Destin's Hold (The Alliance #5)(38)

His amusement vanished and once again he felt the tightness grow in his chest at the idea that they were finally back on Earth. Reality was a brutal companion and it was tapping him on the shoulder at the moment, reminding him of his responsibilities. He stepped into the shower and quickly washed. Within minutes, he was dressed and stepping out of the bathroom.

Sula was gone. She had probably already headed down to the shuttle bay. It didn’t take him long to gather the few articles of clothing and his other personal belongings. He wouldn’t need anyone to transport them down since they all fit into the duffel bag he pulled out from under his bed.

Glancing around one last time, he shouldered the large green bag and stepped out of the room. He nodded to several warriors that he passed. He was beginning to disconnect himself from the ship, this strange, alien world. His mind was already focusing on the world he had left.

The trip down to the shuttle bay took a lot less time than he had anticipated. His gaze narrowed on where Trig was talking quietly with Jag, the commander of the Star Raider. Jag glanced his way, nodded, and returned his attention to Trig. Both men’s faces held an intense, grim expression.

“What is it?” Destin asked, glancing back and forth between both men.

“A Waxian starship was intercepted entering this part of the galaxy,” Jag stated.

“When?” Destin demanded.

“A few hours ago. There was a brief battle before it was destroyed,” Jag replied. “They are no match for our defenses.”

“It only takes one getting through to discover an area of weakness,” Destin said, glancing around the shuttle bay. “How many Waxian ships were there?”

“Just the one,” Jag replied. “It is not uncommon for them to travel alone and recklessly, but something feels wrong. There was very little resistance.”

“It proves they are a threat, though,” Trig added.

Destin nodded. “Where’s Sula?” he asked, glancing around again.

“She has already boarded the shuttle to go down,” Trig replied, turning to nod at the shuttle behind him. “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” Destin said, noticing that Jag’s attention was already redirected to another issue. “So, what happened with the Waxians?”

“A Waxian starship appeared near the planet you call Uranus. One of our patrols intercepted the ship when it came out of trans-galaxy acceleration. All our warnings to stand down for boarding were ignored. The Waxians on the ship opened fire on the patrol cruiser,” Trig stated.

“And there were no other ships?” Destin asked.

“No, and that is what worries me,” Trig replied, stepping up onto the platform.”

Destin stared after Trig for a moment, his eyes narrowing on the stiff shoulders of the Trivator. Trig had told him about what had happened to Dagger. He also knew what Taylor had gone through. There were a lot of things that he still didn’t know, but both events had deeply affected the man.

Sympathy for Trig swept through him. He remembered the feelings of helplessness when Kali had been captured and almost killed. Fortunately, his sister hadn’t been subjected to years of torture the way Dagger had. It amazed him that the other man was even remotely functional.

It was obvious from the little he had seen of Dagger that the man suffered from some form of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Destin had seen it over and over among their members fighting against Colbert. Hell, he knew he suffered from PTSD himself. He had quickly learned that each person handled the disorder differently. Only the person going through it knew how to handle the stress and the flashbacks. They needed to do it in their own way and at their own pace – without judgment or criticism.

He climbed the platform, stepping to the side to allow a few warriors carrying additional cargo to pass him before he headed through the narrow corridor toward the front. He paused at the entrance to the next section. Almost a dozen warriors were strapped into the rows of seats lining each side. His gaze narrowed on Sula.

She stood out like a glowing beacon among all the black clad warriors in her vivid dark red bodysuit and silver cover. Her feet were clad in a pair of matching red, knee high boots. A smile curved his lips when she absently tucked her feet under the seat when two large males passed by her. She was totally engrossed in whatever she was reading and hadn’t seen him yet.

“Is this seat taken?” Destin asked, grasping the handrail running above the seats and leaning on it.

Sula glanced up at him and raised an eyebrow. “Yes, I was saving it for a very special human,” she quipped.

Destin glanced around the cabin before turning his gaze back to her. “Looks like you’ll have to settle for me,” he said, turning and sitting down.

“Any time,” she murmured, leaning toward him.

“You two need to get a room,” Trig muttered when he walked past Sula and sat down on the seat next to her.

“I should have incinerated him like you suggested,” Sula retorted under her breath, sitting back and shooting Trig a cool glance.

“There’s still time… or maybe not,” Destin briefly chuckled before the shuttle began to vibrate. He quickly pulled the straps over his shoulders and connected the ends. A soft groan escaped him and he grabbed her hand before closing his eyes. “God, I hate space ships.”





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