Read Online Beyond the Shadows by Jess Granger - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jess Granger
Ads: Link
of his ship.
“Yara, are you okay?” he asked.
“No,” she answered, letting him interpret that however he wanted.
He finally stood, pulling his heat with him as he lifted the overturned locker and cleared a path to the bed behind the pilot seat with several stiff sweeps of his foot. “Take off your shirt, clean off the blood in the cleanser, and then you need to rest.”
Yara pulled her aching body upright. The echoes of pain throbbed in her shoulder and ribs as she tenderly peeled her blood-soaked sleeve off her wounded arm. She struggled to get it over her head, but finally managed to get the ruined shirt off, leaving her in nothing but her support.
Cyrus’s eyes fixed on her cleavage. She scowled at him and covered it with her hand. “Do you mind?”
“Not at all.” His wit lacked its usual warmth and he turned away from her to clear off the other bed. She could see the frustration bunching in his shoulders.
Yara felt it, too. She stumbled into the small cleanser and fell to a seat. Resting her head in her hands, she enjoyed the feel of the warm air swirling around her. When the last of the sticky grime had lifted off her skin, she forced herself to stand and enter the living quarters again.
Cyrus sat on the edge of the bed nearest the pilot’s chair, the covers neatly turned down. “Come here,” he instructed, his voice clipped and cold. She was too exhausted to argue. It wouldn’t be much longer and she’d pass out to heal.
She eased onto the bed as he offered her a soft black shirt. “Thanks,” she murmured as she tried to pull it over her head, but she couldn’t lift her arm. Cyrus slid the warm material over her back and gently helped her ease her wounded arm into it. The cool reserve in his demeanor didn’t translate to his touch.
She fell back onto the soft pillows, while he tenderly pulled her boots off and tucked her legs under the covers.
With the rush of adrenaline gone and the pain still lingering, she felt empty and cold all of a sudden. Her thoughts felt scattered and sluggish, and a thick depression fell over her mind and body.
Cyrus pulled the blanket up. It didn’t smell like the other one had. It smelled warm and slightly musty, like salt and heat.
He smoothed the blanket near her hip.
“This is your bed, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged as if the answer didn’t mean anything to him, but the way he stroked the blanket said otherwise.
Yara relaxed her neck and let her heavy head sink deeper into the clean pillow. “It’s nice,” she offered.
“Thank you.”
She didn’t say anything for a long time, and he didn’t seem in a hurry to move either. The stillness of the ship and his presence were comforting as her mind tried to sort through the horror she’d just witnessed.
“Am I going to scar?” She tried to keep her eyes open but couldn’t. Her shoulder still throbbed, but the pain had lessened to a dull ache. The heat in her body felt like it was radiating out in waves. She couldn’t get the images of dying men out of her head. Their faces haunted her.
“Probably.” His voice sounded melodic in the peaceful quiet of the ship. She could hear the low hum of the systems, punctuated by a pip or chirp from Bug. Somehow she knew he wasn’t talking about her shoulder, but something much deeper.
“How many have you killed, Cyrus?” she asked.
He rose from the bed and retreated to the control center.
“Do you know?” she asked. Staring overhead, she tried to determine how many she had killed in the battle. Her memories were like a jumble of noise, visions of faces and blood.
“I know.” He answered with clear and simple conviction, and a note of melancholy that matched her dark mood. “Get some sleep, Yara.”
YARA WOKE TO THE GROWL OF HER STOMACH, FEELING HUNGRIER THAN SHE ever had in her life. She ran a sleepy hand through the front of her hair and looked around the room with bleary eyes.
It looked as it always had—immaculate. She
“Yara, are you okay?” he asked.
“No,” she answered, letting him interpret that however he wanted.
He finally stood, pulling his heat with him as he lifted the overturned locker and cleared a path to the bed behind the pilot seat with several stiff sweeps of his foot. “Take off your shirt, clean off the blood in the cleanser, and then you need to rest.”
Yara pulled her aching body upright. The echoes of pain throbbed in her shoulder and ribs as she tenderly peeled her blood-soaked sleeve off her wounded arm. She struggled to get it over her head, but finally managed to get the ruined shirt off, leaving her in nothing but her support.
Cyrus’s eyes fixed on her cleavage. She scowled at him and covered it with her hand. “Do you mind?”
“Not at all.” His wit lacked its usual warmth and he turned away from her to clear off the other bed. She could see the frustration bunching in his shoulders.
Yara felt it, too. She stumbled into the small cleanser and fell to a seat. Resting her head in her hands, she enjoyed the feel of the warm air swirling around her. When the last of the sticky grime had lifted off her skin, she forced herself to stand and enter the living quarters again.
Cyrus sat on the edge of the bed nearest the pilot’s chair, the covers neatly turned down. “Come here,” he instructed, his voice clipped and cold. She was too exhausted to argue. It wouldn’t be much longer and she’d pass out to heal.
She eased onto the bed as he offered her a soft black shirt. “Thanks,” she murmured as she tried to pull it over her head, but she couldn’t lift her arm. Cyrus slid the warm material over her back and gently helped her ease her wounded arm into it. The cool reserve in his demeanor didn’t translate to his touch.
She fell back onto the soft pillows, while he tenderly pulled her boots off and tucked her legs under the covers.
With the rush of adrenaline gone and the pain still lingering, she felt empty and cold all of a sudden. Her thoughts felt scattered and sluggish, and a thick depression fell over her mind and body.
Cyrus pulled the blanket up. It didn’t smell like the other one had. It smelled warm and slightly musty, like salt and heat.
He smoothed the blanket near her hip.
“This is your bed, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged as if the answer didn’t mean anything to him, but the way he stroked the blanket said otherwise.
Yara relaxed her neck and let her heavy head sink deeper into the clean pillow. “It’s nice,” she offered.
“Thank you.”
She didn’t say anything for a long time, and he didn’t seem in a hurry to move either. The stillness of the ship and his presence were comforting as her mind tried to sort through the horror she’d just witnessed.
“Am I going to scar?” She tried to keep her eyes open but couldn’t. Her shoulder still throbbed, but the pain had lessened to a dull ache. The heat in her body felt like it was radiating out in waves. She couldn’t get the images of dying men out of her head. Their faces haunted her.
“Probably.” His voice sounded melodic in the peaceful quiet of the ship. She could hear the low hum of the systems, punctuated by a pip or chirp from Bug. Somehow she knew he wasn’t talking about her shoulder, but something much deeper.
“How many have you killed, Cyrus?” she asked.
He rose from the bed and retreated to the control center.
“Do you know?” she asked. Staring overhead, she tried to determine how many she had killed in the battle. Her memories were like a jumble of noise, visions of faces and blood.
“I know.” He answered with clear and simple conviction, and a note of melancholy that matched her dark mood. “Get some sleep, Yara.”
YARA WOKE TO THE GROWL OF HER STOMACH, FEELING HUNGRIER THAN SHE ever had in her life. She ran a sleepy hand through the front of her hair and looked around the room with bleary eyes.
It looked as it always had—immaculate. She
Similar Books
