Page 11

Chapter11

ANYA COULDN’T breathe. Her lungs seized, her heart slammed painfully against her ribs, and the heated imprint of Tor’Vek’s mouth still burned against herlips.

The kiss left her wrecked, her entire body pulsing with confusion and heat. When Tor’Vek finally pulled away, it was only by a fraction. His forehead dropped against hers, his breathing harsh and uneven, and she could feel the tension radiating off him in waves like he was fighting some brutal internalwar.

The bond between them snapped tight, alive wire of need and fury and something darker she couldn’tname.

Her hands were still flattened against the hard muscle of his chest beneath his shirt, feeling the rapid hammer of his heart. She wanted to pull away, but some instinct deeper than fear kept her rooted in place.

His voice rumbled low, stripped and rough. “Iwill not take what you do not give freely.”

The words stunned her. Not just the meaning—but the sheer force behind them, the way his restraint felt like a chain yanked tight around a predator ready to strike.

Her breath hitched, her entire body caught between terror and something hotter, something dangerous.

The craving between them surged, raw and violent, making her ache with a need she didn’t understand—ascorching, liquid heat pooling low in her belly, tightening her thighs, and sending shivers racing across her skin with every heartbeat. It pulsed through the bond, louder than thought, drowning out everything buthim.

When he staggered back a step, it was as if the bond itself recoiled, and the low growl that tore from his chest made herjump.

“Do not move away,” he insisted harshly, his voice like crushed stone.

She nodded without thinking, driven by something primal and inexorable.

Tor’Vek dropped heavily onto a battered bench near the ship’s damaged wall, pulling her down with him. She landed astride his lap, and his arms locked around her, steel-hard and immovable. Not forceful. Not demanding.

Necessary.

Her pulse pounded in her ears, her breathing ragged and shallow. The bond throbbed low and deep, tying them together, binding her to the impossible heat of hisbody.

Tor’Vek exhaled roughly, aharsh, searing rush of heat against her throat that made her shiver. He pressed his face into the crook of her neck, inhaling like he could drag her scent straight into his lungs and keep it there.

“Icannot be away from you,” he growled against her throat.

The words weren’t an apology. They were a brutal, alpha truth, apossession laid bare without shame.

She shivered, her fingers threading instinctively into his thick, black hair laced with stark white—the unearthly mark of what he’d told her was his Final Flight. The silky locks slipped through her fingers, both alien and achingly beautiful. She tilted her head just enough to see him: the hard, masculine lines of his face, every angle a study in power and ruthless elegance.

His amethyst eyes glowed with an unearthly light, piercing her with a gaze so raw and consuming it stole her breath. His bronzed skin stretched over thick cords of muscle, radiating heat and strength, aliving fortress wrapped around her. Everything about him screamed otherworldly, lethal—and heartbreakingly magnificent. She held him closer, unable to resist the magnetic pull of the warrior who should have terrified her, but instead made her feel… claimed.

And in that moment, tangled together, breath for breath, heartbeat for heartbeat, she understood:

There was noher.

There was nohim.

There was only them—caught in a bond that neither of them could break, no matter how dangerous or inevitable the fall might become.

Anya barely dared to breathe.

The heat of Tor’Vek’s body pressed against hers, the low, savage throb of the bond pulsing like a second heartbeat beneath her skin. His forehead still rested against hers, their breaths tangling, but something had shifted—something darker, hungrier, clawing its way to the surface.

Slowly, he lifted his head, the faint brush of his breath skating across her skin, hot and uneven, sending a fresh shiver down her spine.

She fought to make sense of it, fought to cling to logic. Her voice broke through the silence, awhisper full of fragile denial. “It’s you. You’re the one losing control, notme.”

It had to be him. It had to be his craving alone, not hers. Not hers . His amethyst eyes burned, the glow fierce and unrelenting. His jaw flexed like he was grinding stone between his teeth.

“You are not wrong,” he said, his voice low and vibrant. “But it is not entirely me, either.”

Anya blinked, the words slicing through the haze clouding her mind. “What’snot?”

He shifted slightly where they sat, straightening just enough to cage her more firmly on his thighs, his body brimming with tension. His chest heaved once, aharsh, reluctant breath dragged from his lungs, like breathing itself was a battle he was losing.

“You feel it. The craving,” he growled. “Do not denyit.”

The air between them crackled. She opened her mouth, instinct screaming to protest, to refute, to shove him away—to do anything but yield. Her heart pounded so violently it drowned out reason. But when she tried to form the words, they died on her tongue. No denial came. No protest. Only the aching silence that hung between them, pulsing with heat and inevitability.

Tor’Vek pinned her with his gaze, the sheer force of it slamming into her like a physical blow. His eyes glowed brighter, twin embers of ruthless intent, and she felt the air shift—thicker, hotter, alive with a dangerous promise.

Every muscle in his body tensed, hard and unrelenting, as if he were holding himself back with the last fraying strands of willpower. Anya felt it too, the fierce restraint vibrating against her skin, making her pulse jump wildly.

It should have terrified her—maybe it did—but excitement curled low in her belly, molten and breathless, answering his raw need with a hunger of her own she could no longer deny. She flinched with the force of it, instinctively shrinking into herself, but it was too late. The primal thing inside him—the creature that had long been buried under logic and control—fractured, stretching awake.

He leaned in slightly, so close she could feel the untamed passion pouring off him, the faint exhalation of his breath against her skin. His hands gripped the edges of the bench, not to release her, but to chain himself in place. Fornow.

Every fiber of him screamed to take. To claim. Toown.

And Anya knew—with bone-deep certainty—that if she reached for him now, there would be no comingback.

He leaned in even closer, their bodies nearly pressed together, and the world narrowed to the sound of his voice—rough, edged, feral.

“This craving is not a weapon pointed only at me. It reaches for both of us. Tell me I am wrong.”

Her mouth trembled. She whispered, “You’re wrong.”

But the bond throbbed harder, pulsating with the truth they bothknew.

Anya’s breath caught as she watched him, every inch of her body a live wire, hypersensitive to the scorching drag of his gaze. Her skin felt too tight, too hot, as if the very air between them had thickened and heated, tasting electric on her tongue.

She felt the invisible sweep of his stare like a slow, searing caress, igniting every nerve and setting her entire body trembling with a desperate, wild need she could no longer contain. She felt it like a caress—slow, molten, searing—lingering on the flushed curve of her throat, the frantic rise and fall of her chest, the tremble that tightened her thighs againsthis.

She saw his hands twitch against the bench, the restraint in him palpable, aching to strip away the last fragile inches separating them. Heat pooled low in her belly, desperate and wild, her skin tingling under the weight of his unspoken hunger. Tor’Vek’s jaw clenched, his entire frame drumming with the raw, primal need to touch, to taste, to claim—and she knew, without question, that she wanted ittoo.

He reached out—slowly, deliberately—and caressed her jawline with the backs of his fingers. The contact was featherlight, careful, but it was electric, sending a jolt of fire spiraling through her nerves. Her lips parted on a gasp she couldn’t contain, her pupils blowing wide until her eyes were nearly swallowed whole by desire. Every inch of her skin tingled where he touched, and her thighs clenched instinctively around the empty ache building inside her, desperate formore.

“It’s the bracelet,” she whispered, almost pleading. “That’sall.”

The bracelet against her wrist pulsed viciously, contradictingher.

Tor’Vek’s voice dropped, rough silk against her fraying nerves.

“Affirmative.”

Her heart twisted, the ache spiraling low and sharp as she met the molten heat of his stare. Need wrapped tight around her chest, making every breath a struggle. Her thighs pressed even harder against him, the pulse between her legs throbbing with an aching, undeniable want. She could feel the tension coiling in his body, matching her own—ashared hunger so fierce it left her trembling.

Her voice broke free, soft and visceral. “Then why does it feel likemore?”

He had no answer.

But she could sense the matching ache tearing through him, violent and inexorable.

He sat there, breathing hard, his muscles trembling with the need to act—to seize, to claim, to make her his in a way no force in the universe couldundo.

And then—

He gave her the choice.

Tor’Vek stilled, his entire body going taut. His hands hovered just inches from her skin, vibrating with the effort it took not to touch her again. His eyes blazed down at her, burning, waiting.

One heartbeat.

Two.

Three.

Anya moved first.

Her fingers lifted—slow, tentative, trembling with the war raging inside her—and fisted into the front of his shirt. Fear clawed at her, but it was drowned beneath the tidal pull of need, fierce and undeniable, sweeping her closer to the edge she could no longer resist.

The instant she touched him, Tor’Vek snapped.

He seized her with a snarl, crushing her against his chest. His mouth found hers in a brutal clash, acollision of need so fierce it shocked her system into flames. The kiss shattered what little control she had left, consuming her, devouring her breath, until there was nothing but Tor’Vek—hot, relentless, and absolutely inescapable.

Her fingers ripped at his shirt, desperate for something to protect her from the overwhelming torrent he unleashed. His hands roamed her body with desperate reverence, mapping every curve, every quiver, every shudder.

And when she whimpered, arching closer, surrendering without words—

He lost the last shred of his control.

His golden canines flashed in the dim light. He buried his face against her throat, inhaling her, scenting her, marking her with the fierce scrape of his teeth—aprimal claim burned into herskin.

Anya cried out softly, not in fear, but in desperate, overwhelmingneed.

Tor’Vek growled low in his throat, asound of possession so deep it vibrated through her bones. He dragged his mouth along her throat, finding the delicate curve of her shoulder, and marked her again, the bond between them flaring hot and vicious and unstoppable.

Anya barely registered the broken sounds escaping her throat—not words, not even cries, just pure, unadulterated need tearing free. The bond between them throbbed wildly, araw, living force that pulsed in time with the frantic beat of her heart, binding them closer with every shuddering breath. Tor’Vek’s mouth seared a trail across her throat, branding her with every scrape of his golden canines, every ragged breath.

When he finally lifted his head, his amethyst eyes blazed—not with anger, not even hunger, but something rawer. Something deeper.

Worship.

He stared at her like she was something holy. Something he could destroy with a touch—and something he would destroy himself to protect.

Rough hands skimmed up her sides, greedy for her warmth, her softness, but reverent too. Her skin was satin over muscle, heated and hypersensitive under his callused palms. Every stroke left goosebumps trailing in their wake, her body arching into his touch like a flower straining toward the sun, helpless and instinctive.

His hands found the jacket she wore, fingers working with barely restrained urgency to strip it from her shoulders. He tossed it aside without care, his palms immediately moving to the hem of her shirt. In a single, breathless motion, he pulled it over her head and discarded it, as well, baring her to the heated press of his hands, which flattened possessively against her now exposed waist. His hands trembled, just once, before gripping her with iron strength, as if centering himself.

“Anya,” he growled, his voice fraying with desperation.

She didn’t know if it was a warning or a prayer.

She answered him the only way she could—arching against him, pressing her mouth to his, opening for him, inviting him deeper.

Tor’Vek moved then, one arm sweeping under her thighs, the other cradling her back. Asoft, startled gasp escaped her lips, and her fingers clutched reflexively at his shoulders, feeling the pure power ofhim.

Her heart thundered wildly, her body straining closer to him as he lifted her from the bench like she weighed nothing, his body moving with fluid, dangerous purpose. His hands tightened as he carried her across the narrow cabin, and every step sent a pulse of anticipation through her blood.

He set her down on a battered sleeping platform, his body coming over hers immediately, bracketing her in, caging her without cruelty. The overwhelming heat of him surrounded her, his weight pressing her into the mattress in a way that should have been suffocating—but instead felt achingly right.

Trapped beneath him, her heart hammered with helpless anticipation, her body arching instinctively into the delicious pressure, welcoming the dominance she had no will to resist. His massive form trembled with the effort to stay gentle when everything in him howled to claim.

For one breathless second, he hovered there, drinking her in. The hunger in his face appeared stark, but it was the reverence that undid her—the way his fingers traced the curve of her cheek, the way his thumb tenderly traced her lowerlip.

“You are mine,” he rasped.

There was no question. No demand.

Just truth.

He kissed her again, slower this time but no less desperate. His hands stripped away what little clothing she had left, baring her inch by quivering inch. Every time a new piece of skin was revealed, he paused—as if memorizing her with his mouth, his hands, his breath.

When he laid her bare before him, he froze. His gaze devoured her, dark and possessive, drinking in the sight of her naked body with raw, unapologetic hunger. Every muscle in his massive frame flexed as he fought the brutal instinct to cover her, mark her, claim her in a way no force could undo. His amethyst eyes gleamed, savage and unrelenting, as he let her see the feral hunger he could no longer contain. Awarrior stripped of logic, reduced to the most primitive truth he had ever known. She was his, and no power in existence would changethat.

“Perfect,” he said, so quietly she almost missedit.

Anya reached for him, needing to feel him, needing the weight of him against her. Her hands slid under his shirt, pushing it upward, and Tor’Vek let out a low, broken sound as he yanked it over his head and tossed it aside.

His body was a study in bitter perfection—massive, scarred, beautiful. The black and white streaks in his long hair caught the low light, giving him the look of a fallen star or some dark, ancientgod.

She ran her hands over the hard planes of his chest, over the thick cords of muscle in his arms, and he shuddered under her touch. It felt as though her hands branded him, her touch claiming him in ways that no oath or law ever could—an unspoken demand he would never, could never, refuse.

“Anya,” he growled again, almost as if warning her. Almost as if begging her to understand what she was doing tohim.

But she knew. And she wasn’t afraid.

“Please,” she whispered, the word trembling withneed.

He groaned—asavage, wrecked sound—and surged over her, claiming her mouth again as he pressed her down into the mattress. His body covered hers completely, the heavy heat of him searing through every inch of her. His mouth left hers only to blaze a desperate path down her throat, across her collarbone, lower still. He cupped one full breast in his rough palm, weighing her, his thumb grazing the stiffened peak until she whimpered, arching helplessly into his touch.

Tor’Vek growled low, the sound vibrating through her body, and lowered his mouth to her breast, drawing one tight peak into the heat of his mouth. He suckled her with slow, devastating pulls, his teeth lightly grazing, nipping just enough to make her cry out—abroken sound of pure, frantic urgency. His hand moved to her other breast, massaging, kneading, marking her with the heat of his possession. She writhed beneath him, every nerve ending sparking to life under his mouth, his hands, his worshipful brutality.

She parted her legs instinctively, welcoming him, and he settled between them with a low, primal sound that vibrated deep in his chest.

He kissed her like a man dying, kissed her until she was drowning in him, until there was nothing left but the frantic beat of their hearts and the unbearable pull of their bond. In a few swift, abrupt moves, he shed the last of his clothing.

When he finally— finally —pressed inside her, it was with a brutal, desperate thrust that tore a gasp from both of them. Anya cried out, the sheer width and force of him stretching her beyond anything she had known. His cock vibrated against her most sensitive flesh, the ridged mounds at its base throbbing with a maddening pulse designed to stimulate, to drive her higher until thought itself burnedaway.

Every pulse sent a new shockwave tearing through her, her inner muscles clenching uncontrollably around him, desperate and greedy for more. The relentless vibration scraped her nerves raw and sweet, her body trembling violently as she surrendered to the overwhelming pleasure he wrought insideher.

He held himself still for a fraction of a heartbeat, his jaw grinding as he fought for restraint, his forehead pressed tight against hers, their breath mingling in shattered, broken gasps. His body shook with the effort to remain gentle—but the bond between them had shattered civility.

When he surged forward again, she felt it—the slow, ominous swell of the knot beginning to build at the base of his shaft, locking him deeper, tying him to her in a way no one or nothing could undo. The vibrating mounds pulsed harder against her slick walls, driving sharp, exquisite shocks through her core with every shuddering heartbeat, until she was gasping, writhing, unable to escape the relentless pleasure he tore fromher.

“Iwill not hurt you,” he rasped against herear.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, dragging him deeper, her entire body straining toward him, welcoming him, needinghim.

“You won’t,” she whispered, and it was the truth.

With a low growl, Tor’Vek began to move—slow at first, almost gentle, each thrust careful and controlled, as if he was terrified of breaking her. But it wasn’t enough. The bond between them demandedmore.

He surged deeper, harder, his control unraveling as Anya met him thrust for thrust, her own body desperate for the devastating fullness of him. Her nails raked down his back, and he snarled against her throat, his teeth scraping lightly over herskin.

“Mine,” he growled again, the word a vow, abranding.

She felt it, deep in her bones. Felt it in every savage, reverent touch, every desperatekiss.

When she shattered beneath him, Tor’Vek followed instantly, roaring her name as he slammed deep, his knot swelling, locking them together in a primal, unbreakable hold. The vibrating mounds on his cock throbbed in tandem with their bond, sending waves of pleasure crashing through her until she was sobbing his name, lost in him, with him, utterly claimed. Their bond flared white-hot and endless, binding them in a connection deeper than flesh, beyond logic, beyond any force in the universe.

They collapsed together, tangled and shaking, the aftershocks rippling through their bodies, through their bond, which now hummed quietly between them—out of sync but achingly close, their rhythms struggling to find true accord. Anya could hear every frantic beat of his heart, feel every trembling breath he took, the sensory flood overwhelming her until there was no separation between her pulse and hisneed.

The faint, uneven vibration from the bracelets pressed against her skin and into her bones, areminder that they were no longer two—but not yet perfectly one. The ragged sounds of their breathing filled the space around them, mingling with the bond’s imperfect beat, and with it came the heavy, undeniable certainty that neither of them would ever be the same again.

He didn’t let hergo.

He couldn’t.

And Anya didn’t want himto.

She clung to him, feeling the broken thunder of his heart pounding against hers, the ragged hum of their bond wrapping tighter with every breath.

They had crossed a line that could never be uncrossed.

She was his. He washers.

And the universe would have to burn before either of them letgo.