Page 33 of The Last Hunt

Care

Aethon

“Would you mind if I showered before we do the bandage change?” Aethon asks. He follows Maeve into her room and glances over toward the bathroom. “We have a while to wait until the jump point. And I don’t know how long I slept, but I’m still exhausted.”

Maeve nods, her lips drawn tight. “Sure. I should shower as well and rest.”

Images of them sharing the shower immediately flood Aethon’s tired mind and he stifles a groan. This is getting out of hand. He needs to sleep and gather himself. Maeve has made it clear that she doesn’t want anything from him. Besides - she’s leaving Two Roses.

Aethon walks over to the bathroom, trying not to limp. “Thanks, I won’t take too long.”

Maeve shrugs. “Take your time. I’m going to clean up a bit.” She gestures to the rumpled bed. “Change the sheets.”

Aethon nods and closes the door. He leans heavily against the counter top and looks at himself in the small round mirror above the sink. He looks like shit. His hair is lank with dried sweat, his skin pale, his eyes shadowed. He knows he has a radiation burn under the bandage on his neck, and he doesn’t know if he should clean it in the shower or leave the bandage on. He decides to leave it on. Hot water directly on the burn is probably a bad idea.

He showers quickly, rinsing the sweat from his body and washing his hair. Getting clean feels so, so good, but the warm water makes him drowsy. He gets out and grabs a large, white towel from a rack. He’s surprised by Maeve’s quarters here on the Archer. At Two Roses, her rooms are sparse and utilitarian. But here, it’s like she’s allowed a softer part of her personality out. She has colorful pillows on her bed, a red scarf on her chair, a tapestry, and in her bathroom her towels are large and plush. She has lavender soap in the shower and a few higher end hair and skincare products. He had used the lavender soap, and the smell reminds him of Maeve.

Aethon dries off before tying the towel around his waist. His clothes stink with stale sweat and he can’t bring himself to put them back on. He hopes Maeve packed him some boxers too. The thought of her rummaging around his quarters on the Menace to pack him a bag is a strange one. He can’t picture her there. He examines his stubbled face in the mirror, but he feels too tired to shave, and he doesn’t have a razor anyway.

Aethon walks out of the bathroom to find Maeve sorting out medical supplies on top of her freshly made bed.

“Got a whole hospital here,” he remarks.

She turns and he sees her eyes get wide as she takes in his body. He feels a vain and ridiculous impulse to suck in his stomach and tense his muscles, but he refrains. Though something has relaxed between them now that they’ve decided to work together and made promises to each other, there’s still an undercurrent of tension.

Maeve swallows hard, flicks her eyes away from him and begins repacking the medical supplies. “Didn’t feel like putting those clothes back on?” she asks.

Aethon winces internally. “They need to be cleaned,” he replies.

Maeve points to the corner of her room. “You can open that panel there to access the washer.”

Aethon raises his brows. “Nice.” He walks over and opens a panel in the wall with a small, grooved handle. A washer and sonic dryer combo are behind it. He throws his clothes in and sets it to clean. He should really get one of these for the Menace. The thought of his ship makes panic curl in his chest. He’s never been without a ship before. But when he looks back at Maeve she gives him a soft, assessing look that calms him somehow. She beckons him over.

“Come here and sit,” she says. “I’ll change your bandage.” She gestures for him to sit on her bed.

Aethon obeys, arranging the towel carefully to keep himself covered.

Maeve steps forward and pulls her hair behind her shoulders. His eyes are level with her breasts, and that fact is suddenly all he can think about. She’s wearing a black tank top, and her necklace with the purple crystal rests just above her cleavage. He remembers how beautiful she was in Jupiter’s red light, and he wants nothing more than to appreciate her without the sense of dread they experienced in that escape pod. Aethon remembers how sensitive her breasts were, and how she liked to be touched. His cock stirs and he clenches his hands in his lap.

Maeve doesn’t seem to have noticed his tension, and she gently pushes his head to the side and begins pulling off the medical tape. Aethon winces, but she does it carefully and quickly, and it doesn’t hurt all that bad. Maeve takes the bandage off and tosses it in the trash. She sits down on the bed next to him, her face inches away from his as she examines his burn.

“How’s it look?” he asks, his voice a little choked.

“A bit better,” Maeve murmurs. She braces a hand on his shoulder. “I’m going to clean this again,” she says, looking him in the eyes. “It’s going to hurt.”

“What else is new,” Aethon replies. “Go ahead.”

Maeve cleans his burn and smears some kind of thick ointment on it before rebandaging it. It stings and burns, and at one point she touches a spot that’s so painful Aethon’s vision blurs and he clenches his teeth. But then she’s done. She adjusts the tape so that it’s not directly under his chin. As she finishes, she traces her fingers lightly along his jaw before pulling back. The touch surprises him, and he turns toward her. Her eyes are wide, and the green of her irises is like that of a sunlit forest on Freehail. Aethon wants her to keep touching him. Her hands on him felt like a miracle. The loss is a crater in his gut.

Aethon knows and respects all the reasons why Maeve didn’t want to be with him after the week in the escape pod. He feels like the fifth rule of Two Roses is tattooed into his brain. Besides, Maeve doesn’t even like him. Right? What they had during that week in the pod was pure desperation - a way to escape reality. But this between them now is all too real. They’re working together. And if he’s right and Dreadnought is involved with Daik Montrose, they’re heading straight into the maw of a beast. All the more reason to keep things between them strictly professional. Aethon knows all of that. But it doesn’t stop the feeling of heavy golden desire rising in his chest when he looks into Maeve’s eyes. He’s sure it’s probably wishful thinking, but he wonders if his feelings are reflected in her gaze.

“Done,” she murmurs. She gets up, but Aethon catches her wrist. She turns back to him, her brows furrowed. “What?”

Aethon lets her go, but she steps forward anyway. “I was going to apologize for grabbing you earlier,” he starts. “But then I just went and did it again. I’m sorry.” He looks up and Maeve is regarding him with curiosity. “I shouldn’t have touched you in anger.”

Maeve takes another step toward him. She edges forward so that she’s standing between his legs. The white towel isn’t much as far as clothing goes, and Aethon is now wishing he had dressed before Maeve helped him with his bandage. He could have at least put pants on. But he liked the way she looked at him too much and now he’s in trouble.

“I seem to remember that I threatened you right back,” Maeve says. She dances her fingers along his collarbone and Aethon sucks in a breath. “I put my knife right here,” she murmurs.