Page 14

Chapter14

THE AIR outside the ship struck Anya immediately—dense and sharp, the pressure heavier than Earth’s, the gravity tugging harder at every breath. Her lungs ached with the effort to adjust, and the weight of the supply pack dug into her shoulder like it had doubled. Each step forward would take more energy, every kilometer a punishment.

She adjusted the strap, wincing, already feeling the strain settle into her joints. Tor’Vek’s hand pressed lightly to the small of her back, lingering longer than necessary. She knew why. Maybe, she thought, it helped him find his strength too, against the pull of a planet that didn’t want to let themgo.

“Seven kilometers northwest,” Tor’Vek said, scanning the horizon and checking it against the map hovering above his rij. His voice remained steady, but she could feel the tightness simmering under the surface.

They moved together in a rhythm that had become second nature. Their hands occasionally tangled—not by accident, but by need. There was no more pretense, no more hesitation. They touched because they had to, because distance hurt more than closeness.

She no longer pretended to pull away. There was no point—not after everything they’d already shared, after the endless occasions when his mouth had traced heat over her skin and she’d come apart in his arms. What they did now wasn’t about curiosity or obligation. It was about survival. The bond demanded closeness, and every step they took together was a silent agreement to hold the line—for as long as they still could.

“Did you always want to be a scientist?” she asked after a while, needing to hear something—anything—that wasn’t about the way her body ached to turn toward him, to press against him, to close the space between their mouths again.

Talking helped. It distracted her from the heat pooling low in her belly, from the pulse thumping in her wrists where the bracelet clung like a second skin. Conversation was a connection—maybe the only one strong enough to keep her from givingin.

He glanced down at her. “Iwas selected young. Aptitude determined my placement. Ipursued science and medicine because they were efficient uses of my skills.”

“Efficient,” she repeated, almost smiling. “Not because you lovedit?”

He considered. “Irespected it. Purposeful work is preferable to purposeless.”

“You’re not answering the question.”

And she needed him to. She needed to know there was something beneath all that logic and restraint—something real. Something that wasn’t just programmed obedience or function. Maybe it was selfish, maybe it was foolish, but she needed to believe there was still someone inside him who chose what mattered. Who chose her .

His mouth tightened. For a moment, she thought he wouldn’t respond. Then he said, “There was satisfaction. Satisfaction is acceptable.”

They walked another few steps in silence. Their hands touched again, lingered, and the gnawing heat inside her eased slightly. She swallowedhard.

“What about you?” he asked. “Before this. Before Selyr.”

“Iwas a college student. Studying education. Close to my sister.”

“Maya,” he said quietly.

She blinked, surprised. “You remembered.”

He gave a faint nod. “Yes. You have spoken her name with frequency. But... what is she to you? Ayounger sibling? Older? Aclone?”

Anya stared at him, thrown. “What? No. Itold you. She’s mytwin.”

He stopped walking. “Twin?”

“Yeah—identical twin. We were born minutes apart.”

His brow furrowed in a rare flash of visible confusion. “Abiological double? Is this a form of cloning on your world?”

She gave a startled laugh. “No! It’s not cloning. It just happens sometimes. Two babies in the same womb. Genetic siblings—same parents, born at the same time.” She tilted her head, watching him with quiet curiosity. “You’re a scientist. You must be familiar with twins.”

Tor’Vek considered that, his eyes narrowing slightly as though scanning internal data. “Twins are an anomaly. Twins do not exist among the Nine Galaxies.”

Anya stumbled. “Wait—what?”

“Natural duplication is rare and biologically unstable in most known species. It is not observed in Vettian evolution.”

She stared at him. “You’re telling me there’s no such thing as twins in your entire galaxy?”

“In the Nine Galaxies,” he corrected calmly. “It is either impossible or extremely rare. When it does occur, it is typically associated with mutation or failed replication.”

She shook her head, trying to process it. “But that means... Maya and I—we’re something you’ve never seen before.”

“Affirmative.” Apause. “You are a fascinating anomaly. Both ofyou.”

Something about the way he said it—not with suspicion, but reverence—made her throat tighten. She hadn’t expected that. Not from him. Not from a man who barely reacted to fear or pain or even touch, except when it came from her. But in that moment, when he called her an anomaly, it felt different. Like he saw something in her that made her more than a data point. More than a liability. Unique.

And it did something strange to her. It made her feel exposed. Not just physically, with his gaze skimming over her skin like a second heat source, but emotionally. Because he didn’t look away. Didn’t scan the horizon or change the subject or tell her it was irrelevant. He just looked at her like she mattered.

The craving throbbed between them, and her breath caught as her mind flashed—not to Maya this time—but to the way his fingers had lingered on her back, the way his shirt still smelled faintly of him where it clung to her skin. She shouldn’t notice. She shouldn’t care. But shedid.

She cleared her throat, but it came out shaky. “So you’ve never met anyone likeme.”

“Correct.”

“And no one like her, either.”

He paused. “That is what makes anomalies significant. Singular.” Then, almost smiling, he corrected himself. “Not singular since there are two ofyou.”

An anomaly, then—but doubled. As though the bond hadn’t already set her apart, now biology did, too.She stumbled a little and he caught her elbow, steadying her. That touch burned—hotter than it shouldhave.

“Yeah. Maya,” she said, her voice rough. “She’s… everything to me. Ihave to get back toher.”

Tor’Vek’s hand slid down her arm, catching her wrist and holding it lightly. She didn’t pull away. Couldn’t. Every cell in her body begged for the contact. His gaze locked withhers.

“You will,” he said, and something inside her chest fractured at the quiet certainty in his voice.

They pressed on, keeping close, the craving building like a storm at their backs. At one point, when they had to scramble up a crumbling ledge, Tor’Vek lifted her easily, setting her down so gently it made her throatache.

At the top, she didn’t step back. She didn’t want to. He looked different up here—like the wind stripped him down to something raw. The ridges of his jaw were locked tight, his breathing no longer measured, but rougher. His fingers twitched against her waist like he wasn’t sure if he was reassuring her or himself.

The craving, the heat—it wasn’t just building anymore. It was pushing. Hard. Astorm rising in the space between them and inside him, and she could see it—how close he was to the edge. His eyes darted to the side like he was trying not to look at her, and failing. His control—always so flawless—shuddered like it was seconds from cracking.

He stood too close. His breath brushed her temple. His fingers remained at her waist. Their bracelets almost pulsed in time, alow, insistent beat that blurred into the frantic thud of her heart.

Anya looked up. Her chest squeezed. His breath had caught for just a second. Not much—but enough. His eyes flicked to her mouth and then away, jaw clenched, like he was swallowing something dangerous. Something fragile. Something that would break if he let itout.

Her heart skipped, caught between fear and something else—something reckless. He was right there, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his skin, the bond drumming so loud it silenced everything else. And he wasn’t moving away. He was fighting himself and losing. Every part of him vibrated with tension, like his body was trying to contain something it was never meant to hold. She saw it then—not rage, not logic, but the terrifying fragility of restraint. And beneath it, the wanting. Her. Onlyher.

Tor’Vek’s eyes burned—aglowing amethyst, intense,raw.

She rose onto her toes, not knowing if it was her decision or theirs. His hand slid up her spine, and their mouths met—hot, desperate, aching.

The kiss was a collision, aclash of need and restraint. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t tender. It was survival—afrantic attempt to staunch the craving, to bury themselves in something other than rage and hunger.

His mouth devoured hers, and she clung to him, fingers fisting in the fabric of his shirt. For one endless heartbeat, the world narrowed to this—heat, breath, connection.

Then, abruptly, he tore himself away, staggering back as though burned.

She gasped, reaching for him—then stopping herself just intime.

They stood there, panting, staring, the bond between them vibrating with the force of what they’d barely survived.

A sound shattered the charged silence.

Click.

Ahiss.

Anya spun, heart slamming into her throat.

From the shadows of the broken rocks ahead, creatures exploded intoview.

Hominids. Pale. Slick-skinned.Fast.

Tor’Vek shoved her behind him with a single, brutal motion and drew his sword. His solar gun blazed to life, but he tossed it aside almost immediately, favoring the blade—favoring close combat.

They swarmedhim.

He moved with lethal precision at first—acalculated machine of muscle and rage. But the precision didn’tlast.

The craving. The anger.

It unspooled inside him like a snappedwire.

He fought too hard. Too violently. When he felled one creature, he didn’t stop. He drove his fists into the corpse again and again, blood splattering the rocks, his breath coming in savage snarls.

“Tor’Vek!” Anya cried.

He didn’t hearher.

He waslost.

His fists didn’t know when tostop.

Another creature lunged. He turned with a roar—not the cry of a man, but of something ancient and furious—and tore intoit.

The first scouting wave had barely begun.

And already, Tor’Vek was unraveling.

Anya backed away, stumbling over loose rock, her breath jagged and thin. Blood sprayed in wide arcs, the air filled with the crunch of bone under fist, the screech of dying things, and Tor’Vek’s low, feral growl. He was a storm now—silent one second, roaring the next, fury bleeding through everymove.

She opened her wrist display, desperate for something—anything—that made sense. The countdown blinked back ather.

41:14:22

Her stomach dropped. “No… no, that can’t be right.”

It had been at 48:00:00 when they’d left. They hadn’t been walking that long. But the digits ticked down faster now. Toofast.

Her heart slammed into her ribs. Selyr had warned them this would happen—warned the countdown would accelerate the moment they gave in to the bond, to rage or craving or both. And Tor’Vek had just lost control of all three. Or maybe it wasn’t Selyr at all. Maybe the bracelets were reacting on their own, feeding off Tor’Vek’s emotional spike, interpreting the violence as a signal that they weren’t ready. That they were becoming unstable. That it was time to endthem.

“Tor’Vek!” she screamed again, but he didn’t respond. His sword had disappeared beneath a pile of bodies. He fought now with fists and blade edges ripped from the corpses themselves. His movements were no longer calculated. They were primal.

Another hominid charged.

He caught it mid-leap—bare hands around its throat—and slammed it into the rocky terrain so hard the earth cracked.

Anya staggered back, hand clamped over her mouth as bile threatened to rise. Her stomach twisted, her breath catching in her throat, but she forced herself to stay upright. She couldn’t afford to fall apart. Notnow.

This wasn’t battle.

It was annihilation.

And he wasn’t stopping.

The countdown ticked lower.

40:08:19

She blinked, trying to steady her breath, but the numbers kept slipping—droppingfast.

39:16:42

She swiped the display again, desperate, disbelieving.

38:51:03

She stumbled closer, her voice barely audible above the carnage. “You have to stop. You’re going to trigger it.”

Still no reaction. Only violence. Ablur of movement and blood.

She reached for hisarm.

And prayed he still remembered who shewas.

His head jerked slightly at her touch. Just a flicker, apause in motion. The next swing of his arm arced toward her—close enough that she felt the air shift, the heat of it kiss her cheek. It stopped a breath from impact, trembling midair, his muscles locked. His chest heaved with a growl caught halfway between instinct and reason. His eyes were wild, still glowing, but no longer entirely empty—just horrified.

“Tor’Vek,” she murmured, her hand still on his arm, her voice soft and trembling with something far deeper than fear. “It’s me. It’s Anya. You know me. You know me.”

She stepped in closer, letting her palm trail slowly up to his shoulder, then the side of his neck—gentle, soothing. Her touch wasn’t just contact—it was connection, alifeline she was throwing across the storm raging inhim.

Her fingers trembled against his skin, not from fear, but from the ache rooted in every fiber of her being—acraving sharpened by adrenaline, longing, and the near-loss of him moments before. It coiled through her like heat from a wire, impossible to ignore. She needed him—so badly she shook with it. But more than that, she needed him back.

She leaned in, burying her forehead against his chest. Her breath was a warm whisper over his skin as she crooned, low and rhythmic, “It’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re not alone. You don’t have to fight this by yourself. Come back to me. Come back .”

The bracelet pulsed beneath her skin—warm and insistent, like a heartbeat that wasn’t hers. It radiated outward in waves, stirring something low in her belly, joining her even as it heightened the ache building between them. Her breath hitched. It wasn’t just a reaction. It was acall.

He turned his head slowly toward her. His jaw was clenched, breath ragged. His hands opened and closed like he didn’t know what they were supposed to do anymore. But he wasn’t striking.

He crouched in the dirt, arms braced on his knees, his breath sawing in and out like he was still trying to wrestle the rage down. She followed him, sinking to her knees in front of him with trembling legs, and cupped his jawline in both hands.

His skin was burning beneath her touch. Not from fever, but from restraint—barely leashed, barely surviving it. She stroked her thumbs along the sharp edge of his face, holding him steady, forcing him to see her. To feelher.

“Come back to me,” she whispered again, the words breaking around the heat in her throat. “Please, just come back. You’re not lost. You’re still here. I’m here. We’re not doneyet.”

Another pulse from the bracelet—stronger thistime.

And finally, his gaze locked withhers.

He didn’t speak. But his body stilled, his fists lowered.

The storm paused. He recovered his sword and his solar gun. Then, without a word, he reached forher.

Tor’Vek’s arms slid beneath her—one at her back, the other under her knees—and in a single smooth motion, he lifted her off the blood-slick ground. She didn’t resist. Couldn’t. Her fingers curled into his chest, seeking reassurance, chasing the warmth that still burned through him. She didn’t understand why, not fully—but it steadied her. Her body recognized safety even when her mind still reeled.

He didn’t lookback.

Still didn’t speak.

Just walked.

The carnage faded behind them with every step, the twisted bodies and broken stones giving way to a clearing of jagged rock and scattered moss. He stopped only when they reached a slope just far enough away to hide the battlefield, as well as the stench andheat.

He knelt, lowering her onto a patch of moss-strewn earth beside a small, silver stream that burbled quietly between stones. For a moment, he stayed with her, his elbows braced on his knees, chest heaving, hands still stained crimson. Then he rose without a word and crossed to the water. He took a moment to examine it with his rij, assuring that it wassafe.

Then he knelt at the edge, cupping the cool current in his palms, scrubbing it over his arms, his face, his chest. The water turned pink around his hands, then clear again. It wasn’t just blood he washed away—it was the remnants of something he hadn’t wanted to become.

When he returned, droplets still clinging to his skin and black-and-white hair, she met his gaze with quiet, wordless gratitude.

She touched his arm again, needing it—needing him—to steady her. Her fingers lingered this time, sliding slowly down the curve of his forearm. His skin was still damp from the stream, and it sent a fresh pulse of heat skimming across her nerves. She didn’t look away. Couldn’t. Not with the way his gaze locked on hers—hungry, searching, restrained only by the last thread of discipline.

Her breath caught. Heat bloomed between them again—sharp and sudden, drawn from the memory of his mouth on hers and the way he looked at her now, like he was already imagining more. She felt the shift in him too. The tightening of his jaw, the flicker in his pupils, the precise control with which he didn’t reach forher.

The moment stretched.

She whispered, “You’re too far.”

He didn’t speak. He just leaned in—slowly, deliberately—until their foreheads touched again.

Her pulse stumbled.

“I am trying not to want you,” he said against her mouth.

“But you do,” she whispered back, trembling. “And I want you, too.”

Their breath mingled. The bond throbbed.

Her hand drifted up his chest—slow, uncertain—tracing the ridges of muscle as if memorizing him by feel alone. His body flexed, muscles tightening beneath her palm like a livewire snapped too tight. His head dipped closer, the heat of him bleeding into her skin. For a second, neither of them breathed.

A heat unfurled low in her belly. His eyes had darkened—not with rage, but with restrained want—and the way his breath hitched when her fingers slid higher told her he was barely holding theline.

Then she surgedup.

Their mouths met—not soft, not slow, but desperate. Raw. She kissed him like she couldn’t stop, like she’d been waiting forever, and he answered with equal heat, one hand clenching at her hip, the other sliding into her hair. The kiss turned raw—stripped of hesitation, brimming with hunger. There was no room for gentleness, no pause for thought. Need, wild and unfiltered, burned through them like a fuse too short to contain the flame.

She broke away first, her breath catching in a quiet, shuddered exhale.

The bracelet flared.

They stared at each other, stunned, breathless, trembling.

And then the screen flickered back tolife.

38:48:19

She blinked. It was still dropping. But slower.

38:47:09

And slower still.

38:46:55

Tor’Vek saw it too. “It is recalibrating,” he said quietly. “The countdown... is stabilizing.”

They stared at the screen.

38:46:39… 38:46:22…

Then it ticked normally.

38:45:59

She let out a shaky breath and looked athim.

He remained still, silent. Not from indecision, but from something heavier—like movement itself might shatter what little control he hadleft.

His head bowed slightly. His hands were still curled into fists, now resting uselessly on his knees, but his body had begun to ease. Not relaxed, not recovered—but easing.

Her knees grazed his, and she laid a hand lightly on his shoulder. “You stopped,” she whispered. “You stopped. ”

His throat worked around the words. “I nearly did not.”

“I know.”

They stayed there in the quiet, breath syncing, hearts still racing. The bond no longer howled. It hummed—low and warm, like a second heartbeat, tender but insistent, wrapping around her nerves in a way that felt less like warning and more like promise. It wasn’t rage anymore. It was ache. Longing. Heat that lingered and refused to letgo.

Steady.

Alive.

Unbroken.