Page 34 of Zayrik (The Protectorate Warriors Alien Fated Mates #6)

Zayrik

THE DECK SHOOK.

The cause wasn’t weapons fire.

It wasn’t from combat.

It was from power. Pure, controlled, deadly power.

I looked up just as the shadows shifted across the station’s hangar. The hull above us groaned, the docking bay lights shorting for a second under the surge.

Then she appeared. The Velean .

A Protectorate warship, long and angular, its hull marked with the silent language of dominance. Every shadow she cast spelling death for those who’d dared touch my mate.

She didn’t land.

She descended.

Confident. Silent.

Like she already knew she owned this space.

Like fate itself had bent to accommodate her arrival.

“Bay Twelve secured,” the comm crackled in my ear. “Initiate containment field. Lock out all outbound signals.”

Each word precise against the pain pulsing through our bond.

Against the way her presence in my mind grew fainter with each passing moment.

Raxor’s voice cut in next, clear and calm and lethal.

“Zayrik. We breach on your lead.”

My jaw locked.

I was already moving.

Following the pull of our bond like a targeting system.

The moment I stepped into the forward airlock, a full squad fell in behind me. Four rows, each one carrying gear that made Vask’s hired thugs look like street rats.

They didn’t speak.

Protectorate warriors don’t need to speak when the mission is clear.

And this? This wasn’t a mission, or a duty. It wasn’t even about revenge.

This was retribution.

The bay door sealed behind us, the vacuum lock hissing as our boots hit Vask’s ship. Every step timed to her heartbeat. Erratic, distant, slipping through my grasp.

I raised my arm. But the real signal was through our bond. Pain, determination, dimming strength.

The thread between us sparking, thinning.

No. No. No.

Hold on, K’sha. Just hold on.

“Raxor,” I said. “We go silent. Now.”

“Acknowledged.”

We reached the hull breach point.

Through our bond, I felt another spike of pain. White-hot, electric.

Vask’s ship was locked, reinforced.

Didn’t matter.

Nothing would keep me from her now.

I lifted the plasma breacher and set the charge.

Despite the rage shaking my hands, each movement remained precise.

Her pain almost shattered my composure.

The hiss of energy build-up was barely audible.

Like the calm before a storm.

Like the breath before a killing strike.

Suddenly, BOOM.

The outer bulkhead peeled open like a tin ration lid.

We moved in.

Not warriors. Not males.

Something else.

Driven by bond and blood and fury.

Weapons raised.

Muzzle lights slicing through smoke.

Room by room, corridor by corridor.

Following the pull of our bond like a compass pointing true north.

Every breath in my body was coiled into one direction.

Find her. Find her. Find her—

The mantra pounding with each heartbeat.

With each pulse of our failing connection.

A comm ping flickered.

Left corridor.

Thermal spike.

Like a beacon leading to a nightmare.

“Signal match. Shock rod active,” one of the warriors reported. “Confirmed target zone.”

Shock rod. The word alone made my vision blur. I knew what those did. What they meant. Pain. Submission. Torture.

He’d dared—

I didn’t wait for the order.

I ran.

Each step driven by fury and fear and the weakening pulse of our bond.

My boots pounded down the corridor, heart slamming in my chest.

The tether between us fraying.

No. No. No.

The screams had stopped.

That was worse.

So much worse.

Because through our bond, I felt the moment she slipped away.