Page 69 of Fated in A Time of War

His breath hitches above me. “You take me so well.”

We move together, bodies slick with sweat, hearts pounding in sync. I wrap my legs around him, pulling him deeper, faster. The stars above us blur.

And when I come, it’s like falling upward—white-hot and endless.

He follows with a roar, thrusting deep, his cock pulsing inside me as he spills himself with a shudder that rocks both our bodies.

When we finally still, he stays on top of me, holding himself up just enough not to crush me. His forehead rests against mine. Our breaths mingle.

“You’re not at war anymore,” I whisper.

“I know,” he answers, voice thick. “Because I’ve already won.”

CHAPTER 21

KRALL

Iwalk the edge of the camp as dawn drags itself up over the horizon like something wounded.

The light here’s always sickly—sulfur-yellow where it cuts through the haze, painting the broken skyline with the color of old bruises. The barricades creak in the wind, thin sheets of metal groaning like they already know they won’t hold.

This place isn’t defensible. Not really.

We’ve got no artillery. No air cover. No drones, no mechs, no automated turrets. The long-range comms are fried, and the short-range units sputter half the time. Most of the rifles have seen more decades than their owners, and half the ammunition’s so corroded I wouldn’t trust it to fire in the right direction. The perimeter wall’s just scavenged scraps hammered together by people who’ve never seen a real battlefield. There’s maybe forty able-bodied adults. Ten with any experience. Three with steady hands.

And we’ve got me.

I move slow, calculated. My steps stir up acrid dust that burns in my sinuses and coats my tongue with the taste of rust and old smoke. A kid runs by with a coil of barbed wire twice his height. He can’t be older than twelve. His face is hollowed out byhunger and sleeplessness, but his grip on that wire’s tight. Like it matters.

It does. Now it does.

The Kru are coming. And I’ve seen what they leave behind.

Alice walks beside me, matching my pace. Her eyes scan everything—skyline, shadows, people. She doesn’t talk much, not while we’re working. She just…moves.Efficient. Calm. Always a half step behind or ahead, like she knows where I’m going before I do. Her presence cuts through the sharp edges in my mind.

Soft where I’m sharp.

Calm where I’m storm.

“Too thin here,” I grunt, tapping a section of the western wall with a claw. The panel wobbles like paper. “If they hit from this side, it folds in seconds.”

“We’ve got spare plating from the old vehicle yard,” she says. “Reinforce the weak points, brace with rebar.”

I nod. “Make sure they anchor it deep. No point in steel if the supports crack.”

Alice waves over a couple of the bigger civilians—Anders and Rami, both strong enough to lift a truck axle between them—and starts issuing orders. I move on.

We’ve dug three trenches so far. They’re shallow, crude. But they’ll slow the first wave. Maybe. If the Kru send scouts ahead instead of just flattening us from orbit.

I stop at the north corner and crouch, inspecting one of the spike traps we set last night. Crude welded nails, metal shards, glass embedded in mud. Ugly. Brutal. Effective.

I can work with that.

Everything in my bones aches. The wound in my side pulls with every twist. I don’t let it slow me. Pain is a tool. Pain tells you where the limits are. Then dares you to break them.

Alice is back at my side before I stand. She doesn’t ask if I’m okay. That’s why I like her.

“You think this will hold?” she asks quietly.