Page 46 of Ravaged By the Reaper

Our blades jostle, sparks flicker, but no metal screams. Just bone and desire and collision in slow-motion blur.

He tries to steady me—with gentle force. My breath shatters. My core hums with protest, and desire, and wild fear.

At an angle of zero inertia, my fist meets his shoulder. Not malicious, but defiant. It echoes like promise.

We float there—silent. Breathing harsh, hearts echoing.

I peel away, weightless, and drift to the cockpit door.

“Space,” I murmur.

He blinks—hurt and storm-tossed—but muscles collapse. A nod, curving apology.

I drift away across the corridor plating. Reed-thin lights trace my path.

In the lounge outside, coffee machine sighs. I collapse to the seat—gravity catching me like shock.

My breath is warm, ragged. Heartbeats crash and echo.

My voice cracks when I let it out.

“I want to belong…” I say, barely a whisper.

Not as a prize or as possession.

But as a partner.

And the rattled registers of love bloom in my chest.

CHAPTER 14

HAKTRON

Islouch in the engine room, framed by hissing plasma conduits and the raw scent of scorched alloy. Fingers inked with soot trace the edge of Bloodfont—my scythe—claws calling metal like old ritual. Sparks hiss each time stone-sharp teeth glide along the blade. The echoes clatter, industrial lullaby.

No one told me “no” before.

Never.

In the raids, commands, fights—they all bent to me like metal in my claws. Even fear kneels before me.

That refusal of hers stung worse than any blow. Not rejection. It was a challenge. Something that bruises but pulls at every sinew.

She doesn’t want to be owned.

She wants to be chosen.

The engine hum drones under my skin. I breathe in the torsional scent—oil, ozone, lingering heat. I taste it. Base, strong, elemental. It grounds me as I scrape away the last burr from Bloodfont’s edge.

I replay her words: "I’m not your prize… but a partner." The memory tightens in my chest—tiny firebird nestling bones.

I glance at the shimmering blade. Heir of war and blood. And wonder—how do you choose someone like her?

A voice crackles in my comm—Panaka. “Reaper—status?”

“Brooding,” I reply. Laugh tastes heavy.

He chuckles. “We will meet the ship closer in two days. Don’t murder too loudly.”