Page 14

Chapter 14

Cirdox

I grip the edge of the tactical display, fighting to keep my balance as the safe house's obsidian walls blur and swim before my eyes. The bond-sickness tears through my veins like plasma fire, turning even the recycled air into acid in my lungs. My wings tremble against my back despite my best efforts to keep them still, their membrane-thin edges betraying weakness I can't afford to show. Every shadow in this damn place seems to move, every sound hammers against my enhanced senses until I can barely tell what's real and what's fever-twisted imagination.

"Captain." Zara materializes from the shadows, her russet fur bristling with barely contained concern. Her tail lashes once, a tell she's never quite mastered. "The Brotherhood captains are reconvening to discuss the new security protocols. But your condition..."

"Has nothing to do with our mission." The words scrape against my raw throat as another wave of disorientation hits. The room tilts sideways, forcing me to catch myself against the wall. My wings snap tight against my back, hiding their trembling through centuries of ingrained discipline. "The Eclipse won't wait for me to recover. Neither can we."

The safe house's main chamber contracts around me as I enter, its black walls seeming to pulse in time with my fevered heartbeat. The bond-sickness makes every shadow writhe and dance, turning familiar spaces into alien landscapes that set my predatory instincts on edge. Most of the captains from our previous meeting have returned—some in person, others appearing as flickering holograms above the tactical display. Their faces blur together in my fever-addled vision, but I force myself to catalog each one, to show no weakness despite the inferno raging beneath my skin.

K'vex's six arms move in precise patterns that my addled mind struggles to track, each gesture carrying layers of meaning I can't quite grasp. The sight sends fresh waves of suspicion through me—are those movements simple nervousness, or coded messages to unseen allies? She whispers something to Vornak, whose massive Bravorian form tenses subtly in response. The interaction makes my wings twitch with barely contained aggression, though I manage to keep them folded against my back. Every instinct screams that they're plotting against me, but I can't trust those instincts anymore. Not when the bond-sickness turns even loyal allies into potential threats.

"I see you've recovered from your... indisposition at our last gathering," K'vex observes, her silver eyes calculating as they track my unsteady gait. All six hands still momentarily—a predator scenting blood. "Though perhaps 'recovered' is too generous a term."

The bond-sickness chooses that moment to surge, making my tribal markings flare like burning brands against my fevered skin. I grip the edge of the table, wings trembling despite my desperate attempt to keep them still. Black spots dance at the edges of my vision, but I force myself to meet her predatory gaze.

"My health is not the concern of this council," I manage, though the words scrape against my raw throat. Sweat beads on my bronze skin, betraying the fever consuming me from within. "The implementation of our new security protocols is."

"Is it not?" Vornak rumbles, his scaled fingers leaving grooves in the obsidian table. "When our leader can barely stand during tactical briefings? When he brings unknown variables into our most secure meetings?" His golden gaze shifts meaningfully to where Neon stands in the shadows, her neural implants casting ethereal blue patterns across her skin.

"Neon Valkyrie's presence is necessary," I growl, though the effort sends fresh waves of fever through my blood. "Her expertise in cybersecurity—"

"Her expertise?" K'vex interrupts smoothly, all six hands moving in perfect synchronization now. "Or perhaps her... other qualities that seem to have captured our leader's attention?"

The insinuation ignites something carnal in my blood, hotter than even the bond-sickness burning through my veins. My wings snap wide despite the agony it causes, casting shadows over the assembled captains as I surge to my full height. The fever makes my tribal markings blaze crimson, but I channel the pain into raw dominance.

"Choose your next words carefully," I growl, letting my predatory nature show through. Even weakened, I'm still apex—still the warrior who carved his place in the void through blood and steel. "Unless you'd prefer to discuss your own... qualities. Like how your hands keep twitching toward those hidden weapons whenever secure routes are mentioned."

Several captains shift uncomfortably, but I'm not done. The bond-sickness might be burning me alive, but nothing will stop me from protecting what's mine. "If any of you question Neon's value to the Brotherhood, remember this—while you've been whispering accusations, she's been tracking the Eclipse's movements. Finding their weaknesses. Preparing to strike."

Neon steps forward, her voice carrying that edge of steel I've come to admire. "If you have concerns about my capabilities, I'm happy to demonstrate them. Perhaps by exposing which of you has been feeding our secure routes to the Eclipse?"

My wings curl slightly around her—not caging, but claiming. Let them see. Let them understand that challenging her means challenging me. Even as the fever races through my blood, I bare my fangs in a deadly smile. "Well, K'vex? You seem particularly interested in our security protocols lately."

The chamber falls silent. K'vex's hands still completely—a tell I've never seen before. Her silver eyes narrow, calculating new odds, reassessing threats. "Merely doing my duty to the Brotherhood," she says, false concern dripping from every word. "Unlike some who appeared in our midst so... recently."

"Interesting choice of words." I activate the tactical display, though the holographic data swims sickeningly before my fevered vision. "Tell me, how many ships have we lost this week? Following routes that were supposedly secure?"

K'vex's lowest set of hands twitches—another tell. "The Eclipse grows bolder. We all know this."

"Yes," I agree softly, dangerously. "They do. Almost as if they know exactly where to strike."

The accusation hangs unspoken in the air, heavy with implications. Let her wonder how much we know, how close we are to exposing the truth. Sometimes the threat of discovery is more effective than revelation itself.

"And you believe one of us—" Vornak begins, but I cut him off with a sharp gesture that sends pain lancing through my wings.

"I believe the Eclipse has eyes and ears where they shouldn't." The words come out rougher than intended as another spike of fever tears through me. "I believe someone is profiting from betrayal while our people suffer. And I believe—"

The bond-sickness chooses that moment to strike with devastating force. The room spins violently, my enhanced senses overwhelmed by phantom sounds and impossible colors. I grip the edge of the tactical display, wings flaring wide for balance, but it's too late. The captains' concerned murmurs merge into a deafening roar as my knees buckle.

"Captain!" Zara's voice cuts through the chaos, sharp with command. "This meeting is adjourned. We'll reconvene when—"

"When our leader has explained exactly what's wrong with him?" K'vex suggests softly, her words carrying to every corner of the room. "When we understand why he brings outsiders into our most secure deliberations? Or when the Eclipse has destroyed everything we've built because we followed a compromised commander?"

I force myself upright through sheer willpower, though my tribal markings pulse erratically with the effort. "Interesting, K'vex, how quickly you turn to questioning my judgment rather than addressing the real threat." My wings shift, creating shadows that dance across the obsidian walls. "The Eclipse grows bolder with each passing day, striking our most secure routes with uncanny precision, yet you'd have us waste time debating my personal affairs?"

Her composure remains perfect—too perfect, perhaps—as she spreads her six hands in a gesture of calculated innocence. "I merely suggest that clear minds make better decisions, Captain. Especially when those decisions affect all our lives."

"Clear minds also recognize patterns," I say, letting my gaze sweep across the assembled captains. "Like how our enemies always seem to know exactly where to strike. How they anticipate our defensive measures with suspicious accuracy." The words hang in the air, weighted with implication. Let them draw their own conclusions for now.

The other captains shift uneasily, exchanging glances that speak volumes. Vornak's scales ripple with barely contained tension. Ralith's tail twitches nervously. Even Shen'va's ethereal features tighten with concern. They're starting to see it too—the pieces of a puzzle they've been too blind to notice.

"Perhaps," I continue, my voice rough but steady, "instead of questioning my ability to lead, we should focus on securing our operations against those who would destroy everything we've built."

The tension in the room ratchets higher as other captains begin to shift uneasily, reassessing recent events in light of my accusations. K'vex's hands move in increasingly complex patterns, but I notice how several of the captains who seemed ready to support her moments ago are now watching her with careful speculation.

"This is madness," she says, but there's a note of uncertainty in her voice now. "You're clearly unwell, Captain. Perhaps it would be best if—"

"If what?" Neon steps forward, her implants pulsing with barely contained energy. "If someone more... amenable... took command? Someone who wouldn't notice the encrypted transmissions being sent from Brotherhood frequencies to unknown recipients?"

The revelation lands like a plasma blast. Several captains shift uneasily, hands drifting toward weapons more from instinct than intent. I notice how K'vex's six hands move in subtly contradicting patterns, betraying an inner conflict her carefully neutral expression tries to hide.

"What exactly are you suggesting?" Vornak demands, his obsidian scales rippling with barely contained aggression.

"I'm suggesting," Neon's enhanced eyes sweep the assembled captains, "that someone in this room has been feeding our secure routes to outside parties. The evidence is in the transmission logs—if you know where to look."

"The Brotherhood doesn't appreciate baseless accusations," K'vex says smoothly, though I notice how her hands have stilled completely—too still, like a predator trying to avoid detection.

The bond-sickness surges again, turning my vision red at the edges. But I force myself to stand straight, to maintain the facade of strength even as my wings tremble with the effort. "Then prove them baseless. All of you will submit your ships' logs to Neon for analysis. Complete access, no exceptions."

"You're asking us to surrender our autonomy," Vornak booms, his scales rippling with barely contained fury. "The Brotherhood wasn't built on blind obedience."

"No," I growl, letting my wings flare despite the agony it causes. "It was built on trust. Trust that's been betrayed by someone in this room. I won't let more of our people die because someone decided credits matter more than loyalty."

The assembled captains exchange glances, weighing options, measuring risks. K'vex's expression remains carefully neutral, but I see how her hands have resumed their contradictory movements—some reaching for weapons while others make soothing gestures. The tells are subtle, but to someone watching for them, they might as well be screaming confessions.

"I'll submit my logs," Ralith says suddenly, breaking the tense silence. "I have nothing to hide."

One by one, the other captains nod their agreement. Only K'vex hesitates, her multiple hands still moving in those telling patterns.

"Of course," she says finally, her voice smooth as polished steel. "Though I maintain this is an overreaction to a few unfortunate coincidences."

"We'll let the evidence speak for itself," Neon replies, her enhanced eyes lingering just a moment too long on K'vex's restless hands.

"This meeting is adjourned," I manage, though the words come out rougher than intended. "Zara will coordinate the log transfers. The rest of you are dismissed."

Zara opens the chamber door and follows the captains as they file out quickly, their previous concerns about my health seemingly forgotten in light of the more immediate threat to their operations. But as the last of them leaves, my strength finally fails. My knees buckle as another wave of fever hits, and only Neon's quick reflexes keep me from collapsing.

"Stubborn, reckless idiot," she mutters, but her touch is gentle as she helps me toward my quarters. "You could have gotten yourself killed pulling that stunt."

"Had to be done," I growl, though each step sends fresh fire through my veins. "Had to show strength, even if—"

"Even if it kills you?" She stops suddenly, forcing me to meet her gaze. "That's not strength, Cirdox. That's pride. And it's going to destroy you if you don't let someone help."

The words hit harder than they should, perhaps because of the genuine concern I see in her enhanced eyes. Or perhaps because deep down, I know she's right. The bond-sickness is progressing faster than I expected, turning simple tasks into battles of will. Soon, I won't be able to hide it at all.

"Let me help you," she says softly, her hand coming up to trace the burning lines of my tribal markings. "Not because of the bond, not because of fate or biology or whatever cosmic force threw us together. But because I choose to. Because I want to."

The admission hangs between us, weighted with implications neither of us is quite ready to voice. But I feel it in the way she supports my weight, in how her enhanced senses track my every labored breath. Something has shifted between us—a barrier crumbling, a truth neither of us can deny anymore.

We make it to my quarters just as another spike of fever hits. I sink onto the bed, my wings spreading limply across the sheets as the bond-sickness burns through my defenses. But Neon's presence helps, even as it intensifies the primal need coursing through my blood.

She settles beside me, careful not to jostle my wings. The silence stretches between us, heavy with unspoken truths and growing understanding. Finally, I gather the courage to speak the words that have haunted me since McCoy's revelation.

"Lyra," I say softly, feeling her stiffen against me. "That's your real name, isn't it? Not Neon. Not the mask you show the world."

She shifts slightly, her enhanced eyes dimming as if trying to hide from the truth. "Lyra died the day she realized how corrupt the system really was. The day she watched her mentor betray everything they'd fought for." A bitter laugh escapes her. "Neon knows better. Neon survives."

"And which one is real?" I urge gently, though the fever makes even that small effort cost. "The survivor or the dreamer?"

The question hangs between us, weighted with implications neither of us wants to voice. I feel her tension, the way her eyes scan the shadows as if searching for threats that lurk just out of sight. After fighting the bond for so long, this newfound vulnerability clearly terrifies her.

"Who hurt you so badly?" I ask softly, my wings curling tighter around us. "Who taught you that caring means losing?"

She stiffens against my chest, then forces herself to relax. When she speaks, her voice carries echoes of old wounds. "It wasn't just one person. One betrayal." Her fingers trace absent patterns on my skin, as if the movement helps her organize painful memories. "But Kira... she was the worst."

The name hangs between us like a drawn weapon, though its power to wound hasn't diminished despite my familiarity with it. Kira—the sister-figure turned traitor who now hunts Neon with terrifying precision. I've watched how the mere mention of her makes Neon's implants pulse erratically, seen the shadows that darken her enhanced eyes whenever another piece of code bears Kira's signature. Even now, knowing she's actively working with the Eclipse to destroy everything we're fighting to protect, that name still carries the weight of betrayal and lost trust.

"She was more than my mentor," Neon continues, each word carefully measured. "She was... family like Kai... after my parents—" She breaks off, fingers curling into my shirt. "After everyone else left or died. She taught me everything I know about hacking, about surviving in a galaxy that sees humans as inferior. And then she disappeared and sold her soul to the Eclipse. The same people who killed her brother."

The raw pain in her voice makes my wings curl protectively around us, creating a sanctuary of shadow and shared warmth. "So you became Neon Valkyrie instead. Created a new identity, a new purpose."

"A better one," she says fiercely. "Neon doesn't trust. Doesn't need anyone. Can't be betrayed because she never lets anyone close enough to matter." Her fingers trace absent patterns on my chest, just above where the bond-sickness burns hottest. "It worked, too. Until you."

"What changed?" I ask softly, though my heart thunders with the weight of her potential answer.

She's quiet for a long moment, her neural implants casting shifting patterns across her skin as she thinks. "You did something no one else has done since Kira," she says finally. "You saw past the walls. Past Neon the infamous hacker, past all the carefully constructed defenses. You saw me—really saw me—and still wanted to stay."

"Because you're worth staying for," I say simply, though the words send fresh fire through my veins. "Your strength, your determination, that fierce heart that won't let you stop fighting for what's right—how could I not want that? Want you?"

She makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "Even knowing everything I've done? Everything I am?"

"Especially knowing that." I catch her chin gently, forcing her to meet my gaze despite how the simple touch sends heat racing through my blood. "You think your past makes you unworthy of trust? Of connection? Look at me, Lyra. Really look. I'm a pirate, an outcast who turned his back on everything he was born to be. And yet here we are."

"Here we are," she echoes softly, her enhanced eyes studying me with an intensity that makes my markings pulse brighter. "With you dying from bond-sickness because I keep choosing fear over action. Every day I hesitate, telling myself I'm protecting us both, when really..." Her voice catches, implants flickering with barely contained emotion. "I'm killing you slowly, using my past trauma as an excuse while watching the fever burn you alive. What kind of person does that make me? Someone so afraid of loss that they'll cause it through their own fears?"

The admission hangs between us, heavier than any declaration of love. Because this isn't about fate or biology or some cosmic force pushing us together. This is about choice. About seeing each other—truly seeing—and choosing to stay anyway.

"Then stop fighting," I growl, wings mantling with barely contained need. "Stop running from what we both know is inevitable."

"It's not that simple." But she doesn't pull away when I draw her closer, doesn't resist when my wings create a private universe of shadow and shared breath. "The bond... it terrifies me. Not because it's forcing us together, but because it's showing me everything I could lose. Everything I've spent years convincing myself I didn't want."

"I know." I press my forehead to hers, sharing heat and hope and desperate need. "But we're stronger together than apart. You proved that today. We make each other better, challenge each other, protect each other. Isn't that worth the risk?"

She traces the burning lines of my tribal markings, her touch both soothing and inflammatory. "And if I lose you anyway? If the bond-sickness takes you before—"

"Then at least we'll have had this," I cut in, catching her hand and pressing it harder against my chest where she can feel my heart thundering beneath her palm. "These moments, this connection. Better than dying alone, wondering what might have been."

"Damn you," she whispers, but there's no heat in it. "When did you get so wise, pirate?"

"About the time a fierce little hacker invaded my ship and turned my world upside down." The words come out rougher than intended as another wave of fever hits, but I force myself to continue. "The time you put yourself between me and a plasma blast. The moment you chose to trust me with your pain, your fear... your real name."

She's quiet for a long moment, her fingers gentle as they trace my burning markings. Finally, she releases a shaky breath. "Lyra," she whispers, like sharing a secret. "My name is Lyra. And I'm tired of running."

The admission hits me harder than any physical blow. I pull her closer, my wings creating a cocoon of shadow and shared warmth around us. "Then don't," I murmur against her hair. "Stay. Fight with me, not against me. Let me be your sanctuary, like you've become mine."

She makes a sound of pure frustration before crushing her mouth to mine. The kiss is desperate, almost angry—all teeth and tongue and barely contained need. My wings snap tight around us as I respond with equal fervor, pouring centuries of longing into the connection.

When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard. "I won't watch you die," she says fiercely, raw honesty bleeding through her usual walls. "Not like this. Not when I can do something about it."

"Then stop fighting what we both know is inevitable," I growl, my voice rough with fever and need. My wings snap tight around us, caging her against my chest. "You're mine, little hacker. You have been since the moment you stepped onto my ship."

She tenses, those enhanced eyes flashing with defiance even as her pulse races beneath my touch. "I don't belong to anyone."

"No?" I catch her chin, forcing her to meet my gaze despite how the simple contact sends fire racing through my blood. "Then why does your body betray you every time I'm near? Why do those precious implants of yours malfunction at my touch?"

"Bastard," she hisses, but doesn't pull away. The bond pulses between us, raw and demanding.

"Your bastard," I remind her, letting my claws scrape lightly across her skin. "And you know what I am—what we are together. Stop denying it."

The bond-sickness burns through my veins, but her proximity makes it bearable. Makes it worth every moment of agony that led us here. Because now she's where she belongs—in my arms, under my wings, finally accepting what we both knew from the start.

She settles against me with a sound that's half surrender, half challenge. "If you die on me," she mutters, "I'll find a way to bring you back just so I can kill you myself."

My answering laugh is more growl than humor. "That's my mate."