Chapter 16 Orion #2
“What about your father?” I ask, still struggling to make sense of everything.
“Was that a lie, too?” The question bursts out before I can stop it—not because I truly doubt her, but because I need something to be real.
Every truth she’s shared has shifted under my feet, and I’m desperate to find solid ground between us.
Lyra’s face falls again, a study in values of pain.
“Unfortunately, that was all true. My dad did go to pieces after my mom died. He started looking for the Dark Star because he believed it could bring her back. His journals are full of his research and his heartbreak, if you don’t believe me.
That’s how the Feds came to suggest the idol in the first place—my dad’s last job was the Ishirian scrolls, which mention the idol’s location,” Lyra says, yanking me behind a stack of crates in the launch bay.
As I’m about to argue, she slams a hand over my mouth and gestures behind me.
The cavernous hanger is full of all manner of spacecraft—each more dilapidated than the last. The Aldrin-136 sits at the back surrounded by a knot of Void Stalkers and four extremely agitated Dreller mechanics.
It’s impossible to hear what’s being said, but from the look of things, I’d wager the Void Stalkers are trying to gain access to Lyra’s ship and the Drellers are having none of it.
“Stars bless them,” Lyra whispers. “I don’t know how long they can hold those bastards off, though.”
The hand she’s clamped over my mouth softens, and when she turns to face me again, her violet eyes are filled with longing—and regret.
“I sense you’re about to do something incredibly stupid,” I say quietly.
She nods, her hand still on my cheek and her thumb ghosting a touch across my lower lip.
“You’re going to go back to Epsilon-6 with the idol.
I’m going to let Kraxis take me back to Ooneryx, which will give you time to get away.
If the idol is the only way to find the Dark Star, there’s no way we can let Brill get his hands on it.
He knows where the temple is—you can’t take it back there until he’s out of the picture,” she whispers.
“And then what?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
“So, I take the idol to the Feds, but then what happens to you?” My voice breaks on the last word.
My chest feels like it’s collapsing under its own gravity.
She’s planning to sacrifice herself, and she doesn’t even see it that way.
Every instinct in me screams to grab her, drag her onto the ship, and never let her out of my sight.
But the look in her eyes—calm, resolute—stops me cold.
She blinks and looks away, obviously fearing the worst but refusing to confront the truth of it.
“I don’t know. If I can convince him that you ran off with the idol, I’ll have to come up with a way to keep him from sending people after you.”
“And you just expect me to leave you to Brill’s wrath when he finds out you failed again? Lyra, he’ll kill you!” I hiss. “There’s no fucking way I’m going to let that happen.”
“I’m sure I’ll think of something,” she says. “Don’t worry about me, Ranger. I’ve survived this long with him. I’m not giving up yet.”
The wobbly smile she gives me squeezes my heart until I feel cracks form and I’m about to bleed out all over the floor of the launch bay.
“I’m coming with you,” I insist. “I’m not leaving you.
You don’t understand. I can’t—I can’t just let you go.
” The words tear out of me, ragged and raw.
It’s not logic speaking—it’s something deeper, older.
The bond already tethered to her, whether she knows it or not. My body feels ready to ignite with it.
The distant din of voices quiets, and as I peek around the side of the crates, my fears are confirmed: the Drellers and Void Stalkers are heading in our direction.
“We’re out of time!” Lyra hisses. “Promise me you’ll take the idol to the Feds. Maybe they can help. Maybe they can find another way to get the false idol into Brill’s hands. But I won’t risk Brill getting the real idol and finding out about the Dark Star. And I won’t risk your life, Orion.”
“Lyra…” This is happening too fast—I have too much to explain to her. There’s too much to say.
“Promise me,” she demands.
I can’t refuse her anything, but it feels like my heart is shearing in two.
My mating instincts are sparking beneath my skin, buzzing with the need to argue—to protect her.
To launch myself at the group of Void Stalkers and cut my way through them with my bare hands and smoldering rage.
And with what weapons, the shreds of my rational mind demand.
I want to tell her I’d rather face Brill, Kraxis, and the entire Void fleet than live in a world without her in it.
But she’s looking at me like this is mercy, and that my survival is the only thing that matters.
And so I lie—to her, to myself—and say the words she needs to hear.
“I promise,” I hear myself say. Where are the guiding voices of my ancestors? Why can’t I think of a better plan? I need more time!
The Void Stalkers are closing in, and Lyra’s poised to intercept them.
“Evie was right,” she whispers suddenly. “About me dragging you into something you don’t deserve. And you were right—the sex didn’t mean nothing. It meant everything.”
Before I can come up with a reply or handcuff her to me to prevent her from running headfirst into her own event horizon, she smashes her lips to mine in a furious kiss.
The buzzing beneath my skin vibrates to the point of pain when she pulls away and steps out from behind the stack of crates.
My knees almost give out with the loss of her—with the realization of what’s happening.
I can barely contain the growl of anguish that spills from my lips when I hear the shouted exchange between the Void Stalkers guttural native tongue and Lyra’s lilting reply.
“‘Sup, assholes? Were you looking for me?” she chuckles darkly. She strides into the open with that same reckless grace that first made me fall for her—hips squared, shoulders loose, head high despite the danger closing in. There’s a glint in her eyes like a dying star—brilliant, defiant, and gone too soon.
My pulse thrums in my throat as she walks away from me, into hell.
“Sorry about your ship, by the way—my hands must’ve slipped on the trigger of those plasma cannons. But it’s never a good idea to follow someone too close. That’s how accidents happen! Now, where’s your shit-for-brains boss?”
There’s an angry response and a scuffle, which sounds like Lyra being led above decks. Every muscle in my body screams to go after her—mating instinct or not—but I gave her my word. I’ll find a way to get back to her, if I have to drag the entire Federation down to Brill’s front door to do it.
It meant everything.
She’s mine.
And I’m going to do whatever it takes to get her back.
I sit hunched behind the crates for a good long while to ensure the hangar is empty before I dare to move. By the time I unfurl my legs and stretch out, the only sounds are the faint dripping of water from the pipes lining the walls and the occasional clanging of activity on the decks above.
I crawl forward slowly at first, then jump up to a jog when I realize I’m well and truly alone.
Alone again. Serves you right.
My thoughts are dark and laced with regret, but dwelling on them will only derail me from doing what I need to do.
The ramp to Lyra’s ship is down—presumably so the Dreller mechanics can come and go easily for repairs. As soon as I sneak onboard, I hurry to the lab, quietly calling for Ada.
Ranger Asterth. How may I be of assistance?
“Oh, thank the stars. Lyra’s in trouble.
Kraxis caught up with us, the repairs aren’t finished, and Lyra’s going back to Ooneryx and to Brill.
I need to take the idol to her buyer on Epsilon-6—the Fed.
Do you know who he is? Or how I can get in touch with him?
” I ask, at once relieved and filled with dread that the Solar Mother is still safe and sound in its stasis cabinet.
I am unfamiliar with the identity of Lyra’s contact on Epsilon-6.
“How is that possible? She shared everything with you,” I say, wrapping the Solar Mother in a soft cloth and stashing it in the bottom of a small duffel bag I repurposed from Lyra’s forgotten storage lockers.
It is unlikely Lyra would share such information with me, since it could be pulled from my hard drive if searched thoroughly. Brill has done so in the past and Lyra has taken steps to obscure her digital trail whenever she returns to Ooneryx.
“I don’t know anything about Epsilon-6,” I admit. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin looking. What can you tell me about it?”
I’m rushing through the ship, shoving my meager assortment of clothes and supplies into my bag. Without thinking, I find myself in Lyra’s room.
My heart throbs in agony and the tingling at the base of my spine reverberates throughout my whole body.
The room still smells like sex, making my cock harden painfully in my pants.
Knowing the danger she’s in and the limited time I have to get when I need and flee, I try to push past the raging mating instincts that have my body in a chokehold.
Rifling through her drawers, I find what I’m looking for—the tattered remains of her father’s journal, hidden behind a messy pile of undershirts, socks, and underwear.
And because I’m edging close to insanity with the urge to fuck her again—to fill her cunt with my seed until I can watch it drip from her wet slit—I steal a pair of her underwear and hide it in the bottom of my bag, along with the journal.
There’s a cool, slithering brush of shame, but it incinerates in the heat of my need.
Find her. Free her. Fuck her until the stars burn out.
“Ada,” I grit out. “Ventilate Lyra’s room, and tell me what you know about Epsilon-6.”
Fans whir to life, and the soft breeze is cool against the clammy sweat on my skin. My heart sinks as our mingled scents fade, but if I can’t get a grip on myself, I won’t be any good to her.
Epsilon-6 is a Titan-class space station in the Farin sector.
It’s on several key trade routes, making it a primary hub of financial and commercial traffic.
The station is divided into districts, each overseen by a merchant governor and its own force of local Federation law enforcement.
There is a resident population of 312.4 million, but that fluctuates within 1% daily owing to the high traffic comings and goings on the station.
“So, trying to find a random undercover Federal agent will be harder than finding an ice cube on Pluto,” I say, despair leeching into my tone.
While I cannot provide the identity of Lyra’s contact, I can provide the location at which she was initially approached. Data indicates this would be a good starting point for finding your ice cube.
“Thanks, Ada. If I take one of the ear comms, what’s the range?
Will I be able to stay connected to you if I leave for Epsilon-6 and Lyra takes the ship back to Ooneryx?
” I ask, casting around to see if there’s anything I missed.
My gaze lands on Spike, who’s almost outgrown his small cup-holder pot next to Lyra’s pilot chair.
There is the possibility of interference and loss of signal, but if we remain in the same galaxy, we should be able to stay connected. Long-range communication with my systems has not been attempted. Lyra has never had cause to do so.
A thread of sadness tugs at me at the thought—how lonely she really is beneath her insouciant exterior.
Not for much longer, if I have anything to say about it.
On an impractical impulse, I pluck Spike from his resting place on the console and tuck him in my bag, as well.
I don’t know if Lyra will have the chance to feed him, and unlike the biosphere, Ada cannot automate his needs.
The thought of the ugly little plant withering away in the Aldrin-136 is more than I can bear.
I double check the biosphere settings and take a look around for what I hope won’t be the last time, detouring once more to Lyra’s room.
The pulse of my need rises again, but is soothed when I allow myself a deep inhale of Lyra’s pillow.
Her scent calms some of the chaos in my blood, and cements my resolve.
I will go to Epsilon-6, find the agent, bring justice down on Brill’s head, and spend the rest of my life convincing Lyra that being with me is light-years better than being alone.
Sure. No problem. Slice of cake.