Page 25 of Rebel Fates

“Um. The door opened.”

Rok paces, glaring at me, and it makes him look even more like a jackal. “We need to have another chat with Leva.”

“Who’sLeva?” I ask, not expecting an answer.

Serrat glances at his crew-mates, and it seems some decision has been made with just a look. “Our ship.”

“Your…ship?” I cross my arms defiantly, and then decide against it, because all it does is accentuate my breasts, putting them more on display. And I might just fall over since I’m still dizzy from the food poisoning. “Leva…your ship… opened my door?”

“Apparently.” Serrat looks strangely embarrassed. His angry gaze seems to soften. Maybe he realizes I know nothing, and I couldn’t be a spy from the Syndicate. “Leva is still young and doesn’t understand how things need to be. You are taking advantage of her, and that needs to stop.”

“Young?Understand?” I shake my head and sway from the vertigo. “What?”

“Our ships are alive and sentient,” Zeek explains. “Raised by crews once they are old enough to leave their mother.”

My eyes widen, thinking about the weird stuff I have noticed. “That makes sense… I guess.”

Rok glances down at the mess I made with a snarl. “Why did you eat Leva’s fuel?”

A growl escapes my throat, retaliating at his irritation with me. Where didthatcome from? I don’tgrowl. Then I sneer back at him, “I didn’t realize I was eating somefreakingsentient ship’s food, now did I?”

I feel the ship spin. But it’s me, not the ship. Serrat reaches out and catches me before I land in my sickness.

“There must be some fuel left in her system.” Rok waves Serrat to come with him.

In the med bay, I’m relieved when they don’t immobilize me by locking me onto the table. I curl up and clutch at my stomach.

Without warning, Rok jabs a needle into my upper arm.

“Shit! How big is that thing!”

It looks like it’s made for a horse. After glancing around, I realize, not a horse, but maybe for a lion or a bull.

“Relax,” Serrat commands. The way he says it makes me want to listen.

In my daze, I finally study their faces. They are handsome, even though they are strange-looking to my human eyes. Serrat’s feline quality is otherworldly, but he’s human enough where you might expect it to be just some movie-quality makeup. They are all wearing low-slung drawstring pants, and I can’t stop my eyes from following the V down to the hidden bulge. Their powerful chests and arms are on full display, and I try not to focus too much attention on that, either.

I have to get my oddly hyperactive libido in check.

“Why aren’t you locking me down to the table?” I ask, then cringe at my blunder. They may have forgotten, and I just reminded them.

“You are not a threat to us at the moment,” Serrat explains.

“Beg to differ,” Rok grumbles.

What does this guy have against me? At least, Serrat seems to want to protect his crew. Rok just seems like a jerk, for jerk’s sake.

My skin tingles where Serrat has touched me. I rub at it.

I’m curled up and shivering, scratching at my skin.

Rok leans closer, but I can tell it unnerves him to do so. “I expected bruising on her neck from when you choked her earlier, but look, it’s like her skin is molting. There’s already a fresh layer, a different color.”

“Molting?” I imagine I look like a snake shedding its skin.

“Why would that happen?” Zeek asks with genuine concern in his voice.

“Not sure,” Rok says, curious. “Does this happen to humans normally?”

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