The moment happened quickly. It happened slowly. He was aware of himself and Mara working in perfect accord, clearing out the threats, trusting one another. It was a dance—fluid motion,

synchronicity. It seemed, unexpectedly, the most intimate thing in the world, to fight alongside Mara.

Past the intersection, and both still alive. Now they only needed to sprint toward the hangar door ahead. Mara followed his unspoken command, and together they ran.

They were yards from the door when a new contingent of mercs appeared from around a nearby building, firing.

“Hold them off long enough for me to get us inside,” he shouted above the blasts.

“Done!”

Using his tech implants, he triggered the microbot he’d planted inside earlier. He helped her hold back the mercs, firing into the group, while simultaneously guiding the bot into the hangar’s defense system. The system was complex—clearly a heap of creds had been spent on getting the latest and most secure tech—but it took less than a second for him to breach it. A satisfying hiss and sizzle as the bot overrode the protocols.

The door slid open, and just in time. Fresh reinforcements joined the fray, adding a whole new barrage of plasma fire to an already tight situation.

Kell pushed her through the open door, stepped inside the hangar, and sealed the door shut behind them.

Gunfire met them inside too. He took out the two guards before either of them could fire another shot.

Red filmed his gaze when he saw the wound on her shoulder. “I’ll fucking kill them.”

“Nothing some Lulani rum can’t fix.” She scowled, though, when she noticed his blood darkening his pants. “Or maybe we both can kill those bastards.”

“Sounds satisfying. I’d rather just get us the hell out of here.”

“I like that flight plan.”

They jogged up to the Black Wraith. He used his implants to activate the ship. A hand-shaped indentation appeared in its side, and he placed his hand within it, synching his thoughts with the ship’s systems. He ran a quick diagnostic and was gratified to find that no one had been able to tamper with or breach the Black Wraith while it had been in the smuggler’s custody. Once, long ago, he had been disturbed by the idea of aligning his mind with a machine, becoming part of its matrix, just as it permeated his consciousness. But soon he had come to learn the process, even welcome it. Elegant and streamlined, without the divide between pilot and ship.

The hatch opened, revealing the narrow cockpit. Mara eyed the ship cautiously.

“Am I supposed to sit on your lap?”

He concentrated, and couldn’t help but smile when Mara gave a startled yelp. The ship responded to his mental commands, actually shifting and reconfiguring its interior. A process both liquid and mechanical as components altered, remade themselves. No longer did the ship seat just one person. At his directive, the Black Wraith could now accommodate a pilot and a gunner in a rotating turret, and all within a few seconds’ work, rather than losing days on making modifications.

“No wonder PRAXIS wants its claws on these ships” Mara reverently touched the ship’s hull.

He disengaged from the exterior control panel. The door to the hangar shook with the force of heavy plasma gunfire. It wouldn’t be long before the mercs breached the door.

Mara didn’t complain when he boosted her into the gunner’s position, then slid himself into the pilot’s seat. It felt familiar, exactly right. He hadn’t been in the cockpit of a Black Wraith in almost a week, and he missed it.

Before he grasped the controls, he drew his pistol and shot the security panel beside the wide hangar doors. They slid open, giving the ship a way out.

Almost as soon as the doors open, mercs came pouring in. He fitted his hands to the ship’s controls, and the cockpit and gunner position closed, sealing him and Mara within the Black Wraith’s protective shield. Plasma fire bounced off the ship’s exterior. But he had more than just plasma pistols and rifles.

He and Mara blasted the mercs with the Black Wraith’s guns. The controls of the turret were intuitive for someone as skilled as Mara, and the result was a pile of debris where mercs used to be.

But the damn slime kept coming. He saw mercs running for small, armed ships. It was going to be a fight the whole way.

“Buckled up?”

“All in.”

“Hold on to your balls, Skiren.”

They took off to the sound of her husky laughter.

Kell loved the pitch, deep in his gut, that arose from overcoming gravity’s hold. It didn’t matter if he was on patrol, training, or on a mission—the sensation of flight, of breaking free never stopped delighting him. Even now, with mercs on his tail and an energy storm to navigate, he savored the sense of forcing his way to freedom.

Mara felt the same. He heard it in her continued laugh as they shot into the sky.

“Damn. These Wraiths have a kick to them.”

“Best fucking propulsion systems in the galaxy.” He patted the control panel.

“No wonder you 8th Wing hotshots are so eager to fly them. A thrust like this is better than sex.”

“Better?”

“Close second. With one exception.”

He wanted to ask who that exception might be, but the mercs were closing in and the Black Wraith neared the bottom edge of the storm. The mercs fired. He avoided the pursuers’ blasts, guiding his ship in quick, tight evasive patterns.

“Gods.” He took a deep breath. “Feels good to fly again.”

“Feels good to be flown,” Mara replied, then cursed as she squeezed off several rounds at pursuing mercs. Two went down, but more kept coming. And only a handful turned around when they saw that Kell headed straight for the storm. The lure of profit overrode their sense of self-

preservation.

The ship bucked as it pierced the thick energy clouds. He engaged the filters and rode the storm.

What had been a painful, shuddering trek in Mara’s larger, less advanced scavenger ship felt far more sinuous and fluid in the Black Wraith. He had only to think where he needed his ship to be, and it slid perfectly into place.

But it wasn’t an easy glide. Lightning and plasma fire streaked around them as mercs kept up their pursuit. He did not flinch when a bolt of lightning struck a close-flying merc ship. Hunks of metal went everywhere as the ship tore apart. Mara cursed at the explosion, then cursed once more, this time in exultation, as more pursuers dropped back, daunted by the storm.

Two mercs jostled their ships into position ahead of the Black Wraith. Through his ship’s sensors, he noted that the mercs were powering up their magnetic tow nets. Clearly, they wanted to keep the Black Wraith intact so Gavra could try and sell it—and him and Mara.

Like hell.

He timed it exactly. He saw the coalescing energy that presaged a lightning strike, and guided the ship close. Pushing the mercs right where he wanted them to be.

A boom as lightning obliterated one merc ship. Mara’s gunfire from the turret took care of the other.

The mercs that remained finally grew some brains. They peeled off in retreat.

Mara shouted her jubilation. “If we had time, I’d kiss you.”

His blood, already hot from the thrill of combat, turned incendiary at her casually thrown words.

It was primitive and brutal, his need. They had fought together, fought well, and now his body demanded that he claim her. Now. But that was impossible. He had to get them through the storm,

through the Smoke Quadrant, Ilden’s Lash, and then make it back the rest of the way to base. Danger at every stage. No time for giving in to his hunger for her.

And the Black Wraith was advanced, but not advanced enough to suddenly accommodate two people making love in the cockpit.

For the first time Kell cursed his ship.

He piloted the Black Wraith through the remainder of the storm, riding the tempest’s swells and pulses. Abruptly, the thick clouds gave way. The ship broke through to the dark quiet of space.

The Arcadia waited for them.

“Gods, I wasn’t sure I would see you two again,” Celene said over the comm.

“Don’t insult me,” Kell replied.

“I forgot my rescuer was the indestructible Commander Frayne.”

“With help,” Mara added. “How’s my baby?” Concern threaded her voice.

“She took the storm like a champion slange wrestler. No damage to the hull.”

Mara let out a sigh of relief. “Thanks for taking care of her.”

“A friend of Kell’s…”

Friend. He wondered if Mara considered herself his friend. Gods knew, he thought of her as that, and more. He didn’t just desire Mara. He admired her. Liked her. He wondered if what she felt for him was strong enough, if she could alter her flight plan to bring him into her life.

He couldn’t consider any of this. Not until he’d gotten everyone safely back to base. Only then could he allow himself to think about the future.

As they flew in a two-ship convoy, Celene told them over the comm about her capture and confinement.

“It was my own fault.” Harsh self-recrimination edged her voice. “I was tricked by a false distress call, and when I got close, the pirates used some variety of electro-pulse device on me. It knocked my ship’s systems off line, temporarily disabling it, and that’s when the…ambush happened.”

There was more to her story. He heard it in her minute hesitation. Something had happened to her during her captivity, but he knew Celene well enough to understand than now wasn’t the time to delve deeper.

He stuck to the details she had offered. “8th Wing hasn’t heard anything about an electro-pulse device. Not one that could temporarily disable a Black Wraith.” He frowned, troubled by the idea. A squad of Black Wraiths could be taken out of commission in a moment, leaving a dozen vulnerable pilots floating in space. They, and their ships, would be fair game, just as Celene had been.

“Where did it come from?” asked Mara.

“Ask the gods.” Celene couldn’t keep the bitterness from her voice. “Whoever built it, 8th Wing needs to hear about it. Maybe track down its origin. I know I’ll fly easier once that thing is out of the equation.”

“Agreed.” Kell held the controls tighter. The Black Wraiths were one of the few assets 8th Wing had in the ongoing war with PRAXIS, and they needed to hang on to every advantage.

Spotting the telltale red glow of Ilden’s Lash, he added, “The plasma storm was the undercard.

Ready for the title fight?”

Mara chuckled as Celene’s cursing filtered over the comm. “I didn’t have to navigate that on my way in.”

“Want me to take over for you?” Mara clearly wanted her ship back.

“Not a chance,” Celene answered. “I might enjoy this.” She cut the comm line.

“Damn Black Wraith hotshots,” Mara grumbled. “A bunch of danger-loving lunatics.”

“You’d fit right in.” It made a strange kind of sense. She had the flying skill, the courage, and, yes, some of the recklessness that made for an ace pilot.

Mara, fighting beside him. Flying beside him. Visualizing it, he felt a sharp, brilliant contraction in his chest.

Did she even have a choice? The life she knew was over—every smuggler and scavenger would soon know that she had fought on the side of the 8th Wing. She would be hunted through the galaxy, an outcast. Again. Because of him.

He cursed the fact that he couldn’t see Mara’s face, wondering what her reaction might be.

Anger? Derision? Flat-out rejection?

Finally, she laughed. The sound was hard, forced. “8th Wing standards would have to be lowered to let in a scavenger like me.”

Gods, she really had no idea of her worth.

“Raised, not lowered. They’d be damn lucky to have you.” I would be lucky to have you. “And, Mara, it was over between Celene and me a long time ago.”

He was actually grateful to enter the hazards of Ilden’s Lash, demanding his full attention. In this round, he finally had the controls, and it was a hell of a lot more interesting than being a passive passenger. Light and nimble, the Black Wraith slipped through the gaps between the protoplanets. It felt as natural as breathing, as quick as life, and Kell couldn’t keep the smile off his face.

“Black Wraith Squad should use Ilden’s Lash for training.” He slid the ship through a narrow passage. Molten rock ribboned around the wings like streamers of fire.