Sixth (Intergalactic Warriors #6)

Chapter 1

THE GREAT auction halls of the Rim had always smelled the same: money and fear beneath the perfume, ambition clinging to the air like smoke.

Apex hated the scent. It reminded him of every lesson Vetta had beaten into him before the day his hair turned white and his eyes burned amethyst—the transformation that had seen him forcibly conscripted into the Intergalactic Warriors.

It reminded him that no matter how far he flew or how long he served, part of him would always belong to this ignoble lineage.

He adjusted the high collar of his black ceremonial jacket as the lift doors opened into the main chamber of the Imperial Exchange, the same place whispered about in coded reports from Fifth’s network.

Soft light from a thousand suspended globes shimmered off crystal tiers that circled the floor.

Buyers stood in shadowed balconies, their masks catching the glow, while the captives stood beneath the lights, aware, breathing, watching.

Each woman held herself upright under the Matrons’ strict instructions.

There were no shouts, no open bids. This was evaluation, not trade.

Apex’s presence here was not to buy. He was here because Hannah and Fifth had begged him to find a single human girl, a sister taken from Earth.

Emmeline Ward, listed in the records as “Emmeline of Earth.” She’s been stolen by Aram Voss to be sold to the highest bidder.

Apex had tracked her here and knew she would be somewhere nearby.

He could feel it like a pulse under his skin.

A hush fell through the crowd as the inspection queue began. The captives moved forward in perfect order, stopping at measured intervals while attendants recorded vitals and posture or made private bids on each female. The room held only the low hum of scanners and the occasional rustle of silk.

Only then did a discreet attendant approach him, bowing low. “Lord Kael Vettar, your presence is requested in the House of Sovereigns.”

The name struck him like a blade. No one called him that anymore. Not since his conscription into the Intergalactic Warriors.

He inclined his head. “Lead the way.”

The House of Sovereigns stood adjacent to the main hall, an inner sanctum reserved for those with noble lineage.

Its architecture was surprisingly Vettian, marble veined in silver, silken drapes that pulsed with embedded light, the air perfumed with ancient incense.

The bloodlines of old Vetta conducted business here away from prying eyes.

Apex’s boots echoed softly as he entered.

There were fewer women here, each displayed not as merchandise but as potential consorts, standing on low platforms surrounded by transparent veils.

The buyers didn’t bargain for fleeting pleasure or open companionship.

They negotiated for bloodlines. These transactions were for alliances and supervised breeding, not for true mates or love or permanency.

Every offer measured legacy, not affection.

A voice drifted from behind a tall podium. “You honor us with your presence, Lord Vettar.” The auction master was tall, draped in white, his face a serene mask of power. “It has been many generations since one of your line attended.”

“Duty,” Apex said. His gaze drifted from female to female. “And curiosity.”

“Then you will appreciate what we offer tonight.”

He motioned first to two of the nearer platforms, both occupied by Vettian women.

One stepped forward, tall and dark-eyed, her movements precise enough to make the nobles murmur approval.

The next followed, ebony-haired and regal, marked by the faint shimmer of augmented lineage that made her price soar.

The master gave their credentials and watched as nobles whispered offers, the transaction efficient and bloodless. Apex remained silent.

Only when those negotiations concluded did he motion to the next platform. The veil parted and a slender woman in a semi-transparent shift turned—human, unmistakably.

The attendant’s voice rang out, formal and clear: “Lot Seven: Emmeline Ward of Earth.”

Her hair fell in loose waves down her back, pale as sunlit wheat, her eyes the soft gold of morning light mixed with rays of brown and green. He recognized her instantly from the digital photo Hannah had given him, the image that had haunted him since Fifth sent it to him.

Emmeline. Emmy.

She looked around with wary defiance. The other women lowered their gazes, but not her. She met his eyes, unflinching, and for one impossible second, the hall fell away. He saw the shadow of Hannah in her expression—the same stubborn set of the mouth, the same fragile intensity.

He forced his pulse steady. He couldn’t let recognition show.

The auctioneer’s tone changed, reverent now, each word laden with ritual importance.

“Lot Seven, a remarkable hybrid specimen—human, yet displaying measurable resonance with Vettian genetic frequency. Preliminary scans suggest adaptive tolerance to noble interaction and manipulated lineage transfer. Her readings indicate not mere compatibility, but a potential consort bond of exceptional strength.”

The crowd shifted, whispers rising as her data streamed across the holos, the information glinting like jeweled script above Emmeline’s head. Eager comments rippled through the room.

Apex’s mouth tightened. He knew from experience that human and Vettian pairings could work—his own unit proved that—but this level of genetic resonance was unheard of.

The readings were too exact, too deliberate, and it made his instincts prickle.

He needed to end this before her life became a contract.

The bids began, low at first, then climbing as the nobles’ interest sharpened.

Apex let it run long enough to identify the main bidders—House Aurel and House Thayn.

One of Voss’s handlers lingered near the transaction desk, overseeing the data feed as bids updated in real time.

When Apex caught sight of the crest on the man’s wrist—a serpent twined through the Voss trade mark—a cold thread of satisfaction swept through him.

Found you.

He lifted his hand slightly, signaling his command link.

“Transfer House custody, authorization Vettar-Alpha.” The words were meant for his private comms, a standard override used to reroute ownership through his infiltration AI.

But the hall’s ancient system misinterpreted the phrasing.

It caught the tonal signature of his noble blood and translated it through the old Vettian registry that governed the House of Sovereigns, reclassifying the command as a binding invocation rather than a transfer of authority.

The air shimmered. The board blinked. Then, in a voice that resonated through every tier: “Claim recognized. By right of noble lineage, Lord Kael Vettar invokes the Valenmark. Lot Seven is bound under ancient law. Bidding is suspended. No credits will be exchanged. The Valenmark lies beyond purchase.”

The world went silent.

Apex froze. A burst of silver-blue light flared between him and the platform, coalescing into a twisting band that linked his wrist to hers. Heat seared through his veins, a pulse of old power rising signifying that he was a noble of House Vettar.

The band dissolved into light, sinking into their flesh as the marks formed on each of them—identical and unmistakable.

The spiral of the Vettian crest burned itself into both of their wrists, etched where the pulse beat strongest. The light wove through their skin in mirrored patterns, twin sigils glowing silver-blue, alive with faint threads of light that pulsed in perfect unison before dimming to a soft, steady glow.

It was no mere symbol. It was the Valenmark itself, etched in blood and power, binding nobility and consort under law and destiny and permanency.

Emmy gasped, recoiling. Guards moved in, weapons raised, but the auction master lifted a hand sharply. “Stand down. The bond is witnessed.” His gaze flicked to Apex, uncertain now. “By law, none may interfere.”

A voice cut through the stunned quiet. “Interfere? That was my property you just bound to yourself.”

The crowd turned as Aram Voss strode forward from the shadowed tiers, his immaculate coat dusted with the shimmer of data ash from his crest-band.

His tone was ice, each word honed for humiliation rather than challenge.

“House Voss registered the human under legitimate claim. You have stolen her under false invocation.”

Apex met his gaze without flinching. “I invoked nothing intentionally. The registry misinterpreted my command.”

“Convenient.” Voss’s mouth curved, humorless. “You think the Council will accept that? They will not care what you meant. The law is binding, and when they rule, they will rule for bloodlines that have power to trade, not those that squander it.”

“Then take your complaint to the Council,” Apex said calmly.

“Oh, I will,” Voss replied, his eyes flicking to Emmeline. “And when they strip her from you, I will see to it she is never whole again.” His smile sharpened. “You’ve taken what was mine, Lord Vettar. Pray you can keep it.”

The auction master’s hand lifted sharply, signaling guards to block Voss’s advance. “House Voss,” he said with careful authority, “the registry has spoken. No protest will be heard until the Council convenes. You will withdraw.”

Voss’s stare lingered on Apex, burning with restrained fury, before he turned away. “This is not finished,” he said softly, the words equal parts promise and threat. Then he vanished into the departing crowd.

Apex drew a slow breath. “Release her.”

“Release her?” the auction master echoed. “She belongs to you, my lord.”

Emmy’s voice broke through, trembling and furious. “I do not belong to anyone.”

Her defiance struck like a blade. He stepped forward slowly, aware that every eye was on them. “You are under my protection,” he said, careful to keep his tone even. “Not my possession.”

Her glare met his. “Protection is an awful lot like another cage.”

Before he could answer, the room erupted into whispers. The Valenmark still burned bright, the seal of lineage now visible to every noble in the chamber. They knew what it meant. They knew who he was.

Apex caught movement at the edge of his vision, a pair of guards approaching too quickly. He shifted, drawing his arm around Emmy to pull her behind him. The first guard hesitated, recognizing the crest at his wrist. The second froze outright.

“Enough,” Apex said. His voice carried the sort of command honed by years of battle. “The law has spoken.”

The auction master inclined his head. “Then she is yours to escort, my lord. The contract is sealed, the bond unbreakable. The Valenmark does not err.”

He wanted to argue, to undo it, but the mark pulsed again, an ache that synchronized with his heartbeat.

His words with the auction system echoed back through the registry, confirming the misinterpreted command.

The ancient algorithms confirmed the transfer as a sacred act, stamping it with the House’s living authority seal and completing the Valenmark.

A low tone reverberated in the air, the same sound once used to validate Council decrees.

The mark brightened, burning against his skin as if acknowledging the completion of ceremony.

The system had integrated the bond into their very biology, each pulse of light a coded reflection of the ancient law he had accidentally invoked.

He looked down at Emmy. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her golden eyes fixed on his. The faint blue glow circled her wrist like living fire. “You,” she whispered. “You did this.”

“I do not intend to let anyone touch you.” His voice dropped low, a command edged in steel, the kind that had made entire units obey without question.

The words vibrated with restrained fury, the air itself seeming to tighten around him.

“The bond was not of my choosing, but the moment it formed, it became law. And I do not surrender what is mine.”

“I don’t want to be yours,” she protested. “I don’t want to be anyone’s.”

The pulse of the Valenmark flared under his palm, and for a breath he thought it answered her protest. He caught her chin, forcing her gaze to his, his voice dark and sure.

“I will find a way to free you, but until then you will stand behind my protection.” The words came rough, low, threaded with the command of a male who didn’t ask.

“No one will touch you. Not Voss. Not anyone.”

Guards escorted them toward the exit. The nobles parted in silence, some bowing, others whispering. Apex felt the potency of their stares, the fear, the awe. The Council would hear of this before the hour was out.

In the corridor beyond, the light dimmed. The Valenmark faded to a faint shimmer, but the bond between them did not. Her heartbeat, erratic but strong, echoed faintly against his own.

She walked beside him, chin high despite the tremor in her hands. “What happens now?” she asked.

He answered simply. “Now we leave.”

“And then?”

He looked ahead to the docking bay where his ship waited. “Then I keep my promise to Hannah.”

Her steps faltered. “You know my sister?”

“Affirmative.” His tone softened despite himself. “She asked me to bring you home.”

For the first time, her expression shifted. The anger gave way to shock, then confusion. “Then why—why didn’t you say so before?”

“Because saying her name here would have condemned you.”

They reached the transport. The guards bowed and stepped back as the door sealed behind them. The hum of the ship rose, surrounding them in a low, thrumming sound that matched the pulse of the Valenmark. She looked down at it, then at him.

“Unbreakable?” she whispered.

“Affirmative.”

“Even death?”

His throat tightened. “Only through death,” he corrected.

For a long moment, neither spoke. The ship lifted from the platform, sliding into the dark between stars.

Apex looked at her reflection in the viewport, the faint shimmer of the mark, the fierce determination in her eyes.

He knew what the Council would see when they learned: the rightful heir of Vetta bound to a human. The scandal. The threat.

But beneath it all, something older stirred, something that recognized her not as weakness but as destiny. The Valenmark had chosen. And whether he wished it or not, their fates were now entwined.