He had seen his hands on his shoulders, felt the curve and warmth of her, watched himself turn her around. She, of course, hadn’t recognized him. But she had stared up at him with a smirk, challenging him. He’d been unable to resist the challenge.

Five solar months had passed, yet the memory of her kiss hadn’t faded. She’d been hot, spiced and sweet, guarded at first and then, at careful coaxing, lushly responsive. Her kiss had lit something within him, a long-buried charge that exploded at the feel of her. The deepest hunger had ripped through him. Within moments, he’d wanted to drag her away from the dancers, learn every part of her and explore her body with his own.

The need had been so strong, it had alarmed him. He’d been unable to recognize himself. Not Lieutenant Nils Veit-Rigel Calder, author of five digitablet monographs about high-velocity guidance systems, who spent all his hours either in Engineering or in the training chambers.

He had felt himself transforming into something basic and instinctive, something radically different from the cautious, rational man he believed himself to be.

So he’d run.

But not far enough, because here he was, sitting in a small cockpit with Celene, and instead of feeling embarrassment about his past actions, he only wanted to do them all over again. Let them spin out to their natural conclusion—he and Celene, naked, their bodies fitted close as interlocking parts. No, that wasn’t right, for he couldn’t think of them as predictable, controllable machines. They were made of flesh and muscle and need.

“When you came into the briefing chamber a few solar days ago,” she said, staring at him, “we shook hands.”

“You’d prefer if I’d I pulled you into my arms? Kissed you until our uniforms burst into flames?” He raised a brow. “Not precisely protocol, especially in front of Admiral Gamlyn.”

“The Admiral has done ten combat tours. I’m sure she’s seen it all.”

“Not two officers making love on a briefing chamber table.”

She pursed her lips. “Pretty bold assertion. That one kiss would lead to making love.”

“We can test that hypothesis.” Another shock from his own mouth. Only a solar week earlier, he never would’ve spoken so boldly, or with such naked hunger. And yet the words came from him naturally now, coaxed forth by a new confidence. “Just a few minutes ago, we kissed again. No one was wearing a mask. It was only you and me, undisguised. Let’s try again, see where it leads us. What we learn about ourselves.”

Heat flared in her gaze, and her cheeks turned pink as a hanaflower. But then a look he would almost describe as apprehension crossed her face. She looked away.

“I…can’t.”

“Because I’m NerdWorks and you’re Black Wraith Squad.” His sudden anger startled him, but, damn it, he wanted to believe that he and Celene had moved past the designations keeping them frozen in place.

“That’s got nothing to do with it.”

“Illuminate me.”

“It’s…” She tried to speak, but nothing came out. Her hand curled into a fist, and she knocked it against the bulkhead. Then she spoke in a rush. “I’m scared, all right?”

He stared at her, shocked.

“It’s just…” She struggled, as if piecing together each word. “If this was just hero worship, it wouldn’t be so…unsettling.”

“It isn’t hero worship,” he said.

“That, I know how to deal with. But I see it in your gaze, the way you speak to me, the way you…kiss me.” Her voice roughened. “I’m more than Stainless Jur to you. I’m…a woman.”

He rubbed at his jaw, trying to digest this stunning revelation. “And that scares you.”

She laughed without humor. “What a damned joke—Stainless Jur always wanting someone to see her as a woman, and then when someone finally does…” Her gaze was bereft. “I don’t know what happens afterward. And that scares me too much to take the chance.”

He felt equally mystified. How could he reassure the strongest person he knew?

A trilling sound came from the tracking device, drawing his attention. As he silenced the tracking device, he felt the moment between him and Celene crumble away like so much stellar dust. He had nothing to grasp.

“We’ve found our traitor,” Nils said. Too much distance stood between them and Marek’s location to have visual confirmation. But Nils had calibrated the tracking device to alert them the moment the signal became fractionally stronger. At the least, it gave them an even more precise direction toward which to fly.

“How far out are we?” Celene leaned close, gaze fixed to the tracking device.

“Still difficult to know.” He forced his attention on the screen in front of him, yet her nearness threatened to throw him out of alignment.

“Hazard a guess.”

“Flying straight, a matter of solar hours. However, between us and our target are several of the regions Gabela advised us to avoid. We’ll have to fly around them.”

“Assuming the turncoat’s at the other end of this journey,” she said, grim, “I don’t care how long it takes to reach him.”

On that, Nils had to agree. With their target so close but millions of miles between them, conversation in the Phantom died. Tension filled the small ship. Whenever he glanced over at Celene, he saw her mouth compressed into a line, her hands tight on the controls.

Think of something to say. Anything to bridge the chasm between them. What she’d revealed to him, about her fear, her uncertainty… It took a lot of courage to admit that. And he admired her for it.

Instinct directed him now. She needed patience, distance. But not too much distance so that they lost sight of one another. She had to know that he was there, with no plans to leave.

“They kept it quiet.” He broke the silence. “Your being taken prisoner.”

She frowned. “Not like 8th Wing to keep personnel uninformed.”

“A few knew. Most didn’t. I didn’t.” And he was glad too. Had he known, he wouldn’t have slept or eaten until she’d been rescued. Gods, he would’ve volunteered to lead the extraction mission himself. Given his lack of combat experience, it was probably best that Commander Frayne and Mara Skiren had been the ones to go.

“Why wouldn’t Command tell anyone?”

He entered coordinates into the navigation system, allowing them to skirt the edge of a PRAXIS-heavy zone. “My guess: it would be bad for morale. If Stainless Jur could be captured, anything might happen.”

“My stock should have dropped after Kell and Mara brought me back.” Her mouth twisted cynically. “The fallen idol.”

“You were raised up even higher. Nothing you could’ve done to prevent the capture, and after Commander Frayne’s report circulated, everyone heard how you fought like a siyahwolf.”

“Wondered why I got an even wider berth than normal when I got back.” An echo of loneliness hollowed her gaze.

If he’d known… What? What might he have done? He wasn’t the same man he was three solar months ago. He wasn’t the same man he was since leaving the 8th Wing base.

“I went to work as soon as you returned,” he said. “All of my other duties, my assignments, I put them all aside so I could find whoever had done that to you.”

“Making sure it never happened to another Black Wraith pilot.”

“To ensure that you would be avenged.”

She stared at him, something like yearning in her gaze. Then it shuttered. At least now he knew why she shut him out. So he let the subject go. For now.

In silence, they continued to follow the tracking device, pushing through corners of the galaxy little traveled by 8th Wing. Unknown solar systems gleamed off their wings.

“Maybe PRAXIS is out here too,” he murmured to himself.

To his surprise, she answered. “Little surprise if they are. Their greed doesn’t stop.”

The megacorporation consumed the resources of every planetary system it could find, using them up like so much energy cells, and discarding them once they had sucked the planet dry. Leaving a wake of chaos. One could easily chart PRAXIS’s progress by the path of ruined worlds, peaceful, orderly places that degenerated into anarchy after PRAXIS had taken everything of value.

“Everyone in 8th Wing knows PRAXIS’s M.O.,” he said. “Not just training, but from firsthand experience.”

Celene nodded, likely thinking, as he did, of the pattern. PRAXIS approached a planet, offering technological advancement and plentiful employment in exchange for mining the world’s resources. Almost every planet welcomed them eagerly. And for a few solar cycles, life on the world did get better. More work, more wealth. But the moment PRAXIS decided the planet had nothing more to offer, they pulled out. And a world that had grown dependent on a single industry collapsed. Poverty. Crime. War. Entire global populations wiping themselves out.

If a planet declined PRAXIS’s generous offer, as many had tried to do when word spread about their tactics, they met the full brunt of PRAXIS’s military might. No world could match them. The moment a planet fell into PRAXIS’s crosshairs, it was doomed.

“They almost got my homeworld,” Celene said quietly. “But the 8th Wing beat them back, and we were safe. That’s when I decided to join. To protect other planets and solar systems who can’t protect themselves.”

The trouble was that PRAXIS was far bigger than the 8th Wing, and better equipped.

He stared at the glint of stars and planets shining in the distance. Even now, these places might be collapsing beneath the weight of PRAXIS’s crushing demands. Nothing he could do about it, however much he wished it otherwise.