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 place of retreat, only somewhere to sleep between missions. Home that wasn’t home, not truly.

Immediately, he pulled her close. She felt the tough, hard strength of him, and the warmth too.

“If anyone treated you poorly, tell me. I’ll have them thrown into the brig. After I beat them senseless.”

“I can’t fault 8th Wing for its hospitality. Not this time. Everyone acts like I’m some sort of hero.”

“They aren’t mistaken.”

“Only doing what I was obliged to do.”

“Now you’re mistaken.” He brushed his fingertips over her face, and she fought to keep her eyes open. “Don’t forget, Mara. I know you now. You handed the controls of the Arcadia over to Celene to stay with me. Nothing obligated about that.”

It had been exactly the right thing to do, an instinct she’d had to obey, yet she felt herself blush.

She could not have made her feelings more plain, not even if she had written and recited a thousand-stanza epospoem.

“Brash princess.” A corner of his mouth turned up. He glanced at her uniform, and his smile turned puzzled. Pleased, but puzzled. “They inducted you already?”

“This is borrowed glory.”

A flicker of disappointment in his dark eyes. “No. You make it shine.”

Ah, there went another piece of her heart. “I do flatter the uniform.”

“It doesn’t have to be borrowed.”

“Will they have me, then?”

“There are a few tests you will have to take, but I have every confidence that you’ll not only pass, but set new records. You aren’t the average cadet.”

She gave a wry laugh. “How many cadets have ‘exiled princess’ and ‘former scavenger’ on their credentials?”

He did not laugh. In fact, Mara had never seen him look so solemn, so focused. “Former scavenger.”

“I changed my life once before.” It amazed her that her voice did not quaver, yet she felt herself gathering strength. “It’s mine to change again.” She drew in a breath. “I’m ready to fight for more than myself.”

“The fight against PRAXIS isn’t easy,” he cautioned.

“Nothing worthwhile is easy. I’ve seen what PRAXIS does to worlds, to people. It has to stop,

and I want to help stop it. Are you trying to convince me to say no?”

In response, he kissed her. A demanding, assertive kiss that was also vivid with yearning. He cupped her head with his broad hands to claim better access to her mouth. Her body responded at once.

Kell kissed with every part of his being, as though nothing mattered more.

“I thought I knew fear. Living like an animal on Sayén. It was fear that kept me alive, that made me win every fight. But that fear was nothing compared to what I felt when I thought about you leaving.”

“Would you have let me go?”

He closed his eyes, as if the idea physically pained him. “It would have killed me. But, yes, I would have. Better that than cage you.”

“I can’t stay away from you, Kell. My heart won’t let me.”

“You don’t need to become 8th Wing to have me. Wherever you are, I’ll find a way to you.”

“I want everything,” she whispered. “To join the fight against PRAXIS, to believe in something beyond myself. And you. I want you.”

He was dark and bright as he gazed down at her. Intent. Hungry. “All that I am or ever will be is yours.”

Mara found herself falling back onto the bed with Kell coming down to lie partially atop her. His weight was welcome, needed. She indulged herself by running her hands all over his body. He was hers. This fighter was hers, his body and his heart. A gift she’d never expected.

He used his hands, too, caressing her as if committing her to memory. His touch was possessive but tender, and as he stroked her legs, her belly, her arms, radiance filled her, the twin suns of arousal and emotion. He palmed her breasts, and she writhed at his touch, yet it wasn’t enough.

“Too much between us.” His large hands unfastened her uniform, and he growled like a feral creature when the fabric parted, revealing that she was nude beneath her borrowed clothing.

“Do something for me.” He devoured her with his gaze.

“Anything.”

“Always have underwear on beneath your uniform.”

She raised her brows. “I would think you’d want me naked.”

“I do. Gods, I do. But,” he added as he ran his fingertips down the shallow valley between her breasts, “I could never concentrate on a mission, or anything else, knowing you were bare under your uniform.” He bent his head and licked a tight circle around her nipple, causing her to shudder with need.

“Don’t want to distract you.” She gasped, arching up.

“Distract me, Mara.” He licked her other nipple, then kissed his way up to her throat, his mouth hot and ravenous. “Distract me for the rest of my life.”

She started to pull at his clothing, but realization made her give a husky laugh. “Seems we switched roles. You’re dressed like a smuggler, and I’m 8th Wing.”

“We can be whoever we damn well want to be.” He glanced down at himself. “What I am for certain is filthy. I’ll shower and then join you.”

“We can shower together. Later. First, I need you.”

He wasted no more time on words, hungrily kissing her throat. She felt the sweet pain of his teeth on her neck.

“You like to bite me.”