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Her heart slammed again, this time with curiosity and a touch of wariness at the unknown.

The hallway her knight strode through was spacious, high-ceilinged, and elegant.

The materials were advanced, from ultra-light graphene paneling to a denser titanium composite with an internal shimmer, like starlight trapped in synth-alloy.

Every detail balanced between ruthless utility and quiet luxury.

They moved through a glass-walled corridor, passing a well-stocked, lethal-looking weapons bay.

Behind smoked crystal and violet glyphs, a tactical station blinked.

They retraced into a larger space, but by this time her head was whirling, lolling about on his shoulder.

The arms laid her down gently on what appeared to be a cushioned divan.

She felt fingers warm, firm, long, and lean on her nape, at the edge of her helmet.

It hissed, then popped free.

She gasped like she’d been drowning.

Cool, clean air hit her lungs, replacing the recycled, fear, and copper-tinted oxygen she’d been gulping.

She gasped and coughed, bile rising in her throat.

She clutched her stomach, rolled to the side of the divan, and heaved over the side.

Nothing left her mouth, yet she kept wheezing, blinded by the migraine blooming behind her eyes.

A glass of water appeared, and she grabbed it, drinking thirstily.

When done, a hand took the tumbler away.

She fell back on the cushions, her eyes closed, as she struggled for composure.

Silence fell.

Moments later, she dared to open her eyes, and there he stood.

She blinked, eyes hurting, but she persisted in taking a look.

She jolted, for he was a towering lycan in silhouette, with wolf-like features overlaid on the frame of a man.

He was sheathed in violet and gold energy bands, not-quite-flesh, not-quite-armor, spirit and matter entwined.

Flashes of lightning pulsed from him in rippling waves that resonated along the ship’s floor.

His head dipped low.

She should’ve recoiled, screamed, and questioned, but couldn’t move.

He brought his face near hers, eyes golden with amethyst flames, familiar yet at the same time foreign, fixed on hers.

‘Sleep,’ came the guttural growl.

The word wasn’t a command.

It was a force.