Page 23

Chapter 23

Cirdox

T he silence in my mind where Neon’s presence should be burns like acid through my veins. Our bond, usually a warm current of shared strength and fierce devotion, has become a hollow void punctuated by sharp spikes of her fear and pain. Each flash of her agony tears at my soul, made worse by my inability to reach her, to protect her.

“Three more Brotherhood vessels lost in the outer sector,” Zara reports, her voice tight with grief. “The Star’s Promise, the Crimson Vale... good crews, Captain. Families.”

The names slam into me like physical blows, each one carrying faces I know—crews I’ve shared meals with, captains whose children I’ve watched grow up in our hidden ports. The weight of their loss threatens to crush me, but it’s nothing compared to the icy terror gripping my heart. Because somewhere out there, my fierce, brilliant mate is in the hands of those same monsters. And the fragments of fear bleeding through our stretched bond tell me she’s fighting a battle I can’t reach.

I check my weapons one final time as I prepare to board the Eclipse vessel. Kira’s earlier transmission replays in my mind, her synthetic voice twisting what was once human into something grotesque—the same voice that haunts Neon’s nightmares.

“Cirdox Thar’Kal.” The artificial warmth had set my teeth on edge, her once-musical lilt corrupted into something that barely passed for human. “I have a message for you. From your... mate.”

The way she’d said that last word—like our sacred bond was some primitive curiosity to be studied—makes my tribal markings flare anew with primal rage. But beneath that fury runs a deeper, colder fear. Because I’ve seen the Eclipse’s handiwork scattered across the galaxy in shattered minds and broken bodies. And now they have my heart, my soul, my very reason for breathing in their grasp.

Neon’s voice had cut through the static—strained but carrying that core of steel that made me fall in love with her. Even that brief contact was enough to feel the pain she was fighting through, the desperate strength she was clinging to. My claws dig into my palms now as I fight to control the primal need to tear the galaxy apart to reach her.

“The boarding craft is ready, Captain,” Zara says softly, her concern evident in her tone. She knows what this means—leaving the Void Reaver when she needs me most. But she also understands that nothing will keep me from Neon now.

My wings flare wide, tribal markings pulsing with a fury that makes the bridge crew step back. They think they can use Neon against me? They think they can bargain with a Kyvernian’s bond-mate? They’re about to learn exactly how fatal that mistake will be.

“Zara,” I command, my voice dropping to a dangerous growl that carries centuries of predatory promise, “target their communications array. Grig, prepare for a direct assault on their flagship. We’re going through, not around.”

“But their defenses—” Zara begins, her voice laced with concern that would touch me if I could feel anything beyond the burning need to reach my mate.

“Won’t matter,” I interrupt, my voice raw with barely contained fury as I slam my fist against the console, leaving deep gouges in the reinforced metal. The tactical display flickers erratically, fragments of data streams bleeding red across the screen like open wounds. Warning indicators pulse with increasing urgency, each flash a reminder of how many systems we’ve lost to K’vex’s betrayal.

I can’t feel Neon through our bond—that damnable interference cutting me off from her presence like a wound that won’t stop bleeding. The silence where her fierce spirit should be burns through me, bringing whispers of that terrible emptiness I thought I’d left behind. Bond-sickness scratches at the edges of my consciousness, a creeping darkness I refuse to acknowledge the meaning of. I can’t show weakness. Not now. Not when she needs me most.

The not knowing is worse than any physical pain. Is she conscious? Afraid? Fighting back with that fierce defiance that captured my heart? Or have they already broken through her defenses, torn apart the brilliant mind that matches my tactical experience blow for blow? The possibilities torment me, feeding the primal rage that threatens to shatter my careful control.

I grip the command console harder, leaving deep grooves in the metal as another wave of emptiness washes through me. I won’t let them see how the bond-sickness claws at my soul, how each moment without her threatens to unravel everything I am. My crew needs their captain, not a mate drowning in desperation. But gods, the darkness is so much colder without her light to guide me home.

“They want a fight?” My wings snap wide, casting crimson shadows as my tribal markings pulse with battle-rage bright enough to illuminate the smoke-filled bridge. “Let’s give them one they’ll never forget.”

McCoy’s hologram materializes beside me as I check my weapons with methodical intensity, each movement a promise of violence to come. Her features are drawn tight with concern, the usual stern confidence replaced by grim understanding of what we face. “They’re jamming all frequencies, Captain. Our reinforcements are fighting through heavy resistance in the outer sectors, but they won’t reach us in time.”

Ta’vag’s hologram flickers beside her, his fur rippling with waves of barely suppressed fury that match my own. “I’ve activated every diplomatic channel at my disposal, but the Eclipse is deliberately ignoring all established protocols. Their reach is worse than I thought.”

Their words wash over me like distant thunder, barely penetrating the primal roar of protective instinct drowning out all other concerns. Every heartbeat without Neon is agony, every second we waste in discussion is another moment she suffers at their hands. My mate is in danger. My crew is trapped. And K’vex’s treachery has already cost too many lives.

“Zara, maintain cloaked maneuvers. Grig, prepare for emergency hyperspace override—I’ll give you the coordinates when I have them.” I turn to McCoy and Ta’vag, my tribal markings pulsing with barely contained power. “Buy me time.”

Their holograms flicker and fade as I activate my personal comm, monitoring the faint pulses of tactical data Neon manages to send through our strained bond. Even through the pain and interference, she’s fighting—using her brilliant mind to analyze Eclipse movements, identify system vulnerabilities, map potential escape routes. She’s not just struggling to survive; she’s working to protect us all.

My wings flare wide as another fragment of data comes through, the urge to reach her, to shield her, a physical ache in my chest. I don’t need complex tactical displays or computer readouts. Her fear is my compass, leading me straight to the heart of the Eclipse’s treachery. Her determination sharpens my resolve into a razor’s edge.

I study the massive Eclipse flagship looming before us through the viewport, its sleek obsidian hull bristling with weapon arrays and defense turrets. The sheer arrogance of their design makes my markings pulse with fury—all those gleaming sensors and perfectly aligned gun ports speak to an empire convinced of its own invincibility.

“Zara, coordinate with the Brotherhood vessels. I want synchronized strikes on their primary weapons array.” My voice carries the cold authority of a predator preparing to strike. “Grig, get us as close as you can to their auxiliary docking bay. That’s where I’ll breach.”

Grig’s pale fingers dance across the controls with deadly precision, weaving the Void Reaver through gaps in the Eclipse’s defensive screen. Around us, Brotherhood ships move into attack formation, their coordinated fire drawing attention away from our approach.

Through the crackling comms, Vornak’s voice carries a mix of fierce loyalty and grim understanding: “Thar’Kal, the Bravorian fleet is in position. But their flagship’s defenses...” He pauses, his usual bravado replaced by genuine concern. “The casualties will be severe. Are you certain about this approach?”

My wings snap wide, tribal markings pulsing with battle-fury as I study the tactical display. The Eclipse flagship looms before us, its obsidian hull bristling with weapon arrays and defense turrets. Through our stretched bond, I feel Neon’s pain spike sharply, and my claws dig deep grooves into the command console.

“I’m going after her,” I growl, my voice carrying centuries of predatory promise. “The Eclipse wants to use my mate against me? They’re about to learn exactly how fatal that mistake will be.”

Zara steps forward, her russet fur bristling with barely contained emotion as she hands me the final weapons check report. “The boarding craft is prepped, Captain.” Her voice softens slightly. “But if things go wrong...”

“Get our crew to safety,” I command, gripping her shoulder firmly. We both know this could be our final conversation. “Don’t wait for me. That’s an order.”

She meets my gaze steadily, years of friendship and trust evident in her eyes. “The Brotherhood stands with you. But we’ll honor your command if...” She doesn’t finish the sentence. She doesn’t need to.

I turn toward the boarding craft, every muscle tensed for the coming battle. Behind me, the bridge crew moves with grim efficiency, knowing that their captain is about to launch himself into what could well be a suicide mission. But they understand. They’ve seen what the bond between Neon and me means. And they know that nothing—not overwhelming odds, not certain death—will keep me from reaching her now.

“Remember,” I tell her, gripping her shoulder firmly, “your first duty is to the crew. If the Eclipse brings in reinforcements, if the odds turn against us—you jump to hyperspace. That’s an order.”

McCoy and Ta’vag’s holograms flicker on the tactical display, their expressions grim but determined. The Planetary Police forces are already engaging the flagship’s outer defenses, while Ta’vag’s diplomatic channels work to prevent Eclipse reinforcements from arriving.

“Your sacrifice won’t be in vain, Captain,” McCoy promises, her voice tight with respect. “Whatever happens today, the Eclipse pays for their treachery.”

Through encrypted channels, I hear the Brotherhood captains checking in—Vornak’s proud Bravorian fleet, Shen’va’s ethereal warships, even Drokmar and Ralith’s pragmatic forces. K’vex’s betrayal has united us all, though the price may be higher than any of us imagined.

“Remember,” I tell them, my tribal markings pulsing with fierce determination, “this isn’t just about revenge. This is about showing the galaxy that some bonds can’t be broken. That loyalty still means something.” I pause, letting my next words carry the full weight of command. “But don’t throw your lives away needlessly. If the battle turns, save your crews. The Brotherhood must survive.”

I turn to board the assault craft, but Zara’s voice stops me. “It has been an honor, Captain.” The formal words carry years of friendship and trust.

“The honor was mine,” I reply softly. Then I steel myself, pushing aside emotion for the cold focus of combat. “Now, let’s remind the Eclipse why they should fear the Brotherhood. All ships, commence attack!”

The Void Reaver glides through the void like a ghost, her cloaking systems—Neon’s final gift before her capture—masking our approach from the Eclipse’s sensors. Through the viewport, I watch their ships pass within meters of us, their crews blind to the predator in their midst. My markings pulse with fierce pride at my mate’s brilliance, even as worry gnaws at my heart.

Grig’s pale fingers dance across the helm controls with impossible precision, each minute adjustment keeping us perfectly aligned in the flagship’s sensor shadow. One wrong move, one fraction of degree off course, and the cloak’s delicate algorithms could falter. But Grig proves why he’s the finest pilot in the Brotherhood, threading our massive ship through gaps that shouldn’t exist with the fluid grace of a much smaller vessel.

“Boarding craft in position, Captain,” he reports, his usually calm voice carrying an edge of steel I’ve rarely heard. His large eyes remain fixed on his displays, monitoring the thousand variables that could expose us. “Maintaining optimal stealth profile. They won’t see us until it’s too late.”

I grip the command rail, wings mantling with barely contained fury as another spike of pain bleeds through my bond with Neon. Soon, my fierce little hacker. Soon I’ll tear apart anyone who dared lay hands on you.

I strap on my combat gear, the familiar weight of my weapons a comforting presence against the burning rage in my blood. My wings flare, impatient to unleash their power.

“Let’s get her back,” I growl, the words carrying a cold promise of retribution as I check my weapons one final time. My wings flare with barely contained fury, casting crimson shadows across the bridge.

I stride toward the boarding craft, my tribal markings pulsing with lethal intent. Let them come. Let them try to stand between a Kyvernian warrior and his captured mate. They’re about to learn exactly how fatal that mistake will be.

The bond tugs at my soul, guiding me like a compass pointing true north, though the signal feels weaker, more fragmented than before. Each pulse carries echoes of her pain, her fading strength. The bond-sickness scratches at the edges of my consciousness, a creeping darkness I refuse to acknowledge the meaning of. Hold on, little hacker. Just hold on.

The boarding craft launches into the heart of the Eclipse flagship, its shields barely holding against the concentrated fire. But I don’t flinch, even as another wave of emptiness washes through me where her vibrant presence should be. I can feel her, so close now, though her light flickers like a dying star. And nothing, not even death itself, will stop me from reaching her side. The hollow ache in my chest grows stronger with each passing moment, a physical reminder of what the bond-sickness is trying to tell me—that time is running out.

I grip the launch controls tighter, leaving deep grooves in the metal as I fight back the primal fear threatening to consume me. She has to survive. The alternative is unthinkable. The darkness where her fierce spirit should be burns through me like acid, but I force myself to focus. My crew needs their captain, not a mate drowning in desperation. Even if every heartbeat without her is agony.

The Eclipse flagship is a labyrinth of sterile corridors and pulsating energy fields—a cold, calculating environment that reflects the heart of their ideology. But I don’t need maps or sensors. I have Neon, and that’s all the guidance I need.