Chapter 2 #2
He hesitated before answering. “In a way. It links into your body’s electrical and neural systems, reads your pulse and hormones, and mirrors them through the paired mark.
It is not alive in the sense you mean, but it behaves like adaptive tech—it learns from you and from me, adjusting to our biology so the connection holds. ”
She frowned. “That still sounds like science fiction.”
“It is biology and energy both,” he said slowly, searching for words that might fit her world.
“If you must have a human comparison, imagine it as a signal woven through your nervous system—always active, always responding. It tracks what you feel, mirrors it to me, and keeps the connection between us stable.”
Her throat tightened. “So, it’s a part of me now.”
“It is you,” he said, voice low but certain. “And it is us.”
She ran her thumb over the slight rise of the mark. The skin there felt warmer than the rest of her. “Aram knew what this was, didn’t he.” It wasn’t a question.
“Affirmative. He did not expect this. He wanted profit, not a bond. When the Valenmark formed, he lost his profit. Became angry, furious that something happened outside his domain.”
“So, now I’m broken merchandise, not worth anything to you?”
“You are still worth quite a lot. He would sell you as a weapon,” Apex said. “Because a true Valenmark unlocks more than heat. It unlocks access.”
That caught her attention. “To what?”
“My systems,” Apex said. “My reflexes. My ship. Certain Vettian locks respond to a bonded pair as a single presence. Only a perfect pairing triggers full access. There are buyers for that.”
Her stomach dropped. “You just described me as a key.”
“You are not a key,” he said. “You are a person. Unfortunately for you, Aram does not see people.”
Emmy turned away and braced her hands on the cool rim of the viewport.
The black beyond wasn’t empty, but layered.
It held faint colors she had never known space could hold, soft violets and greens that flowed like breath at the edges of her field of vision.
Earth seemed very far away, her old life thin, like a shirt worn too often and left behind by accident.
She said quietly, “Back home, I repaired drones and scraped for grants. I learned to hide anything that might stand out, anything that made me interesting. Interesting gets noticed. Noticed gets used.”
Apex stood a pace behind her. He didn’t crowd. “I am not Aram.”
She let out a breath. “I don’t know what you are.”
“Then ask.”
She turned back around slowly, weighing her words. Every question she could ask was dangerous, every answer he might give heavier than she was ready for. Her heart beat too fast, and the Valenmark thrummed in rhythm, reminding her that silence would only stretch the tension between them.
She took a breath, choosing caution over impulse, but the question still came out softer than she meant, threaded with something almost like vulnerability. “What do you want from me, Apex?”
His stare held. “Truth. Consent. Survival.”
“Not obedience.”
“Not obedience.” The answer landed with power. “If you attempt to command a bonded mate, the mark rejects it. It does not recognize hierarchy. It is not made for domination or subjugation—it balances, merges. It exists so that two beings act in tandem, neither above the other.”
“Fuse,” she repeated, tasting the word. It made her think of solder and circuits, two metals flowing until neither could be separated without destroying both. “So your legend is real.”
“Legend is a human word. For us it is law. A Valenmark does not permit a false connection. It forms only once and then generations upon generations may pass before another forms.”
“What if one of us dies?” The question scraped her throat as it left.
“The field collapses. There is no replacement, but the surviving mate endures. The body lives, though the bond leaves an absence that never closes.”
“So there are Valen widows and widowers.” The sentence sounded too soft in her own ears.
“No.” His voice went quieter still. “There are only survivors.”
She lifted her marked wrist. “And if I refuse you?”
“You are not refusing me.” He paused, his voice lower, steady.
“You would be refusing this—yourself. The mark does not allow separation without pain. If you try to walk away, it will hurt, for both of us. The farther you go, the worse it becomes. I would not stop you,” he added quietly, “but the Valenmark will. It will burn until you return. That is how it keeps its balance. A perfect match cannot be unmade.”
The chamber seemed too small. She stepped sideways to the storage wall, needing movement, needing to do anything except drown in the crush of things she couldn’t control.
The wall recognized her presence and slid open on a whisper, revealing carefully stowed necessities.
Emergency med wraps. A thin blanket sealed in a vacuum sleeve.
A small protein bar scored into segments. A tool kit folded like a book.
“You planned for one other person,” she said, softer now. “Everything here is cut for two.”
“This ship is built for one,” he said. “But it carries measures for a second. I do not prefer it. It is good practice.”
“Practice at what?”
“Not dying,” he said.
The answer drew a quick, unwilling smile from her.
It faded when her glance touched the small galley drawer.
A mug sat nested within a rack, matte black, heavy for its size.
She realized suddenly that the handle was carved to fit a larger hand than hers, that the curve would fit Apex’s grip with exactness.
He was not a man who loved many objects. The ones he kept must matter.
“You don’t sleep much,” she said.
“Affirmative. As I said, my kind don’t require as much as humans.”
She moved a half step closer, meaning only to meet his eyes, but the Valenmark answered before thought.
Heat coiled through her wrist, up her arm, and into her chest. Apex’s breath hitched and his hand came up, instinct rather than intent, catching her hip to steady her.
The reaction was immediate, explosive. Her pulse raced.
The air thickened with scent and electricity.
Her fingers fisted in the front of his jacket. She meant to push him away. Instead, she pulled.
Their mouths met in a clash of hunger and shock, teeth and heat and need tangled in a single breath. The sound he made was half growl and half claim. His hand slid up her spine, fingers spreading across her back until she melted into him, the connection burning so bright it bordered on pain.
When he broke the kiss, it was not from lack of desire but sheer force of will. His voice came ragged, low enough to scrape her throat when he spoke against her skin. “If we start this now, it will not stop.”
She was breathing hard, dizzy from what they had unleashed. “Then maybe don’t stop.”