The woman studied him as he did her, one brow raised. He knew the gesture as a sign of inquiry or puzzlement, as he had observed during the annual Kinsman visits that were his sole previous contacts with humankind. Those occasions had provided him an imperfect mirror, for Kinsmen strove to suppress all that was not shaauri.
Yet he had grasped hungrily at each opportunity. He knew that this aho’va of Pegasus was attractive as humans reckoned such qualities. Her form was fit and muscular, her hips and breasts prominent, indications of female fertility and considered highly desirable among human males. Her facial features were even, lips full even by human standards, nose straight, eyes the vivid blue of a harvest sky over Ain’Kalevi-ja.
And her scent… it was unique and tantalizing, the natural odors of clean skin, pheromones, and elements beyond his ability to define.
“So,” she said, her voice throaty and resolute and much more musical than it had been over the comlink. “You are human after all.”
He ‘i, he was human. Why else would his body choose this moment to remember that it was male, and unselected—always ready for mating and very much aware that human females were receptive every day of the year?
He reined his hunger back under control. It wasn’t as if he had never been with a female of his species. Aho’Ain’Kalevi had granted that he, too, had such needs, and there were Kinswomen willing to lie with him on their annual visits. No children came of such matings, of course; he was not Kinsman. .
“I am human,” he said carefully. “Ronan.”
“I’m Captain Cynara D’Accorso, of Dharma and the Alliance ship Pegasus. You said you were a prisoner of the shaauri?”
“The only humans with shaauri are Kinsmen,” the tall ve’laik’i guard said. “Be cautious, Little Mother.”
D’Accorso cut the air with her hand. “Easy, Kord. He isn’t armed, and he did try to warn us about his pursuers. We agreed to grant him our hospitality.”
“For which I owe you thanks,” Ronan said formally. “The shaauri would not have allowed me to live.”
“And yet you said your name was VelKalevi,” the captain said, cocking her head to one side. “Isn’t that a Kinsman designation?”
“It is, Captain,” said a dark-skinned man of medium height who stood just behind her. “I thought that ‘Vel’ was the Voishaaur prefix for ‘adopted.'”
“I am not Kinsman,” Ronan said. “I have been a prisoner of the Kalevi since the age of six human years.”
“Yet you know Standard,” the man remarked. “Surely you—”
D’Accorso held up her hand, and the golden rings on her fingers glittered in the dim light. “There will be plenty of time for questions later, Scholar-Commander.” She stared into Ronan’s eyes. “I presume you are willing to answer any questions we may have, and that you have many of your own.”
“Yes, Captain.” He searched for the proper phrase. “I am at your service.”
“In that case,” she said, “I think it best if you retire to the infirmary with Dr. Zheng for a complete examination and an interval of rest.”
She smiled, and all at once Ronan understood why humans used the expression so freely. Captain D’Accorso’s smile illuminated her face like a full moon reflected in the Sea of Ancestors.
“I am in good health,” Ronan said, noting the sudden acceleration of his pulse. “My goal was to reach human space. Can you take me there?”
“Do you refer to the Concordat, or the Nine Worlds?” a new voice demanded. The man who entered the bridge was young and fit, dark-haired and of medium height, but it was not his physical attributes that triggered Ronan’s body to battle readiness. The newcomer’s carriage shouted both authority and hostility, though his shipsuit was as unadorned as the captain’s.
Here was an enemy. Ronan pressed his lips firmly over his teeth and held the other man’s gaze.
“Captain D’Accorso,” the stranger said, “I only now received report of this man’s boarding of the Pegasus. Why was I not informed?”
“Ser Janek,” she said, “you are an observer aboard this ship. I am not obligated to inform you of every decision.”