Page 14 of The Last Hunt

Maeve hadn’t replied. She’d fallen into a fitful sleep, the light of Jupiter bloody behind her closed eyes.

The next morning, she’d woken even further tangled up with Aethon. He had flipped over in his sleep, and she was pressed against him, one leg hooked over his hip. Their faces were inches away from each other and he had his hand on her back, anchoring her to him. He was awake, and his eyes were deep golden pools. She let out a shuddering breath and pushed against his chest, trying to put some distance between them.

“Pretty warm, hmm?” he’d said, his voice rough and deep from sleep. The sound of his voice had made her shudder slightly. Aethon in the morning was a dangerous creature. Pure want clawed under her skin. What was happening to her? She’d never allowed herself this close to him before. She hadn’t fully realized how attractive he was.

“You’re actually a little sweaty,” she snapped, pushing away from him.

He’d rolled his eyes and they’d both gotten up and tried to clean up in the tiny sink before they pulled their clothes back on. Once Maeve zipped up her jacket and leaned on the dash of the escape pod, she felt much more put together. She adjusted her Two Roses crest on her collar, watching as Aethon did the same to his. Her head hurt a little from her braid, but she could unbraid it and put it back up later.

Aethon glared at the dash of the pod and tucked his hand under his bandolier. There was hardly any information on the dash besides general location, a comm panel, and an indicator for various power levels.

“We’ll have to turn the heat down again if we want to conserve power,” he muttered.

“The more important thing is keeping our distress signal going,” Maeve replied. “Conserving power isn’t going to mean shit if no one hears us.”

“What did I say to you about being defeatist?” Aethon demanded, turning toward her.

“Fuck off, Aethon,” she growled.

They fought most of the day, but the bickering kept Maeve’s mind off their increasingly desperate situation. If no one found them within the week, the pod wouldn’t have enough power to sustain life support. They’d either freeze to death, or their bodies would slowly shut down due to lack of oxygen. Maeve wasn’t sure which prospect was less appealing.

That night, they’d stripped again and gotten under the blanket. Maeve couldn’t maintain her anger all the time. It was exhausting. She sighed heavily as Aethon adjusted himself into a more comfortable position. He lay on his back this time, and tucked a shirt under his head for a pillow.

“Come here,” he said. And Maeve hadn’t hesitated. She was so cold. And now that she was almost naked and her anger had faded, she realized how scared she was. They could very easily die here. Aethon threaded his arm beneath her head and Maeve had pressed herself against his side. She smoothed a hand up his chest. She found herself unconsciously memorizing his body. His chest had sparse hair, and the divot between his pecs wasn’t as severe when he was lying down. His jaw was hard and square, and he had stubble along it now that they’d been trapped for a few days. His lips, which were almost always spread wide with his signature, charming smile, or pulled back in a growl, were now soft. At rest, they curved down slightly. Maeve wanted to kiss him.

Without thinking, Maeve raised her hand and traced his lips gently with her fingertip. Aethon didn’t say anything. He just pulled her tighter against him. Deciding she didn’t really care to keep up her careful boundaries, Maeve continued her gentle exploration of his features. She traced his nose, long and angular, and smoothed a thumb over one eyebrow. She propped herself up on her elbow and looked down at him. He had a light spray of freckles across his face, and more across his shoulders and down his arms. His gaze was still that hard, golden one, but she could see his desire there. She was sure it mirrored the desire that heated her own blood. He wanted her. It felt good that this strong, charismatic man wanted her. Maeve felt like she could get drunk on the power of that feeling alone.

She raised a hand and threaded her fingers back through his dark hair. He leaned into her touch like a cat. She couldn’t help the smile that crossed her face at that. Aethon’s hand began stroking her back, up and down ever so gently.

“Chrissah,” he murmured.

Maeve had paused, her hand still in his hair. “What did you say?”

Aethon had given her a tired smile. “You heard me, Bladesy.”

His hand on her back smoothed all the way up, resting on the back of her neck. He massaged her there, her muscles loosening under his touch.

“Your Tellamari mother must not have told you what that word means,” Maeve murmured. She resumed stroking her hand through his hair.

“It means ‘little river’,” Aethon replied softly. “And I know what that means to Tellamari.”

He was calling her precious. Rare. Vital. It was what her father had always called her mother. Maeve’s breath caught in her chest.

“I think the lack of proper food might be getting to you, Trell,” she said, finally pulling her hand from his hair and resting it back on his chest.

“I’m perfectly in control of my mind and body,” Aethon replied, one brow arching up.

She’d patted his chest then and slid down, wanting to escape the intensity of his amber eyes. “Let’s go to sleep,” she said.

Aethon’s hand continued to massage her neck. Maeve listened to his heart beat until it lulled her to sleep.

The next morning they dressed and tried again and again to get their signal heard. They tried amplifying the call a dozen different ways, but they just ended up using more power. They snarled at each other, and through her haze of anger, Maeve wondered if Trell was just baiting her so that they would be angry instead of afraid. But as the day wore on and they both got tired earlier, fear began to creep back in. The lack of proper food was making her weak. Her stomach ached with hollowness.

Pressed together under their blanket, Maeve felt like the barriers between her and Aethon were crumbling even further.

“We’re not going to fucking die,” she murmured against his neck.

“Exactly,” he replied. “We’re going to fucking live.”