Chapter Eleven – Zeth #2
His yellow eyes narrow with interest.
“What kind of chemist?”
“The kind with experience in compounds, synthesis, temperature control… working with ingredients that aren’t exactly legal.”
He sets down the watch he was examining.
“You got credentials?”
“I’ve got a degree and a record,” Wren says. “Served time for manufacturing. I know what I’m doing.”
“What kind of ingredients you worked with?”
“Animal derivatives. Blood, venom, that kind of thing.”
She keeps her voice casual, like she’s discussing the weather.
He studies her for a long moment.
“I might have something. Leave me your number.”
She writes it on a scrap of paper and slides it across the counter. He picks it up and tucks it into his pocket.
“I’ll be in touch,” he says.
Throughout all of this, I stay quiet. I watch through her eyes and catalog every face and location. I’m storing information for when I need to report to her handler.
By evening, we’re back at the motel. The sun is setting and casting orange light through the curtains. Wren closes the door behind us and tells me we can separate now. I feel her exhaustion but also her restlessness, like she needs to do something physical to burn off the tension of the day.
“We could stay merged and train a bit,” I suggest instead.
“How would we train while merged?”
“I’ll guide you through exercises and drills. You should follow my lead and allow me to move your body. It’s not about giving up control, it’s about flowing with me, working together.”
She considers this, then nods.
“Okay. I’m willing to try.”
“Stand in the center of the room,” I tell her. “Feet shoulder-width apart.”
She moves into position, and I feel her settling into the stance, her weight distributed evenly.
I take a moment to appreciate what I’m experiencing.
Being inside her body is a privilege I don’t take lightly.
Her muscles are lean and strong, her body honed from years of training.
She’s compact but powerful, every part of her conditioned and ready.
I can feel the strength coiled in her legs, the stability in her core, and the tension in her shoulders from the day’s stress.
“We’ll start with squats,” I say. “I’m going to guide you down. Just let me move you.”
I bend her knees and lower her body. She resists for a split second, instinct making her want to control the movement herself, but then she relaxes and lets me take over.
I sink her down until her thighs are parallel to the floor, feeling every muscle engage.
Her quadriceps fire, her glutes activate, and her core tightens to keep her balanced.
I hold her there for a moment, letting her feel the position, then drive her back up through her heels.
“Again,” I say, and lower her down.
This time she doesn’t resist at all. She’s compliant, trusting me to move her body.
The thought sends a thrill through me. She’s allowing me to do as I please with her, letting me control her movements and her muscles.
It’s intoxicating. I guide her through ten squats, each one smooth and controlled.
I reinforce her muscles as they work, healing the micro-tears before they can cause pain, feeding energy into her fibers so they don’t fatigue.
“How does that feel?” I ask.
“Good. Really good, actually. I can feel you moving me, but it doesn’t feel like I’m not in control. It’s more like... we’re doing it together.”
“Exactly,” I say. “Now lunges. Step forward with your left leg.”
I move her forward and bend both knees, lowering her back knee toward the floor.
Her left quadriceps burns with effort, and I soothe it immediately, directing regenerative matter to the muscle.
Her balance is perfect. I can feel how aware she is of her body, how precisely she holds herself.
I bring her back to standing and switch legs, stepping forward with her right.
The muscles in her right leg engage differently, slightly stronger than her left.
She favors this leg. I make a mental note of it.
“Again,” I say. “Left leg.”
She steps forward without hesitation. I’m guiding her, but she’s anticipating my movements now, flowing with me instead of waiting. We do ten lunges on each leg, and I feel her confidence growing with each repetition. Her breathing stays steady and controlled. She’s not even winded.
“Now push-ups,” I tell her. “Get down on the floor.”
She drops to her hands and knees, then extends her legs behind her into plank position. I feel the strain in her shoulders and the way her arms tremble slightly as they support her weight. I reinforce the muscles in her shoulders and triceps, wrapping myself more tightly around them.
“Lower yourself down,” I say. “I’ve got you.”
She bends her elbows, and I guide her down until her chest nearly touches the floor.
Her core is rock-solid, not a hint of sagging in her hips.
I can feel every muscle in her abdomen working to keep her body in a straight line.
I push her back up, and her arms feel stronger now, more stable.
I’m lending her my strength, making her capable of more than she could do alone.
“Again,” I say.
She lowers down, and I feel the burn starting in her triceps. I heal it before it can become painful. She pushes back up. Down. Up. Down. Up. We do twenty push-ups, and she’s not struggling at all. She’s amazed, and I can feel it radiating through her.
“How am I doing this?” she asks. “I can do way more than usual. I should be exhausted by now.”
“We’re using my strength combined with yours,” I explain. “I’m also healing your muscles as they tire, repairing micro-tears and preventing injury. I’m allowing you to push further than you normally could.”
“This is incredible,” she says. “I feel like I could do this forever.”
“You probably could, with me inside you.”
I feel her process that statement, the way it makes her pulse jump slightly. She doesn’t comment on it.
“What else can we do?” she asks.
“Plank hold,” I say. “Stay in this position.”
She holds herself up in plank, and I feel her core engage fully.
Her abdomen is tight, her back straight, and her legs strong.
I wrap myself around every muscle group, supporting and strengthening her.
Seconds tick by. Thirty seconds. A minute.
Her arms start to shake but I reinforce them.
Two minutes. Three. She’s not even close to failure because I won’t let her fail.
“I should be collapsing by now,” she says, wonder in her mental voice.
“But you’re not,” I tell her. “You’re perfect. Your body is perfect. Strong and capable, and everything I could ask for in a host.”
She’s quiet for a moment.
“You really think that?”
“I know it,” I say. “Being inside you is a privilege, Wren. Your body is a machine. Every part of you is honed and ready. I can feel how hard you’ve worked to build this strength. I swear I’ll appreciate every second I get to be part of it.”
Her heart rate picks up, and I feel warmth spread through her chest. She’s pleased by my words, maybe even touched. She doesn’t say anything, but I can feel her emotions. She’s never had anyone appreciate her body this way, never had someone understand the work she’s put into it.
“Okay,” I say gently. “You can come down now.”
She lowers herself to the floor and rolls onto her back. Her breathing is still steady and she’s not tired at all. In fact, she’s energized. I can feel the adrenaline coursing through her.
“What’s next?” she asks eagerly.
I can feel her enthusiasm through our connection, and it makes something warm spread through me. She wants more. She wants to see what we can do together. She’s not afraid anymore. She’s not bracing herself or closing her eyes, she’s excited to be merged with me, excited to see our potential.
“Do you want me to show you some moves?”
“Hell yes!”