Nezavek
The cold weight of grief, the electric spark of wonder, and the familiar heat of anger thread through it all. She's becoming more dangerous and infinitely more compelling.
I watch through the scrying bowl as she sits in the library, actually reading the book P?ivi gave her. Not pretending to read while planning violence, genuinely absorbing information about dimensional cascade theory. Her mind works at it like a puzzle, turning concepts over, finding patterns.
Then something catches her eye, a book floating near the ceiling whose pages shift like living stained glass. The colors flow and blend, creating impossible patterns. She stands, mesmerized.
"Melara would have painted this," she murmurs.
The name hits me like a physical blow. Melara. Her sister. The piece I've been waiting for her to reveal.
I don't go to her immediately. Instead, I watch as she returns to her reading, unaware of what she's just given away.
Hours pass. She's deeply absorbed in the text when I finally materialize in the library.
"Interesting reading?" I ask.
She doesn't startle anymore. "Educational."
"What have you learned?"
"That if you dissolve, everything connected to you ceases. That anchor bonds are symbiotic. That I'm probably the only thing standing between this realm and nothing."
"Does that change your perspective?"
"It complicates it."
I move closer, and her body tracks my proximity without her permission. The bond hums between us, stronger than yesterday.
"The broker was wrong. Void energy leaves similar marks. The Collector and I, our signatures can be confused by those who don't know better."
She's on her feet now, knife drawn. "You're lying."
"I don't lie. But you're not ready to believe that yet." I dissolve into shadow before she can strike. "Think about what you've learned, Yorika. Then decide if I'm really your enemy."
I rematerialize in my private study, but I keep watching. Her frustration is palpable. She throws the knife at the wall where I was standing, then retrieves it, pacing like a caged predator.
Good. Let her stew. Let her doubt grow.
The tremor hits without warning, violent enough to scatter me across three dimensions. When I pull myself back together, I'm barely visible. The dissolution is accelerating.
The Bone Collector's signature has been growing stronger. He's hunting.
I feel Yorika moving through the library, climbing the impossible stairs, following some instinct toward...
No.
I solidify in the corridor just as she finds it, the hidden entrance to my research chamber. Her fingers trace the concealed seam, finding the weakness in the ward.
"Stop."
She spins, knife already in hand. "There's something here."
"Yes. And it's not for you."
"More secrets?"
"Safety measures. That chamber contains things that would hurt you. Not physically, emotionally. Things about the Collector, about his victims. Things you're not ready to see."
"I've been ready for three years."
"No. You've been angry for three years. There's a difference."
She steps toward the hidden door. "I need to know."
I'm suddenly there, between her and the entrance, my form more solid than it's been all day. The proximity to her, the surge of protective instinct, gives me strength I shouldn't have.
"You need to stop." My voice drops to something darker. "These defenses don't distinguish between friend and foe. Touch that door without me, and you'll be scattered across seventeen dimensions before you can scream."
"Then come with me. Show me."
"No."
"Why?"
"Because once you see what's in there, you can't unsee it. And right now, your anger is keeping you functional. What's in that room would break you."
"You don't know what would break me."
"Don't I?" I lean closer, close enough that she has to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact.
"I can taste your emotions, Yorika. Every single one.
The rage that keeps you moving. The grief you won't let yourself fully feel.
The guilt that you weren't there to save her.
And underneath all of that, tiny fragile hope that maybe your sister can still be saved. That room would kill that hope."
"Maybe it needs to die."
She tries to move around me. I block her. She tries the other direction. I'm there too, shadow moving faster than flesh.
"Move," she demands.
"No."
"I said move."
"Make me."
The challenge hangs between us. Her hand goes to her knife. I let my form solidify further, shadow tendrils spreading to block the entire corridor.
She doesn't draw the knife. Instead, she does something unexpected. She presses her body against mine, one hand sliding up my chest while the other traces patterns on my arm.
"Is this what you want?" Her voice drops to a purr. "Me to beg for access? Me to offer myself in trade?"
"You're trying to seduce me. Again."
"Is it working?" She presses closer, and I feel her determination mixing with genuine arousal. The proximity affects her as much as it does me.
"No."
But my form solidifies further, shadow tendrils reaching for her before I pull them back.
"Liar," she breathes, then hooks her foot behind my ankle and shoves.
I don't fall, I'm too solid, too strong, but the surprise makes me step back. She uses that moment to dart past me, her hand reaching for the ward.
I catch her wrist inches from disaster, spinning her around and slamming her back against the wall. Not gently. My patience has run out.
"You could have died," I snarl, my face inches from hers. "Those wards would have torn you apart, and I would have had to watch it happen. Is that what you want? To die for your stubbornness?"
"I want the truth!"
"The truth is that you're reckless. Impulsive. So focused on your revenge that you'd throw your life away for a glimpse of information."
"At least I'm doing something! You just hide in your shadows, keeping secrets, playing games."
"Playing games?" My voice drops to something dangerous. "You think this is a game to me? You think watching you march toward self-destruction is entertaining?"
"Then tell me what's in there!"
"Evidence. Notes. Details about victims. About your sister." I press closer, my body caging hers completely.
She flinches, but doesn't look away. "I need to know."
"No. You want to torture yourself with details that won't change anything." My hands bracket her face, forcing her to maintain eye contact. "She's gone, Yorika. Knowing exactly how won't bring her back."
"Fuck you."
"Is that an offer?"
The words hang between us, charged with more than anger. Her scent changes, the sharp tang of fury underscored by the sweeter note of arousal.
"You wish," she spits.
"I do." The admission surprises us both. "I want you with an intensity that borders on madness. Want to claim you, mark you, make you mine in every way possible."
"Then why don't you?"
"Because you'd hate me for it. More than you already do."
"I already hate you completely. What's a little more?"
She's challenging me again, pushing boundaries, testing how far she can go before I snap. Her body presses against mine deliberately, her hands sliding up my chest.
"You want me to lose control," I realize.
"I want you to stop pretending to be civilized. You're a monster. Act like one."
"Be careful what you wish for."
"Why? Afraid you'll prove me right about what you are?"
"Afraid I'll prove you right about what you want."
She laughs, bitter and sharp. "You think I want you?"
"I know you do. I can feel it, your body's reaction every time I'm near. The way your pulse quickens. The way you lean toward me even while your mind screams to run."
"That's just biology."
"Is it?" I press my thigh between her legs, and she gasps. "Just biology making you wet right now? Just biology making your body arch toward mine?"
"Fuck you," she breathes, but she doesn't pull away.
"You keep saying that like it's a threat instead of a request."
Her control snaps. She grabs my face and crushes her lips to mine, the kiss all teeth and fury. I respond instantly, pressing her harder against the wall, my body covering hers completely.
This isn't like the almost-kiss in the library. This is war. She bites, I conquer. She claws, I restrain. Shadow tendrils wrap around her wrists, pulling them above her head while I devour her mouth.
"Is this what you wanted?" I growl against her throat. "To make me lose control?"
"Yes," she gasps, then bites my shoulder hard enough to tear shadow.
The pain ignites something primal. I tear her shirt with one sharp pull, the fabric parting like paper. She's not wearing anything underneath, and the sight of her bare skin makes my form solidify painfully.
"Look at you," I murmur, running one sharp finger down her sternum, leaving a trail of cold that makes her shiver. "So eager to provoke the monster."
"Stop talking and fuck me."
The crude words from her pink lips undo me completely. I tear the rest of her clothes away while shadow tendrils explore her body, finding sensitive spots that make her gasp and arch.
She's not passive. The tendrils release her wrists, allowing her hands to roam freely, finding the places where my form is most solid, where shadow becomes something like flesh, and she scratches deep enough to leave marks that shouldn't be possible.
I lift her easily, her legs wrapping around my waist. The position presses her against the wall, vulnerable and open. A shadow tendril slides between us, finding her center, and she cries out.
"Still hate me?" I ask, watching her face contort with pleasure.
"More than ever," she pants, then pulls my face down for another brutal kiss.
I enter her in one thrust, no warning, no gentleness. She screams, not pain but recognition. Her body knows mine already, accepts the invasion like coming home.
I don't give her time to adjust. I fuck her against the wall with all the desperate hunger of dissolution, all the fury of her defiance, all the need that's been building since she stood on that platform.
The shadow tendrils are everywhere, around her throat, her breasts, between her legs where we're joined. She fights them even as she moans, the struggle part of what we both need.
"Mine," I snarl against her throat.
"Never," she gasps, then cries out as I angle deeper.
My form shifts, anatomy changing to lock us together. Ridges form along my length, ensuring she can't pull away, that she has to take everything. Her eyes widen as she feels it.
"What?"
"Monster, remember? This is what monsters do. We claim. We keep. We make sure our mates never forget."
The ridges pulse as I move, hitting places inside her that make her see stars. She stops fighting then, just holds on as I take her apart piece by piece.
"Say it," I demand. "Say you're mine."
"Fuck... you..."
I slow down, grinding deep but not giving her the friction she needs. She snarls in frustration.
"Say it."
"I hate you."
"That's not what I asked."
A shadow tendril finds her clit, circling but not quite touching. She's so close, trembling on the edge, but I won't let her fall.
"Say it, Yorika."
"Yours," she finally gasps. "I'm yours, you bastard."
"Good girl."
I let the tendril touch her properly as I thrust deep, and she comes with a scream that echoes through the corridor. Her internal muscles clench around me, the ridges ensuring she feels every pulse as I follow her over the edge.
I fill her with my release, not human, but something else. Something that will mark her internally, change her on a molecular level. She'll carry my scent now, a warning to any who might try to claim her.
We stay locked together, both panting. When the ridges finally release, I lower her carefully to her feet. Her legs shake, and there's a mix of our fluids on her thighs.
She looks at me with eyes that promise murder. "This changes nothing."
"It changes everything."
"I still don't trust you."
"I know."
"I still think you're hiding things."
"I am."
"And I'm still going to get into that room."
"Not tonight."
I manifest clothes from shadow, dark fabric flowing over my own form while tendrils of darkness reach for her.
She tenses as the shadows begin weaving themselves around her body, forming a dress that fits like a second skin.
The process is intimate, shadows caressing every curve as they solidify into cloth.
"That's," she starts, then stops, her breath catching as a tendril adjusts the neckline.
"Convenient?" I suggest.
"Presumptuous." But I can feel her body's response to the shadow-touch, the way her pulse quickens. Anger, yes, but also satisfaction. And underneath, growing stronger, the connection between us.
"Go back to your quarters," I tell her.
"You're dismissing me?"
"I'm protecting you. From truths you're not ready for and from yourself."
She laughs, bitter. "My hero."
"Never that. Just yours, as you're mine."
She leaves without another word. I know she’s thinking of many.
Good. Let her plan. Tomorrow she'll discover what I've done to her, how the marking changes things.
Then we'll see how defiant she remains.