strength. And, she thought with an inward smile, the gray fabric flattered her cream-colored hair.
She stuck her tongue out at herself and moved away from the mirror. It was just a uniform. Some fabric woven on a digiloom and stitched together by a sewing bot.
An unwelcome thought crept into her mind. Perhaps Kell had finished the debriefing long ago and chose not to see her. Perhaps, now that he was back in his home territory, he realized how foolish he’d been—treating a casual fuck like someone he truly cared about. She was a scavenger, after all, no longer a princess. Perhaps he hoped she would read the unspoken message in his absence, that he wanted her gone, and what they had shared was forgettable and momentary.
“To hell with that.” If he wanted her to quietly, meekly disappear, he was mistaken. Scavenger she may be, but she had pride too.
She marched from her quarters but stopped short of accosting the first 8th Wing ensign she saw. No need to broadcast to the whole base that she was looking for Kell. So she used her own internal guidance as she roamed the base, righteous fury pushing her on with every step.
Her strides halted on a catwalk when she heard Kell’s angry voice one story below her.
“I’m not giving you any more,” he snapped.
“But we still need to review the captured Wraith’s data collectors.” This, from an unknown voice.
Mara peered over the railing. She saw Kell standing in the open doorway of what appeared to be a conference room, with a group of 8th Wing senior officers gathered behind him. Seeing him again, muscular and lean, handsome beyond reckoning, she felt her heart contract, even after an absence of merely half a solar day. He was still dressed in his smuggler’s clothes, though they were torn and dirty. She realized abruptly that, while she had enjoyed a shower and rest after the long ordeal of the mission, he had not.
“And I’ll go over the damn data collectors.” He planted his hands on his hips. “Later. She doesn’t know anyone on base, doesn’t know where I am. I have to go to her.”
Me. He’s talking about me. So much for her anger. It shorted like a fuse, leaving her with energy that had no outlet. Speeches and declarations died on her lips. She could only manage one word, the most important word she knew.
“Kell.”
He spun around, quick as a whipstrike, and looked up at her. For a moment, she and Kell just stared at each other, him standing below, her on the catwalk a story above.
More officers’ voices sounded behind him, but he paid them no attention. Instead, holding her gaze with his own, Kell sprinted toward the catwalk. Her breath snagged as he leapt up, beautiful motion, dark and dangerous. He caught the bottom edge of the catwalk with his hands, then, arm muscles tightening and flexing, pulled himself up enough to grab the bars of the railing. Sinuous and quick, he vaulted over the rail to stand in front of her.
“Mara.”
His voice sounded raw, as if he’d been speaking nonstop for a long time. He stepped close, and she saw the strain of weariness in his face. He had been going solidly for over a day without a single moment’s respite—yet all he saw or cared about was her.
When he reached for her, she could not stop herself from going to him.
His arms surrounded her, holding her tightly against the warm, hard contours of his chest. She lost herself in his embrace, wrapping her arms around him as they pressed closely together. The hollowness inside her filled with his presence, his strength and soul.
“We can resume the debriefing tomorrow, Commander,” someone said below.
“Doesn’t look like they’ll be available for a few solar days,” another said wryly.
“Or weeks.”
Kell threaded his fingers with hers and stepped back. His gaze burned her. Without speaking, he led her away. Her heart pounded with every step as they moved quickly, purposefully through the base. She paid no attention to where they were going, seeing only him. Within moments, she found herself in a barracks corridor. And then she was inside his quarters.
His quarters were larger than hers, but just as impersonally utilitarian, scrupulously neat. No holoimages of friends or family. If she wanted to find indications of the inner man, she would not find them here. The absence of personal touches revealed only that he lived for his work. His quarters were not a haven, nor a