Page 5

Chapter 5

Neon Valkyrie

T he door hisses shut behind me, sealing out the chaos of the bridge, but not the storm still raging in my head.

Mate-bond.

I scoff under my breath as I pace the cabin, arms crossed tight over my chest. I don’t believe in destiny. Not in soulmates, not in fate, and definitely not in some cosmic biological imperative that decides who I belong to. I’ve spent my whole life running from things that want to own me—corporations, syndicates, security forces—why should this be any different?

Except it is.

Because my body isn’t listening to reason.

It’s glitching, reacting to him in ways I can’t override—like a virus slipping past my firewalls, embedding itself into my system. My neural implants have never malfunctioned like this before. No external interference, no logic to explain away the way my pulse syncs to his, the way my breath hitches every time he gets close.

I slam my hand against the metal table, frustration curling hot in my chest.

I don’t have time for this. I don’t have time for him.

Because there are bigger problems —like the encrypted data still burning in my neural cache and the hacker who’s been tracking me across the system like a predator waiting for me to slip.

I move to the small console, flicking through schematics of the Void Reaver’s network architecture. Distraction. That’s what I need. I’ll crack into the ship’s encrypted systems, find a way out, and—

A soft chime cuts through my focus. My muscles tense, hand hovering over the stunner in my boot as the door hisses open.

Zara steps inside, her russet fur sleek, her tail twitching in irritation. She holds a tray laden with steaming food and a carafe of something that smells faintly of spiced berries.

“Captain’s orders,” she says, setting the tray down. “He said you might appreciate some... sustenance.”

I eye the food suspiciously. “Is it poisoned?”

A flicker of amusement crosses her features. “Only if you consider spiced Huxarian root vegetables poisonous. It’s... an acquired taste.”

“I’ll pass.” I gesture to the datapad. “Busy.”

Zara exhales sharply, her russet ears twitching. “You really don’t see it, do you?”

I pause mid-step, tension coiling in my shoulders. “See what?”

She gestures vaguely, not just at the ship, but at something bigger—something I don’t want to name. “The Captain. He’s holding it together, but not for long.”

A prickle of unease skates down my spine. “If this is another speech about fated mates—”

“It’s not,” she snaps, tail lashing. “You don’t have to believe in destiny. But you should believe in biology. He’s already showing signs.”

A cold weight settles in my stomach. “Signs of what?”

Her expression hardens. “Deterioration.” The word lands like a blow. “The bond-sickness isn’t just a myth, and it’s not some romantic curse. It’s real. And it’s already taking hold.”

My throat tightens, but I force a scoff. “And what? He’ll just drop dead if I don’t fall into his arms?”

Zara’s ears flick back, her voice razor-sharp. “No. But if he keeps pushing his body past its limits, he’s going to slip. His judgment, his reflexes—everything that makes him Cirdox will start failing. And in a fight like this?” She leans in, eyes locking onto mine. “Mistakes mean death. Not just for him. For all of us.”

I fold my arms, ignoring the sudden pressure in my chest. “That’s not my problem.”

Her lips press into a thin line. “Not yet.”

The clinical detachment of my neural implants feels like a shield against the weight of her words. They’re designed to analyze threats, calculate odds, process data. But they offer no insights into alien biology or the implications of what she’s saying. All they can tell me is that her vital signs indicate she believes every word.

The weight of her words hits me like a plasma blast. This isn’t just some alien trying to claim me—he’s literally dying because of whatever biological imperative makes him think I’m his mate. And I have no idea what to do with that information.

The crew’s hushed voices filter through the ventilation shaft, punctuated by the clink of metal on metal. My illegal neural implants filter out the background hum of the ship’s systems, isolating their conversation.

“...Black Eclipse consolidating power...”

“...Brotherhood fracturing...”

“...Captain Cirdox taking too many risks...”

My blood chills. Whatever Cirdox is involved in, it’s bigger than just smuggling. And if his crew is worried, it’s serious.

Suddenly, the ship lurches violently, throwing me against the wall. Alarms blare, red lights flashing across the ceiling. Zara grabs the nearest handhold, her fur bristling with alarm. “What was that?”

“Ambush!” a gruff voice barks over the ship’s comm. “Three unidentified fighters, closing fast. They’re flying Huxarian colors, but their energy signatures don’t match any known models. Could be Black Eclipse.”

I shove the plate of nutrient paste aside, my stomach churning with a tension that has nothing to do with the recycled-protein flavor. The buzz from my illegal implants intensifies, a frantic energy that vibrates in unsettling harmony with the alarms screaming around me. The deck vibrates beneath my feet, and the acrid tang of ozone stings my nostrils—a telltale sign the atmospheric regulator is struggling to keep up. If they don’t get this under control, we’re all going to suffocate before those pirates even get the chance to carry out their charming spacing plan.

My mind races, trying to connect the dots. Eclipse fighters. Here? Now? It can’t be a coincidence. That last message—the hacker knew I was onto them, knew about the luminore shipments, knew I’d run. Did they tip off the Eclipse? Orchestrate this whole attack? My luck can’t be that bad, can it? One minute I’m dealing with a lovesick alien pirate who thinks I’m his cosmic soulmate, the next we’re getting jumped by unknown assailants. This feels... wrong. Too precise.

The data I stole burns in my neural cache—proof of Black Eclipse collusion with STI officials, evidence of their plans to monopolize the luminore trade and cripple Outer Orion. If it falls into the wrong hands, entire systems will suffer. And now someone’s hunting me for it, someone with enough resources to track me across systems and coordinate attacks. This whole pirate drama feels like a calculated move, a way to keep me off balance while they close in. The timing is too perfect, the pursuit too precise. Like they know exactly which buttons to push.

And the biggest, most tempting button of all? Cirdox. The pull toward him feels like a betrayal of every survival instinct I possess, yet I can’t deny the way my body thrums with a dangerous energy whenever he’s near. Whatever’s happening between us is just another vulnerability they can exploit, another way to break down my defenses until they get what they want.

The alarms blare, a deafening symphony of impending doom. My mind races, sifting through the encrypted files burning in my neural cache. Each one a potential motive, each one a possible reason for this targeted attack. CorpSec data breaches, black market weapons deals, stolen STI intel—any of them could be enough to draw this kind of heat. They’re after me.

Either way, I’m trapped in the middle of a fight I didn’t start, and if I don’t act fast, I might not live to regret it. My instincts scream at me to run, to find an escape pod and prioritize my own survival. But years of scraping by in the Orion Outpost’s underbelly have taught me a different lesson: when the walls start closing in, find the biggest threat and make yourself indispensable.

Fear twists in my gut—not just for me, but for everyone on this ship. They didn’t choose this fight. I grit my teeth and turn to the console, fingers flying. I’m not just escaping now. I’m keeping them alive.

Right now, that threat is asphyxiation. From the vent in my tiny cabin, I can hear the panicked shouts and the distinctive hiss of escaping atmosphere. My internal sensors confirm what my ears already suspect—rapid decompression in sections four and five. These pirates, it seems, are out of their depth. I access the ship’s internal network, bypassing their surprisingly weak security protocols. Schematic diagrams flash across my vision, showing me exactly where the damage is and how quickly it’s spreading.

Zara’s frantic attempts to reroute power are visible on the engineering logs—her efforts are valiant, but ultimately futile. The other crew members’ bio-signs show elevated stress levels, their movements clumsy and uncoordinated as they try to contain the damage. They’re good in a fight, I note, analyzing their combat training protocols, but this is a technical crisis, and they’re flailing. Perfect. Time to turn chaos into an advantage.

“Let me access your systems again,” I tell Zara, my voice calm despite the adrenaline surging through my veins. “I might be able to reroute power to the failing atmospheric regulator—and the shields, while I’m at it.”

Showtime, I mutter, a grim satisfaction settling in as the familiar thrill of a high-stakes hack takes over. Time to remind myself—and these pirates—why they call me the Neon Valkyrie.

Zara’s russet fur bristles, her vulpexian ears flattening against her skull as she moves to block the console. “Access our systems?” Her tail lashes with agitation. “I may not be human, but I wasn’t born yesterday,” Zara says, her sharp eyes narrowing as she leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. Her russet fur bristles slightly, betraying the tension she’s trying to mask. “You already hacked into our systems once. I’m not about to hand you another opportunity to compromise my ship just because the Captain seems to think you belong here.”

“You want to survive this? Then get out of my way.” I match her stare, letting her see the steel in my eyes. “Those aren’t standard pirates out there. They’re targeting your life support systems with military precision. Your engineering team is good—I can see their countermeasures in the system logs—but these attackers are using classified STI override protocols. The kind that can tear through even military-grade defenses. In about three minutes, this section will decompress completely. Your choice—trust the hacker who specializes in breaking exactly these kinds of systems, or watch your perfectly competent crew get overwhelmed by classified tech they were never meant to face.”

Another hit rocks the ship, and Zara’s claws dig into the console’s edge. Her ears twitch as she listens to the failing equipment, weighing her suspicion against the very real possibility of death by asphyxiation. “If you try anything—”

“You’ll space me yourself. I got it.” I edge past her, fingers already moving across the interface. “Now shut up and let me save your ship,” I reply, my fingers already dancing across the console, working through the sophisticated security protocols with practiced focus. “Unless you’d prefer being recycled as space dust by the Black Eclipse?”

My implants highlight the Void Reaver’s systems—a level of sophistication that confirms my earlier analysis. Multi-layered encryption, adaptive firewalls, and a core matrix that seems to anticipate intrusion attempts. Cirdox clearly invests in quality tech. But beneath the elegant architecture, something feels... off. Like the system is designed to protect against something more than just standard security breaches. There’s a hidden layer, a subtle hum beneath the code that my implants can’t quite decipher. It’s like a whisper in the back of my mind, a warning I can’t ignore. This ship is hiding something.

If I push the shield generators past their limit, we might deflect the next barrage. Or we’ll fry the system and be sitting ducks. My fingers hover, then slide the output to max. “No other choice,” I murmur. The ship groans in protest as I push its systems past their recommended limits, creating a temporary energy surge that will fry any incoming missiles—or melt our own circuitry if I’m not careful. It’s a calculated risk, the kind I thrive on.

“He needs you on the bridge. Now.” Zara’s fur bristles with alarm. Her tail lashes anxiously as another tremor rocks the ship. “The jump drive’s failing, and from the sound of those alarms, we don’t have much time.”

I curse under my breath. Getting involved is a strategic mistake, but staying hidden while they’re blown out of the sky is an even bigger one. Every instinct screams at me to stay hidden, to protect myself, to avoid becoming entangled in someone else’s fight. Especially when that someone is a dangerously attractive alien pirate who insists I’m his fated mate. The memory of Kai’s screams, the final flicker of his neural link before it went dark, still haunts my nightmares. Trusting anyone, even in a crisis, feels like inviting another betrayal.

But the thought of the Black Eclipse fighters tearing through this ship, of Zara and the other crew members being vaporized by plasma fire... I can’t stand by and watch. Not again. Not after losing Kai, after watching him die because I trusted him to have my back. This time, I’ll be the one watching theirs. Even if it means risking everything.

“Fine,” I say, pushing away from the console as the ship shudders under another near miss. “But if this gets me spaced, I’m haunting your captain for the rest of his ridiculously long lifespan.”

On the bridge, the atmosphere crackles with tension. Cirdox stands at the helm, his wings half-extended, radiating power and barely controlled fury. He glances at me, his eyes burning with an intensity that makes my breath catch.

“Report,” he barks.

“Shields holding, but they’re targeting our engines,” Grig says, his pale blue fingers flying across the controls.

“Neon,” Cirdox says, his voice rough. “Can you scramble their targeting systems?”

I take over the tactical display, my neural implants syncing with the ship’s systems. My pulse hammers, the adrenaline of an incoming attack flooding my senses, but then—Cirdox moves. Just a fraction. A shift so minute it shouldn’t register, yet I feel it like a gravitational pull. He’s close, too close, his heat pressing against my side, a counterpoint to the cold logic of my tech.

I expect him to bark another order, to push forward with the same controlled authority he’s wielded since I first saw him. But he doesn’t. He’s still. Too still. A muscle tics in his jaw, tension coiling through him like a wound wire about to snap. His fangs gleam between parted lips, his breath a hot whisper against my skin. Not steady. Not measured.

Something is wrong.

I glance at him, expecting hard calculation, but his eyes—those burning crimson eyes—aren’t locked on the battle schematics. They’re locked on me. Wide pupils, too much strain in the tight line of his shoulders. His wings twitch, the tips curling inward, like he’s fighting something I can’t see.

An error flashes in my neural overlay. My implants glitch. Or maybe... maybe I’m not the only one short-circuiting.

My fingers dance across the tactical interface, neural implants blazing as I weave through layers of encryption. The enemy’s targeting matrix unfolds before me like a deadly constellation, each weapons system a node waiting to be corrupted. Time slows as I sink deeper into the code, the physical world fading until there’s nothing but the pure stream of data.

“Come on, you bastards,” I mutter, injecting a virus into their guidance systems. It’s beautiful in its simplicity—a cascading failure that will spread through their network like wildfire. My enhanced vision highlights each successful breach in brilliant blue, a deadly light show only I can see. “Let’s see how well you shoot when you can’t tell which way is up.”

The effect is immediate and devastating. On the tactical display, their formation breaks apart as my code scrambles their sensors. Plasma bolts that would have torn through our hull now streak harmlessly into the void, their deadly accuracy reduced to wild shots in the dark.

“Targeting systems offline,” I announce, allowing myself a small smile of satisfaction as their ships wheel in confusion. “They’re firing blind.”

Cirdox maintains his predatory stance at the helm, wings half-extended as he watches our countermeasures take effect. “Good work, mate.” His voice remains rough with barely contained fury, the intensity in his crimson eyes never wavering.

“Still not your mate,” I retort, but the words come out uneven, lacking the sharp edge I intended.

My neural implants flash an alert—anomalous biometric synchronization detected. My pulse is mirroring his. The realization sends a cold spike through me, but my body doesn’t seem to care. Every time his voice rumbles through the bridge, my breath stutters in response, my muscles tightening like I’m bracing for something inevitable.

I force a slow inhale, willing my nervous system to comply, to reset. It doesn’t help. No. It’s just adrenaline. Just heightened stress levels from the fight. Just—

Just another excuse.

We work together, a seamless blend of skill and instinct, dodging their attacks and returning fire with calculated precision. The ship groans under the strain, but we hold our own. I catch Cirdox’s gaze again, the burning depths of his eyes making my stomach flip with an intensity that has nothing to do with combat maneuvers.

Sweat beads on my forehead as I bypass the last firewall, my heart pounding fiercely against my chest. The thrill of the hack mixes with a gnawing fear of what happens if I fail. Each command I send feels like a decisive move in a deadly game of chess. “Come on, come on,” I urge under my breath, holding my breath as I wait for the system to respond.

The ship lurches violently from another hit, causing Zara to cling to the doorway, her eyes wide with a mix of hope and despair. “Did it work?” she asks, her voice shaky.

I don’t look up from the console. “Almost there—I just need to stabilize the input levels.” My hands fly over the holographic interface, adjusting parameters with precise, practiced movements. The ship stabilizes, and a collective exhale of tension sweeps through the bridge. Zara’s hand squeezes my shoulder—a quick, firm pressure that feels surprisingly grounding in the chaos. It’s a small gesture, but in this moment, surrounded by aliens and flashing lights and the very real possibility of being blown out of the sky, it’s enough to make my throat tighten. I shove the emotion down, hard. Sentiment is a luxury I can’t afford, not now, not ever. Focus, Neon. One crisis at a time.

“Their attack pattern,” I say, my voice tight as I point to the tactical display. “It’s too precise, too focused on disabling our comms. They’re not trying to destroy the ship. They want something.” My mind races, piecing together the clues. The encrypted files, the relentless pursuit, the way they’ve managed to track me across multiple systems. “They’re after me. And the data I stole.”

Cirdox’s eyes narrow. “What data?”

My heart hammers against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the silence of the cabin. A message suddenly sears across my vision, the crimson text burning like fire:

WELL PLAYED, VALKYRIE. BUT YOU’RE STILL MOVING EXACTLY WHERE I WANT YOU.

My throat goes dry. This isn’t just someone tracking me.

They’re controlling the board.

I freeze, my fingers hovering over the console. The attached coordinates make my stomach drop—Vulpexia. Our destination. My enhanced vision automatically starts calculating distance and arrival time, but my mind is stuck on one terrifying fact: they knew where we were going before I did. Which means either the ship’s been compromised, or...

Or they’ve been three steps ahead this whole time.

The realization hits me like a physical blow. I’m not just being hunted—I’m being herded. Every move I’ve made, every decision I thought was my own, has been leading us exactly where they want us to go. And now I’ve dragged Cirdox and his entire crew into what’s clearly a trap.

“Neon?” Cirdox’s voice cuts through my spiral of panic, rougher than before. I glance at him, expecting only cold calculation—but there’s something else. His hands grip the armrests, tension coiling through his muscles, knuckles white against dark bronze. His wings, usually held in perfect control, twitch involuntarily, the tips flexing like they want to stretch toward me, as if instinct demands he reach for me despite himself. Even his breathing is off—too shallow, too uneven, as if speaking costs him something.

It’s not just in his head. Whatever this mate-bond is doing to him, it’s physical. And it’s getting worse.

My mouth goes dry. How do I tell him that I’ve basically painted a target on his ship? That my presence is probably going to get everyone killed? The weight of it settles in my chest like cold lead. These people didn’t ask to be part of my mess. They don’t deserve to die because I was stupid enough to think I could outrun whatever’s hunting me.

“Change course,” I manage, my voice barely a whisper. The words feel inadequate against the magnitude of what we’re facing. “We need to get out of here. Now.”

Cirdox’s gaze intensifies, searching mine with those burning crimson eyes. “What’s happening, Neon?”

I look at him, this dangerous alien who claims I’m his mate, and for the first time, I see not a captor, but a protector. The realization terrifies me more than any threat waiting at Vulpexia. I’ve spent so long running, so long trusting no one, that the mere thought of having someone to rely on feels like a vulnerability I can’t afford. And I hate myself for the flicker of relief that washes through me anyway.

“It’s a trap,” I say, the words heavy with guilt. “They’re waiting for us at Vulpexia.”

And then, as if the universe is done playing fair, the ship’s lights flicker once—twice—then die, swallowing us in absolute darkness. My implants glitch, a sharp burst of static crackling in my neural interface before everything crashes.

No visuals. No diagnostics. No way to see what’s coming.

The air grows heavy, thick with something deeper than silence. My tactical overlay is dead, my enhanced vision nothing but a void of useless code. There’s no system warning, no reboot command, just the cold, jarring absence of data.

A cold realization grips my spine.

This isn’t just an attack.

This is a forced shutdown. Someone—something—just killed the Void Reaver’s power at a level even I can’t override. Not a simple EMP, not a random power failure. This is deliberate. A targeted blackout, designed to strip everything away in an instant.

The ship lurches, inertia shifting in a way that makes my gut churn. For a breathless moment, I can’t tell if we’re still moving or drifting powerless through the void.

“Report!” Cirdox’s voice cuts through the dark, sharp as a blade.

No response.

Just the sound of my own breath, too loud in the oppressive quiet. The bridge, once alive with the steady hum of machinery, is now eerily still. My pulse spikes—too quiet. Not just systems down. Comms too.

Zara curses somewhere to my left, sharp and low. “We’ve lost everything. Main power, backup grids. It’s like—”

“Like someone cut the heart out of the ship.” My voice is tight, my hands moving instinctively over the dead console. My fingers find nothing but cold, lifeless metal. I don’t need my implants to know the truth. My gut is already screaming it loud enough.

We’re blind.

We’re vulnerable.

And they’re coming.