Page 19 of Zayrik (The Protectorate Warriors Alien Fated Mates #6)

Zayrik

THE OUTPOST CAME INTO view like something dragged from a scrapyard and reassembled by blind hands. Rust, plating, exposed wiring. Function over safety, if that. The sight of it made my skin crawl, but I kept my expression neutral.

What bothered me more was how tense Nyla had gotten the moment it appeared on our screens. Like she was preparing for a fight she knew was coming.

Katar Station had been rough.

This was worse.

And she knew it too well.

Nyla sat in the co-pilot’s seat beside me, arms crossed, leg bouncing like she’d rather be anywhere else. The position put her close enough that I could catch her scent, could feel the heat radiating from her body. Close enough to remember how she’d felt pressed against me in that cargo hold.

I pushed the thought away. Focus.

“Requesting docking clearance,” she said, tapping the comms. Her voice was steady, professional. But I caught the way her fingers trembled slightly over the controls.

The reply crackled back with a voice like gravel soaked in whiskey.

“Docking fees doubled if you want no questions.”

She keyed in the credits without a blink.

Not her first time here.

I hated that I liked knowing that. Hated how every little detail about her felt important, necessary.

Outside, the docking bay was a mess. Ships in varying states of decay, workers who moved like they were late to die. Somewhere on the far side, a fistfight broke out. No one stopped it. The kind of place where people disappeared, and no one asked why.

I set the ship down smooth, letting the silence stretch too long after systems powered down.

She didn’t look at me.

I didn’t look at her.

But I felt her presence like a physical thing, impossible to ignore.

The kiss still clung to me like smoke. The taste of her haunting every breath. But now wasn’t the time. Not with half the galaxy watching, and her still tasting like fire in my memory.

WE STEPPED INTO HELL .

The air was thick with rust and scorched coolant, making my throat tight. Shadows clung to the corners like living things. Every instinct screamed danger, but it wasn’t just the environment setting me on edge. It was the way Nyla moved through it, too familiar with this kind of darkness.

I kept one hand close to my sidearm, positioning myself slightly behind her. Close enough to protect, far enough not to crowd. The distance felt wrong after that kiss, but necessary.

Nyla moved with purpose, her gait decisive and too calm.

Like she was trying to disappear into plain sight.

She didn’t flinch when someone shoved past her, didn’t glance back when a vendor cursed under his breath.

But I caught the slight tension in her shoulders, the way her hand stayed near her own weapon.

She belonged here.

Or used to.

And that knowledge sat like acid in my gut.

We reached the repair stalls near the end of the bay. A Sarkan mechanic leaned against a half-gutted hull, grease streaking his tunic like war paint. His eyes lingered too long on Nyla, recognition flickering before he masked it.

“Need a hull patch, stabilizer recalibration and a thruster check,” Nyla said.

Her tone was too flat. Like she was trying to disappear into it. But I heard the edge underneath, the careful control that meant she was ready to run.

The Sarkan grunted. “Expensive.”

She named a higher price. “And fast.”

He looked her over, then jerked his chin toward the ship. “Give me two hours.”

She nodded once.

No haggling. No hesitation.

I logged it away. She wanted to leave yesterday. And something in my blood agreed. This place knew her too well.

I lingered near the edge of the stall, scanning the crowd. My body angled unconsciously toward her, like a compass finding north. Every shadow, every movement cataloged as a potential threat.

Too many people watching.

None of them obvious.

All of them dangerous.

A group of traders passed by. One of them looked up. Paused.

Kept walking.

But something in his stance changed. Interest.

Another figure across the market turned toward us, turned again, slow. Too slow.

I caught a flicker of recognition in his expression.

The kind that meant credits. Or blood.

Shit.

Nyla leaned against a support beam, arms folded tight. The position made her look casual, but I saw the calculation in it. The way she kept the exits in view, the subtle shift of her body ready to move.

I moved to her side, close enough that my arm brushed hers. The contact sent electricity through my veins, a reminder of how she’d felt pressed against me. Not now. “We’ve got a problem.”

She didn’t look at me, but I felt her tension spike. “Bigger than needing a new navigation array?”

Her voice was steady, but I caught the undertone. The one that said she’d been waiting for something to go wrong. Always waiting.

I nodded toward the crowd.

One of the traders was talking to someone else now. Fast, low. A third person peeled off from the group and disappeared into a side hallway. The kind of movements that preceded violence.

“One of them recognized you,” I said, voice low. Close to her ear, intimate despite the danger.

“Who?”

“Don’t know. Doesn’t matter. He’s telling the others.”

She tensed. Just a flicker. But I felt it where our arms touched, felt the way her breath caught.

“We need to move.”

Yeah. We did.

But something in me wanted to stand and fight. To eliminate every threat that made her look over her shoulder. To keep her safe in ways I hadn’t earned the right to want.

We walked.

Not rushed. Not panicked.

Just fast enough to draw attention from us and not to us.

I stayed close, my hand hovering near the small of her back. Not touching, but ready.

But the pressure kept building.

Too many eyes.

Too many comm clicks.

The air getting thicker with threat.

Halfway to the docking bay, someone stepped into our path.

A human male. Tall. Thin. Face mostly shadowed under a hood.

“Nyla.”

Soft. Familiar. The kind of familiar that made my blood run hot.

She froze.

Every muscle in her body going rigid. I felt the change like it was my own tension, my own fear.

My instincts flared like fire across my nerves. Protective. Possessive. Dangerous.

I grabbed her arm, feeling her pulse race under my fingers. “Not now.”

But the man stepped closer, and something in his movement set off every warning I had. “Nyla, wait. I didn’t think it was really you—”

Her voice was like a blade. Sharp enough to draw blood. “You don’t know me.”

But I heard what she wasn’t saying. What she couldn’t say. This man was from before. From when she ran.

He blinked, stunned. “Nyla—”

I didn’t wait.

Didn’t think.

Just moved.

One strike to the gut, a twist, then his back slammed into the beam with a hollow crack. Clean. Efficient. But not lethal. Though every instinct screamed to make it so. To eliminate anyone who made her voice sound like that.

A few heads turned. One shouted.

The crowd shifted like a living thing, predatory interest turning to threat.

Then came the whine of a weapon powering up. The sound cut through the station noise like a warning bell.

I didn’t stop to check where it was coming from.

I grabbed her wrist, feeling her pulse hammer against my fingers.

“Run.”

She moved with me like we’d done this a thousand times. Like her body knew mine, trusted mine, despite everything telling her not to.

We hit the dock at full speed.

Shouts behind us. Someone fired. A bolt skimmed the edge of the ramp, close enough that I felt the heat of it.

Nyla jumped first, sliding onto the deck with a grace that shouldn’t have been distracting in a firefight. Her hands hit the hatch controls mid-roll, movements precise despite the chaos.

I followed, slamming the lock. Wanting nothing more than to pull her against me, to check she wasn’t hurt. To convince myself she was safe.

The ship screamed as systems came back online.

Engines roared.

Stabilizers whined.

Every sound a countdown to escape.

We launched from the dock just as a blast rocked the exterior port wall. The impact rattled through the hull, through my bones.

Nyla stood near the cockpit door, breathing hard. Her chest rising and falling rapidly, hair wild from the run. Beautiful in a way that made my throat tight.

Zep fluttered onto her shoulder like he’d been waiting this whole time just to scold her. His soft chirp of concern making her smile slightly, despite everything.

I took the pilot’s seat and muttered, “They’re going to track us.” My hands moved over the controls, muscle memory taking over while my mind stayed fixed on her.

“Let them try,” she snapped, but there was something beneath the anger. Something raw.

I glanced at her. “Care to tell me who that was?”

She stared ahead. “No.”

“Going to tell me how he knew your name?”

“No.”

I gritted my teeth.

My hands flexed on the controls, wanting to reach for her instead.

She finally turned.

Eyes fierce.

Tired.

Cornered.

Beautiful in ways that made my chest ache.

“He used to work for Vask.”

I looked ahead, watching the stars stretch thin as we hit FTL. Then I looked back at her. The blue-white light painting shadows across her face, highlighting the strength there. And the fear.

“I’m going to need the truth, Nyla. Sooner than later.”

Not just about Vask. About everything. About why the need to protect her felt like it was carved into my bones.

She didn’t flinch.

Didn’t lie.

Didn’t walk away.

Just stood there, watching me with eyes that held too many secrets.

“I’m not leaving,” I said quietly. The words felt like more than a statement. Like a promise.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t believe me, either.

But something in her expression changed, softened.

And I got the feeling, part of her wanted to.

An electric tension hung in the air between us, unspoken words thrumming. With the memory of that kiss, with the way she’d trusted me during the escape.

Protecting her felt right, even though I knew she was capable of protecting herself.

We needed to talk about it.

About all of it.

But for now, we just sat in silence, letting the stars carry us further from danger.

And closer to whatever this was becoming.