Aurora Rising (The Aurora Cycle #1)(63)

“You are my Alpha. Ask what you will.”

“Auri,” he says. “Aurora.”

The sound of her name is like music. I actually feel my belly flutter, my skin prickle beneath the power armor I am wearing. I picture her eyes, pupils of bottomless black, one ringed in seventeen different shades of brown, the other encircled by a white as pale as starlight. I think of her lips, and I— “What’s the deal between you two?” Tyler asks.

A surge of sudden enmity roars through me. Territoriality. Aggression. I know that primal instinct has no place here and I fight it, as I have fought it since the moment I laid eyes on her in that cargo bay and she spoke words I will never forget.

“I’ve seen you before. …”

I blink hard. Focus my mind as my mother taught me.

“There is no deal between Aurora and I,” I say.

“You called her be’shmai,” Tyler replies. “In the bar before the fight.”

I feel the anger surging again. The war in my blood, entwined with the overwhelming desire of the Pull. The Enemy Within, whispering in my ear. Digging fingers into my spine. I stamp him down. Push him away. Clear my thoughts.

This conversation will not end well.

I clear my throat, keep my voice calm. “Sir, with all due respect, I believe you were correct. This is not your concern.”

“I don’t speak Syldrathi as well as Scar, but I know what ‘be’shmai’ means.”

A bitter smile curls my lips. “No, sir. You do not.”

“I’ve never heard of the Pull happening between a Syldrathi and a human before. Is that what’s happening here? Have you told Aurora?”

“No,” I say, horrified at the thought. “Of course not.”

“Look, I want you to know I respect you. I respect where you’re from. But if you’re going to lose your head at some critical moment because of some Syldrathi mating instinct, then I—”

“The Pull is no mere mating instinct,” I say, steel slipping into my voice. “And explaining it to a human would be like trying to describe the color of a rainbow to a blind man. You do not … you cannot understand.”

I swallow the steel. The taste of anger in my mouth.

“Sir,” I add.

“The Pull is usually reciprocal, right?” he asks, head tilted. “What happens—”

“You need not concern yourself.” I scowl, uncomfortable even discussing this with a Terran. “I assure you I have it under control.”

“You certainly lost it quick against those Unbroken yesterday.”

“I lost nothing. I knew exactly what I was doing. The violence was necessary.”

“Because they threatened Auri?”

“Because you spoke my name.”

He blinks at that. “What’s your name got to do with it?”

I fold my arms and say nothing, signaling that I wish the conversation to end. But Tyler Jones keeps at it, like a keddai on a corpse.

“Look, I know it can’t be easy, Kal. I know I can’t really understand it. But you need to understand how close to the edge we are here. We can’t afford these kinds of entanglements right now. I need you to keep a lid on it.”

“I might say the same about you. Sir.”

Tyler blinks. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I see the way Legionnaire Brannock looks at you.”

He bristles at that, standing a little taller. He still only comes up to my chin.

“That’s none of your business, Legionnaire.”

“I agree, sir. It is none of my business at all.”

We stand there in silence, electricity crackling between us. The thing I was raised to be is acutely aware of how easy it would be to reach out and break this human boy. But the man I try to be keeps his arms folded instead. His face expressionless. His pulse calm. The turbolift hisses to a halt, the door slides open with a small chime. Time stands still, and so do we, until the door starts to close.

My hand flashes out, holds it open.

“After you, sir.”

Tyler exits the lift after a few more moments of staring, tapping his uniglass as he goes. “Finian, this is Tyler, do you read?”

“Loud and clear, Goldenboy.”

“We’re on level seventy-one. Point us in the direction of the security hub.”

“On it. Shift changeover is in five minutes according to Dariel, so you wanna hustle if you’re going to get overlooked in the crush.”

We hurry down the halls at Finian’s direction, into a broad, open space. Dozens of other security crew in power armor matching ours are converging on the airlock of what looks to be an old Neltaarian cruiser, flashing their IDs at the guards on duty before being waved through. The hour is late—almost midnight shipboard time—and the guards on duty look both bored and tired.

A good combination.

A broad-shouldered Terran in front of us pushes his ID badge under the scanner, met with a flashing red light and an angry buzz. The guard on duty sighs and tells the Terran to run it again, only to be met with another angry beep.

“Piece of crap,” the guard says, kicking the scanner.

“In a hurry, boss,” Tyler says smoothly, waving his ID with his thumb over the photograph. “Meeting some ladies, and they don’t like to wait.”