Page 37 of The Last Hunt
“We can’t do this, Aethon,” she says, her voice trembling. “I want you, but -”
“I care for you,” he says. “Whatever happens or doesn’t happen between us - I want you to know that.”
“I’m leaving Two Roses,” Maeve replies bluntly. “We don’t have a future.”
Aethon nods and bites his bottom lip, searching her face. “Maybe not,” he replies. “But we have right now.”
Maeve can’t help but smile at him. “That was an irritatingly perfect thing to say.”
Aethon grins and leans forward, tilting his head to the side. “Sometimes I have a way with words,” he murmurs. She can see every freckle across his face. His lips are wide and inviting, and Maeve can’t resist. She meets him halfway, capturing his lips for a kiss that makes crimson warmth unfurl in her chest. God, he feels so good. He feels like -
“Chrissah,” he murmurs against her lips.
The word sends a jolt through Maeve’s chest. She pushes back and shakes her head. “You can’t call me that.” The pain of losing her parents feels particularly sharp to her right now.
“Why not?” he asks.
It seems as though Aethon has asked her that question a hundred times. And each time Maeve has told him that he doesn’t know what it truly means to Tellamari. But maybe he does understand what it means. Maybe to him, she is precious. Vital.
“That’s what my father called my mother,” Maeve whispers. She meets Aethon’s golden gaze and sees understanding there. To her mortification, Maeve feels tears brim in her eyes, and she swipes them away. She feels Aethon’s hand behind her head and she lets him pull her close. He tucks her against the uninjured side of his neck and wraps an arm around her.
“The gangs on Tellamar,” he says, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
“I was eighteen,” Maeve says by way of confirmation. Aethon’s arm tightens around her.
“Their names?” he asks, his voice low.
“Rian. Aoife,” Maeve whispers.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I understand.”
And because she knows he’s experienced something so similar, his simple words don’t feel trite to Maeve. Maeve doesn’t allow anyone to see her vulnerability - it can so easily be used as a weapon against her. But with Aethon - it’s almost as if she can’t help herself. She trusts him.
Maeve sighs and pushes herself up out of Aethon’s arms. She feels raw with emotion, scraped and bleeding. The night has taken a turn she didn’t anticipate.
“Maybe we should go to sleep,” Aethon says, one side of his mouth tilted up in a smile. “It’s been a long few days.”
Maeve nods. “That’s the smart thing to do.”
They take turns using the bathroom and then both get under the covers. Maeve turns the lights in her quarters off with a word, and then they’re lying there in the dark. The lights from the front of the Archer glow softly, lighting up the side of her door.
“Can I hold you?”
His voice is soft and hesitant. Without a word, Maeve pushes back so that her back is tucked against Aethon’s front. He slides a hand over her hip and down across her stomach, anchoring her to him. Maeve falls asleep with Aethon’s breath warm against her neck.
***
The next three days are a grind. Jump point, recharge, track Daik, decide on a new route, set the auto-nav, and jump again. The support struts of the Archer suffered some strain pulling the Menace out of the star's gravity well, but so far neither AI has thought the damage is enough to keep the ship from making jumps.
During the days, Maeve, Aethon, TAI, and CAL run through possibilities of what Daik might do, where he might go, and the best way to catch him. In some ways it reminds Maeve of the time she and Aethon spent on the escape pod - arguing all day about how to get their comm signal out. There’s some frustration and awkwardness between them, but they quickly become comfortable in each other’s company. Their camaraderie is surprising to her. Maeve is used to working alone, but Aethon is so easy to be around. He never tries to shove his opinions down her throat, but instead engages her in a discussion until they come to some kind of compromise.
Maeve tries to focus on the bounty, on tracking Daik, and on the fact that soon she’s going to leave Two Roses, but Aethon’s presence is distracting. He’s tall and gregarious. The warm, golden tension that was evident between them the first night on the Archer is rising again. Maeve finds herself watching the play of Aethon’s shoulder muscles beneath his shirt, watching as his hands skate across the controls of the dash. Imagining his hands on her.
After that first night when she allowed him to hold her, Maeve decided it would be a good idea to keep some distance between them. Nights have become torturous. She’s still sharing her bed with Aethon, and for the last two nights, she’s gotten hardly any sleep. She feels every shift of his body, hears every breath he takes. She sleeps a foot away from him on the bed, but it doesn’t help in the slightest. When she does manage to fall asleep, she dreams about him. About his wicked grin as he lowers his mouth to her breast. His talented fingers stroking, pinching, soothing. Her body screams at her to do something about the ache in her core. She wants to fling her leg over his hips and sink down onto him. She wants to dig her nails into his chest and mark up his body with her teeth.
“TAI, tell me the probability of Daik heading to Tri-Centauri now,” Aethon says.
It’s the third day of their hunt together now, and Maeve sits in her captain’s chair, worrying the inside of her cheek, trying not to watch the tendons in Aethon’s forearms flex as he leans on the dash.