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A board the Aetherial Arrow

En route to Aetherial

The corridors of the Aetherial Arrow pulsed with activity and the ship’s core pulsed through the metal walls, a smooth, rhythmic vibration Mei had grown accustomed to since her time on the Gliese . The soft glow of recessed lighting cast elongated shadows as she stood outside Dorane’s personal quarters, hands folded together, staring at the smooth panel of the door as if willing it to give her the answers she needed.

Dorane had been avoiding her. She knew it; he knew it. Ash was driving her crazy with knowing it, and he wasn’t even on the same ship! He and Kella were following her starship.

Ever since they had left Cryon II almost twenty-four hours ago, Dorane had made himself scarce, keeping to the bridge or locking himself away in his cabin under the pretense of ‘important preparations’. She wasn’t buying it. Not for a second.

The silence had become unbearable as she replayed their passionate kiss over and over in her head. She had never been one to shy away from a challenge, but Dorane was making it extremely difficult.

After spending an hour tossing and turning in the bed in her cabin, she had finally given up, dressed, and cursed her way across the hall to his door.

I swear he put me this close to help drive me crazy!

Now here she was, loitering outside his room, like some kind of nervous, lovesick fool, trying to decide if knocking was the best course of action—or if she should simply return to her cabin for another restless night’s sleep and pretend she hadn’t been debating this for the past hour.

You should knock. You felt his response. He likes you.

Her fingers twitched at her side. She raised her arm, curling her fingers to knock on the door, before she dropped her arm back to her side in indecision again.

What if he doesn’t? How can I know that he doesn’t respond to every woman who kisses him like that? Okay, if he responds like that to other women, I’ll just have to kill his ass, she savagely thought as a wave of jealousy flashed through her.

No, you won’t.

Well, maybe I’ll just ? —

A soft groan slipped from her and she bowed her head. What was she doing? I should turn around and go back to my cabin. Dorane will get over it… eventually. This was good. You’ve probably driven him so far away he won’t ever want to talk to you again. You don’t need this kind of distraction.

But I do want it. That’s the problem. I want it very, very badly, she moaned in self-disgust.

Then maybe I shouldn’t have used him to piss Zoak off.

She exhaled sharply as she thought about what she had done. She had made a calculated decision back on Cryon II. Well, a partially calculated decision. The kiss hadn’t been a part of her original plan.

She hadn’t expected Dorane to react so strongly—to both her kiss and to her comment about Zoak. She didn’t regret what she had done. If given the chance, she’d do it again.

But did I have to kiss him like that?

She closed her eyes, groaning softly.

Yes. Yes, I did. It was a damn good, curling-toes kind of kiss.

Her pulse quickened at the memory. The taste of him, the way his hands had locked around her waist, the way his breath had shuddered against her lips before he pulled her deeper, devouring her like a man starved.

A shiver ran down her spine.

Alright, fine. Maybe she had enjoyed it a little more than she should have considering the location and the fact that a Turbinta assassin, along with about another hundred people, were getting an eyeful. She had never been one to display her emotions, much less do it in public.

Just… knock on the damn door.

She could almost see Sergi’s incredulous expression at her indecision. He would be thoroughly enjoying this moment at her expense and would tease her to no end.

Mei took a deep breath, channeled her inner determination, curled her fingers again into a loose fist and lifted her hand to knock.

Bad idea. Bad, bad idea.

“Just talk to him,” she muttered under her breath. “Apologize. Explain that you weren’t using him?—”

Before she could second-guess herself again, the door slid open. Mei startled with a squeak, her mouth parting as Dorane’s broad form filled the threshold. He leaned against the frame, arms crossed over his chest, hazel eyes unreadable as he studied her.

Mei stared back at him, unaware of the longing and uncertainty reflected in her eyes. She swallowed as the silence between them grew. His presence was commanding, his posture deceptively relaxed, but there was something simmering beneath the surface.

Something intense.

Something hungry.

The scent of him—a mix of worn leather, spice, and something uniquely Dorane—hit her senses all at once. She was momentarily speechless, her carefully thought-out words vanishing into thin air.

Dorane raised a single brow. “Are you planning to talk, or should I leave you to argue with yourself a little longer?”

Mei scowled. “I wasn’t arguing with myself.”

His lips twitched. She scowled when he flicked a finger upward. She followed the motion, realizing that he had been watching her the entire time.

“Smartass. You probably enjoyed that,” she muttered.

He didn’t say anything, just turned and walked back into his quarters, leaving the door open in silent invitation. She hesitated only for a fraction of a second before following him inside. The door hissed shut behind her.

Dorane’s personal cabin was a perfect reflection of him—structured but not sterile, refined but lived-in. It was a far cry from the tethered bunks on the Gliese, her makeshift bed on the freighter, or the narrow cot that she slept on in Yi’s compact apartment.

The walls were lined with dark, textured steel, softened by deep, warm lighting that cast long, golden hues over the room’s furnishings. The main living space was dominated by a low, sleek table surrounded by two leather chairs, positioned in front of a massive viewport showcasing the vast expanse of space.

Decorating the walls was a collection of rare artifacts and weapons, some haphazardly acquired— through theft, undoubtedly—others carefully chosen. A Gallant Staff rested in a secure glass case near the entrance, a quiet testament to his heritage.

And then there was the bed.

Large. Built for comfort. Its black sheets slightly rumpled, as if he had been tossing and turning before she arrived.

Mei’s stomach tightened.

Dorane moved to the sideboard, reaching for a decanter of dark amber liquid. “Drink?”

Her mouth opened—then closed. Her gaze flickered to the bed, then back to him. Her heartbeat thundered in her chest.

What came out next was completely unfiltered.

“I want more than a drink.”

Dorane stilled.

The air between them shifted.

Slowly, he lowered the decanter, his fingers curling around the glass as he turned to face her fully. His hazel eyes darkened, the flicker of heat undeniable.

“What do you want?”

Mei swallowed hard.

Dorane’s expression was dangerous. A mixture of desire and warning. She should tread carefully, she was entering unfamiliar territory after all—but she didn’t.

Instead, she reached for the clasp of her cloak and let it drop to the floor. Dorane inhaled sharply. His gaze followed her fingers as she began removing the knives from her belt—three at her waist, one strapped to her thigh. Then came the blaster tucked behind her back and the reinforced, pointed sticks that had been holding her hair in place. Each were set onto the table with a decisive clatter. Her silky, straight, waist-length black hair cascaded down her back.

Dorane’s breath caught.

Mei continued, determined to see how far he would let her get—and hoping like hell he didn’t tell her to stop. She slowly began unbuttoning her blouse, her fingers lingering over the next clasp. Dorane let out a low, rough sound deep in his chest.

“Let me,” he murmured.

She breathed a sigh of relief, embracing the shiver of desire that was spreading warmth along her nerve endings. She dropped her hands to her sides as he closed the distance in three strides. Her lips parted when his fingers brushed against her skin as he worked the clasps free, his hands unwavering, his touch searing.

By the time she was nearly bare from the waist up, he wasn’t looking at her; his eyes were locked on the table with a puzzled frown. More specifically on the arsenal he had just pulled from her trousers and the thin wisp of lace cupping her petite breasts.

Dorane’s laughter rumbled low and appreciative as he cocked his head. “Is that all of them?”

Mei’s lips curved, dark amusement in her gaze. “You’ll have to do a thorough search to find out.”

Dorane’s pupils dilated. His nostrils flared.

The fuse between them ignited when he pulled her into his arms and crushed his lips against hers. The raw need that had been building over the last couple of weeks as they had danced around each other exploded.

Their bodies collided, fire and friction, teeth and tongues, the heat between them searing through every touch. Her hands roamed and explored as she pressed against him, unmaking him with every brush of her fingers.

By the time he stripped off his own clothes, everything else had burned away. All that was left was the blazing, consuming hunger between them. Mei reveled in each stroke of his fingers, allowing herself to shed the restrictive binds on her emotions as she poured every ounce of who she was, every emotion that she was feeling, into this moment.

She tilted her head back, looking up at Dorane as they tumbled onto the bed. He rose up, staring down at her with eyes that burned with desire—and something deeper.

“I think you are the deadliest woman I have ever met,” he murmured, intensely serious and heartfelt.

Mei tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled his lips closer to hers.

“You have no idea how true that is,” she whispered before capturing his lips in a kiss that told him she wasn’t the only one who was dangerous—so was he.

To my heart.

The soft glow of ambient lighting bathed the cabin in golden hues. Outside the wide viewport, space stretched endlessly—a sea of stars flickering against the abyss. Inside, wrapped in the quiet hum of the ship, Dorane’s mind was focused on his conflicting emotions for the woman he held in his arms.

Mei lay against his chest, her breath slow and steady, her fingers idly tracing patterns across his skin. The sheets were tangled around them, the cool fabric a stark contrast to the heat that still pulsed between them, lingering embers of the fire they had just stoked to an inferno.

He exhaled a long breath. Contentment settled in his bones like a drug he’d never known he needed. He ran his fingers through Mei’s dark hair, letting the silky strands slide between his fingertips. She was beautiful like this—unguarded, her sharp edges softened by the aftermath of their passion. He had always been drawn to strength, to resilience, but it was the rare glimpses of vulnerability in her that made his chest tighten in a way he didn’t quite understand.

She shifted slightly, her voice a whisper against his skin. “When I was a child, people thought my life was perfect,” she murmured, her words almost lost in the hush of the cabin.

Dorane stilled, sensing the weight behind her words. He continued to caress her. Tender, gentle strokes. The slight tremble in her voice told him that what she was about to share did not come easy for her.

“I was the daughter of Liu Zhang, a man respected, feared. My life was gilded in wealth, in power. But it wasn’t a life.” She paused, her slender fingers stilling over his chest. “It was a cage. And I was the bird of prey my father wielded against anyone who dared oppose him.”

Dorane tightened his arm around her, waiting. Mei’s voice was steady, but there was something underneath it, something raw that pulled at his heart. He wanted to erase the pain, the dark memories, but he knew from his own experience that it was impossible. Those memories were what made them who they were today.

“Training wasn’t just training. It wasn’t about learning to defend myself—it was about becoming a weapon. Every lesson was a test. If I failed, there were consequences.” She exhaled shakily. “There were days I wanted to collapse, to sleep, to just… stop. But I couldn’t. I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.”

Dorane closed his eyes briefly, imagining a younger Mei—small, fierce, pushing herself beyond her limits just to prove she wouldn’t break. He could see it now, the steel in her spine, the fire in her eyes.

Her voice softened, and something in it made his throat tighten.

“My mother was the only light I had.” Mei’s fingers resumed their slow caresses against his chest. “She couldn’t protect me outright, but she found other ways. She taught me… subtlety. She made sure I had books, music. She would sneak sweets into my room at night when my father wasn’t looking.” Mei let out a quiet breath that might have been a laugh. “She used to tell me stories about the stars, about places beyond our reach. Places where not even my father could touch me. She wanted me to believe there was something more. She also taught me that winning a fight was not always about defeating your enemy physically. You could do it mentally and they might not even know, not right then.”

Dorane swallowed hard, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I think my mother would have liked yours.”

Mei tilted her head up, curiosity flickering in her dark eyes. His heart clenched as he realized something. For the first time since he was a child, the memory of his parents didn’t hurt. Instead, it warmed him, like an ember glowing in the dark.

“My parents would have loved your mother.” He exhaled slowly, pressing a kiss to the top of Mei’s head. “They probably would have killed your father, though. They detested men like him.”

Mei let out a quiet chuckle. “They wouldn’t have been alone.”

Dorane smiled, his fingers tracing slow, lazy circles against her back. His smile faded, replaced by haunting memories, and his fingers stilled. The past clawed at him, the ghosts of his mother’s voice, his father’s laughter, the screams?—

He had never shared his past. Not to anyone. But he wanted to… with Mei.

“I was nine when my parents and younger brother and sister were murdered by the Legion—by Coleridge Landais,” he began, his voice low.

Mei shifted beside him, sliding up until she could look into his eyes. She didn’t speak, just watched him, waiting. He covered her hand where it rested against his chest, grounding himself.

“It happened a long time ago,” he murmured before he began speaking in a low, even tone.

The minutes ticked by as he recounted very horror in brutal detail. Once he’d conveyed the whole memory, silence stretched between them, heavy and unbreakable. Finally, he rolled away, sitting up at the edge of the bed, dragging a hand through his hair. Mei sat up behind him, her warm fingers ghosting down his spine. The gentle touch nearly unraveled him.

He let out a ragged breath before he stood and walked toward the cleansing unit. He could feel Mei’s eyes on him. He didn’t know why he had told her all of that. No one—not Asta, not Jammer, not a single soul—knew where he had come from. To the galaxy, Dorane LeGaugh had simply appeared.

He stepped into the cleansing unit, pressing the controls as warm water cascaded over his skin. He exhaled, letting the steam wash away the ghosts of his past. Bowing his head, he felt his body shake as silent tears coursed down his face, washing away the pain he had kept locked away for so long. He lifted his hand, brushing it across his cheek when he sensed Mei.

He released a shuddering breath and turned as she stepped in behind him, her dark eyes locking onto his. Dorane’s breath stalled. He saw everything in her gaze—understanding, acceptance, fire… love. She didn’t pity him. She simply saw him.

She ran her fingers through the damp strands of his hair before trailing them down his jaw, his neck, his chest. Her touch was soft but certain.

And Dorane knew.

She had chased away the shadows in his heart and replaced them with light.

He cupped her face, his thumb tracing her cheek. She leaned into him, her breath warm against his skin.

He kissed her.

Slow, deep, reverent.

For the first time in decades, the memory of his family didn’t feel like a blade in his chest. The pain was still there, but it was different—softer, like a scar instead of an open wound.