Page 21 of Fifth (Intergalactic Warriors #5)
THE CHAMBER sealed around them with a soft hiss and caught Hannah’s reflection, held tight against Locus’s chest. Two nude figures in a clear cylinder made her tooseen.
As though hearing her silent concern, the glass clouded from the collarbones down, privacy lowering like a veil. The thin hum beneath her feet rose to a purr. Sterile light haloed everything, turning white into silver and shadows into softgray.
Warm mist unfurled from the ceiling. It kissed her scalp and slid down her spine.
Threads of sound skimmed skin and hair, teasing grit from pores, lifting sweat and fear as if both were dirt that could be rinsed away.
Her bruise faded while she watched. Purple drained to lavender, then to nothing.
Rope burns smoothed. Scrapes erased. The small cut on her lip sealed.
Her body looked like a memory of before, not the ledger of every hour since the slavers tookher.
Her hand lifted to her wrist out of habit. No roughness from her bindings met her fingers. Only new skin. She couldn’t tell if the relief or the grief in her throat was heavier.
“You are unmarked,” Locus said. “As it should be.”
His palm settled at the small of her back.
He didn’t step away when a second current warmed the air and turned the mist bright.
Asoft pressure touched the hollow behind her ear.
She flinched and caught herself as a click sounded under skin.
The translator woke with a crystalline chime that seemed to come from inside her head and then settled to a steady, nearly silenttone.
“Say something in your language,” she whispered, testing.
He tilted his head and obliged. “Do you understand me?”
She smiled, shaky but real. “Perfectly.”
“Good.”
A breath later another hiss grazed the base of her neck. Heat pulsed out through muscle and bone. The second pulse touched her hip. There was no sting. Only a bloom of warmth that dissolved like sugar in water.
“What are those?”
“Prophylaxis,” he said. “Antivirals. Antibacterials. Flora support. Your body will not be weakened by this world. Mine will not be weakened by yours.”
The mist thickened, then thinned. The hum softened to a throb she felt more than heard. She drew a deeper breath and tasted ozone, citrus, something like rain over hot stone. The chamber’s lights dimmed to a gentlerglow.
“How did Sixth know we hadn’t had sex?”
“He would have smelled it if we had,” Locus said simply.
Her head whipped toward him. “Your sense of smell is that acute?”
“Affirmative.”
She let that settle for a moment, then, “Do you think I’ll see them again?” she asked, voice quiet in the small space. “My family.”
His answer didn’t come fast. He never tossed empty comfort at her. He weighed, chose, and only then spoke. “Affirmative. If it can be done safely. Not today. Not without planning. But I will not tell you to kill hope.”
Her throat tightened. “One last time. If that is all I’m allowed.”
“You are not allowed only the least,” he said, firm. “You will be given what can be arranged.”
Her words trembled. “Then help me arrange it.” Her voice steadied at the end, firmed. The promise of a plan loosened a band around herribs.
“I will.” His answer was quiet and absolute. His palm pressed a fraction more at the small of her back, heat slipping through skin like aseal.
She hesitated, tasting the citrus from the tonic still on her tongue. “Locus?” She wanted his attention fully—his eyes, his steadiness—before she asked the thing that mattered.
“Affirmative.” He angled closer, shoulders blocking the world beyond the glass as if it were his to manage.
“What does a mate mean to you?” Her fingertips curled against his chest, braced for the shape of his truth.
His hand steadied at her back. He didn’t look away. “It means I carry what is heavy. Igo first into danger. Ibring water, food, heat, shelter. Ido not let you stand alone. It is not ownership. It is devotion and duty. It is care made real.”
Her mouth curved. “You skipped the poetry.”
“I did not learn with poetry,” he said, simple. “I learned with blood.”
She let out a breath that wanted to be a laugh and failed. “Okay.” She squared her shoulders. “Then tell me why you stopped in the shower.”
“Because it would have delayed us from joining Sixth,” he said at once. “It would have been disrespectful of his time. It wasn’t about you. It was about him. He will not be angry if we choose each other. He will simply ask if it was your choice.”
The answer slid through her guard, clean and uncomplicated. Relief loosened a stubborn knot she had not been able to untie by herself.
A warmer breath of air drifted over her body. Dryness chased moisture and left skin soft, faintly scented by whatever the mist had been. The glass brightened from the shoulders down and then cleared completely. The door unsealed and sighedopen.
Outside the cylinder, the med team waited at a measured distance.
No one reached for her. No one hurried her.
Locus’s presence made a wall without crowding her.
They walked side by side to platforms where sweeping arcs of light read bone and organ, mapped blood, and confirmed what the injections had begun.
Readouts spilled in clean glyphs along therim.
Her fingers flexed and the scanner answered with a cool pulse along her palms that made her nerves hum but didn’t sting.
The lead medic’s voice was calm, respectful.
“No quarantine. Cross-contact cleared. Translator fit confirmed. Minor warmth and fatigue are expected.” A tray hovered close, bearing two shallow cups beaded with condensation.
“Drink both.” Another tech offered soft garments and stepped back without turning his back on her, acourtesy like protection rather than surveillance.
Locus inclined his head once and the team dispersed to the edges of the room, giving them space and a quietpath.
Once dressed, they were released from the platforms and guided toward the corridor by a line of floor lights that bloomed ahead of their steps.
The hallway ran hushed and dim, shaped for tired bodies—low ceiling glow, doors breathing open and closed with a whisper.
Locus kept a half step between her and the world, not touching, still shielding.
The med staff fell away at the last junction.
Adoor recognized Locus’s bio-signature, sighed, and opened onto the chamber they had used before, afamiliar rectangle of soft light and quietair.
The private room was the same as before. She took comfort from the sameness. The door sealed softly, and quiet gathered like a blanket. Pale walls. Awide bed. Atable with two shallow cups and a covered bowl. The ceiling vent murmured a gentle current over her damphair.
She lifted one cup. The liquid tasted like flowers and heat.
The second tasted faintly sweet, like fruit that had never grown on Earth.
Locus waited until she finished both before he touched the bowl and offered it.
Pale paste and thin broth. She ate because he was right.
Her body needed fuel and apparently this gave her any nutrients the scans claimed she lacked.
They sat on the edge of the bed, hip to hip, his thigh warming hers through the clean ship-soft fabric. He didn’t crowd. He didn’t look away either. She was watched in a way that didn’t bruise. If anything, it steadiedher.
“I don’t want anyone making decisions for me,” she said when the bowl was empty. “Not about my body. Not about my life. Not about this.”
“Nothing will be decided for you,” he said. “I will ask. You will answer. Iwill ask again.”
Her pulse fluttered at her throat. “Ask.”
He held her gaze, unblinking, aquiet command and a question layered together. “Do you want me?”
“Yes.” It leaped out before she could soften it, heat rushing from chest to mouth. The word tasted clean on her tongue, like truth and courage.
“Say it again.” His jaw flexed once. Not impatience—containment. She picked up on the careful hold he kept on himself, the way he waited so she would hear her own certainty.
“I want you.” The second time settled heavier in her body. Want stitched to choice.
“Say it with your name for me.” His voice dropped a shade and his hand at her hip warmed, steady as a promise.
Awareness sparked under her skin where he touched her. “I want you, Locus.”
He breathed once, asmall exhale that sounded like a burden set down. “I hear you.”
He didn’t lunge. He didn’t rip or rush. He slid his hand into hers and hauled her higher onto his lap, setting her knees wide to bracket his hips. The headboard caught his broad back and the mattress dipped underthem.
His hands settled heavy at her hips, possessive without pressure, promising constraint if she wanted it and power if she asked.
His fingers slipped into the hair at the base of her skull and tugged, baring her throat.
He waited. She gave him a nod and a quiet yes.
His gold-tipped canines marked her there with a careful bite that made her knees tighten around his hips.
He breathed against the mark, arumble in his chest as if tasting victory and restraint atonce.
He kissed her once, closed mouth to closed mouth, then took her deeper, teeth grazing her lower lip in a question she answered by pressing in.
Heat opened with it. She tasted him and something that was this room and this moment and the relief of not being alone in her body burned through her.
Her fingers fisted in his top as if to hold that jolt of wanting.
He caught her wrist and turned it, mouth grazing the flutter there as he drew in a slow, greedy breath, scenting her like he meant to remember it forever.