Stark Surrender

his throat to yawn, her bare breasts pressing into his chest. “I don’t remember any dreams tonight.”
    “That’s good, my Zaë.” It was good. The first week after the Indigon psychs at the exclusive clinic helped her get her memories back from the grip of the foul drugs she’d been given by slavers, she’d barely slept. She’d awakened several times a night, sometimes weeping, sometimes damp with sweat and her heart pounding as if she’d been running, often scared out of her mind.
    When Joran had asked her what she dreamed, she said it was like being trapped in a holovid, with people and places from her past, some good, some not so good, bearing her along with them at top speed, top volume. Her memories were returning with a vengeance.
    Luckily, that hyper-phase of her recovery seemed to be over. Joran prayed it was done for good. He’d rather be tortured by Ingoes than have his sweet, feisty immi suffer like that.
    She should be thinking only of happy things, such as decorating their new home, planning the gardens and patios and their upcoming wedding.
    All with her newly recovered parents’ help—or interference, whatever. The Bravelings had their daughter back and they were sticking close, staying here in the Adamant Lodge next door to Joran and Zaë. Luckily he liked them both, although her father could loosen up, and he was glad Zaë could be with them when he was busy taking the reins of his new career.
    “Why are you awake?” she mumbled into his bare shoulder.
    He dimmed the light again, so they were surrounded by sifting shadows.
    “Don’t know,” he answered.
    He did know why. He was worrying, about his older brother of all people. But his worries were nebulous, so he’d feel like a sniveling kid if he shared them.
    It was just that Logan had looked weird the last time Joran saw him. Tired, but also he’d had a strange look in his eyes. Blank ... no, not that exactly. But strange.
    And Joran himself had been so busy the next few weeks, he’d barely spoken to Logan. Busy reveling in his triumph over the slavers and the now-deposed commander of the InterGalactic Space Forces on Frontiera. Busy fucking his fiancé, and taking her to Indigo for treatment of the mental blight the slavers had visited on her. Busy planning the parameters of his new post as a sheriff here on this newly settled planet.
    Now Logan wasn’t answering the repeated messages Joran had sent. This was not like him.
    Of course Logan was occupied with his own new AquaTerraCon venture. But he still wouldn’t ignore his brothers. He’d watch over them, meddle in their lives until he drove them to threats of cutting him out of said lives, but he’d never ignore them.
    “You’re worried.” Zaë stroked his chest. “Please talk to me, Joran. That’s what couples do. They share their joys and their troubles. So far it’s been just me sharing my troubles, and you taking care of me. I want to take care of you, too.”
    He opened his mouth to tell her she could take care of him by moving just a little to the left and letting him inside her, to rock both of them into sweet forgetfulness. But luckily he swallowed these words, because his lady would not appreciate being treated like one of the camp followers who had preceded her in his life. A man could just fuck them, but he talked with his wife, before and after. And his Zaë was surprisingly wise at times. Maybe she could shed some light.
    He sighed as he stroked her silky ass. “I’m worried about Logan. He seems ... tired, out of sorts lately. And now I can’t reach him at all. He’s probably out on the frontier, sleeping in a tont with a bunch of scientists, but ...”
    “But with the new satcom system, you should be able to link him anywhere on Frontiera.”
    “Yeah. Well, I’ll talk to Creed in the morning, see if he’s heard from him.”
    “You could try Kiri,” she suggested.
    “Nah. They’re off.”
    She raised her brows delicately. “Even after he brought