Page 2

Chapter2

ANYA DIDN’T MOVE . Couldn’t. Not with the way Tor’Vek was staring ather.

His chest heaved like he’d just run a marathon, his jaw clenched so tight she could see the cords in his neck twitch. The violet light in his eyes, faint at first, had grown into something eerie, something mesmerizing. Something alive.

She backed herself into a corner instinctively. Her entire body braced, heart pounding against her ribs like it was trying to flee first. She didn’t think—she just moved, retreating until cold metal kissed her spine. Her brain was still trying to rationalize, to make sense of what she’d seen, but her body had already decided.

Getaway.

He wasn’t just unpredictable. He wasn’t just angry.

He was dangerous.

Not in a maybe-he’ll-snap kind of way. In a primal, teeth-bared, alpha-predator way. Like something ancient and violent had surfaced, slashing through layers of training and logic with terrifying clarity. It wasn’t just that he couldn’t stop it. Some part of him didn’t want to. Whatever had broken free inside him wasn’t entirely foreign. It had roots. Aplace. Aname he might’ve once whispered to himself before burying it deep. And now it was here—unchained, unfiltered, unafraid.

“Stay back,” she said, holding up a hand. Useless. He didn’t even glance atit.

He took one slow step forward. Then another.

“If I want to kill you,” he said, voice low and full of gravel, “I will.”

Her breath caught.

His eyes glinted with something savage, aflicker of heat and warning that made the tiny hairs on her neckrise.

“And if I want to fuck you,” he growled, “I definitely will.”

Her stomach flipped. Not from desire, but from pure adrenaline. The kind that turned muscles to stone and instincts to knives. Her entire body screamed at her to run, to escape, to survive. She didn’t know what the bracelet did to him—or what it had awakened—but whatever now stood in front of her wasn’t just Tor’Vek.

It was a weapon barely sheathed in flesh.

And it sawher.

Then everything exploded.

He didn’t just pace the room—he obliterated it. Tor’Vek moved like a storm unleashed from centuries of discipline. One massive hand ripped a section of the control panel from the wall, wires sparking like veins torn open. He hurled the twisted hunk of metal across the chamber with a roar that seemed too raw, terrifyingly inhuman. The lights flickered violently, casting strobe-like flashes across his face, warping his features into something feral.

He tore a bulkhead covering from the ceiling, flinging it aside like paper. Another console shattered under his boot. Metal shrieked, groaned, surrendered.

There was no pattern to his destruction—only power, wild and unchecked, flaring from him like a solar eruption. It wasn’t calculated. It wasn’t methodical. It was pure instinct wrapped in muscle and rage, and it filled the room like smoke, choking everything elseout.

“This emotion is illogical,” he snapped, throwing a chair so hard it embedded into the wall. “It is chemical. It is nothing but fire in the blood. I will master it!”

But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

The mattress tore under his grip. The frame followed. Ametal panel clanged to the floor, dented and useless. Anya flinched at every crash, packed tight into the furthest corner of the chamber, heart racing, arms wrapped around herself.

He spun on her. Fast. Eyes still glowing, breath ragged.

“Stay away from me,” she said, voice shaking.

He stalked forward.

She scrambled sideways, hugging the curve of the wall, her breath shallow and fast. Every time she shifted, he adjusted with her—step for step, amirrored shadow. His head tilted slightly, tracking her with the same predatory precision he’d used moments ago to tear the room apart. There was no rush in his approach, no sudden lunge. Just the unnerving certainty that he would not stop. Wherever she went, he would follow.

“I said stay back!”

She hated how her voice trembled. Hated how cornered she felt. Her words rang out sharp and defiant, but underneath them throbbed a current of terror so deep it made her breath ache in her chest. She wasn’t just trying to hold him off, she was trying to remind herself she still had some kind of power, some sliver of control. But it was slipping. Fast. And she could see it in his eyes. He wasn’t listening. Or maybe he was listening toomuch.

He wants something, her mind whispered. And you don’t know if it’s to break you, or takeyou.

“I cannot.”

The words came out like gravel ground between his teeth. He wasn’t trying to intimidate her now. This was something closer to a confession, as brutal and unrelenting as everything else about him. An admission he didn’t want to make but couldn’t help. As if the very thought of choosing to stop himself felt like alie.

Something in his expression flickered, almost like apology, but it was gone before it could takeroot.

Another step. Then another. He was close enough now she could feel the heat radiating off his skin, intense and invasive, like standing too close to an open flame. The air seemed to shimmer between them, thick with pressure and something primal. The bond between them pulsed like a second heartbeat, stronger now, louder. Alow thrum that seemed to echo in her bones, warning her and supporting her all at once. It felt ancient. Alive. And terrifyingly sentient.

“I do not want this,” he said. “I do not want to need you.”

The words came out in a snarl, like they pained him even as he admitted them. There was too much truth in them. Too much weight. His hands flexed at his sides, then curled into fists again. His jaw worked like he was chewing on glass.

Her back hit thewall.

He stopped inches from her, breathinghard.

The violet light in his eyes flickered, straining against itself, barely reined in. For a heartbeat, it looked like he might lash out, or maybe crumple under the force of whatever was unraveling insidehim.

And then—

The rage inside him dipped.

It wasn’t immediate. It was like a dam that cracked, one hairline fracture at a time. He froze, muscles locking, something behind his eyes shifting as if the storm had paused mid-strike.

She blinked, confused, watching the fury drain from his expression like water down a sink. It was as if someone had thrown a switch—his face stilled, his shoulders eased—but only just, as if the beast inside him had taken one step back and was still watching, waiting, the coiled tension in his body easing one ragged breath at a time. Not gone, not healed. But less. Like the heat had been turned down from a boil to a simmer. And he stood there, frozen, staring at her like he couldn’t quite believe it either.

“What—?” she whispered.

Tor’Vek didn’t answer. He closed the last bit of distance between them and yanked her into hisarms.

Anya struggled immediately, hands braced against his chest, heart hammering against her ribs. “Don’t— Don’t touch me—” Her voice cracked with fear and confusion, muscles tensing as she tried to shove him away. But it was like pushing against a wall of heat and steel. His grip wasn’t cruel, but it was immovable, like even the idea of letting her go was unthinkable to himnow.

“I am not going to hurt you,” he said, voice rough but steadying. “I need to touch you.”

She shook her head, trying to twist out of his grip. “I don’t understand.”

“The bracelet,” he said. “Use it. Feel it. Do you feel it lessen?”

She went still. Her pulse thundered in her ears as she focused, not on her panic, not on the way his arms locked around her like steel, but on what she felt through the bracelet. It wasn’t just calming him. It was softening something deeper. As though the fire inside him wasn’t extinguished, but drawn into embers, manageable only through contact.

She didn’t want to understand that. Didn’t want to know that the fire burning inside him—violent, uncontrollable, terrifying—could be tamed by something as simple and intimate as her touch. Didn’t want to believe that her presence mattered. Because if it did, she wasn’t just surviving this. She was becoming a part of it. She was being written into his need, into his balance, into the very way he held himself together.

It wasn’t just his grip that had changed. It was everything. The tension between them had shifted, tilted. The emotional pressure that had been flooding off him—burning, suffocating—was no longer crushing her. It receded like a tide pulling back from the shore, exposing raw ground beneath. Her skin still tingled from the force of it, like a storm had just passed through and left her rattled but standing. She could feel him, still smoldering with fury, but the edges were dulled. Contained. Not by his will, but by something deeper. Something connected directly toher.

She didn’t know how. She didn’t know why. But in that moment, with her trapped in his arms and his breathing finally slowing, she knew one thing with startling clarity:

She was the only thing keeping him from going over theedge.

She sucked in a breath, disoriented.

The rage hadn’t disappeared, but it had retreated. She felt his control returning.

Her heartbeat slowed just abit.

He exhaled. The warmth of it grazed her cheek, unifying and strange. His body remained rigid, jaw tight with residual tension, but the tremble had vanished from his hands. It wasn’t full control. He was still bracing against the storm. But something vital had shifted. Aman like him didn’t yield, not even to himself. But right now, he wasn’t breaking. He was bending. And for a warrior like Tor’Vek, that was far more telling.

“The closer I get to you,” he said quietly, “the easier it is to think.”

Her hands hovered between them, not touching but not pushing either. “This is insane.”

She didn’t mean the bond, though yes, that was insane too. She meant all of it. The way he clung to her like a lifeline. The way her touch had actually calmed him, like she was some kind of lightning rod for a raging storm.

Nothing about this made sense, and yet the evidence was undeniable. She should be trying to escape. She should be planning her next move, scanning for exits, calculating how far she could get before he caught her. But she wasn’t doing any ofthat.

Instead, she stood still, suspended in the weight of him—his hands, his heat, the thunder of his pulse beneath her cheek. Her instincts screamed for action, but something deeper held her in place. Something quieter. Something disturbingly close to trust. She should be fighting. But her body hadn’t moved, and neither had her hands. Because for the first time since this nightmare began, he wasn’t a threat. Not exactly.

And that might be worse.

“Yes,” he said, the word low and deliberate, like he was acknowledging something neither of them wanted to admit. “This bond. This reaction. It is illogical, intrusive, and completely destabilizing.” He paused, then added with a faint growl, “But it is real.”

“I don’t want to be bonded to a man who threatens to kill me.”

“Then you understand perfectly. Ido not want to be bonded at all.”

His arms didn’t loosen. But they didn’t tighten either. They held steady, tense and deliberate, like he was computing the exact pressure needed to keep her near without breaking her. Not gentleness. Not dominance. Something in between. Awarrior’s grip not on a weapon, but on the one thing cleaving him to sanity.

Her forehead rested against his chest without meaning to. He was warm. Solid. Real. Too real. And despite every cell in her body telling her to pull away, she didn’t. Because something about that warmth was steadying. Her cheek rested against his bare chest, and she could feel the thunder of his heartbeat. Not erratic now, not wild. Just strong. Commanding. Like him. It should’ve terrifiedher.

But in that moment, it didn’t.

They stayed like that for a short time, breaths uneven. The silence was heavy, but not hostile. Anya felt every rise and fall of his chest against her cheek, each breath dragging against her skin like a tether holding him in place. He wasn’t just letting her moor him, he was depending on it. And somewhere in the back of her mind, she suspected that if she stepped away now, he might not stop her. But he’d fracture. Not violently. Not immediately. But piece by piece. And somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to let that happen.

Notyet.

Then she shifted slightly, just enough to lift her head from his chest.

“You’re not going to fall apart if I move away, are you?” she asked, half-meaning it to be a joke, half-afraid of the answer.

Tor’Vek’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You may try.”

The words weren’t menacing, but they weren’t reassuring either. Just factual, like everything hesaid.

That was enough to make her take a full stepback.

His arms snapped forward and pulled her in again, fast but controlled. One moment of space and he’d closed it without hesitation, like the emptiness between them was physically intolerable. His hold wasn’t bruising, but there was urgency in it, like his body had stopped asking for permission and simply obeyed the need to stay tethered. The air between them tightened. Her breath hitched. He didn’t speak, but the pressure of his hands said everything: this was not optional. Not forhim.

She eased back slightly, just enough to put a breath of space between them. “I guess that didn’t work,” she muttered, more to herself thanhim.

“It did not,” he said simply. His arms stayed firm. Unyielding.

After a few more minutes of heavy silence, she mumbled, “We should probably pick this place up. If someone else walks in here and sees what you did, they’ll think we’ve already killed each other.”

His expression didn’t change, but he reluctantly released her, maintaining contact through a hand at her lower back, his fingers splayed possessively. Not restraint—just connection. Constant. Unbroken. Like his body had accepted a new law of physics: he must always be touching her, or he unraveled.

Together, they began collecting the debris—twisted metal, cracked furniture, amattress half-hanging off its frame. It wasn’t much, but it was order. Her fingers gathered the pieces of a scattered control pad and placed them upright again. She turned to reach for a piece of paneling.

His arm wrapped around her waist, yanking her back with smooth, uncompromising force. His hand flattened against her side, as if that contact alone held the thread of his control. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. His body had already decided the rule. They didn’t separate. Not even for a second. Not even for something as harmless as picking up a piece of paneling. It wasn’t possessiveness. It was survival.His.

“I said stop that!” she protested.

“You left.”

“I moved six inches!”

“You moved six inches away.”

Her breath came fast again—not out of fear this time, but pure exasperation. “Do you even hear how that sounds?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“I do not care.”

His voice was calm, but his expression said more than his words ever could. His eyes, glowing and unreadable, didn’t flicker. His jaw remained locked, his brows low. Not with anger, or even frustration. Just certainty. As if her proximity wasn’t a preference, but a requirement encoded into his bones. There was no smugness in it, no possessiveness. Only unwavering resolve.

She stared up at him, heart thumping.

His violet eyes glowed.

Not flickered. Not sparked.

Blazed .

She’d seen his eyes before. Bronze. Earthy. Alien. But now they were a gorgeous amethyst, burning with something deep and resonant. Piercing. Beautiful and terrifying.

She lifted a hand and waved it in front of his face. “Hey. You’re... glowing.”

He blinked, glanced toward the corner of his vision, then touched the skin beneath his eye with two fingers. “There is a shift in pigmentation and luminosity. Ido not possess sufficient data to determine its cause. Explain it tome.”

“That doesn’t freak you out?”

He looked at her for a long beat. “Your species reacts to anomalies with fear. Mine reacts with analysis.”

She snorted softly. “You’re glowing like a damn reactor core. Ithink a little fear would be understandable.”

“I have no data to confirm whether this is harmful or permanent. Until then, fear is inefficient.”

She shook her head. “You’re like a terrifying Spock with a murder streak.”

For a half-second, her own words caught her off guard. Awild, inappropriate urge to laugh rose in her chest—because if she didn’t laugh, she might scream. She bit it back, jaw tightening, startled by how much lighter that moment felt, even with him towering over her like a loaded weapon.

His brow twitched. “I do not know what that means.”

Anya opened her mouth, then closed it again, lips twitching. “It’s a human thing. Acultural reference. He’s logical, like you. No emotions. But not nearly as scary.”

“I have emotions.”

She arched a brow. “Really? Because so far, all I’ve seen is fury, logic, and about seventeen ways to glare.”

He blinked once, solemn. “There are twenty-three.”

Her mouth twitched. “That... actually explains a lot.” She tugged gently against his hold.Her brain whirled, but beneath the spinning thoughts, something else emerged. Aquestion she didn’t want to ask but had to.”What happens,” she said slowly, “if I don’t stay close?”

Tor’Vek’s expression hardened.”Then I lose control.”

She swallowed. “Completely?”

“I will destroy the room again. Iwill likely attempt to destroy anything in it. Including you.”

Her breath caught.

“But that will not happen,” he added quietly.

“Why not?”

“Because you will not leave.”

Her heart stuttered. “That sounds a lot like a threat.”

“No,” he said. “It is a fact.”

His gaze didn’t waver. And neither did the light in hiseyes.

She didn’t know what this bond was doing to them. She didn’t know what Selyr had planned, or why. But for now—for this moment—she knew one thing:

She wasn’t safe fromhim.

But she wasn’t sure she wanted tobe.

Because somewhere between the destruction and the touch, somewhere in the chaos, she’d felt her reaction to him change. There had been a moment—brief, nearly imperceptible—when the bracelet pulsed hot against her wrist, then cooled rapidly, like something finishing a sequence. She hadn’t thought much of it then, too focused on his fury, on surviving.

But now, within the violence and the stillness, there’d been a change. And she felt it again now, low and heavy in her chest, the echo of his heartbeat beneath her skin. Steady. Claiming. Familiar.

She didn’t want to feel drawn tohim.

But God help her, shewas.

And the worstpart?

The bracelet wasn’t pulsing anymore.

It was quiet.

As if whatever it had meant to do was alreadydone.