Chapter 12 Diplomatic Immunity #3
“You were in the command center. Behind three meters of reinforced obsidian.”
“I was exactly where you needed me.” She reaches up, her small hand covering his massive one. “Just like I am now. You need someone running tactical, coordinating the defensive squads, keeping the upload protected. That’s me, Henrok. That’s what I do.”
His crystalline veins pulse brighter—a sign of distress, I realize. Fear. Not for himself, but for her.
“If they get past us—”
“They won’t.” Her voice is absolute certainty. “You know why? Because the First Blade of Zater Reach has never lost a fortress defense. And he’s not going to start now. Especially not when his wife is watching.”
Something in his expression shifts. The fear doesn’t disappear, but it’s joined by something else. Pride. And beneath that, a fierce, possessive love that makes my chest ache with recognition.
“You have too much faith in me,” he says, but his voice has gentled.
“I have exactly the right amount of faith in you.” Suki rises on her toes, and he bends down so she can press a kiss to his crystalline jaw. “Besides, if you let them through, I’m going to be very annoyed. And you know how I get when I’m annoyed.”
“Terrifying,” he agrees, a rumble of amusement in his voice. “You threaten to reorganize my armory again.”
“Damn right I do. Weapons sorted by lethality? That’s chaos, Henrok. Pure chaos.”
“It is efficient.”
“It’s the classification system of a maniac.” But she’s grinning now, and I see the tension in her shoulders ease. This is what they do, I realize. They use humor to cut through the fear, to remind each other that they’ve survived worse. That they’ll survive this.
Henrok pulls her close—carefully, always carefully, aware of his strength and her fragility. She fits against his chest like she was made for the space, and for a moment they just stand there, her ear pressed to where his heart would be if Zaterran biology worked like human biology.
“I would burn this galaxy to cinders before I let them touch you,” he says quietly. Not a threat. A promise.
“I know.” She tilts her head back, looking up at him with eyes that hold three years of shared battles, shared laughter, shared life.
“But you won’t have to. We’re going to win this one too.
And then I’m going to make you that Terran dish I’ve been promising—the one with the noodles and the spicy sauce—and we’re going to celebrate. ”
“Your human food is always too spicy.”
“You love it.”
“I love you.” He says it simply, matter-of-factly, like he’s reporting tactical data. But the weight of it fills the room.
Suki’s smile softens. “I love you too, you overgrown rock monster. Now get back to your station before—”
The main screen flickers back to life.
Voros’s face appears, and the man who sneered at me minutes ago is gone. In his place is something raw. Furious. Unhinged.
“You lied,” he snarls. A vein throbs at his temple. His pale eyes have gone wild, and I can see his crew exchanging nervous glances behind him. “The stream is still active. You are still transmitting. You lied to me.”
“It was a tactical deception,” I reply calmly. The mask is back, smooth as glass. “You should be familiar with the concept. The Consortium invented it.”
“You arrogant—” Voros cuts himself off, visibly wrestling for control. When he speaks again, his voice is quiet. Deadly. “All units. Resume bombardment.”
“Commander—” someone on his bridge starts.
“RESUME BOMBARDMENT!” Voros screams, slamming his fist on his armrest. “And launch the boarding pods! FULL ASSAULT! I want every corridor of that fortress running red, and I want Valorian’s head on a spike!”
The transmission cuts.
For a moment, no one moves.
Then the fortress shudders as the first barrage hits the shields, and the War Room explodes back into chaos.
“Well,” Suki says, racking the slide on her rifle with a sharp click. “It was nice while it lasted.”
“Four minutes,” Henrok says, nodding at me. His voice carries over the renewed thunder of orbital strikes, steady as bedrock. “You bought us four minutes, Valorian. In a siege, four minutes is a lifetime.” His terrible smile widens. “You did well.”
I nod, accepting the praise, but my eyes are on the tactical display. Red dots are detaching from the Dreadnought—dozens of them, streaking toward the fortress like angry hornets.
“Boarding pods,” I say. My voice sounds distant to my own ears. “They’re coming inside.”
Polly’s hand finds mine. Her fingers lace through my own, and through the bond I feel her fear—real, sharp, immediate—but buried beneath it is something stronger. Something that feels like steel.
Together, she sends.
Together, I agree.
But Henrok is already moving. He strides to the weapons rack, pulling down a massive rifle that hums with barely contained power. His crystalline veins blaze bright as stars, pulsing in a rhythm that speaks of battle-lust barely contained.
“Vex’ra!” he calls out, his voice booming. “Status on civilian evacuation!”
The violet-eyed warrior appears in the doorway, her armor gleaming. “Final seals are closing now, First Blade. All non-combatants are in the core sanctuary. Blast doors will engage in thirty seconds.”
“Good.” Henrok’s smile is terrifying. “Then we have no reason to hold back.”
He turns to address the room, and I see why he’s called the First Blade. Why his reputation extends across three sectors. This is not the husband who just gently touched his wife’s face. This is the warlord. The warrior-king. The monster that lesser men fear in their nightmares.
“Warriors of Zater Reach!” His voice shakes the walls. “They come to take our guests. They come to violate our hospitality. They come to our home—our home—with their corporate greed and their mechanical bodies and their belief that credits can buy anything.”
The crystalline veins in the walls pulse brighter, responding to his rage.
“Show them they are wrong. Show them that some things cannot be bought. Show them that Zaterran steel has not dulled in three years of peace. Show them—”
He lifts his weapon, and the crystal-powered charge coils light up like captured stars.
“—that they have made a terrible mistake.”
The War Room erupts in a sound that is not quite a cheer and not quite a war cry. It’s something older. Something primal. The sound of warriors who have been kept too long from the hunt, finally given permission to do what they were born to do.
“Defensive positions!” Suki calls out, her voice cutting through the chaos with practiced authority. “Squad Theta, cover the northern access corridors. Squad Sigma, reinforce the relay chamber. No one—and I mean no one—gets within fifty meters of that crystal. Are we clear?”
“Clear!” the warriors respond in unison.
“Upload is at 35%,” she continues, her eyes on her screens. “We need fifteen more minutes. Fifteen minutes, and this is all over. Can we hold for fifteen minutes?”
“We can hold for fifteen hours if we must,” Henrok says. He looks at me, and there’s something almost like amusement in his eyes. “Valorian. Can you shoot?”
“I... adequately.”
“That will have to do.” He tosses me a sidearm—smaller than the weapons the Zaterran warriors carry, but still substantial. “Stay behind the defensive line. If anything gets past us, shoot it. If you cannot shoot it, run. If you cannot run—”
“Use the bond,” Polly says, stepping up beside me. She’s checked the charge on her own weapon—a sleek energy pistol that looks like it’s seen serious use. “I’ll feel it if he’s in trouble. We both will.”
Henrok nods. “A mate is a warrior’s greatest advantage. Use it.”
The tactical display flares red. Warning klaxons blare.
“First impact in thirty seconds,” Suki announces. Her voice is calm, but I can see the white-knuckle grip she has on the edge of her console. “Pods are targeting the eastern hangar and the northern access corridors. They’re trying to split our forces.”
“Let them try.” Henrok checks the charge on his weapon one final time. “All squads, weapons free. Fire on sight. No prisoners. No mercy.”
Through the bond, I feel Polly’s determination sharpen to a killing edge. She’s been in firefights before—running the Fringe teaches you how to shoot or die—but this is different. This is war.
Henrok moves toward the door, and something in my chest pulls tight. Every instinct I’ve been bred with, every enhancement written into my DNA, every oath I swore when I marked her—all of it screams at me to move. To fight. To stand between her and anything that wants to harm her.
I am not cargo anymore. I am not a passenger.
I am a weapon. And it’s time I started acting like one.
“First Blade,” I say, my voice cutting through the chaos. “I’m coming with you.”
Henrok pauses, turns. His garnet eyes assess me with that same measuring look from before. Behind me, I feel Polly’s spike of alarm through the bond.
Rynn, no—
Yes. I meet Henrok’s gaze without flinching. They’re coming for me. Let me face them.
“You can shoot?” Henrok asks.
“I was trained by Valorian Blademasters from the age of seven.” I check the charge on the sidearm he gave me earlier, my hands steady despite the adrenaline singing through my veins. “I am not a soldier. But I am not helpless either.”
Something like approval flickers in those ancient eyes. “You will stay in formation. You will follow orders. And if I tell you to run, you run. Understood?”
“Understood.”
“Rynn—” Polly starts, moving toward me.
I turn to her, and the bond flares hot between us. I cup her face in both hands, feeling the hammer of her pulse beneath my palms. Through our connection, I pour everything I’m feeling—determination, protectiveness, love—into her.
“They are coming for me,” I say softly. “And I will not let them reach you. I will not hide behind you, behind Henrok, behind these walls. Not anymore.”
“You don’t have to prove anything—”
“I’m not proving anything.” I press my forehead to hers, breathing her in—artificial strawberries and smoke. “I’m protecting what’s mine.”
Her eyes go dark with heat, fear, pride all mixed together. You come back to me.
Always. I kiss her—hard, fast, claiming. Hold the War Room. Protect the relay. And trust that I can handle myself.
She grabs my jacket, kisses me back with bruising force. I trust you. Now go be terrifying, Lord Chaos.
I pull away before I change my mind, turn to Henrok. “I’m ready.”
His mouth curves in that terrible smile. “Then let us teach the Meridian Consortium what happens when they hunt apex predators.”
Suki crosses to Henrok, and I watch as she rises on her toes, pulling his head down to kiss him. It’s quick, fierce, and holds three years of partnership, trust, and love. “Go kill some corporate bastards. I’ll keep the home fires burning.”
He growls—a sound of pure possessive pleasure—and then he’s moving, his squad falling in behind him like an avalanche given form and purpose.
I glance back one more time. Polly stands beside Suki at the tactical console, her weapon ready, her jaw set. Through the bond, I feel her fear for me, her determination to hold the line, her absolute faith that I’ll come back.
I love you, I send.
I know. Now go.
And then I’m running, following Henrok and his warriors into the corridor. The fortress shudders as the first boarding pod hits the eastern hangar. The impact is massive—the sound of it echoes through the corridors like the death cry of some massive beast.
“Contact!” someone shouts over the comm. “Eastern hangar! Multiple hostiles!”
The sound of weapons fire erupts ahead of us—close now, getting closer. Through the bond, I feel Polly watching the tactical display, tracking my movement through the fortress.
Henrok doesn’t slow. His crystalline veins blaze bright as stars, lighting our path through the obsidian corridors. “Valorian! On my six! Stay tight!”
I fall into formation, my body remembering training I thought I’d forgotten. The weight of the weapon in my hand feels right. Natural. The micro-scales beneath my skin ripple in anticipation, my enhanced senses cataloging every sound, every smell, every potential threat.
The diplomat’s mask is gone.
The heir’s careful control is gone.
All that remains is the predator. The mate. The male who will burn worlds to protect what he loves.
We round a corner, and there they are—Meridian soldiers in black tactical armor, cutting through a blast door with industrial torches. They see us a fraction of a second too late.
Henrok’s roar shakes the walls.
And then there is only fire, fury, and the thunder of war.
Through the bond, I feel Polly’s heart racing, feel her whispered prayer: Come back to me.
I will.
But first, I’m going to show the Consortium exactly what they tried to harvest.
Exactly what they should have left alone.