Aurora Rising (The Aurora Cycle #1)(62)

Cat makes a face. “If you think I’m leaving my bra behind in this dump, you’re sorely mistaken.”

“There’s enough of mine to go around.”

“Touché.” Cat nods sadly.

“You ready for this, Kal?” I ask.

My Tank adjusts the ID badge around his neck and gives me a small bow.

“I am always ready,” he replies.

We turn toward the door, but Aurora’s voice stops us.

“Hey … wait …”

She looks at me as Kal and I turn back to her. Dragging her hand through her bone-white bangs, she chews her lip, looking for the words.

“Thanks,” she says, glancing about. “I know how weird this is. I know none of us really know what’s going on here. And I don’t like sitting on the bench while you risk your necks for me. So I want you to know … I appreciate it.”

I look around the room. Her thanks are met with a nod from Zila, a small smile from Fin. But I can tell Scar’s still uncertain about this girl. Cat barely gives her a glance. And Kal just stares.

I see Aurora’s shoulders slump a little. Her lips tighten, she looks at the floor. She probably didn’t expect everyone to be turning cartwheels, but still …

“You’re welcome,” I say.

She looks up at that. I pat her shoulder, a little awkward in the power armor. Cat’s eyes narrow a little, but Aurora manages a weak smile.

This can’t be easy for her. Two hundred years out of time. Everyone she knew, everything she had, gone. I don’t know many people who’d still be on their feet after that. But not only is she up and moving, she’s fighting too. Clawing for answers the only way she knows how. She’s got heart, this girl. Even without Admiral Adams’s message about our precious cargo, that counts for a lot with me.

“We’ll be fine, Auri,” I say, trying to calm her fears. “This is what we do. Just stick with Scar, we’ll see you back at Dariel’s place, all right?”

“… All right.”

“We are wasting time, sir,” Kal murmurs behind me, his voice cold.

“Yeah, okay,” I sigh.

I really need to talk to him about this girl.

I nod to Scar. She nods back.

“Be careful.”

And without another word, we’re gone.





17


    Kal




My jaw aches from the elbow I took in the bar yesterday.

My ribs are bruised where one of the Unbroken adepts kicked me, and I can feel the faint swelling of the knuckles in my left hand from a clumsy punch.

That was careless of you, the Enemy Within whispers.

Weak.

We are riding the elevator in our stolen tactical armor, preparing to infiltrate the World Ship’s security levels. It will not be easy, and my mind should be on the mission. But instead, I am thinking about the brawl with the Unbroken yesterday. The disdain in their eyes. Their blood on my knuckles.

I am not thinking about Aurora.

I focus on the pain as my father taught me. Those endless lessons in the Aen Suun—the Wave Way—drilled into me since the day I was born. I remember the two of us standing beneath the lias trees on Syldra before it burned. His hand on my arm, guiding my strikes. His voice in my ear. He was Warbreed like I am. Proud. Fearless. Peerless. But all his training and all his skill were worth nothing in the end.

And so I allow myself to feel the hurt.

The places I allowed my enemies to touch me.

Vowing they will never touch me again.

“You all right?”

I look across the turbolift at my Alpha as he speaks. Tyler Jones is watching me with those cool blue eyes, and I can feel his mind at work behind them. He is wondering how he ended up so close to the edge so quickly. He is wondering if there is any way out of this. And though he would deny it with every fiber of his being if I accused him of it, he is wondering if he can trust me.

I cannot blame him. He was quick to assist in the bar yesterday, but that was mere muscle memory—an Alpha stepping to the defense of a squad mate.

I wonder what he truly thinks of me in the dark and quiet hours.

I could see the pain in his eyes yesterday when he spoke of his father. Even Syldrathi know of the great Jericho Jones. A Terran Defense Force commander who slew thousands of my people in the war, then suddenly turned pacifist. He became the loudest voice in the Terran senate, arguing for peace between our peoples. It was Jericho Jones who brokered the first round of peace talks between Terra and Syldra. It was his negotiations that opened the way for the ceasefire in 2370.

And when the Starslayer and his Unbroken took advantage of the lull in hostilities to attack the Orion shipyards, Jericho Jones was among those who answered the call for reservists. He had not flown a fighter in thirteen years. He had two children waiting back on Terra for him to return.

And he did not.

I wonder how much of Tyler Jones blames me for that. I wonder if he looks at the glyf on my forehead and sees what everyone else sees.

Warbreed.

Betrayer.

Killer.

I’na Sai’nuit.

“I am fine, sir,” I reply. “I thank you for asking.”

Tyler licks his lip, the small split he earned in the brawl yesterday.

“Listen, I’m not sure how to bring this up,” he says. “And maybe it’s none of my concern. But you’re my Tank, and I’m responsible for you.”