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“Mal’ik,” he managed out through clenched teeth as they got to the door and crested the ramp to the gangway.
Mal’ik squeezed his arm. “I’ll explain in a moment. Don’t—”
The ship exploded out from under them.
Chapter Six
Oliver’s feet left the ground. His arm ripped from Mal’ik’s grasp. He flew through the air, his ears ringing, his vision blurring. His stomach dropped out from his belly, and he scrambled and thrashed at nothing.
Then he hit the ground.
His breath left his body, but he didn’t black out.
He lay on the concrete, staring through the smoke and dust and the stars behind his own eyes at the hangar ceiling, gasping and gulping air into his lungs. A dark shape suddenly obscured his view, and he tried to yell and twist away, but a heavy hand dropped onto his shoulder.
“Oliver. It’s me. It’s Patrick. I’ve got you.”
Oliver stopped twisting as conscious thought retook hold of his brain. He scrambled up to sit, and Patrick let him go.
Oliver blinked a few times to clear his vision and saw Patrick’s broad back in front of him. The man stood in a low stance with his gatlung out and his head on a swivel. Black smoke billowed up from the hole where the front half of the ship had been, filling up the top of the hangar, and dust still eddied in the air. Large bits of debris lay scattered all around them. Oliver pushed to his feet, looking frantically for other people.
His eyes honed in on a large shape rushing toward them. Overwhelming relief flooded through his system. “Mal’ik!”
He started to run toward the klah’eel, but Patrick’s hand clamped down on his arm like a vice. “Wait.”
“What? Why?” Oliver twisted to look at Patrick, who ignored him to stare ahead at Mal’ik. Cold fear slipped into Oliver’s heart at the narrow, calculating look in Patrick’s eye. He tried to pull his arm back. “Let go.”
Instead, Patrick tightened his grip to bruising and yanked Oliver behind him. He swung his gatlung out to face Mal’ik. “That’s close enough.”
Mal’ik swung his own gatlung into his hand and kept striding toward them. “Let him go.”
“That’s close enough!”
Mal’ik snarled. “Let him go!”
“Stop, Mal’ik!” Desperation rang in Patrick’s voice.
Mal’ik halted.
They stared at each other from just out of range.
“What are you doing?” Oliver demanded, eyes snapping from one to the other. They both looked ready to kill. “Mal’ik—”
“Just hold on a second,” Patrick snapped, turning his head toward Oliver but keeping his eyes trained on Mal’ik. He licked his lips and grit his teeth, and Oliver saw his knuckles whiten on the handle of his weapon. “You know there’s nothing I can do here. I won’t put down my weapon.”
Mal’ik’s shoulders fell. “You’re right.” He tossed his gatlung out of reach, and it hit the ground with a loud clatter. Oliver gaped as Mal’ik dropped to his knees and then dropped his chin down to his chest. “Check me.”
Patrick let Oliver go and started toward Mal’ik.
“Don’t hurt him!” Oliver grabbed Patrick without thinking and yanked him back. He didn’t know what was happening, but he knew if he had to choose someone to trust, it was Mal’ik and not this man. Oliver wasn’t going to sit back and watch as he brought that nasty blade anywhere near Mal’ik.
“What—”
“Don’t fucking touch him.” Oliver grabbed Patrick’s armored vest and pulled and yanked, forcing himself between him and Mal’ik. Patrick tried to shove him off, but Oliver just grabbed the wrist of the arm he tried to shove him with and held on tight.
“Oliver!” Mal’ik’s deep voice and urgent tone cut through Oliver’s fight instinct, and Oliver froze, still white-knuckling Patrick’s wrist. “It’s okay. Let him go.”
Oliver tightened his grip and stared at Mal’ik still kneeling on the ground. He stared into those orange eyes, and they seemed confident. Confident enough for Oliver to slowly release Patrick’s arm back to him. Just as he let it go, though, he glared back up at Patrick and bared his teeth.
