Chapter 18 Orion #2
I don’t know if I want to run to her or run from her—if claiming her would save me or ruin us both. I didn’t even have the chance to tell her. Didn’t get to say the words clawing at my throat since the moment she touched me and something ancient inside me howled mine.
She’s my mate. And I let her go.
She told me to go—to save the idol—and like a fucking spineless idiot, I listened. I should’ve stayed…I should’ve fought for her. I should’ve been smart enough to figure out a different way…another solution.
I’m doing what she asked, what we both believed was right. But how can it be right if it means losing her—even if it means protecting my people? If I’m doing what she wanted, why does it feel like I’m being peeled apart with every lightyear between us?
She’s sacrificing herself to keep the idol from Brill, and I’m just…here. Sitting in a fucking cruiser, clutching her underwear like a ghost of what I can’t have.
My mating nodes throb like open wounds, screaming for a connection I can’t give them. I’ve barely known her, and yet she’s inside me—etched into my blood, my bones, every breath.
I used to think matehood was biological. A practical bond. Nothing more. But this? This feels like gravity. Like fate. Like standing on the edge of something vast and terrifying, knowing one step forward will consume me—and stepping forward anyway.
I became a ranger because I wanted to help my people, to make my parents proud—to protect my culture. It’s the only thing that’s ever made sense. But now there are two things that matter in this galaxy: Xylothia, and Lyra Phoenix, and I don’t know how to save them both.
I want to do what’s right. I want to bring the idol home. I want to see my planet thrive again, unburdened by the sins of its past.
But, selfishly, I want her more. I want her safe. I want her free. I want her in my arms and at my side and in every version of the future I can imagine.
She’s flinging herself into danger like she’s already damned. Like she has to atone for something I don’t even understand. But I won’t let her go alone.
She’s afraid of belonging to anyone and I was too much of a coward to tell her she already belongs to me, the same way I’ve always belonged to her. She’s afraid of losing herself—of being tied down, caged, consumed.
But she already has me. Every shattered, stubborn piece.
I may not know the right path. I may be breaking all the rules I was raised to follow. But I know this: I won’t let her disappear into that black hole she keeps orbiting. If she’s at the edge of destruction, I’ll be the one to pull her back. Even if it dooms me. Even if I fall in with her.
I’m not leaving her behind.
Plastering her underwear to my face, I unzip my pants and grip my shaft.
My mating nodes pulse faintly, my body aware that I’m not between my mate’s lithe legs.
Still, I feel like I’m coming apart at the seams without Lyra’s constant presence, and the memories of her body entwined with mine send a surge of aching need to my cock.
If I breathe deeply enough, I can almost taste her slick sex on my tongue.
Stars, how she sounded, how she moved, how she felt.
My fist pumps over my cock in a punishing rhythm, and it’s an embarrassingly short amount of time before pleasure shoots down my spine.
I come with a grunt, spending across my stomach and not in Lyra’s perfect cunt.
The brief satisfaction eases some of my discomfort, but the worst of it lingers—lying buried until I have my mate in my arms again.
“Ada,” I mutter, jittery with frenzied exhaustion. “I don’t suppose you have any recordings of the noise of the Aldrin-136, do you?”
I can loop recordings of background noise, yes. Do you want me to filter out Lyra’s nocturnal stertor?
“Her what?”
Her snoring.
“No, please. I want to hear it,” I say, willing my erection to subside.
If I can’t persuade the simmering mating hormones to ease, perhaps I can sleep through them.
Reluctantly, I stuff Lyra’s underwear underneath the pillow and focus on the soft, comforting chaos of the Aldrin-136’s white noise humming through the cruiser’s speakers.
It isn’t long before the sounds soothe me into slumber, and as ever, I dream of Lyra.
Ada’s estimated arrival time is incredibly accurate. We’re about to descend through Epsilon-6’s artificial atmosphere—the thick gray clouds and condensing moisture pelt the cruiser’s windshield, rattling the craft with weather-generated turbulence.
Harbor Patrol is directing us to dock in bay AA92843. A customs agent will meet you upon disembarking, ensure you’re not bringing any contraband materials aboard the station, and will accept your port fees.
I nod, then remember Ada can’t register my acceptance.
“Okay,” I reply.
Do you wish for a final run-through?
“A what?”
When Lyra embarks on a mission, she insists upon a final run-through of her plan. Would you like me to do so with you now, Orion?
“Oh. Yeah, sure,” I say, tension coiling through my muscles as I straighten my worn uniform.
“Okay, according to your data, Lyra was approached in the Tumplesh sector. You’re going to give me turn-by-turn directions to the bar via my earpiece, where I’ll camp out and wait to see if I can spot any Feds.
I know this guy is supposed to be undercover, but I’m hoping with my experience dealing with them back on Xylothia, I’ll be able to suss him out. ”
Agreed. So far, so good. Continue.
I blow out a breath, dreading this next part.
“Assuming I can find him, I convince him I’m a friend of Lyra’s, show him the idol, and see what he can do to help her.
If he approached her in the first place, he’s got to be motivated to take Brill down, right?
If he’s got a file on her, presumably he’ll believe she’s an asset worth protecting.
” Unbidden, a sickly twist of grief winds through me.
My father would’ve known exactly what to say.
He could talk sense into zealots and traitors alike.
All I seem to do is bruise what I’m trying to protect.
“I’m willing to bet he has some kind of back-up plan.
There’s no way he’d just trust her to get the idol, make the swap, and sit back while they built a case against Brill.
I doubt it’ll be a formal operation if they don’t have enough evidence to arrest him yet, but maybe he has resources…
contacts, something that can help. I don’t know that Lyra has the kind of time it would take to swap the idol and just wait for the Feds to have enough to plan a raid,” I continue.
The probability is high that she does not.
“I’ll still offer to swap the real idol for the fake, if it’ll get me to Ooneryx with some help,” I say, the admission wrenched out of me with reluctance.
The idol for Lyra? My past self would be horrified.
“But then it’s a matter of heading there, bargaining or brawling my way through a probable army of Void Stalkers, and stealing Lyra away from one of the most dangerous mob lords on the other side of the galaxy,” I finish, despair seeping into my tone. I am so, so screwed.
This is an accurate assessment of your plan so far, and the best option given all available information in my systems. Do you have any additional questions, Orion?
Our cruiser lands with a rumble and a hiss of hydraulics.
Ada’s ready to open the doors, but misery and doubt make my limbs heavy.
Once again, I’m overcome with the needling sensation that I’m not good enough, smart enough, criminal enough to see this through, but the mating instinct rages in my veins reminding me that it doesn’t matter if I am—Lyra deserves someone who tries.
“No, Ada,” I reply, shouldering my pack with the idol tucked safely inside. “I’m ready. Are you?”
Affirmative.
I exhale a deep breath that feels like it rises up from my toes, press the door release button, and take my first steps onto the gangway in Epsilon-6’s busy arrivals terminal.
Immediately, I’m assaulted with a cacophony of sounds of busy city life—voices in countless languages, hawkers shouting about their wares from trundling robotic carts, and the deafening roar of ships landing and departing.
It takes me a moment to adjust to the gritty vibrance of the station—more populous than our busiest city on Xylothia.
Before I can get too overwhelmed by the sights, sounds, and smells of Epsilon-6, I’m nearly bowled over by a bright blue service droid with a hologram human head.
“Please present your identity chip for registration,” the droid garbles out in staticky Kailorian.
I shove my wrist into the droid’s scanning mechanism and wait for my information to pop up. After answering a few routine questions and paying a minor fee to dock the cruiser for a day, the droid rolls away down to the far end of the dock.
“Ada, can you hear me?”
Affirmative.
“Great. Let’s do this,” I huff, almost wishing for the bedsheet disguise I wore on Amphitreas.
Before we arrived, I thought about trying to wear something more inconspicuous than my Xylothian ranger uniform, but there wasn’t anything else on the cruiser for me to use.
On the plus side, the station is big enough that I don’t think I’ll draw much attention, even if there aren’t any other Xylothians around.
The arrivals terminal spreads out into a spiderweb network of tunnels, moving walkways, and densely packed city streets lined with towering buildings.
Thanks to the station’s artificial atmosphere generators, it rains constantly here, so every street sign, building, and passing advertisement glows in vibrant neon signage to seduce tourists and shoppers in from the dreary gray.