Page 13 of Pact with the Alien Devil

He squeezed further into the bay, his body heat immediately noticeable in the confined space. His arm reached past me, large gray hand steadying the regulator housing.

I worked quickly, acutely aware of his proximity. The musky, metallic scent of him filled my nostrils. Despite the coolantsystem’s malfunction, the temperature seemed to rise several degrees.

“Almost done,” I muttered, more to myself than to him.

As I tightened the final bolt, the ship lurched slightly—a minor power fluctuation—sending me off-balance. I fell back against Korvan’s chest, solid as a wall behind me.

His free arm instinctively wrapped around my waist, steadying me. For one suspended moment, I was pressed against him, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against my back.

“Sorry,” I said, pulling away quickly. “Power fluctuation.”

“You should check the primary power coupling while we’re here,” he suggested, his arm lingering around me a moment longer than necessary, before withdrawing.

“It’s fine,” I said, my voice sharper than intended. “This is all we needed to fix.”

I finished securing the new regulator and closed the access panel. “Let’s get out of here.”

Backing out of the maintenance bay proved even more awkward than getting in. Korvan went first, his powerful frame somehow navigating the tight space with unexpected agility. I followed, passing him the toolbox before dropping down through the hatch.

Back in the corridor, I straightened my clothes and avoided eye contact.

“That should solve our cooling problem,” I said, all business. “We can get back on course.”

“Your hand is bleeding,” Korvan observed.

I glanced down. The cut on my finger had reopened, a thin line of red trailing across my palm. “It’s nothing.”

Before I could react, Korvan took my hand in his, turning it to examine the wound. His skin was surprisingly warm against mine, his touch unexpectedly gentle for hands so large and clearly designed for combat.

“You have a first aid kit?” he asked.

I pulled my hand away. “It’s a scratch. I’ve had worse paper cuts.”

Something flickered in his expression—amusement, perhaps. “Even small wounds get infected, Iria. Especially when working with ship systems as old as these.”

“Fine. There’s a kit in the galley.” I walked ahead of him, unsettled by the lingering sensation where his fingers had touched mine.

KORVAN

The blue light of hyperspace cast strange patterns on Iria’s face as she piloted theStarfall. Her fingers danced across the controls, each movement precise. I watched her from my seat, analyzing her technique.

She’d surprised me so far. Most smugglers I’d dealt with crumbled under pressure, but Iria maintained her composure even when faced with my direct threats. Her resourcefulness in fixing the cooling system proved she knew her craft inside out. These were useful traits in an asset.

An asset. That’s all she was supposed to be. A means to retrieve the research container. Nothing more.

Then why did I keep replaying our moment in the maintenance bay? The way her breath caught when I moved close. The warmth of her skin against mine. The subtle scent of engine oil, and something uniquely her.

I clenched my jaw. This distraction was unprofessional. Dangerous. I shifted in my seat, focusing on the mission parameters.

“We’ll arrive in ten minutes,” Iria said without looking at me. “You planning to tell me what we’re going to find there, or do I get to be surprised?”

“The outpost should be abandoned. We land, retrieve the container, leave. Simple.”

She shot me a skeptical look. “Right. Because jobs with you are always simple.”

“Expecting complications?”

“With mercenaries like the Black Spikes hanging around this sector? Always.” She tapped a gauge on her console. “Plus, you’re too quiet. You get this look when you’re anticipating trouble.”

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