Treasured By the Alien Pirate by Celia Kyle Page 0,3

any heed, I keep marching straight ahead, only stopping once I’m standing in front of the medbay. Pressing the panel to the right of the entry, I wait as the doors slide apart to grant me access.

The white glow of the medbay is enough for me to narrow my eyes against the glare. I step inside cautiously, never too happy to be inside a room crammed with gauze, blood packets, serum injectors, and Kilgar knows what else. My gaze is immediately drawn to the bed surrounded by Solair, Varia, and a host of other people. A woman lies prone on top of it, but her posture isn’t that of someone in deep cryosleep. It’s tenser than it should be, and the expression on her face is one of pain.

“She doesn’t look too good,” I knit my eyebrows together as I take one step toward the bed.

“No shit,” Solair grumbles. Standing beside her, he’s looking down at the woman with a worried expression. “There was a power surge and the damn pod thawed too quickly. She woke, panicked, and now is in a coma.”

“Huh,” I mutter, not knowing what else to say. I have a lot of expertise when it comes to waging war, but not much when it comes to members of the gentler sex. Especially if they’re in a coma. Turning my attention back to Solair, I clear my throat. “You’re needed at the bridge.”

“What for?”

“Swipt and Montier are arguing about the nav charts,” I reply with a shrug. “Again.”

Frowning, Solair doesn’t look too happy about leaving the scene. Not that I’m surprised. He’s taken Varia as his mate and is probably concerned about her. After all, she just witnessed one of her own going through a difficult cryo experience.

“I’ll be there in a while,” he replies. “They can wait.” Walking to the pod, he fumbles with the electronic dashboard mounted on the side and then frowns once more. Whatever data he’s looking at, he’s not too pleased.

As Solair does his inspection, I turn around to see who else is in the medbay with me. There’s Varia, the tough leader of our new female crew mates, and another woman I don’t recognize. Then there’s…

Lamira.

The moment I lay eyes on her it feels as if invisible fingers squeeze my heart so tightly the damn thing might burst. My blood boils in my veins, and my thoughts spiral out of control.

Lamira.

“Are you okay?” She takes a couple of steps toward me and, placing both hands on her hips, meets my stare. “You’re going pale,” she continues, and the sound of her voice is enough for a knot to appear in my throat. I return her gaze, her smoky gray eyes luring me in, and I try and compose myself.

This has happened every single time I’m in her presence. From the very first moment we met, now, and every time in between.

My heart races. My palms sweat. My throat is unable to work.

I’ve tried to talk to her like a normal sapient being. I’ve tried to ignore her.

Nothing works.

My body tells me she’s my jalshagar. I’ve never felt like this before around anyone. I wouldn’t even know about what this felt like if I hadn’t unearthed some ancient religious texts taught to all Kilgari males when they first begin their education.

In a fit of pique last week, I loaned her my holovid projector. I had the intention of asking if she had ever watched Kilgari drama and, if not, if she would want to.

But my throat constricted after handing her my projector.

She took it as a gift… and watched Fenix Black music videos instead. I had thought Kilgari dramas with tales of males meeting their jalshagar would strike something in her—considering I was at a loss for what to do.

Instead the end result was her watching a scantily clad human pop star jumping around a stage.

A curse upon the Precursors...

“Grantian?”

“I’m fine,” I reply, even though that’s an absolute lie. Then, like a complete idiot, I point at myself with one thumb. “Always ready to rock.”

She giggles.

“I’ve heard you used to be a mercenary,” she continues in that curious tone of hers. I actually have to take a deep breath so I can focus on what she’s saying. What the hell’s wrong with me? Is my brain short-circuiting? “Is that some sort of goofy saying you learned?”

“My mercenary life was a lifetime ago.”

Thank the Precursors I’m able to get through a whole sentence.

My tone is clipped, if not rude, and I have to