Starflight (Starflight, #1)(59)
“Are you sure you’re strong enough for this?” Solara asked, her gaze averted as she nudged his duffel bag with the toe of her boot. “There’s no hurry.”
No hurry. That was what the crew kept telling him, but another week had passed, and Doran couldn’t stay here forever. The dizzy spells had subsided, and honestly, he’d felt fit for travel a while ago. But he couldn’t admit to that, so he deflected with a question of his own. “Are you sure you won’t come with me? It makes sense. We’re both going to the fringe.”
Yesterday he’d broken down and told her that his coordinates were located in the outer realm. His father wouldn’t approve, but Doran didn’t care. He trusted Solara, and he didn’t want to make the journey alone.
“Thanks, but they need me here.” She mumbled something about leaking coolant coils in the main engine. “Your ship probably runs like a gazelle.”
“What about the Daeva?”
She shrugged. “No matter what I do, I’m not safe. If I stay here, it’s the Daeva. If I go with you, it’s Demarkus and the Enforcers. Six one way, half a dozen the other.”
He couldn’t really argue with that.
“But,” she added, “I’ll shuttle you to your ship.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Doran told her. “Kane said he would.”
“I want to.” She finally peeked up at him, a hesitant grin sparkling in her eyes. “It’s only fitting. I’m the one who started you on this wild ride.”
“True. Did I ever thank you for that?”
She cocked her head in mock offense. “No, I don’t believe you did.”
“Not surprising,” he said. “I’m an * like that.” She rewarded him with a peal of laughter, and in that moment, he would’ve paid anything to bottle the sound. “Take this instead,” he added, handing over the fuel chip necklace. “Money’s more useful than words.”
“Won’t you need it?”
He shook his head. It was company policy to keep a sack of fuel chips inside all Spaulding-owned vessels. He would have more than enough to sustain him through this job and perhaps beyond. Solara fastened the leather cord behind her neck, then tucked the metal coins beneath her shirt. It made Doran think of something, and he smiled.
“I challenged Demarkus for you,” he said. “And now you’re wearing my token. You know what this means, right?”
She laughed again. “Look at me, jumping from one pirate husband to another.”
“What would the nuns say?”
“I won’t tell if you won’t.”
“It’s a deal.” He extended a hand to shake. “Our little secret.”
But when Solara slid her palm against his, it wasn’t enough.
Doran pulled her into an embrace and wrapped both arms around her shoulders, fully expecting her to pull back. She surprised him by locking both wrists at the base of his spine and resting a cheek on his chest, a reaction that pleased and shattered him in equal measure. Because now it would be twice as hard to walk away.
Long seconds ticked by, but her body felt so warm and soft that he resisted breaking the hug. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed human contact. So he buried his nose in the braids encircling her head and breathed in the lingering scent of oil vapors from the engine room, intoxicating when blended with her natural sweetness. He never imagined the combination could smell so good, and he wished he could bottle that, too.
In the end, she was the first to pull away.
“Ready?” she asked.
He hid his disappointment and slung his bag over one shoulder. Then he made his way through the Banshee, shaking hands and trading well wishes until there was no choice but to board the shuttle and head toward his destination.
They arrived at the ship’s hiding place far too quickly for Doran’s liking, a flat patch of onyx sand on the opposite side of Obsidian from the beaches, where an ancient salt ocean had long ago died and surrendered to the desert. No tourists ventured here. Nothing but jet-black dunes stretching for miles in every direction. He doubted that anything survived here at all.
He scanned the area and noticed a slight color variation in the sand, roughly the length of a small passenger craft. “There’s the ship,” he said, pointing. “It’s under a tarp.”
Solara nodded and landed nearby.
Once the thrusters died and they opened the shuttle doors, a scorching wall of heat slammed into them with the force of a tsunami. Wind danced over the arid landscape, offering no relief whatsoever. The air was so hot and devoid of moisture that it reminded Doran of aiming a blow-dryer at his face.
“So this is what hell looks like,” Solara observed, glancing this way and that. “Does your father always hide his ships in the desert?”
“Just this one. He insisted on it.” Doran found an edge of the tarp buried beneath the sand and began pulling it up. In seconds, the light task had him sweating like a linebacker. Solara helped, and before long, they had the ship uncovered. It was a sedan-class vessel, standard for the kind of traveling he’d done as an intern.
“Want me to stay awhile?” she asked. “I should at least make sure the engine starts.”
“No, that’s all right. I’ll radio you if I need help.”