don’t know what that means, but Earth’s out for you. You’re never going back. You are a citizen of Trion, and since you’re past your thirty days and your mate is dead, you are a widow. You will not be assigned another mate by the program.”
“I’ve been in space all of a day, as far as I can tell.”
He studied me, and when his fingers lifted to my jaw again, I had to clench my teeth to keep from leaning into the touch. It was as if my body was starving for any amount of comfort it could get. Not that I could blame myself. The last day and a half had been hell on a whole new level.
“How many hours were you on Trion? Before you transported here?”
I wasn’t sure, but Bertok said he had to wait to transport me again, so I wouldn’t get sick or die. So who knew? “Overnight maybe. A day? Maybe a bit longer. I don’t know for sure. I slept part of it.”
Isaak’s dark eyes filled with pity, and the sight made me angry all over again. Completely ruined the soft, warm touch of his fingertips on my jaw. And the thought that I mourned the loss at all made me twice as angry even before he opened his mouth.
“Gara, every hour on Trion is more than a day and a half out here.”
I paused because his words rang with finality. They were also what Warden Egara had said—the part of being a citizen of Trion—right before she’d had a machine jab an NPU behind my ear. As for being a widow, that wasn’t mentioned. The death of a mate within five minutes of transport by throat slice was probably a little depressing to tell bride volunteers. “Fine, I can’t go back to Earth. So what? I’m still going to Trion. I’ve got a score to settle.”
He looked me over again, and this time, I wanted to punch the smirk off his face. “You’re a tiny thing but ruthless.” He leaned in close, almost as if he couldn’t help himself. “I like that.”
“Yeah, don’t forget it.” I held his gaze, but I was having trouble getting enough air into my lungs. Why was he still touching me? Totally distracting. I shoved his hand away. “Don’t do that again. Don’t touch me.”
He frowned. “You’re not my prisoner. I helped you to escape. I’m not like them.”
I had managed to offend him at last. “We’ll see.”
“I would never force myself on a female. Never.”
His hands clenched into fists at his sides, and his eyes darkened to the point where I could no longer see the center. His skin flushed, and his pulse raced at the base of his neck. He was beyond angry.
“Good to know.” I meant it, but I wasn’t going to apologize for protecting myself. Nor was I going to give him a gold star because he believed in consent.
I believed him. He didn’t have to help me escape to harm me. He could have beaten me, raped me or knocked me out cold by now, if that’s what he wanted. But I had learned to read people, and everything about this guy—except the fact that he was an alien—told me I could trust him. At least for now.
“What?” he asked as I stared at him.
I waggled my finger toward his face. “All that handsomeness would be wasted if you were an asshole.”
A slow smile grew. “You think I’m handsome?”
“Well, you aren’t covered in scales or poison slime.”
He stiffened as if offended. “You have very low standards for a male.”
I grinned and enjoyed teasing him. I didn’t have the time or inclination to stroke his ego. He was hot. Like, rip his clothes off hot. But I didn’t know him. I didn’t know where I was. My mate was dead. I couldn’t go home. I had nothing. No one. Nada. So I focused on the one thing I did know. The one thing out here that made sense to me.
“If you know Bertok, then you’re from Trion.” I didn’t state it as a question. When he’d noticed the piercings on my breasts, he’d recognized them for what they were: a Trion adornment.
His eyes widened again as if I continued to surprise him. “Yes.”
“Great. Then you can take me back. Do you have a ship?” I looked around as if it were a car parked on a street.
His gaze narrowed.
That was a yes if I ever saw one. “So, you do have a ship.