Page 6

Don’t Let Me Go

Poppy sat on the edge of the medical chair inside the containment room, hands folded in her lap to keep them from fidgeting. Her gaze again wandered to the pod at the far side of the room. He was in it. With a brand-new body. And she really wanted to see it.

She glanced at Mr. Harlow and Mr. Quantum beyond the thick plate of glass in earnest conversation with Mr. Skul as they monitored Handy’s recovery. Just Skul. It was sweet that he’d insisted on coming to keep an eye on things. She’d been asked to sit alone in the containment room for thirty minutes before they woke him for the imprint. Her scent would play a role along with her voice and the sight of her.

She smoothed her hands over the deep blue dress with delicate embroidery along the hem. She’d chosen it carefully. Something soft but strong. A quiet, private celebration. She wanted something pretty for his first time seeing with his very own eyes. Something that made him feel anchored. After being trapped in a body that wasn’t fully his, forced to share his existence in a way she couldn’t fathom, this was his moment. His beginning. And she wanted to honor it and make it as spectacular as she could.

She looked at the pod again then the men beyond the glass. “Am I allowed to see him before he wakes?” she finally dared.

Harlow and Quantum exchanged a brief look before Quantum nodded. “Yes. You can step forward now. Just remember, he’s still in full stasis.”

Full stasis. Poppy rose, exhaling carefully as she approached the pod, going over the term. Fully unconscious, is what she remembered that to mean. Every step forward brought an energy humming along her skin from the machine. Like a beast at rest, waiting to stir.

Her breath caught in her throat as she stopped before the metal shell, taking him in. Wow. Her gaze moved over the carefully structured body. Every line of his frame blended seamlessly between synthetic mastery and raw human essence. Her gaze moved over his left arm, the jagged sleek black mechanics sending her pulse racing. The contrast between his inhuman arm and the perfection of his smooth, cream-colored flesh sent a strange thrill through her.

The organic parts of him looked impossibly real. She had half-expected something unnatural, something off—but his skin looked warm, touchable, so convincingly human that her fingers twitched at her sides, wanting to test. Starting at the hard ridges of his abdomen. Her gaze traced the silver threads of integration along his chest in wonder. Would he feel like a man? Or something else entirely? What would his metal feel like on her skin? Would it be unforgiving? Or gentle?

Her breath released shakily as she stepped closer, locking her eyes on his face. The sight of it put knots in her stomach. He was so very beautiful. Harshly so. And… she was his. Even if he’d said she would be his prisoner. Even if he’d sworn he wouldn’t be a husband to her. She had decided that whatever he needed, she’d be. His prisoner. His friend. His quiet anchor. Maybe, in time, something more.

Her gaze lingered on the sharp angles of his cheekbones then moved to the smooth, unmarred line of his jaw. Her pulse raced at the fullness of his lips. Full but firm. Not delicate. Maybe commanding. She remembered the kiss she had loaned him. He’d return it with those lips. How would he kiss her? She’d imagined it a thousand times. Would he do it the way a man kisses a woman? Would he know how? Would he hold back?

She hoped not.

New hungers drew her gaze back down his body, pausing at the sharp cut of his abdomen. The glass of the pod only reached his hips, leaving the rest of him obscured in shadow. She leaned slightly, suddenly very curious just how complete his new body was.

Heat crawled up her neck as she realized what she was doing. Her heart raced in her chest with a mix of excitement and mortification. Was it really so wrong to know? He would be hers to stabilize, to anchor.

“Poppy.”

She jerked toward the glass at Harlow’s sharp voice through the intercom.

“You ready?” he asked.

She swallowed hard and nodded. “Yes. I’m ready.”

“We’re waking him now,” Quantum said next, sending panic through her blood stream. “Stand right where you are. Let him see you first. Speak to him. Make eye contact. He needs to hear your voice.”

Poppy nodded. “Understood,” she said, turning to the pod, latching her gaze onto his face while fears of the unknown doubled down on her.

Quantum keyed in a final command. “Initiating now.”

The containment field flickered, casting erratic shadows along the walls as a faint hum pulsed through the floor beneath her feet. Her heart pounded as she watched his motionless body.

She gasped when a finger twitched in her peripheral, holding her gaze tightly to his face, not wanting to miss when his eyes opened. Another light strobe through the containment forced her lips to part for more air.

His eyes slowly opened, and she sucked in a sharp breath when their gazes collided. Flecks of crimson red seemed to burn in the nearly black irises, slitted right on her. Her pulse thundered as she stood her ground, willing herself not to look away.

Speak !

“Handy,” she whispered, voice steady, careful. “It’s me. Poppy.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just stared at her. Unwavering. Intense.

“You made it through,” she whispered, giving a small smile.

“The imprint has taken,” Mr. Quantum said suddenly. “Poppy, step out. We’ll observe from here.”

Already? She held his gaze for several more seconds, feeling like she needed more time for this connection. She finally tore away, exhaling a breath as she made her way on quaking legs. At the door, a loud womp ripped through the air, taking the lights out.

“Poppy, get out!” Mr. Skul ordered as she struggled to find the door, her heart blasting against her chest.

Alarms went off in and out of the room suddenly.

“Get her out!” Mr. Skul yelled as Poppy found the door.

“I am!” another voice yelled.

Oh God, it was locked. She turned at the deep grinding sound behind her, the flash of alarm lights illuminating the pod. A high-pitched whine filled the space—not mechanical, but something deeper. Sharper. Like a charge building.

She glimpsed flashes of panicked faces behind the glass, realizing the audio was cut. Her breaths burned her chest as she watched a streak of burning white heat move through the edges of the pod lid.

He was cutting his way out.

The pod buckled and groaned as heat bled from the seams. She screamed as it blew apart, sending shards skidding across the floor, the faint thumping of fists on the glass echoing in her head.

Poppy gasped and staggered back into the farthest wall as Handy stood, steam rising from his skin, those red burning flames in his dark eyes locked on her.

Her breaths shuddered in and out as she held his stare, numb. He took his first unsteady step forward, his balance adjusting, the tension in his body shifting, recalibrating. Her eyes lowered to that part of him she’d wanted to see, the shock of its size bringing her gasp. Steam coiled around him like a living thing, clinging to his new skin, the glow of the melted pod pieces casting shadows across his form.

She couldn’t breathe. Her pulse pounded in her ears. Instinct demanded she run, but her feet remained planted, body locked up. There was no escape. The door was locked. The system overridden.

Handy’s chest rose and fell in sharp, deliberate breaths. There was something primal behind his stare, something she couldn’t name. He was watching her. Sizing her up, like a creature assessing its environment after being unchained.

A sliver of a voice carried through a crackle of the overhead speaker. “Han—” was all that made it out. Handy turned his head slightly, not toward the glass, but toward the voice, his expression unreadable. His lips spread, not in a smile but a baring of teeth before he returned his gaze to her.

She saw them all in a panic from the corner of her eye—Quantum scrambling over the controls, King Skul with his hand flattened against the reinforced window. But there was only the sound of Handy’s breath and the residual hum of power from his arm, still glowing hot where the sharp metal on his hand had split open the pod.

Poppy’s body shook with the need to act. She wanted to run to the monster, to the man inside him who could save her. She took a step forward. “Handy,” she called, her voice careful but sure. “It’s okay.” She swallowed and took another step. “You’re okay.”

He exhaled through his nose, his head tilting as he studied her, gaze flicking over every inch of her face, her body, as though he were memorizing her.

She had the sudden sense he wasn’t just looking at her. He was deciding something.

He took another step forward and she fought not to run. Instincts clawed up her spine as she focused on her breathing. Slow. Steady.

His fingers flexed and his stance widened slightly. Coiled energy. Oh God, he was going to move.

A blink and he was there, heat filling the foot of space between them. He gripped her arms, firm but not crushing, his body looming over hers, radiating something untamed in those muscles wound too tight.

His breath fanned hot against her face. She couldn’t think. His lips grazed her temple. Not a kiss. A… test. He was waiting for something to happen.

Her breath shuddered as she stood trapped in the electric space between fear and something else, the red glowing flecks in his eyes imprisoning her.

“Say it,” he whispered.

A whimper strangled her dry throat. “Say… what?”

His hands tightened, not painfully, but commanding.

“My name,” he murmured, voice lower now, something fractured beneath it.

Poppy’s throat contracted as she teetered on some edge she didn’t understand. She exhaled carefully. “Handy.”

The moment the word left her lips, he shuddered—a full-body reaction, his breath coming harder, like something inside him had shifted.

The next second, his forehead dropped against hers, his weight pressing her gently back, but it wasn’t forceful. It was need. A desperate, exhausted need.

His body trembled, muscles seizing before loosening, like he was losing a battle she couldn’t see.

Her hands rose without thought, fingers grazing the bare skin of his arms. Warm. Too warm. “I’m here,” she whispered. “I have you. You’re not lost.”

His breath hitched, then something snapped in him. Pain lanced through his body so sharply he jerked back, hands flying to his head. A broken gasp tore from his throat, his dark eyes wild.

No. No, no, no. Poppy reached for him, but he staggered, his arm slamming into the wall behind him. A pulse of energy rippled outward, shaking the room, the heat rising like a living thing. A choked snarl tore from Handy’s throat, his body jerking like something was ripping through him from the inside. His hands clutched at his chest, muscles locked in violent tremors, his breath rasping through clenched teeth. The red in his eyes flickered, shifting between something human and something other.

She had no weapons, no power, nothing that could fight the forces inside him. Except herself. Before she could second-guess the insanity, she surged forward and grabbed his face between her hands and kissed him. Hard. Desperate. A collision of heat and fury.

For a breath, his body became taut as a bowstring. Then—a detonation.

His arms snapped around her and pulled her into his body with a brutal force. A pulsing heat radiated off him, his breath ragged as if something inside him clawed for more. His grip remained fierce as they suddenly moved in reverse. The wall hit her back with a startling force as his hot mouth covered her cry, his tongue hungrily lashing hers.

Their hot breaths clashed loudly as he ripped at her dress then panties, shoving her up the wall and forcing her legs around him.

In a panic, she latched all her fingers tightly in his hair as something huge and hot pressed at her opening. In a single thrust, he filled her body with his manhood, stretching her so suddenly, she screamed from the shocking pain.

He thrust so very deep into her, faster and faster, his large hand fisting her hair tightly, the sharp pull merging with the rest of the power he unleashed.

The pain converged into something hungry, something desperate. Her legs tightened around him as his growls rose higher, deepened to lethal.

Oh God would she be killed? This couldn’t be death. She didn’t want to experience this only once.

****

The moment it was over, the fire in his blood dimmed, and the crushing weight of what he had done bore down on him.

His breath shuddered as he stared at Poppy beneath him—his lamb, his anchor, his ruin.

Her skin was marked, her breath uneven, body trembling against his own. He had taken her, devoured her. Let the chaos inside him consume them both. And she had let him. Didn’t fight him, not even a little.

But now?

Now she would feel it. The pain.

A deep, sharp ache spread through his chest. He cupped her face, brushing his lips over hers, gentle now, reverent. A stark contrast to the violence before.

“Poppy,” he whispered against her lips, his voice thick, wrecked.

She barely managed a breath, her fingers weakly clutching at him. She would remember this. She would remember him like this.

He couldn’t allow that.

With one last kiss, he let the charge in his body pulse through his fingers, a soft jolt snapping through her skin. Her body tensed, then slackened, her breathing evening out as she slipped into unconsciousness.

A bitter, hollow relief settled in his chest. She wouldn’t feel it. She wouldn’t see him like this.

He moved, adjusting her torn dress as best he could, ensuring she was covered before scooping her into his arms. Her head lolled against him, soft and fragile. Too fragile for what he had done to her.

He turned and moved with her toward the door, unlocking the system override with a thought.

The doors hissed open.

Harlow. Quantum. Skul.

Standing. Waiting. Terrified.

Their eyes fell on Poppy, seeing what he’d done.

They were more than shocked, they were rattled. Skul was on the verge of murder and Handy adjusted his grip on her. “It’s done.” His voice was hoarse. Final.

Skul’s nostrils flared, his fury barely contained. “What did you do to her?”

Handy’s jaw clenched, rage flickering behind his exhaustion. “What I had to.” He looked at Quantum. “The imprinting process failed. The demons inside me destabilized, overriding containment. I shut the system down before they could take full control. Poppy—” His grip tightened around her unconscious body. “—intervened. She triggered the sexual phase of the imprint, stabilizing my system by redirecting the excess energy.”

Quantum’s eyes sharpened. “How?”

Handy exhaled through his nose. “She forced me to recognize her as my anchor in the only way that would work under extreme conditions. Direct contact. A full neural recalibration.”

Harlow scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Shit. That wasn’t supposed to happen yet.”

Quantum nodded slowly, already analyzing. “And now? Are you fully synchronized?”

Handy’s jaw ticked. “My system is stable. No backlash. The containment holds.”

Quantum studied him carefully. “And the bond?”

Handy’s grip on Poppy tightened, his entire body going still as he processed it. “She’s mine.” Handy’s voice was dark, unforgiving. Absolute. “No other man will touch her and live.” This, he said to Skul, his voice vibrating with an undeniable promise.

Harlow glanced between them, then finally exhaled. “Take her to the south wing. Last room on the right. She can rest while we run your tests.”

Handy still eyed Skul. Didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. Only when he was certain it was understood—Poppy was his—did he turn and carry her out.

****

The south wing was quiet and dimly lit as Handy carried Poppy inside the room. It was simple—small, functional. A bed against the far wall, a kitchenette tucked into the corner, a single chair beside a reinforced window. A place meant for him, for his new body.

Carefully, he lowered her onto the bed, eyes scanning her face. Even in sleep, she looked delicate, small against the dark sheets. His lips pressed into a thin line as he pushed a damp strand of hair from her forehead.

Their first time and he was a monster. He could never undo what had happened. What he had done. And yet… she had been everything.

His first attachment to existence had been through his brothers, bound in a way no other could understand. He had only ever been a piece of something greater. A fractured part of a whole. He had never stood alone, never truly belonged to himself.

Until now.

And in his first moment of true being, she had been there.

Not as a replacement. Not as a substitute. But as his.

His mind, his body—his demons—they had all reacted to her. She had steadied him. Everything he had longed for while being nothing more than a fragment, a whisper inside another man’s body—he had found it in her.

She had made him real.

His body hummed in response to her presence, the neural mesh binding to the imprint, reinforcing the claim. The demons inside him, once a storm, were silent now. Still. Content. They had taken the bond as law, as a ruling absolute.

But the man inside him—the one who had been forced to exist as something less than whole for so long—was not content. Because he knew. The way he had taken her—brutal, consuming, reckless—was imprinted just as deeply as the bond itself. The way her body had responded, the raw, animalistic need that had burned between them—he would never be able to forget it, never be able to undo it. Worse, he would never stop wanting it that way. The sheer perfection of it, the unfiltered rightness, the way she had clung to him, accepted him, ruined him—

It had awakened something he could never put back to sleep.

He exhaled sharply, knowing the truth. His punishment was himself. Wanting what he had taken in his worst moment. Hungering for it. More. Again. Forever.

****

Sleep wouldn’t come.

The room was too quiet, the weight of what had happened pressing against his ribs like a vice. Every nerve in his body still hummed, every muscle wound too tight. His demons had accepted the bond, the imprint locking into his core, yet the man inside him was restless.

Slowly, Handy rose, glancing down at Poppy. She remained still, her breathing soft, her body relaxed despite the raw evidence of what he had done to her. His fingers twitched, the urge to touch her overwhelming, but he forced himself to step away.

The shower. He needed a shower.

His new body required self-assessment. He needed to feel it, understand it, something other than the violence it had been baptized in.

Crossing the small space, he entered the bathroom and activated the water. The shower was a sleek, modern unit, designed for efficiency, but right now, he cared little for its function. He stepped beneath the scalding stream, letting the heat pour over him, steam curling around his body.

And he felt it. In his body. Not borrowed. Not shared. His.

He ran his hands over the hard planes of his chest, feeling the strange but seamless blend of human and machine. His synthetic enhancements were integrated perfectly, the neural mesh allowing sensation to flood through every inch of him. He could feel everything. The heat of the water. The pressure against his skin. The rhythmic thrum of his own heartbeat beneath his ribs.

He tilted his head back, eyes closing as the water streamed down his face. He grazed his fingers along his lips. He could still taste her there.

His chest rose and fell sharply, his mind replaying every second of her beneath him, around him. The way she had fit him. The way her body had taken him without hesitation, as though she had always been meant for him.

She was his punishing pleasure. His euphoric curse.

A muscle in his jaw ticked as he opened his eyes, staring at the condensation-covered glass. He lifted his left arm, watching as his mechanical fingers flexed beneath the stream, water beading along the dark alloy plating. The neural connection was flawless, his brain recognizing the limb as his own, not an extension or a tool, but a part of him.

He clenched his fist, testing the power, feeling the energy hum beneath the surface. He had destroyed a containment pod with that hand. He had touched her with them.

And she had welcomed it.

His gut twisted, his body reacting despite himself. Need stirred again, a hunger that wouldn’t be sated now that he knew what it felt like to have her. To lose himself inside her.

Would she wake up afraid of him? Would she recoil when she looked at him? He wasn’t sure which thought unsettled him more—the idea of her fearing him or the idea of her not fearing him at all.