Page 8

Chapter 8

Cirdox

T he bridge of the Void Reaver thrums with barely controlled tension, emergency lights casting crimson shadows across battle-scarred control panels. Warning indicators pulse in silent patterns across every station, their urgent messages reflecting off polished metal surfaces like trapped stars. From my command chair, I watch Neon work the tactical station, her implants casting ethereal blue patterns across her skin as she analyzes the enemy vessels. The constant hum of the quantum drive provides a bass note beneath the subtle beeps and chirps of scanning equipment. The sounds of the ship which usually soothe now set my teeth on edge.

The bond-sickness burns through my veins like liquid fire, making my tribal markings pulse erratically against my bronze skin. My wings tremble with the effort of staying still, their membrane-thin edges quivering in the recycled air despite centuries of military discipline. The environmental controls seem to be malfunctioning again, the temperature fluctuating between extremes that do nothing to help the fever raging beneath my skin.

Each breath carries her scent—sweet and dangerous and something uniquely human that makes my blood sing with recognition. The primal part of me, the part consumed by bond-sickness, demands I claim her here and now. But the captain in me, the leader my crew needs, forces that desire down. The dichotomy tears at me—need versus duty, instinct versus control.

Static crackles across the main viewscreen as another sensor sweep penetrates the asteroid field, the interference creating ghostly patterns that mirror the growing chaos in my blood. The bridge feels smaller somehow, more confined, as if the metal walls themselves are closing in with each spike of fever.

“Three Eclipse scout ships,” Neon announces, her enhanced eyes tracking data streams I can barely follow. “Mark VII targeting systems, quantum-locked engines, and...” She pauses, frowning. “Something new. They’ve modified their cloaking technology using fragments of my own code.”

I lean forward, ignoring how the movement makes my wings tremble. “Explain.”

“Remember that virus I used to scramble their sensors?” Her fingers dance across the holographic interface, neural implants flaring brighter as she digs deeper into the analysis. “They’ve reversed engineered it, turned it into a tracking beacon that follows my neural signature. Clever bastards.”

A growl builds in my throat at the thought of them hunting my mate. The sound makes her glance up, those enhanced eyes catching the way my markings pulse with fever. Concern flickers across her face before she masks it, but the bond between us resonates with her worry.

“I’m fine,” I say before she can comment. The lie tastes bitter on my tongue, but there’s no time for weakness, not with Eclipse scouts closing in.

I activate the secure comm channel, reaching out to the few Brotherhood captains I still trust. The quantum-encrypted signal bounces through a dozen relays before connecting. “This is Cirdox. We have three Eclipse scouts approaching through the asteroid field. Requesting immediate—”

The bond-sickness hits like a supernova, molten agony that makes my wings snap wide with an audible crack. The fever surges, a tidal wave of burning need that threatens to drown me. My vision blurs, the tactical displays swimming before me as another wave of pain tears through my defenses. The familiar scents of the bridge—ozone, recycled air, the metallic tang of machinery—twist into something sharp and bitter that burns my enhanced senses.

“Captain!” Zara rushes to my side as I double over, her concerned face swimming in my blurred vision.

I try to straighten, to maintain some semblance of control, but another surge of fire races along my spine. My wings tremble with the effort to stay upright. “Complete... the transmission,” I manage through gritted teeth.

“Shadow Wing, this is First Officer Zara of the Void Reaver,” she says into the comm, her russet fur bristling as she watches me struggle. “Requesting immediate assistance. We have three Eclipse scouts on approach.”

“Copy that, Void Reaver,” Rhilnar Captain K’vex responds, her six arms moving in perfect synchronization across multiple control panels. “Shadow Wing is already in position. Stalking Mist will join us from the dark side of the asteroid belt.”

I surge to my feet, wings snapping wide with indignation. “I didn’t authorize—”

The rest of my protest dissolves into a sharp inhale as fire races through my veins. My tribal markings pulse erratically with fever as I grip the nearest console, fighting to stay upright. The bond-sickness tears through my defenses with renewed vigor, as if punishing my attempt at authority.

Zara’s tail lashes with determination, her russet fur bristling as she stands tall. “You didn’t have to. As First Officer, it’s my duty to ensure this ship’s safety—including its captain’s.”

Her voice leaves no room for argument. Even through the haze of fever, I recognize the steel in her tone, the unwavering loyalty that makes her invaluable. She’s right, damn her. In this condition, I’m more liability than asset.

“Neon,” I say, forcing my voice steady despite the fire in my blood. “The bridge is yours. Work with Zara to coordinate our defense.”

Surprise flickers across Neon’s face, followed by something deeper, more complex. “You’re trusting me with your ship?”

“I’m trusting you with my crew.” The distinction is important. Through the bond-sickness, I feel her reaction—a mix of honor and fear, responsibility and doubt. “Unless you’d prefer I collapse here and really give the Eclipse something to talk about?”

A ghost of a smile tugs at her lips. “Can’t have that. Your ego’s big enough already.” But her enhanced eyes soften, scanning my vital signs with obvious concern. “You need to rest. Now. Before I have to hack your neural implants and make you.”

I nod, too exhausted to argue. I slump into a nearby chair, my wings drooping as another wave of fever hits. Neon’s eyes widen as she watches me struggle to maintain consciousness.

“Zara, take the bridge,” Neon commands, her voice sharp with authority. “I’m getting him to his quarters.”

Zara nods, her russet fur bristling with determination as she takes the command chair. “Understood. We’ll hold things down here.”

Neon turns back to me, her expression a mix of concern and resolve. “Come on, Captain. Let’s get you rested up so you can kick some Eclipse ass later.”

The walk to my quarters is a battle of will versus instinct. Each step brings Neon closer, her proximity both soothing the bond-sickness and intensifying it in ways that make my head spin. Her hand on my arm steadies me, but every point of contact sends electricity through my fevered system. By the time we reach my door, I’m trembling with the effort of maintaining control.

My quarters are spartan, dominated by a large viewport that offers an endless view of stars. The cold void beyond the reinforced glass is a stark contrast to the heat consuming me from within. Neon helps me to the bed, her enhanced eyes cataloging every detail of my condition.

“How bad is it?” she asks, pressing a cool hand to my forehead. The simple touch sends lightning through my nervous system, pleasure and pain intertwined.

“Scale of one to ten?” I catch her wrist before she can pull away, my thumb tracing patterns on her pulse point. “About a thousand.”

She tries to withdraw, but I hold her gently, needing her to understand. “The bond-sickness isn’t just fever and pain. It’s...” I struggle to find words that can bridge the gap between our species, our experiences. “Imagine your neural implants malfunctioning. Every sensation amplified, every emotion raw and exposed. But instead of data streams, it’s... connection. The need to complete something vital to your survival.”

“You’re dying,” she says softly, the words barely a whisper. Not a question this time. Her enhanced eyes catch every detail— the tremor in my wings, the erratic pulse of my tribal markings, the sweat beading on my skin.

“Yes.” No point lying now. “But I won’t force this on you, Neon. I won’t use my condition to manipulate you into something you’re not ready for.”

She studies me, those brilliant blue eyes processing more than just physical data. “How does it work? The mate-bond. You’ve never really explained.”

I sit up, fighting another wave of dizziness. “It’s more than physical union. The bond creates a permanent connection—thoughts, emotions, even life force itself becomes shared. When it’s complete, neither can survive without the other.” My voice roughens. “It’s why my people choose carefully. One mate, one lifetime. No second chances.”

“That’s...” She swallows hard. “Intense.”

“It is.” I reach up, cupping her face with a trembling hand. “Which is why it has to be your choice, Neon. Completely yours.”

She leans into my touch, almost unconsciously. “And if I say no?”

“Then I die knowing I respected your freedom.” The words cost me, but they’re true. “Better that than live knowing I trapped you in something you didn’t choose.”

Something shifts in her expression—surprise, maybe, or recognition. She moves closer, her free hand coming up to trace the tribal markings that pulse beneath my skin. The touch sends fire through my veins, but this time it’s not just pain. Pleasure threads through the burning, sweet and sharp and dangerous.

“You’re not what I expected,” she murmurs, her fingers exploring the contours of my face with a gentleness that makes my heart ache. “When you first captured me, I thought...” She trails off, shaking her head. “I thought you were just another alpha male alien who wanted to own me.”

“And now?” My voice is rough, strained with the effort of maintaining control as her touch sends sparks through my system.

“Now I think you’re something far more dangerous.” Her enhanced eyes meet mine, filled with a mixture of fear and fascination. “You make me want things I can’t afford to want.”

“Like what?” I barely breathe the words, afraid to break whatever spell has fallen over us.

Instead of answering, she leans forward and kisses me. The contact is electric, sending a shock through my entire system. The bond-sickness flares, but this time it’s different—the pain transmuting into something sweeter, more urgent. My wings snap wide, then curl around us both, creating a private universe where nothing exists but this moment.

She tastes like starlight and danger, a combination that makes my blood sing. I keep my touch gentle, letting her set the pace, even as every instinct screams at me to claim her completely. Her hands explore my chest, tracing the tribal markings that pulse in time with my racing heart.

“Is this okay?” she whispers against my lips. “I don’t want to make it worse.”

I catch her face between my hands, making her meet my gaze. “You could never make this worse. Just being near you helps more than you know.” The admission costs me, but she deserves the truth. “I never expected to find my mate, Neon. This bond-sickness... it’s a part of who I am, not something you’re responsible for.”

She studies me for a long moment, then nods slowly. “Show me,” she says softly. “Show me what you need.”

The permission in her words nearly undoes me. I kiss her again, deeper this time, pouring all my need and longing into the contact. She responds with equal fervor, her body pressing against mine as if seeking to eliminate any space between us. My wings tighten around us, cocooning us from everyone... and everything.

Her hands find my chest, fingers tracing the tribal markings that pulse with increasing intensity. Each touch sends electricity through my nervous system, pleasure and pain intertwined until I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. The bond-sickness burns hotter, but now it’s threaded with something sweeter—possibility, hope, connection.

I trail kisses down her neck, tasting the salt of her skin, feeling her pulse race beneath my lips. She gasps when I find a sensitive spot, her body arching into mine. The sound goes straight to my core, making my wings tremble with barely contained need.

“Wait,” she pants, pulling back slightly. Her enhanced eyes are dark with desire, but there’s still hesitation there. “I need to know... if we do this, if we complete the bond... what happens to my freedom? My identity?”

I force myself to focus through the haze of need. “The bond doesn’t change who you are, Neon. It adds to you, complements you. Like your neural implants—they enhance your natural abilities without erasing your humanity.”

She processes this, her analytical mind working even as her body responds to my touch. “And you’d let me keep working? Keep fighting the Eclipse?”

“I’d fight beside you,” I promise, meaning every word. “Your causes would become mine. Your battles, mine to share.”

Something softens in her expression. She leans forward, pressing her forehead against mine. “I’m not ready,” she whispers. “Not for everything. Not yet. But...” Her hands slide up my chest, making my breath catch. “Maybe we can find a middle ground? Something to help ease the bond-sickness without... without completing it fully?”

Relief and frustration war within me, but I understand. This is Neon—brilliant, cautious, fiercely independent. Taking things slowly is her way of maintaining control, of protecting herself. And despite the bond-sickness burning through me, I respect that.

“Middle ground,” I agree, my voice rough. “But Neon...” I catch her chin, making her meet my gaze. “You should know that anything we do will only intensify the connection between us. There’s no going backward from here.”

She swallows hard, but doesn’t look away. “I know. But I can’t watch you suffer when there might be something I can do to help.” Her hands resume their exploration of my chest, more purposeful now. “Just... tell me if it becomes too much?”

I nod, not trusting my voice as her touch sends fresh waves of heat through my system. She kisses me again, slower this time, with a deliberate intensity that makes my head spin. Her hands slip beneath my shirt, mapping the contours of my chest, learning what makes my breath catch and my wings quiver.

When she brushes against a particularly sensitive spot near my wing joints, I can’t suppress a groan. The sound seems to encourage her, and she grows bolder, her touches more confident. I let her explore, fighting the urge to take control, to claim her completely.

Time loses meaning as we trade kisses and careful touches, learning each other’s bodies with a mixture of curiosity and growing need. The bond-sickness still burns, but it’s different now—less painful, more like a sweet ache that intensifies with each point of contact between us.

Her fingers trace the lines of my markings, each touch sending jolts of electricity through my body. I can feel the heat of her hand, so close to where I need her most, and it takes every ounce of willpower not to grab her wrist and guide her to me. But I resist, letting her explore, even as sweat breaks out on my forehead, my body trembling with the effort of holding back.

She leans down, her lips brushing against my ear, her breath hot and ragged. “Is this okay?” she whispers, her fingers toying with the edge of my pants, driving me mad with anticipation.

I nod, my voice a hoarse croak. “Yes. But... be gentle, Neon. The bond-sickness... it makes this... painful. In the best and worst way.”

She pauses, her eyes searching mine, concern etched on her face. “I don’t want to hurt you,” she says, her voice soft, her fingers stilling.

I cup her face in my hands, my thumbs brushing against her cheeks. “You’re not hurting me. It’s just... intense. And I want it, Neon. I want you. Even if it’s bittersweet, even if it’s painful, I want this. I want you.”

She bites her lip, considering, then nods, her eyes never leaving mine. She slides her hand lower, her fingers brushing against my cock, and I hiss, my hips jerking upwards, a shock of pleasure and pain coursing through me. She’s tentative at first, her touch light, almost teasing, as she explores my length, her fingers tracing the outline of me through the fabric of my pants.

“You’re... different,” she murmurs, her enhanced eyes widening with curiosity and a hint of admiration. “Larger than I expected, and... there are these ridges...” Her fingers trace the contours, sending jolts of electricity through me. “They’re... interesting. I can already imagine how they’d feel inside me.”

Her words make my blood surge, the bond-sickness flaring with a mix of pleasure and agonizing need. Each careful touch, each whispered observation, sends waves of heat through my body, making it nearly impossible to hold still.

“Neon,” I growl, my voice rough with desire. “You’re driving me mad.”

She smiles, a sly curve of her lips that makes my heart race. “Good,” she says softly. “Because you drive me just as crazy.”

Her fingers continue their exploration, tracing the sensitive ridges that pulse with need. “And these... they’re almost like they’re designed for pleasure,” she whispers, her voice low and husky. “I bet they’d hit all the right spots.”

The image her words conjure sends another wave of burning need through me. I can feel the pulse of my heart in my groin, each beat sending a wave of pleasure and pain through me. I groan, my hands fisting in the sheets, my body trembling with the effort of holding back.

But even that light touch is almost too much, the bond-sickness making me hypersensitive, my cock throbbing with a desperate, aching need. I can feel the pulse of my heart in my groin, each beat sending a wave of pleasure and pain through me. I groan, my hands fisting in the sheets, my body trembling with the effort of holding back.

She looks up at me, her eyes dark with desire, her lips parted, her breath coming in quick gasps. She slides her hand into my pants, her fingers wrapping around my cock, and I cry out, my hips bucking upwards, seeking more of her touch, more of her. But still, I let her set the pace, let her explore, even as my body screams for release, screams for her.

Her touch is tentative at first, her fingers exploring, learning, driving me mad with desire. She strokes me slowly, her grip firm but gentle, her eyes never leaving mine, watching, gauging my reaction. I can see the concern in her eyes, the worry that she’s hurting me, but I can also see the desire, the need, the hunger.

I reach up, cupping her face in my hands, drawing her down into a deep, passionate kiss. I pour all my need, all my desire, all my love into that kiss, letting her feel what she does to me, how much I want her, how much I need her. And she responds, her body pressing against mine, her hand stroking me faster, her kiss matching my passion, my desperation.

But even as the pleasure builds, even as my body screams for release, I know I can’t come, not yet, not until I can claim her, not until the bond is complete. And that knowledge, that bittersweet truth, makes this all the more intense, all the more painful, all the more exquisite. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. Because it’s her. Because it’s Neon. And because, despite the pain, despite the bittersweet torment, I know that this, right here, right now, is exactly where I’m meant to be.

Her touch is electric, her kisses intoxicating, and I’m lost, completely lost, in the storm of sensation, the whirlwind of desire, the overwhelming, consuming need for her. And I know, with a certainty that shakes me to my core, that I will never get enough of her, that I will always crave more, always need more, always want more. And that knowledge, that certainty, is both exhilarating and terrifying, a heady mix of pleasure and pain, desire and fear, need and want. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

The bond-sickness recedes to a distant ache, overwhelmed by the sharper, more immediate burn of desire. I recognize it’s a temporary respite, knowing that the dawn will bring fresh challenges that I must face. But for now, with her safe against my chest and her lips brushing against mine, I allow myself a fleeting moment of belief in something beyond survival. A possibility, a hope for forever.

Eventually, she falls asleep, curled trustingly against me. I remain awake, acutely aware of her steady breathing, the way her warmth seeps into my very being. In this moment, I draw a deep breath, silencing the chaos of my mind, focusing on the comfort of her presence.

As I hold her, I balance the longing in my chest with an awareness of my duty. Each wave of pleasure mingles dangerously with the bond-sickness, urging me to lose myself in the sensations, to claim what I desire. Yet the disciplined pirate captain in me fights to maintain control, to keep the fever at bay, knowing that giving in completely could compromise both my mission and her safety.

I take a moment to center myself, forcing back the instinctual pull of desire that threatens to overwhelm my rational thought. The vulnerability I feel is disconcerting, yet I feel the weight of my responsibility press down on me. If I cannot manage the bond-sickness, if I cannot protect her and my crew from the dangers we face, then everything I’ve fought for will collapse.

She stirs in her sleep, a soft sigh escaping her lips. I feel a surge of protectiveness coursing through me, taut like a bowstring. The bond is powerful, demanding not just desire but an emotional connection that frightens me. The last thing I want is to place this burden onto her—an obligation that could lead to pain and loss.

Yet, as I look down at her trusting form, I can’t ignore the bond-sickness. I want her to choose me, to choose this path together, but I also want her to make that choice freely.

I press a gentle kiss to her temple, feeling the warmth of her skin and breathing in the soft scent that envelops us both. It’s a moment of clarity amidst the chaos surrounding us. If she decides to embrace the bond, it must be a decision made out of strength and desire, not fear or obligation.

For now, I hold her close, my wings creating a protective barrier around us, shielding her from the uncertainties that loom outside. I will stay awake, watching the soft blue pulse of her implants and listening to her steady breathing. My wings create a protective canopy around us both, and I silently vow to keep her safe—from the Black Eclipse, from the mysterious hacker hunting her, and from my own desperate need to claim her completely.

But as the night wears on, the fever returns, burning hotter than before. My wings tremble, my body shaking with the effort to control the pain, the need. I press a gentle kiss to her temple, my heart aching with a different kind of pain. If she doesn’t choose me soon, the bond-sickness will consume me. And even if she does, there’s no guarantee she won’t resent me for binding her so completely.

I hold her tighter, burying my face in her hair, breathing in her scent like it’s the air I need to survive. Maybe it is. Maybe she is. But the choice is hers, and all I can do is hope she makes it before time runs out. Before the bond-sickness takes away any chance we might have had at a future together. Before my love for her becomes my own undoing.