Page 33 of Into Orbit
Its purpose was immediately recognisable. Most of the room was empty, its floor not the stone-like white that lined the ship’s corridors, but a springy green moss that felt like the Pod’s pliable chairs. There was no equipment, just objects that looked like weights to one side, and a wall of hanging bags that seemed suspiciously like giant seed pods.
The ship’s Third Guard, Adair, was pummelling one with strapped fists; he stopped when we walked in, his face taking on its habitual smirk.
‘Come to teach the human her place?’ he sneered, somehow managing to both leer at me and dismiss me in one impressive expression.
Adair was, as we would say on Earth, a dick.
Ashton ignored him. ‘Do you want to spar with me, or with a simulation?’
I was immediately curious about their training simulations, but answered truthfully. ‘You.’
He gave a sharp nod. ‘Here, then.’
He gestured to an inset on the moss-covered wall which held an array of fibrous bandages and some pots of salve. There was no protective gear – no headgear, no guards, no vests, and not a mouthguard in sight – but this seemed to be normal to Ashton, who wasted no time stroking the vines of his armour until the bark chest plate fell to the floor.
I swallowed.
Ashton was cut. Breathtakingly, intimidatingly cut. The kind of cut that would take a human man years of his life and several interesting – and possibly illegal – supplements to achieve. His white shirt didn’t hide much, clinging to every ridge and line of muscle in a way that had my throat closing over and my mouth growing dry.
Among other reactions my body was having.
The massive guard seemed to have zero awareness of the lust currently coursing through me; he strapped his hands with a determined expression, one he might wear into battle. When he was done, he turned to me, a bandage in hand.
‘Here,’ he said gruffly.
‘I can do it.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘I know you can,’ he answered, and waited.
The temptation to let him touch me was too great; I held out a hand.
At the first brush of his fingertips, the shock ran through me again; I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. It was as if my body had been asleep before it stepped aboard this ship and was finally waking up. I watched silently as he strapped my hand; I had to concentrate on staying upright when his fingertips brushed my wrist.
My wrist. Not anythingfun. My fuckingwrist.
When he finished one hand, he checked his work, trailing his fingers over my palm before taking up the other hand. I tried to steady my breathing as I prepared for a second round of torture.
‘Is all well?’ he asked innocently.
I bared my teeth. ‘Perfectly fine.’
‘Probably nerves,’ Adair said.
We both ignored him.
My fingers were curled, and Ashton straightened them gently. Like Elswyth, his skin was cooler than a human’s, but I liked it; I was much too hot, standing with the giant male in my personal space. He was surprisingly careful, his every touch soft and considered, as if I were made of something breakable.
Usually, I’d feel belittled by someone thinking I needed such a soft touch. But Ashton’s gentleness as he wrapped my hand didn’t feel like condescension.
It felt like respect.
‘How does that feel?’
I stared at him for a moment, wondering if Tirians could read minds, before I realised he meant the bandage. I cleared my throat and curled my fingers into loose fists. ‘Good.’
A slight green flush spread down from his thorn-lined cheekbones. He gave his signature terse nod. ‘Good,’ he repeated, and stepped back.
Adair leaned against a wall, his arms crossed, his face set in a sneer.
