Page 6

He needed to release her, not because of logic, not because of tactical necessity, but because holding her down any longer pressed too hard against needs he refused to name.

Containment had its place. But now, every second she stayed bound was a second he fought something older, more dangerous than simple authority.

His gaze flicked to the restraint mechanisms, then back to her face, considering. Trust was not part of his design. But neither was leaving unnecessary variables inplay.

His voice came, flat and absolute. “If I release you, you will follow my rules.”

She narrowed her eyes, watching him like she was trying to read not just his words but the reasoning behind them. “What rules?” Her voice lost some of its edge, turning cooler, more measured. Testing him now as much as defyinghim.

“First,” he said, voice steady as carved stone, “you will remain within designated quarters unless otherwise ordered. You will not attempt to access restricted areas. Those areas are locked for a reason. Some would kill you on entry. That includes the weapons hold, engine core, and nav systems hub. The airlock bay is also sealed. Breaching any of these would trigger automatic defense measures.”

Her mouth pressed into a line, then shifted into the barest trace of a smile, dry and thin, never touching her eyes. “Sounds fair. Wouldn’t want to trip into an airlock by accident.”

His gaze leveled on her, silent and unblinking, apause stretching until her smile faltered. He did not speak again until she looked away first. “Second. You will not tamper with ship systems or attempt communication with external networks.”

“I wouldn’t know how even if I wanted to,” she muttered, her tone edged with frustration. “Maybe on Earth, but not at this level. My master’s is in computer science, not... whatever class of ship this is.”

He ignored the unspoken question in her comment.

“Third. You will not make physical contact with me again.” His gaze flicked over her once, hard and unreadable.

His hand lifted just enough to brush two fingers against the upper curve of his shoulder near his collarbone, where her teeth had torn through skin and left a faint smear of dried blood.

The mark stood out against his dark skin, stark and inflamed. Her eyes followed, and he saw the moment she remembered—the subtle shift in her expression, tension drawing sharp across her frame like she wanted to flinch but forced herself still.

“I’m really sorry,” she began.

He cut her off. “That is non-negotiable.”

It was not the bite that demanded the rule, he privately conceded.

That mark was only the surface. It was the deeper pressure, the heat spiraling tighter inside him every moment she remained restrained and near.

Not tactical. Not logical. The craving was subtler than rage but twice as persistent, and holding her bound fed it like fuel to a fire he could not allow toburn.

Her chin lifted, steady and sharp. “Anything else?” Her voice carried an edge now, less fear, more challenge. As if she already knew he would have more to say and wanted him to know she would not break just from hearingit.

“Those are sufficient for now.” Riv’En said it without looking away from her, letting the burden of his stare fill the silence between them. He waited until she held it, until she gave him that last flicker of acknowledgment. Then, his hands moved to the restraints. “Agreement?”

She hesitated for a breath, then nodded. “Fine.”

The restraints disengaged with a quiet hiss. She sat up slowly, her movements wary, gaze flicking from the unlocked cuffs to Riv’En and back again. He didn’t step away. He didn’t offer help. He simply watched, arms folded across his chest, waiting to see if she would test him now that she wasfree.

But there was more to it than discipline.

His gaze tracked the slow stretch of her spine as she straightened, the subtle shift beneath the fabric as muscle and skin moved together.

The air around her carried more than just heat now, atension he could sense even without looking, asubtle shift in atmosphere that pressed against him like static waiting to spark.

Every urge in him wound tight, not just to counter a threat, but because that quiet, unspoken hunger had thickened between them again—substantial, undeniable. But she did not push. Notyet.

Instead, she stood carefully, brushing her palms down the thick, blue material encasing her thighs as if reclaiming her own skin. Her eyes flicked to him once, sharp and assessing, before she turned her attention to the room, scanning her surroundings now as if seeing them for the firsttime.

Riv’En said nothing, content to observe. It was the same way he watched an unfamiliar weapon being tested, or a new opponent assessing the boundaries of a fight. Her movements were measured. No panic. No wasted energy. That, more than anything, held his focus.

But it was not just her management that caught him.

It was the way her hand lingered against the nearest wall panel, the smooth slide of her fingertips leaving a trail his gaze refused to ignore.

The subtle shift of her narrow waist as she turned slightly, the quiet hitch in her breath that warned she sensed him watching and could not help reacting to it.

The scent of her threaded sharper now, more distinct than before, curling through the recycled air and into him like a low, slowburn.

He did not trust it. Not yet. But he respectedit.

She was not panicked prey. She was something else entirely. Something that pressed harder against him with every step shetook.

Without a word, Riv’En gestured toward the door, waiting until she stepped into line beside him before he moved. He kept his pace measured, not rushing her but not slowing either, leading her through the main corridor.

“Green panels indicate areas you may access,” he said, voice low but absolute.

“Red panels are restricted.” As they walked, he pointed them out: sleeping quarters, galley, basic hygiene stations.

Weapon storage and command access remained sealed under red lighting, the contrast unmistakable even to humaneyes.

She walked beside him in silence, but it was not passive. Her gaze flicked between the colored indicators, fingers brushing each green-panel door in brief, casual touches that seemed more habit than need. No lingering. No pauses. Just a silent test as she kept pace besidehim.

Riv’En tracked each movement, an exercise in restraint, because her touch lingered longer than necessary.

The way her palm hovered against the metal, fingers grazing the surface in brief, testing touches, it was not mere curiosity.

It was the same energy she carried in her gaze—focused, charged with something neither of them spoke aloud.

Not anymore. There was intent in it. Aquiet, simmering awareness neither of them voiced yet, but both reacted to. Testing. Memorizing.

“Green means safe,” she murmured under her breath, more to herself than tohim.

Riv’En caught the motion of her palm sliding along the cool metal, acaress that set his blood to a slower beat.

Her body moved with quiet assurance, her steps measured and silent, as if pacing through a challenge she had already accepted.

His gaze tracked the subtle command in her posture, not a sway or show, but a presence—calm, engrossed, aware of him.

He followed that shift automatically, tracking the quiet power in her frame instead of the rhythm of her stride.

She paused at one of the green-lit doors, letting her hand rest against it a second longer than necessary.

“And red means dead, Iguess.” Her tone was dry, but the way she looked over her shoulder at him was not.

It held awareness. Challenge wrapped in something subtler.

Something slower. Something intentional.

Her gaze swept down his frame once, just as his had done to her, and a flicker of heat twisted tighter in his blood.

It was not simply a look. It was testing, marking, cataloging in the same quiet way she touched the ship’s walls, like she could memorize him through observation alone.

And he let her. Not because it was tactical.

Because he wanted to see how long she would hold his eyes before looking away.

How long before she admitted there was no ignoring what now burned betweenthem.

Thank the gods for Rule #3: No touching.

Riv’En forced himself not to reply to her.

He did not need to. His silence was measured, letting her pick up on the pressure of it as much as his presence beside her.

Her body language changed with every step, the initial tension bleeding into a more cautious intent.

Aslower burn under her skin and his, winding tighter with every step shetook.

Her eyes shifted to him again before she moved on, aglint of heat catching in her gaze for a single beat before she dropped it.

No flare, no challenge. Just a flash of something harder to define—wariness mixed with interest, sharp and constrained.

The pulse of it pressed against his skin, aheat that should not have been possible from mere proximity.

As if her body was learning the same rhythm as his, step for step, breath for breath.

Riv’En tracked her in silence, his focus narrowing with each step she took. Whether she tested the ship’s boundaries or his mattered less than the fact that both were being pushed. And neither could afford to break first.