Page 25 of Alien Mercenary's Wife
They reached the shuttle's cargo ramp, thundering up it.
"Red, time to go," T’Raal ordered. “Skinny, get us the fuck out of here!”
The machine gun fell silent as the woman stepped back into the shuttle. "Multiple air assets inbound. Time to disappear."
The ramp rose behind them as T’Raal set Reese on her feet. She clung to his shoulders, the deck vibrating underfoot, her left leg useless now that the damaged exo-leg wasn't providing mechanical assistance.
He wrapped his arm around her waist, holding her steady, and her pulse raced. Small gestures, she told herself. Professional courtesy between soldiers. Nothing more.
The shuttle lifted off with the aggressive acceleration of a pilot who understood that staying on the ground meant dying on the ground.
"Sprite's in orbit, ready for immediate departure," someone reported from the pilot's station.
T'Raal smiled down at her as he helped her settle into one of the jump seats, and that stomach-dropping sensation returned with interest. There was something in the way he looked at her—not pity, not charity, but something else entirely. Like she mattered.
Maybe that was enough.
For now.
7
The shuttle's engines wound down with a mechanical sigh as they settled onto the Sprite's cargo bay deck. Through the viewports, Reese caught glimpses of the larger ship's interior. Clean metal walls, overhead lighting, and signs written in an alien language she couldn’t read.
The cargo ramp lowered with a hydraulic hiss, revealing the Warborne ship's bay. Everything looked military-precise without the sterile coldness of government installations. This was a working ship owned by people who took pride in their equipment.
Reese tested her weight on both legs as she stood. The left exo-servo sparked ominously, sending a jolt of electricity up her thigh. She bit back a curse and took a careful step toward the ramp.
"Medical bay's this way," T'Raal said, moving beside her with that fluid grace that made her feel clumsy. Especially at the moment.
"I can manage." The words came out more defensive than she'd intended, but accepting help from strangers, especially attractive alien strangers who made her pulse spike in entirelyunprofessional ways, went against every survival instinct she'd developed.
The second step proved her wrong. The damaged servo seized completely, her leg buckling as pain exploded up her spine. She stumbled forward, a strangled cry escaping before she could bite it back.
"Draanthing stubborn females," T'Raal muttered as he swept her up before she could hit the deck plating.
"Put me down." The words came out breathier than she'd intended. The solid warmth of him surrounded her, the broad planes of his shoulders shifting under her arms as he adjusted his grip. "I can walk."
"No, you can't." His voice rumbled through his chest, vibrations she felt as much as heard. "And I'm not watching you fall on your face because you're too stubborn to accept help."
She should have been insulted. Should have been furious at the casual dismissal of her capabilities. Instead, she found herself cataloging details she had no business noticing. The way his arms held her steady without visible effort, the clean scent of weapon oil, and something purely masculine that made her want to breathe deeper. Dark stubble shadowed his jaw, and this close, she could see gold flecks scattered through his blue-green eyes, which were currently fixed on the corridor ahead with determined focus.
"I've been walking just fine for months," she argued.
"That was before someone put a sniper round through your equipment." His grip tightened slightly as they moved through the ship's corridors. "Equipment you needed to stay mobile."
The reminder of her limitations stung more than it should have. "I don't need you to carry me like some damsel in distress."
That earned her a snort of amusement. "Lady, anyone with aim that accurate is nobody's damsel. You're injured. There's a difference."
Heat that had nothing to do with embarrassment crawled up her neck. When was the last time someone had complimented her marksmanship instead of focusing on her disability? "You noticed that?"
"I notice everything." His eyes flicked down to meet hers for a heartbeat. "Especially when it involves keeping my people alive."
His people. Like she belonged here, like she was part of something instead of just a problem to be solved. The unfamiliar warmth that spread through her chest had nothing to do with being carried and everything to do with the matter-of-fact acceptance in his voice.
"Where are you taking me?" she asked, partly to distract herself from the way his thumb was unconsciously stroking against her ribs where he held her and partly because she wanted to know.
"Medical bay. My ship's medic needs to look at that leg, and probably run some scans on those implants." T'Raal navigated a corner with easy confidence. "Tal knows his business."
