thought. Her hands cup my face, her body arching against mine without the slightest resistance or hesitation, and it overwhelms me.

After five years of denial, of celibacy, of resisting every physical urge from the sheer need to forget how much I missed it, the way she seems to feel about me is too much. The electric charge of our connection sparks over every inch of my skin, lighting every nerve in my body on fire, and my cock grows painfully hard. It pulses urgently, straining inside my trousers until I’m afraid I might come here and now without doing more than kiss her.

Zoey was right when she said that I’ve been half alive, stuck in the same routine every single day, living my life in a blur to keep from thinking about everything I’ve lost and everything I believed I’d never have again.

And now, in this moment, as my world breaks open again, I’m completely overwhelmed by it. I’m drowning in the sensations of freedom, of pleasure, of desire, of her.

Her body is so soft, her delicate frame arching against me, and the sweet pressure of her mouth against mine is like a drug.

No, Dax. Vreck it all. Stop! She’s not yours to claim.

I pull away, breaking the connection between us as I stumble backward. My body is screaming at me, my cock throbbing angrily at the denial of pleasure, but I can’t do this without knowing why.

Why does this woman want me, even after everything she’s been told? Zoey steps toward me, reaching for me, her eyes glazed with arousal.

But I shake my head, stepping back again and desperately trying to keep my walls up even as everything starts to crumble around me.

“Why did you come with me?” It comes out as cold and hard as I can manage, but I can still hear the strangled desire under the words, the desperation. “Why did you come down and visit me on the ship?”

She looks at me, her face soft and yearning, and I feel as if it might break my vrecking heart.

“I’m a monster!” I shout, my voice echoing in the small space. “Everyone thinks so! Why would you want to spend any time at all with me? Why are you here now, doing this?”

Zoey stares at me, her dark eyes going wide as shock fills her features, and my chest squeezes tightly. I don’t even know if everything I’ve said is a lie anymore, where the line is between the truth and the fiction that I made up to protect my brother. I’ve said it so often, repeated it until I don’t know what’s true anymore.

Maybe I really am a monster.

All I know is that this is impossible. I could never deserve someone as bright and beautiful as Zoey.

I could never deserve anything like her ever again.

10 Zoey

I STARE up at Dax in shock, trying to think.

I’m reeling from his kiss, my body flushed and hot with arousal from the feeling of his body pressing me up against the wall, the feeling of his tongue in my mouth and his hands sliding over me. I’ve never been kissed like that in my life, with desperate, almost unrestrained desire, and I want more. He makes me feel alive in a way that I’ve never imagined, as if I’m coming apart at the seams, and I didn’t want him to stop.

But now, looking up at him, I don’t know what’s changed. Something about him is off, wrong. He’s so tense that it’s like he’s a cornered animal, unsure whether to fight or flee.

I give him space, wanting to let him calm down. Carefully, I think through my answer before I speak.

“I kept coming to see you because I believed that there was something more to you. I didn’t know why you were imprisoned at first, but I felt something when I talked with you. I knew that you weren’t evil, or cruel, or monstrous. And once I found out what you were locked up for, and you escaped…”

Shaking my head, I shrug one shoulder. “I believe in justice, Dax, but not in holding grudges. I don’t believe in holding on to the hate in my heart. I told you that I was in an accident. The man who hit us was drunk. He made a choice, a stupid, awful, terrible choice, and it cost my father his life. It cost me some of my mobility. I’m in pain, a little or a lot, every single day.”

My chest tightens, my voice growing choked as I speak, but I force myself to keep going. “It would have been so easy to hate him. To allow myself to be eaten up by it, consumed by it, to spend my whole life hating him for what he did and what he took from me. But it wouldn’t have changed anything. It wouldn’t have brought my father back, or erased my scars, or made my life any easier. So I found a way to move past it—for myself, not for him. Because it didn’t make my life richer or better or more fulfilled to hate him.”

Dax is frozen in place, his eyes fixed on mine as I speak. I can see his chest heaving, the muscles in his shoulders and arms rigid with tension, but he doesn’t make a move to leave.

I take a slow step toward him, not quite close enough to touch, but near enough that I can feel the heat emanating from his body in the small corridor. Enough that I can feel him.

“People aren’t just one thing,” I say softly. “Not just a monster, or an angel.”

Dax swallows hard, and I can feel him leaning toward me, as drawn to me as I am to him. There’s something between us, some connection that I can’t fathom—just as I can’t fathom walking away from him in this moment. Whatever is happening, we’re going to see it through together.

I don’t know why I can’t seem to leave him, or give up on him, but I can’t think about it any longer.

All I want to do is feel.

“Why did you do it?” I whisper. I’m close enough to touch now, and it’s all I can do not to reach out for him. “I want to understand, Dax. Why?”

I’ve never wanted so desperately to reconcile the two parts of him that I see, to know why.

The tall Zivonian warrior looks down at me, his face unreadable. “I don’t know,” he says simply, his voice low.

Biting my lip, I stare up at him, uncomprehending.

It doesn’t make sense. None of it does. He doesn’t have a good answer for any of it. He never does, and that doesn’t add up. Someone who did something like that, who betrayed his own people so horribly, would have a reason why. Only a sociopath could do something so terrible for no reason, and I know that’s not Dax.

“You can tell me,” I insist, pushing harder. I’m not giving up this time, not going to just let him walk away and leave this unanswered. “I’ve stayed

this long, haven’t I? I just want to know the reason, Dax. I want to know what really happened, from you. I want to hear your side of it.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he mutters, backing up another step. “I can’t change

it.”

“Can’t change what?” I press, narrowing my eyes at him. “You said you

took responsibility. Were you responsible for it? What exactly did you do?” I swallow hard, my heart racing. “I just want to know the truth.”

“The truth—” He breaks off, shaking his head. “I’m not even sure I know what that is anymore.”

It’s so vague, so strange, as if he really doesn’t have any answers for me. And then, in a split second as I look up at his carefully guarded, tense expression, it hits me.

“You’re lying,” I whisper.

My voice shakes as I speak, but I’m not angry. Because it changes everything. My expression softens as I step toward him, and I can feel all of me softening, emotion welling up in me as I realize that I was right all along.

Dax was never a monster.

“It wasn’t you, was it?” I search his eyes, aching for him to tell me what’s really going on. But he just stiffens, his body tensing all over as he looks at me warily.

I can see in his face that I’m right, though. I see everything he’s been trying to hide from me. Pain, grief, and confusion, something that’s tearing him apart from the inside, not because he did a terrible and unforgivable thing, but because he didn’t, and he’s been paying for it anyway ever since.

I don’t know why. I don’t know what this means, exactly, why he lied to the Zivonians and took the blame, but in this moment, all I feel is a rush of warmth and relief as I realize that I wasn’t wrong about him. My instincts weren’t off.

He is a good man. Good enough to take the blame for someone else, to suffer in someone else’s stead. And all I can think as I look up at his gorgeous, chiseled face is that I want to take the pain away from him.

I want to erase that tortured expression from his eyes.

Without stopping to think, I close the space between us, resting my hand on his chest as I rise up on my tiptoes. My other hand slides into his hair, dragging his mouth down to mine, and Dax comes to me almost

instinctively, as if he’s forgotten to resist. Forgotten that he isn’t supposed to do this with me, that he’s been trying to shut me out.

Well, I’m not going to let that happen anymore.

The feeling of his mouth against mine sends a shiver of desire through me. My entire body arches upward, drawn to him like a magnet. For a long moment only, his mouth touches me, his hands still fisted at his sides, his body still cold and unyielding. I can feel him fighting his own desire, struggling between what he wants and what he won’t let himself have, but I’m not going to let him deny this any longer.

He’s not a monster, and he’s not evil.

And just like me, he’s been lonely for far too long.

I slide my tongue over his lower lip, teasing his mouth open as my fingernails scrape lightly at the base of his neck. Sliding both of my hands around to cup his jaw, I brush my lips over his, my voice a soft whisper when I speak.

“I want you, Dax. I want you so much.”

He stiffens, a shudder running through him, and a low sound rises in his throat, a groan that’s almost a growl.

“Zoey…”

My name spills from his lips, vibrating against my mouth, and his arms go around me. His embrace is hard and fierce, lifting me off the ground. One of his large hands slides up into my hair and tangles there as my legs go around his waist, and he pulls my mouth down to his.

Oh… oh god.

I’ve never experienced anything like this. I could feel the moment that he gave in, and now that his desire is unleashed, it feels as if he might consume me. His mouth slants over mine, his tongue plunging into my mouth like he’s trying to lay claim to me. He stumbles forward, one hand keeping us from falling as he groans again, his arm wrapped hard around me as he carries me to the cabin.

My heart is racing by the time Dax lays me back onto the bed, his fingers yanking at the tie of my dress as he kisses me hungrily. His hand slides beneath the fabric, pushing it aside as he runs his palm over the curve of my waist, over my belly and up to the valley between my breasts, his entire body shuddering.

“I want to see all of you,” he murmurs hoarsely.

He leans back, spreading the dress open so that he can see all of me laid bare in front of him, and I feel a moment of sharp self-consciousness, knowing that he’s gazing at all of my scars, every single one of them. A part of me is already waiting for the hunger in his eyes to die away once he sees my body, curvier and softer than some other girls, scarred and damaged.

“By all the gods.” He swallows, his voice choked. “You’re nothing like I imagined. You’re so much more beautiful.”

My breath catches, a warm feeling gathering in my lower belly and spreading outward. I shift a little on the sheets, my skin heating almost as if his gaze is burning me. But it’s a pleasant burn, an incredible burn. My nipples peak and harden, and Dax doesn’t miss it. His gaze roams over my breasts, and he licks his lips as if he’s suddenly starving.

He pushes the dress the rest of the way off my shoulders, yanking it out from beneath me and tossing it aside.

For a long moment, he just stares down at me as if he’s trying to memorize me, and I can’t help but think of the words he just uttered. You’re nothing like I imagined.

He’s imagined this. He’s thought about it before, and not only that, but the reality of who I am and what I look like is somehow exceeding whatever fantasies he had.

Holy shit. How is that possible?

Slowly, Dax bends his head to kiss me again, his lips brushing over mine before trailing to my cheek, running over the scar that trails from my nose down to my jaw.

My chest tightens, tears stinging my eyes at the simplicity of the gesture, but he doesn’t stop there. His mouth trails downward, over the scar on my neck, across my collarbone and the lump there where it snapped in the accident, down the long one that curves around my breast. He cups my other breast in his palm, squeezing gently as his lips move over my shoulder and down my arm, kissing every single scar.

“You’re so soft,” he whispers, and I can hear the breathless need in his voice. “So perfect.”

I feel like a mess of emotion, my eyes burning with tears at how tender and gentle he is, the fact that he finds me so beautiful. And at the same time, my entire body feels alive and throbbing with need, burning with an arousal like nothing I’ve never felt in my entire life.

“Keep going. Please,” I whisper. “Don’t stop touching me, Dax.”

“I won’t. Gods, how could I?”

His thumb rubs over my nipple as he speaks, making me gasp as he teases and pinches it. I can’t believe he’s not already inside me, that a man who hasn’t had sex in five years is able to restrain himself long enough to touch me like this.

Dax’s mouth moves over my other breast, sucking and biting lightly at my nipple until I gasp and arch upward, and then he keeps going, over the scars that run down my stomach, his hands moving over the curves of my waist and hips as he goes lower still.

He kisses the scars on my legs, and my thighs spread open, my hips arching upward. I’m aching for him, drenched with arousal, and I moan helplessly when he runs his tongue along the inside of my thigh where my skin is slick with it, groaning with pleasure.

“You smell so sweet,” he murmurs. “And you taste even better.”

And then he grasps my thighs, pushing them apart roughly. The sudden forceful movement sends another flood of arousal through me, making my toes curl. His mouth comes down between my legs, his tongue sliding over me as he licks along the edge of my folds.

I can’t tell if he knows exactly how human women are built, if he’s licking me to bring me pleasure or just because it brings him so much pleasure to taste me. But when his tongue grazes over my clit, my upper body shoots off the bed, a loud cry falling from my lips. Dax looks up at me sharply, but when he sees that it wasn’t a cry of pain, he returns his attention to my pussy, dragging his tongue up and down the entire length of it again.

When he hits my clit once more, I squeak, dropping back down to the bed as my legs press against his grip on my inner thighs, trying to wrap around him. He narrows his eyes, and this time when he moves his tongue, I can tell he’s trying to figure out exactly what elicited those reactions.

He finds my clit with the tip of his tongue, and I whimper as he stays there this time, dragging his tongue back and forth over the hard little bundle of nerves. Every time he passes over it, my body jerks automatically, and I bite down on my lip so hard it hurts.

“Does this give you pleasure?” he asks, nuzzling my clit with his nose when he has to pull his tongue back into his mouth to speak. “Do you like it when I touch you here?”

“Yes.” I nod fervently. “It’s… it’s good. Oh god, it’s so good.”

As if that confirmation was all he needed, he attacks my clit with his lips and tongue, circling and licking and lapping at me until my legs are shaking. When he wraps his lips around me and sucks lightly, drawing my clit into his mouth, my moan turns into a cry of pleasure so high-pitched it’s almost a shriek.

“Your sounds,” he groans. “Vreck. I could listen to you scream like this for days.”

“I—I—”

That’s all I can get out. I’ve never felt anything like this. I remember a guy back on Earth going down on me once for about five seconds, before he noticed the scars on my thighs and told me he’d lost his hard-on. But Dax devours me hungrily, his tongue lashing against my swollen, heated flesh as if everything he’s held back for so long is coming undone. His hands are hard on my thighs, groans spilling from his lips and vibrating against my skin as he eats me out like a starving man, desperate for more of me.

As if he can’t help himself.

As if his desire is so overwhelming that he can’t stop.

My thighs are trembling, my entire body shuddering with pleasure, and I claw at the blankets, arching upward as his tongue circles my clit again. And when he thrusts two fingers into me, stars dance before my eyes.

“I’m gonna come,” I whisper, my fingers knotting in the blanket. “Oh god, I’m so close. Please don’t stop. Fuck… right there.”

I’ve never come from this before—never come from sex at all, actually. Every time I’ve ever slept with a guy, it’s ended with me going home to my vibrator afterwards, but now I’m shuddering on the verge of an orgasm bigger than anything I’ve ever experienced, my entire body quaking from the force of it.

“Dax! Please!” I’m begging now, something else I’ve never done during sex. But I’m so desperate for the release that’s building inside me that I feel like I’ll die if that tension doesn’t shatter soon. “Make me come. Please!”

Then, just when I’m hanging on the edge of the precipice, about to fly over it… Dax stops.

He looks up at me, his eyes dark and hungry. His skin has shifted color to a deep green, and the gold rings around his irises glint as he gazes up at me from between my legs.

“You’re going to come on my cock,” he growls.

My jaw drops open at the fierce possessiveness in his voice, and I release my grip on the blankets to claw at his shoulders instead, trying to pull him up toward me so he can make good on his promise.

He doesn’t make me wait, surging upward as he tears his pants open with one hand. I have a moment to catch a glimpse of his long, thick cock springing free before his mouth crashes against mine, his hands braced on the mattress on either side of my head. The broad crown of his shaft finds my entrance, and he presses inside me in one long, hard stroke.

He’s so big. It’s so much.

It sends me over the edge, and a full-throated scream of pleasure pours from my lips as the orgasm detonates inside me like a bomb.

“Fuck!” I cry out as I tighten around him, swept up in a tidal wave of sensation.

He holds himself still, buried as deeply inside me as he can go as I dig my nails into his shoulders, grinding against him and writhing as he kisses me hard. He swallows down every one of my moans as I come around his cock just like he said I would, my legs wrapping around his waist as I shudder beneath him.

Only once the last wave has peaked does he start to move, dragging out slowly and then pressing back in.

With the first stroke, I notice something unfamiliar and strange. It feels like there are ridges along the length of his shaft, and they rub against every inch of my oversensitive inner walls as he moves. The friction only heightens my arousal, and I wrap my arms around his neck, tangling my fingers in his hair as I lift my hips to meet his thrusts.

“You feel so good inside me,” I whisper, the raw truth spilling out before I can stop it.

“Zoey…”

He groans my name again, the sound a mumbled whisper against my lips, and I can feel the strain in his body as he holds himself back from coming.

I don’t know how he’s held out this long, but I don’t ever want him to stop. I’ve never felt anything like this, never even knew it existed, and I’ve never been more glad of anything than the fact that I followed him onto the ship.

“Come for me again,” Dax rasps, his mouth brushing over mine as he thrusts into me, grinding against me every time he bottoms out.

“I don’t know if I can,” I whimper, shaking my head even as my clit throbs in response to his words. “It’s so much. I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.” The certainty in his voice makes me shiver, and he pauses the next time he’s buried inside me, grinding against me so that I get more friction on my clit.

I can feel that strange, pleasurable sensation of his ridged cock sliding along my inner walls, stimulating me toward another orgasm, and it’s almost more than I can take. Pleasure tightens in my belly and flows outward through me until I feel as if I might come apart at the seams. He’s so large, so thick, filling me up completely with every thrust, and as he kisses me again fiercely, his entire body surging against me with a desperate and hungry desire, I feel myself tumbling over the edge into another climax.

It’s somehow even more powerful than the first, exploding through me as I cling to him, and Dax groans with pleasure.

“Yes,” he growls against my mouth. “Take it. Take all of it. My beautiful little Terran.”

He shudders against me, his hips rocking forward, and for a wild second, I think my orgasm might never end. That I might keep on trembling and shaking beneath him forever, consumed by pleasure.

I expect him to let go when I do, to feel him come in the same shuddering rush, but I realize as I open my eyes and look up at him…

He’s not done with me yet.