Chapter 29
RYNETH
The storm transport tore through the cloud layer. Lightning flashed across the hull as the pilot fought the wind. The platform appeared below them in violent bursts of white light, metal corridors and spinning turbines cutting through the storm while gunfire stitched across the structure.
Ryneth had already been told twice to stay back.
The first breach team had already gone in without him, led by Moargan.
Too exposed, they’d said. Too unstable. Too dangerous in a live strike.
Moargan had taken one look at him before the hatch sealed and ordered him into the second transport. Daven wasn’t there, which meant Moargan wasn’t about to let his cousin’s mate get shot on his watch.
As if Ryneth had ever been good at that.
He’d listened. For a minute. Maybe two.
Long enough for the platform to erupt in gunfire beneath them. Long enough for something inside him to turn sharp and unbearable.
Then the bond hit.
Ryneth felt the charge before the ship even stabilized. The storm vibrated through the metal floor beneath his boots, the current moving through his body like a second heartbeat. It ran up his legs, across his spine, into his teeth.
He knew exactly where Daven was. Not by sight, but by the violent pull in his chest. By the way every nerve in his body suddenly turned toward one point on the platform below, as if something inside him had locked there.
The bond didn’t make mistakes. Daven had said that himself.
He was here, and Ryneth was done staying away.
Relief hit so hard it almost hurt. So did the need that followed. He had been told to stay back. He had tried. But now that he felt him, really felt him, there was no chance in hell he was staying away.
The bond dragged him across the cabin before the pilot even shouted they weren’t clear.
Grabbing the hatch rail, Ryneth shouted, “Open it!”
One of the soldiers caught his arm. “You were ordered to stay put.”
Tearing free, Ryneth snapped, “Open the fucking hatch. I need—”
But the hatch was already sliding back, storm wind rushing inside the craft.
Jumping down, Ryneth landed hard, pain jolting through his knees as lightning cracked overhead and the whole platform shuddered under him.
Gunfire erupted across the facility.
For one stunned second, all he could do was stare.
Harsh white lights burned over open production tables and shattered steel walkways, turning the whole chamber below into a nightmare of motion. White coats ran between the stations, masks flashing through the storm haze, while black and gold uniforms cut through them like blades.
It was the same impossible image Cyprian had sketched in charcoal. The same place Concordant had led them to.
Cold hit him hard enough to hollow out his chest.
Where the hell was Daven?
The whole place was still running, even with half of it already blown apart.
Ryneth pushed forward through the gunfire. A fallen rifle skidded near the edge of the walkway. He snatched it up without breaking stride. He knew how to use one from his years protecting the Ward.
Static crawled across his hands the second he saw Daven.
Silver-white light flashed over wet metal as Daven drove forward through the chamber below, air pressure slamming two masked rebels into a cargo barrier hard enough to dent the steel.
He moved exactly like Ryneth knew he would, fast and vicious and impossible to mistake even through smoke and storm.
For one second, relief hit hard enough to knock him off balance.
Daven stood near the central production line with Vandor beside him, boxed in by a tight ring of Attica rebels.
Then Daven’s head snapped up.
For one split second, through lightning and gunfire and the chaos of the platform, their eyes locked.
Then Ryneth hit the lower walkway in a burst of static and stormlight, boots slamming against wet metal.
Daven just stared. Then his whole face changed. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
He moved before Ryneth could answer, shoving through the fighters between them, catching Ryneth by the sleeve hard enough to nearly yank him off balance. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”
“I felt you.”
“Ryneth!”
The way he said his name was all warning.
Daven dragged him toward the outer rail, already putting his own body between him and the line of fire. “Get back on the transport.”
Ryneth ripped his arm free. “No.”
Gunfire cracked behind them.
Daven swore and grabbed for him again. “I don’t know how the fuck you got here, and I don’t have time to care.” His hand tightened on Ryneth’s arm, hard enough to hurt. “You’re here now. Fine. Stay where I can see you.”
Ryneth stepped closer instead. “I’m not leaving you.”
Daven’s eyes flashed. “You are if I have to throw you over my shoulder and drag you out myself. You—”
A rebel broke through the smoke at Daven’s side, too close now for a clean shot, weapon half raised.
Ryneth reacted before Daven did. Static ripped from his palm in a bright blue lash. The man convulsed mid-strike and slammed into the production rail hard enough to buckle it.
Daven froze.
His gaze dropped to the body, then snapped back to Ryneth.
Another Attica fighter lunged from behind a tank.
Ryneth sent a second burst through the wet floor. The man screamed and dropped to his knees.
Daven’s eyes widened. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”
Ryneth was breathing hard now, static still crawling over his fingers. He grinned, because he couldn’t help himself. “You were saying?”
Daven stared at him like he’d never seen him before. Then he muttered, “For fuck’s sake.”
Another rebel rushed the line.
Daven snapped back into motion, slammed the man into the steel wall with a concentrated burst of air, then turned right back to Ryneth.
“I leave you alone for five minutes,” he muttered. “You really want to get yourself killed?”
“No.” Ryneth stepped closer. “But I felt you. I thought I was too late.”
Daven’s mouth parted. His hand came up, caught the side of Ryneth’s neck, thumb pressing just below his ear like he needed the contact.
The bond hit so hard it stole the air from Ryneth’s lungs.
Daven made a sound low in his throat, halfway between a curse and surrender.
Then he kissed Ryneth. Hard. Like he needed Ryneth’s mouth under his just to believe he’d made it there alive. One hand wrapped around Ryneth’s neck, the other braced at his waist, hauling him in without mercy.
Rain soaked them both while blood and static clung to the air between them, and the kiss hit like relief turned vicious. Ryneth grabbed his vest and kissed him back just as hard.
Blue sparks snapped between them, racing over their soaked sleeves as the bond surged hot and violent, turning Ryneth’s knees weak.
Daven tore his mouth away first, forehead dropping to Ryneth’s.
“Still want me gone?” Ryneth asked, breathless.
Daven laughed once under his breath, disbelieving. “No,” he said. “Now I want to kill everyone who looks at you.”
Ryneth smiled before he could stop it. “That sounds more like you.”
Daven kissed him again, dragging his tongue over Ryneth’s lips before he turned and fired down the corridor without letting go of Ryneth’s wrist.
Vandor was still holding the far side of the corridor, firing in short, controlled bursts whenever someone broke cover. “Well,” he said dryly, dropping another rebel with a clean shot, “at least your boyfriend can shoot.”
Ryneth rolled his eyes.
“Not helping,” Daven grumbled. His golden eyes flashed as he looked at Ryneth. “Stay on my fucking left.”
Ryneth nodded, static still crackling over his fingers, and they moved together, shoulder to shoulder through the smoke.
But they barely reached the next corridor when Moargan called, “It’s over.”
Across the production floor, a man stood near the central corridor as if he had stepped out of nowhere. His curls hung damp around his face.
Ryneth stopped so hard his boots scraped against the metal.
He knew the man facing Theo.
From cold restraints, recycled air, and the sharp white light of a transport cabin. From a blond man leaning back in his seat and looking Ryneth over like he was cargo. Pretty in that cold, polished Helion way.
The memory slammed into him hard enough to turn his stomach. For one sick second, all he could hear was the hum of that shuttle again, helplessness crawling cold up his spine.
Then the man turned through the smoke, and Ryneth knew him at once.
Bekn Zaid, blond and terrifying, standing calm in the middle of blood and gunfire like none of it could touch him.
When Ryneth had first arrived on Helion, still fractured and raw, he’d seen Theo’s blond curls and pale face and felt that old panic before he realized he was wrong.
Now, with both of them in the same room, the resemblance was brutal. They had the same pale skin. The same gold curls that hung damp from the storm. That same sharp mouth.
They were brothers. Up close, there was no denying it now. But where Theo looked soft, Bekn looked cruel. Where Theo looked like something that had survived despite everything done to him, Bekn looked like that same beauty turned into a weapon.
The last of Attica’s rebels formed a loose line behind him.
Then Bekn’s gaze slid to Ryneth and his mouth curved. “Ah, there he is. Helion colors really suit you.”
Ryneth went cold all over.
You look good in Helion colors.
Did they dress you up for me?
I’ll come when it’s time.
The message crashed back into him so hard his stomach turned.
Beside him, Daven went still.
Ryneth felt the shift in him before he moved. One hand lifted toward Daven’s arm. “Not yet,” he said, barely getting the words out.
A sudden, vicious hatred surged through him, hot enough to drown out the old fear. Bekn had bought him. Had hunted him. Had turned him into something to collect. Ryneth wasn’t letting anyone take this from him.
Across the floor, Theo stepped forward.
His weapon never wavered, but Ryneth saw the way his chest rose too fast. The way his free hand shook once before he clenched it still. “Brother.”