“You’re quiet and it’s unsettling,” Theron huffs, kicking my chair once he sits in the captain’s seat. “I thought you’d enjoy escaping Breccan’s grumbling and at the very least be entertaining to me.”
I scowl at him. “You can’t force someone to be happy.”
“Why aren’t you happy? We’re on an adventure, Hadrian. Above the clouds, we’re free.” Theron is beaming and thrumming with wild energy.
“Do you ever get jealous of the other morts?” I ask, not meeting his curious stare.
“Always.”
I snap my eyes to meet his. “Really?”
“Absolutely. One day, I hope I’ll find a mate.”
“I don’t want to find a mate,” I growl. “I want Aria.”
His dark brows furl. “You know you can’t have Breccan’s mate. We’ve talked about this. Are you rekking mad?”
“Jareth and Sayer share Grace,” I argue. “Why can’t he share Aria with me?”
He lets out a ragged breath. “Hadrian, there’s a difference.”
“How?”
“Rekk, you really are young.”
I don’t remind him that four solars ago—when we embarked on this journey—I turned eighteen revolutions. In the hustle to get out and on this mission, no one remembered. Not Breccan. Not Aria. No one.
“I just don’t see the difference,” I mutter, already feeling defeated.
“Grace chose them both, but…”
He doesn’t have to say it.
But Aria didn’t choose me.
She chose Breccan and only Breccan.
The pain swells inside me.
“You can’t keep going on like this,” he says. “Wishing for something that will never happen. It’s not right.”
“I know,” I mutter, the words bitter on my tongue. Truth is, I don’t know. I can’t change the way I feel. I’m simply destined to ache for something I’ll never have.
“Oh,” Theron says, pulling something from his breast pocket. “I forgot to give this to you.” He tosses me a folded paper, and then swivels around in his chair so he can mess with some dials on the comms unit. The video screen is scrambled with white static.
I pick up the paper from my lap and unfold it. In our language, but Aria’s handwriting, I read the note.
Hadrian,
Look! I can write Mortuuan! Well, not really. Uvie is helping with this endeavor, but maybe one day I can do it on my own so I can teach Sokko and the others both English and Mortuuan. Anyway, I’m writing this to tell you happy birthday! Eighteen! I remember eighteen…I was drunk and it was terrible, but I got a new car, so that was fun. But I immediately wrecked it, so that was not fun. Thank God you don’t have alcohol here.
I digress…
The point of this letter is to let you know that I love you like the brother I never had. You’re the best uncle to Sokko, and you’re the best son to Breccan. What you’re doing for me and Molly by going to Exilium to look for my sister and Willow is beyond brave and admirable. You’re a good man, Hadrian. One day you’re going to make the right woman very happy.
I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday.
Name one of the stars in the sky for me.
Love,
Aria
I fold the letter and run my thumb claw over the top. She wrote a letter just for me. My heart races a little at that notion. But it’s once again clear she has no interest in me, comparing me to her family, not her mate.
My gaze travels to the brightest star above us. I silently name it Aria. The one next to it barely flickers. I name that one Hadrian.
“Warning,” a voice belts out from the comms. “You have breached protected air space.”
I sit up and jerk my nog toward the screen. Theron scrambles to mash buttons. A person wearing some sort of black mask fills the screen. It’s most definitely female, but muffled.
“Show your faces,” she orders.
Hadrian and I exchange a look before leaning in to take a closer look.
“More of the monsters,” she hisses to someone. Then, she practically growls at us. “Turn your vessel around if you want to live.”
“Listen, female,” Theron starts.
“No,” she snaps. “You listen, asshole. You’re to turn your ship around right now or I’ll have my friend blow you out of the sky.”
“We come in peace,” I try. “On a mission from my commander and his mate. We’re looking for her sister. Perhaps you could help us.”
Someone whispers to her nearby, but she waves the person off.
“Sister?” she asks, her brave tone wavering.
“Her name is Aria and—”
“Lyr, no!” the person off screen cries out.
The woman pulls off her mask and I’m struck dumb. The one staring at me is her. Aria. The one I love. My heart slams against my chest, aching to jump right through the screen to get to her.
“Aria?”
Theron whaps me. “No, you empty-nogged mortarekker! It’s Limerick! Her sister!”
“You know my sister?” she demands, her eyes flaring with anger and distrust.
Her lips. So full. So familiar.
“Like my friend here said, we have Aria at our facility and—”