Page 4

Chapter 4

Cirdox

T he bridge of the Void Reaver thrums with tension as thick as stellar plasma. My crew works their stations with practiced efficiency, but I catch their sideways glances, their unspoken questions. Years of military discipline keep my posture rigid, my wings perfectly still despite the strange heat coursing through my veins. I observe as she takes in her surroundings, those enhanced eyes of hers cataloging every detail with a precision that matches my own. Something about her presence sets my blood on fire, triggers instincts I’ve never felt before. The sensation is foreign, unsettling—like my body is trying to tell me something my mind can’t yet comprehend.

My training tells me to focus on the tactical situation, to push aside these unexpected physical reactions. But for the first time in centuries, discipline alone might not be enough. There’s something about this human that calls to me on a level I don’t understand, awakening responses I’ve never experienced. The heat in my blood, the way my wings itch to shelter her—none of it makes sense. And that loss of control is more dangerous than any pursuing ships.

“Three Planetary Police cruisers on our tail,” Grig announces from the helm, his pale blue fingers dancing across the controls. “They’re charging weapons.”

“Evasive maneuvers,” I order, forcing my attention to the tactical situation despite how Neon’s presence pulls at my senses. She’s positioned herself by the display with textbook defensive positioning—my military training catalogs the details automatically. Weight distributed for rapid response, clear sightlines to all exits, back protected. The electric blue in her hair catches the emergency lights, making her too visible, too exposed. My fangs ache with the need to defend, to shield her with my wings, but I crush the instinct. Focus. “Options?”

“The Cassian Nebula,” Zara suggests, her russet fur bristling as she pulls up the nav charts. “The ionic interference might—”

My mate works the console with a fluidity that’s almost hypnotic, her fingers moving over the controls like she’s playing a symphony only she can hear. Every movement is precise and deliberate, no wasted energy—like a soldier executing a battlefield maneuver. The residual charge from the argument moments ago still lingers in the air, thick as ionized plasma. Zara’s tail had lashed with frustration, her distrust written in the rigid set of her shoulders. Grig had been more measured, but the tension in his voice was unmistakable— “We don’t know what she’s capable of.”

They weren’t wrong to be wary. But they didn’t understand what I did: she’s our best chance.

I shut down the debate with a single command. “She works, or we die.” There wasn’t time for anything else.

Resentment still simmers at the edges of the bridge, but Neon ignores it, her focus locked on the ship’s systems with the kind of intensity I’ve only ever seen in seasoned tacticians. She moves through my tech like she’s lived inside code her entire life, and maybe she has. The cold glow of her neural implants casts shifting shadows across her face, making her look like something out of a hacker’s fever dream—dangerous, brilliant, untouchable.

My instincts pull in two directions at once—one screaming to keep my distance, the other demanding I get closer, to anchor her before she slips away like stardust through my fingers. I silence the second impulse with sheer force of will. Now isn’t the time.

“Their tracking signatures,” she murmurs, tapping out a rapid sequence on the display. “They’ve adapted to ionic camouflage.” She zooms in, highlighting a subtle fluctuation in the data—one my own tactical training had missed. “Try hiding in that nebula, and we’ll light up their sensors like a supernova.”

Damn. That’s impressive.

I step closer, watching as she peels away layers of encrypted signals like she’s skimming through an old data journal. “They’re running Mark VII systems now,” she continues, her voice clipped and efficient. “Quantum-locked. Triple-redundant. The old tricks won’t work.” She leans closer to the interface, her enhanced eyes narrowing as she tracks the patterns.

A slow smile curves her lips.

“But there might be another way. Something they haven’t seen before.”

I don’t miss the flicker of satisfaction in her expression—the thrill of solving an impossible puzzle. And stars help me, I think I might be getting addicted to watching her work. I arch an eyebrow, watching as she approaches the main console with the confidence of someone who knows exactly what they’re doing. “And I suppose you have a suggestion?”

Her fingers hover over the interface, neural implants pulsing an eerie blue beneath her skin as she accesses the ship’s systems. “I can get us clear—for a price. Drop me at Driftspire Station and we both walk away from this mess.”

The clinical precision in her voice sets my teeth on edge. She’s treating this like just another transaction, like we’re haggling over stolen credits instead of standing on the edge of survival. My wings flex, a barely restrained urge to shield, to claim. She doesn’t understand—this isn’t about control. It’s about existence. If she walks away, she takes my sanity with her. My breath comes rougher than I’d like, heat pulsing in my blood, the mate-bond clawing through every restraint I’ve ever built.

Thex’s face flashes in my mind, his once-powerful wings reduced to brittle husks, his body devoured by the sickness long before the flames took him. I can still hear his voice, ragged and broken: “The pain isn’t in dying, cousin. It’s in knowing she’s out there and will never be yours.”

The memory clenches around my ribs like a vice. I won’t end up like him. I can’t . I have a crew to lead, a ship to protect, enemies circling like scavengers. If I fall, the Black Eclipse won’t just take over my territory—they’ll burn everything I’ve built to ash.

The bond is already sinking its claws into me, my body recognizing what my mind barely has time to process. Each second without her is a brand searing deeper into my bones, a countdown I can’t ignore. Days, maybe weeks before the sickness takes hold. And I don’t intend to waste them.

I watch her, every instinct screaming at me to act . Her fingers hover over the controls with the practiced ease of someone who’s lived inside code, her enhanced eyes scanning for vulnerabilities. There’s a sharp intelligence in every movement, a mind built for survival, for escape. But I can’t let her run—not when she doesn’t understand what’s at stake.

“No deal.” My voice comes out rough, edged with something I can’t quite leash, something primal and immovable. My wings twitch, the fire in my blood flaring hot enough to burn. She doesn’t look up, but I see the flicker of tension in her shoulders. She felt it—the weight of those words, the warning they carry.

She’s not walking away from this.

Not from me.

She turns sharply, but not before I catch it—a slight stiffening of her shoulders, a flicker of tension in her jaw, the kind of reaction that speaks of someone used to losing their options one by one. It’s gone as fast as it appeared, replaced by sharp-edged defiance. “Do whatever you want, Captain,” she snaps, voice controlled but clipped, like she’s forcing it through locked teeth. “I’m sure the Planetary Police will love adding ‘kidnapping’ to your list of charges when they catch us.”

“Evasive maneuvers!” I bark, gripping the armrest as the ship lurches violently. Grig’s hands fly over the controls, twisting the Void Reaver into a sharp roll that sends the incoming plasma bolts streaking harmlessly past our hull. The inertia presses against my wings, but I barely register it—my focus sharpens on the tactical display, on the enemy’s pattern, on the next move that will keep us alive a little longer.

I flex my wings, shadows dancing across the bridge as I stalk toward Neon. She doesn’t back down—of course she doesn’t. My mate is as stubborn as she is beautiful, and just as dangerous. “You’re not leaving this ship.”

My wings twitch, an involuntary reaction to the sharp, wild scent of her nerve. It sets my blood burning hotter, a primal recognition sparking deep in my bones. She’s nothing like the trembling fugitives I’ve dealt with before—those who beg, who barter, who break under the weight of inevitability. No, this female stands her ground, chin lifted, eyes blazing, every sharp line of her body promising a fight.

And stars help me, I want that fight.

I step closer, slow and deliberate, watching the way her breath hitches—not in fear, but calculation. She’s already running probabilities, mapping escape vectors, weighing risk against reward. My mate is dangerous in a way that has nothing to do with weapons and everything to do with will. And she’d rather die than be caged.

The realization is a punch to the gut.

Kyvernian instincts war with hard-won discipline. Claim. Protect. Anchor. But Neon is no anchor—she’s a solar flare, brilliant and untamed, and if I try to hold too tightly, she’ll burn through my fingers. The mate-bond pulses, the sickness already whispering warnings in my veins, but I shove it aside.

She thinks this is about control. It’s not. It’s survival—hers and mine. And somehow, I need to make her see that before she destroys us both.

I exhale slowly, adjusting my stance, making sure my wings don’t flare in challenge. “You think I would let that happen?” My voice is low, steady, though my hands twitch with the need to touch, to hold—to keep. “You think I would let you throw yourself into the void because you don’t trust me yet?”

Her eyes narrow, lips parting like she’s ready to fire back another cutting remark, but I push forward, voice rougher now. “You want to fight me? Fine. I’ll take that battle any day.” My wings flex, but I force them still. “But don’t make the mistake of thinking I’ll ever let you go.”

The ship rocks with a glancing hit. “Shields at eighty percent!” Zara calls out, her russet fur bristling as her claws dig into her console. The impact reverberates through the deck plates, a harsh reminder of our vulnerability. Each hit brings us closer to capture—or worse, to losing my mate before I’ve even had a chance to show her what we could be together.

I watch Neon’s reaction, noting how she automatically adjusts her stance to compensate for the ship’s movement, how her enhanced eyes track multiple threat vectors simultaneously. She’s beautiful in her competence, deadly in her grace. And she has no idea what she means to me, how the very thought of her leaving makes my blood burn with something far more painful than desire.

Already something burns in my veins, an unfamiliar ache that grows stronger with each passing moment. I’ve heard whispered stories about bond-sickness all my life—warnings passed down through generations about the price of an unclaimed mate. But experiencing it firsthand... the reality is more terrifying than any tale. Each breath without her nearby feels hollow, incomplete. Something fundamental has shifted inside me, and I don’t know how to fix it. Or if it can be fixed.

I grip the arm of my chair, wings mantling with barely contained frustration. Out here in the lawless expanse of space, I thought I was safe from such primal forces. I never expected to find my mate, never prepared for what it might mean. Now every instinct screams that she belongs with me, while my rational mind grapples with an increasingly desperate question: What happens if she continues to reject the bond?

The words burn like acid in my throat. Every instinct in me snarls to refuse, to keep her close, to force her to understand what she is to me. But forcing her will only make her run faster. If I want her to stay, I must let her think she is free.

Even if the thought of it tears me apart.

I exhale sharply, wings twitching with the effort it takes to restrain myself. “Fine. Driftspire Station.” But the promise tastes like a lie. Because no matter where we go, no matter how far she runs, she’s already mine.

A small smile plays at the corners of her mouth as she turns back to the console. “Smart choice. Now, about that creative solution...”

The way she commands my console demands my tactical assessment—each movement precise and lethal, marking her as a fellow predator. My military training catalogs the details automatically: enhanced neural capabilities, advanced infiltration skills, combat-ready positioning. The blue glow of her implants marks her as more dangerous than initially assessed. Yet beneath the analytical observation, something primitive stirs, an awareness that bypasses centuries of discipline.

I maintain a professional distance, though my wings shift restlessly at my back. The mate-bond burns in my blood, urging closer proximity, but I force my attention to remain tactical. Her capabilities could either save or destroy my ship—that’s what matters right now, not the way her presence seems to electrify the recycled air between us.

The slight tension in her shoulders reveals hypervigilance—someone used to watching their back. My enhanced senses pick up traces of adrenaline beneath the sharp scent of her neural tech. She’s running from something serious enough to override her obvious aversion to being trapped on my ship. That tactical insight is more valuable than the primal satisfaction of having her in my territory.

I need to focus on the mission, on protecting my crew and cargo. The mate-bond’s pull is just another variable to manage, not an excuse to lose the discipline that’s kept me alive this long.

“Your cloaking system is decent,” she murmurs, more to herself than to me. “But with a few modifications...” Her voice trails off as lines of code scroll across the screen faster than even my enhanced vision can track.

“What are you doing to my ship?” I demand, my voice rougher than intended as her proximity sends waves of heat through my blood. Her scent fills my lungs—metal and lightning and something uniquely human—making my wings flex unconsciously. I force them still, centuries of military discipline battling against primitive instincts I’ve never encountered before. The urge to wrap my wings around her, to claim this lethal creature as mine, burns almost as hot as the mate-bond itself. But I can’t afford distractions, not with pursuit vessels on our tail. Focus on the tactical situation. Analysis first, primal urges later.

“Giving us a ghost protocol that’ll make us invisible to their tracking systems.” She doesn’t look up, but I catch the slight hitch in her breath when I move closer. The reaction sends a fresh surge of heat through my veins, but I crush it down with iron control. Her enhanced eyes stay fixed on the console, neural implants casting an ethereal blue glow that makes my blood burn hotter. The way she commands technology stirs something in me—here is a hunter as deadly in her domain as I am in mine. “It’s not permanent, but it should buy us enough time to get clear of their sensor range.”

“And raise every red flag in the Brotherhood’s security protocols,” I growl. Only ships aligned with the Black Eclipse use this level of stealth technology. “You’re painting a target on our backs.”

“One problem at a time, Captain.” The way she says my title sends electricity down my spine. “Would you rather deal with the Brotherhood’s suspicions or Planetary Police plasma cannons?”

The Void Reaver lurches violently under another blast, the hull groaning with the impact. The scent of overheating circuits floods the bridge, acrid and sharp, as warning lights flicker like dying stars across the console. Zara’s fingers fly over the controls, her tail bristling with tension. “Shields at sixty percent!”

“Do it,” I order, fighting against decades of hard-earned caution. The Brotherhood’s trust is like luminore—precious, volatile, and impossible to replace once lost. I’ve spent years building my reputation among them, proving that every risk I take serves a greater purpose than profit. One suspicious move could unravel everything.

But watching Neon’s fingers dance across the console, I know there’s no choice. I’ve always led with calculated risks, weighing each decision against the cost of failure. Right now, the math is simple: The Brotherhood’s suspicion I can handle. Losing my mate—losing the chance to even try to convince her to stay—that’s a cost too steep to bear. “But this better work.”

Her fingers dance across the holographic interface, each keystroke precise and deliberate. My enhanced vision tracks the cascading lines of code she weaves together—an intricate tapestry of quantum algorithms that would make most hackers weep. The neural implants beneath her skin pulse with an ethereal blue glow, casting shifting patterns across her face as she works.

“See this?” She gestures to a string of variables I barely recognize. “Your cloaking system operates on a basic phase-shift principle. Effective against standard scanners, but predictable.” Her fingers fly faster, adding layers of complexity I didn’t know our systems could handle. “I’m modifying it to sync with natural quantum fluctuations instead.”

The ship’s computer protests with a series of warning chirps. She silences them without breaking rhythm, a ghost of a smile playing at her lips. “The universe isn’t static—it breathes, ripples, folds in on itself millions of times per second. Most sensors are calibrated to filter out these natural distortions.”

Her implants flare brighter as she pushes deeper into the system. “But if we match our signature to those background ripples...” The tactical display flickers, then stabilizes. Where our ship’s icon once blazed like a beacon, there’s now only the subtle shimmer of space-time itself. “We become part of that background noise. Invisible.”

She leans back, satisfaction evident in every line of her body. “Just don’t expect me to stick around for the aftermath. Creating holes in space-time tends to attract the wrong kind of attention.”

The words are like claws in my chest. She doesn’t understand—can’t understand—what she means to me. What losing her would do. The bond-sickness is already starting, a subtle ache in my bones that will grow until it consumes me. Without her, I’m dead. And if I die, everything I’ve built, everyone who depends on me, will fall to the Black Eclipse’s control.

But I can’t tell her that. Not yet. Her body language when discussing staying—the slight tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers twitch toward escape routes—speaks of someone running from more than just Orion security. My enhanced senses pick up subtle stress markers that my military training categorizes as deep-rooted survival responses. Whatever taught her to guard her secrets this fiercely has left scars my tactical assessment can’t fully decode.

“Done!” she announces as the ship’s lights dim momentarily. “We’re gone from their sensors. To them, we just... disappeared.”

The tactical display confirms it—the pursuit vessels are breaking off, their confusion evident in their erratic search patterns. Relief floods the bridge, but I can’t relax. Not when every moment brings me closer to losing her.

“Plot a course for the outer rim,” I tell Grig. “We’ll lay low until the heat dies down.” Until I can make her understand what she means to me, what we could be together.

Neon’s shoulders tense. “That wasn’t the deal.”

“I need to be honest with you,” I say, forcing myself to meet her gaze despite the burning in my blood. “The mate-bond isn’t just about attraction or destiny. For Kyvernians, it’s life or death. Without completing the bond, the sickness will kill me within weeks.”

I watch her freeze, her breath hitching just slightly—a tell most wouldn’t notice, but my instincts latch onto it like a predator scenting weakness. Not fear. Something sharper. Denial. The bond pulses between us, raw and undeniable, but she’s already raising her defenses, her mind scrambling for an escape route even as her body betrays her.

Her arms cross over her chest, a barrier—one I recognize all too well. A firewall slamming down against something she doesn’t want to process. I’ve seen battle-hardened soldiers use the same tactic, convincing themselves they don’t feel pain even as the wound bleeds out beneath their armor. She’s shielding herself, but from what? Me? Or the truth she doesn’t want to acknowledge?

Her scent shifts—still sharp, still electric with defiance, but underneath it is something new. Unease. Not fear. Not yet. But close enough to set my fangs on edge. Every instinct in me demands that I push forward, bridge the distance between us, make her understand before she twists this into something it’s not.

She lifts a brow, voice razor-sharp with suspicion. “That’s... convenient timing.”

I exhale slowly, wings flexing behind me, the tension in my muscles coiling tighter. “You think I fabricated this? That I would lie about something that could kill me?” My voice comes out rougher than intended, but stars help me, she needs to hear this. “Do you have any idea what it means for my kind to find a mate? What it costs us when we don’t?”

Neon’s chin tilts up just enough to be defiant, but I see the flicker of something else in her eyes. Doubt.

Good.

I take another step forward, close enough now that her scent—the sharp, electric hum of her neural implants mixed with something uniquely her—wraps around me like a noose. I should step back. Give her space. But it’s too late for that. The bond is already formed. Whether she accepts it or not, my body knows. My blood knows.

“You say convenient timing, but I call it cruel,” I rasp, voice just low enough that only she hears. “I spent my whole life believing I would never find my mate. That I would die before the bond could ever form. And now, when I finally find you, I can feel you running from it.”

She flinches. Almost imperceptible. But I see it.

That small crack in her defenses widens just enough for me to press forward. I don’t touch her—I can’t. If I do, I might not be able to let go. Instead, I let my voice carry the weight of what I can’t say aloud.

“I know you don’t trust me. I know you don’t want this. But I also know what I feel is real. And whether you stay or go, whether you fight this or not, the bond is already set. It doesn’t care what you want.” My voice dips lower, rough with a truth I wish wasn’t so damn urgent. “And if you run? It will kill me.”

Her breath catches—just for a fraction of a second.

Another crack.

She shakes her head, her expression twisting into something fierce and desperate. “That’s not my problem.”

A growl rumbles deep in my chest, my wings flaring slightly before I force them back. “No, it’s ours. You think you can just walk away from this? From me?” I lean in, watching the way her throat works around a swallow, the way her hands clench like she’s fighting the urge to reach for something she doesn’t want to name. “I promise you, you’ll feel it too. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But it will come for you, Neon. And when it does, you’ll understand why I can’t let you go.”

Her pupils dilate. A rush of adrenaline spikes her scent, setting my blood on fire. But she doesn’t move away. Not yet.

My words settle over her like an unpatched vulnerability in her system—too big to ignore, too dangerous to acknowledge. It should be infuriating. Instead, it only confirms what I already know. She feels it. She just won’t let herself admit it. But she’s too late. I already caught the half-second lag in her pulse, the way her breath hitched before she forced it back under control.

A lesser male might have missed it.

I don’t.

Her eyes narrow. “This isn’t over, Captain.”

Her words are a blade, meant to cut the moment clean—”This isn’t over, Captain”—but her voice betrays her. A fraction too tight. A single note off-balance. She turns before I can reply, before she can let me see the truth in her eyes.

She turns on her heel and walks away. Each step she takes feels like a blade carving through my ribs. My talons scrape against the console as I clench my fists, forcing myself not to go after her. Not to drag her back and make her listen.

I watch her go, my wings flexing instinctively, aching to close the distance. But I don’t follow. Not yet. My mate is a runner, a creature of firewalls and locked doors, of carefully coded barriers designed to keep everyone out. If I push too hard now, she’ll bolt before she even understands why she wants to stay.

I exhale slowly, the mate-bond tightening inside me like a vice. The sickness is coming. I can already feel it in the hollowness that forms the moment she steps away. Every instinct in me snarls to go after her, to claim her, to anchor her before she slips through my fingers entirely.

But Neon isn’t prey.

She’s the hunt.

And I intend to win.