Chapter 11
APEX HAD washed the soot from his hands, his hair looking lighter in the cabin light.
He held a small case in one hand which he set on the counter and opened to reveal a coil of fiber and a sparker.
He worked without looking at her, but the air between them seemed aware of everything. Heavy. Charged. Ripe.
“What are you doing?” she managed to ask.
“Stripping a damaged line and replacing it. We will not risk a relay burn on a frayed conduit.”
“Can I help?”
He lifted his gaze. “Hold the light.”
She took the small hand lamp and stood close enough to see what he was doing. Freshly cleaned and dressed in the dark shirt and trousers she’d taken from the storage locker, she still felt raw and exposed under his steady presence.
The contrast between them—the calm precision of his movements and the faint scent of him clinging to her borrowed clothes—made her suddenly self-conscious, aware of every brush of fabric against her skin.
She stood close enough to feel the heat of him as he bent over the open case, the muscles in his forearms flexed.
His hands moved with the same exact purpose he brought to a fight.
“You must have been a mechanic before you were a warrior,” she said.
“I was born to a House that expected me to be both.”
“Lord Kael Vettar.”
His mouth barely moved. “Do not say that name too loudly. The walls remember.”
“Core already did.”
“It is in your public record,” Core said. “The memorial script references your military service, your House bloodline, and your decision to delay the Final Flight.”
He cut the fiber cleanly. “Of course it does. They will tell the story that suits them.”
Emmy angled the lamp. “What’s the story that suits you?”
He set the new line and locked the coupler. “Truth.”
She waited. He didn’t look away from the work. “I served four hundred years because I was so ordered. I did not complete the Final Flight because I did not need to die to prove that I could. The apples I was fed from your planet simply returned what my body had been designed to be. That is all.”
“They think that makes you dangerous.”
“It makes me inconvenient since I will outlive all of them.” He spared her a brief glance. “As will you.”
“Will I? How?”
“Humans are easily repaired. Our medical facility will keep you young and healthy for generations.”
The breath stuttered in her lungs. “Generations?”
“Affirmative.”
He closed the panel and the click sounded like an answer. When he turned, the small space between them vanished, the heat of him wrapping around her. She told herself to step back. She didn’t.
His eyes dropped to her mouth, lingered, and rose to her eyes with an effort. Then his hand came up, tracing the air beside her cheekbone before his fingers finally touched her skin. The contact shattered restraint.
His thumb brushed along her face, down the line of her throat, tracing the edge of her collar before sweeping lower, his palm flattening against her ribs.
The tremor went through him as his hand slid higher, cupping her breast through the thin fabric of her shirt, his touch gentle and devastating all at the same time.
Her breath caught, a small sound escaping her as he rubbed his thumb over her nipple, the friction lighting fire through her veins.
She reached for him in return, palms on his chest, stroking the solid muscle beneath, catching the beat of his heart against her hands.
His other hand gripped her hip, pulling her closer until the heat of him pressed against her belly.
The air thickened between them. He bent and kissed her, slow at first, then with hunger that deepened and darkened.
His mouth moved against hers, parting her lips, stealing her breath.
The kiss turned rougher, more intense, until her knees weakened.
He caught her before she fell, his hand sliding to the small of her back, then lower, cupping her backside, drawing her against him.
She gasped into his mouth, her pulse a wild drumbeat.
His fingers tightened at her hip and his thumb traced the spot between her legs that pulsed with urgency, the barest graze that made her shudder.
She broke the kiss with a desperate sound, eyes glazed, chest rising too fast.
He rested his forehead against hers, breathing hard, the air between them electric. His breath brushed her lips when he spoke, low and rough. “You test every limit I have.”
Her voice trembled. “And you test mine.”
His hand slid up her spine, fingers splaying at the back of her neck, holding her still as if another kiss might break them both. For a heartbeat, neither moved. The ship hummed beneath them, a pulse that matched their own.
“I’m done waiting,” she whispered against his mouth. “Take me to bed. Not soon. Not later. Right now.”
His control cracked like ice under pressure. “Emmeline—”
“I’m serious. I want you now, Apex.” Her hands fisted in his shirt. “I’m asking. Fully awake. Unafraid. I’m asking.”
The words he’d given her earlier came back as a key turning in a lock.
His eyes blazed violet-bright, pupils blown wide.
He lifted her with effortless power, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her the few steps to the sleeping shelf.
The narrow space forced them close, the air thick with desire and the scent of him—masculine heat and something uniquely his.
He set her down with surprising gentleness, his hands already working at the borrowed shirt she wore.
She helped him, desperate now, the fabric sliding away to bare her skin to the cool air and his burning gaze.
He paused, drinking her in with an intensity that made her feel worshipped and claimed all at once.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, the word rough. “Mine.”
“Yes.” She reached for him, pulling at his shirt until he stripped it away.
The sight of him stole her breath—all hard, bronzed planes and coiled strength, the faint shimmer of his skin catching the low light.
He captured her gaze as he reached for the fastening of his trousers, unfastening them in one fluid motion before stepping free.
She followed suit, slipping out of the pants she wore, their movements deliberate and unhurried, each layer shed making the air heavier between them.
The Valenmark on his wrist pulsed in time with hers, growing brighter as she traced her fingers down his chest, over the ridges of muscle, lower.
He caught her hand, brought it to his mouth, kissed her palm. “If we start this, I will not be gentle.”
“I don’t want gentle.” Her voice came out steadier than she felt. “I want you.”
Something in him surrendered. He pulled her against him, skin to skin, and the contact blazed through them both.
The Valenmark flared white-hot, pleasure and heat spiraling through her veins until she gasped.
His mouth found hers again, demanding, possessive, his hands mapping every curve as if memorizing her by touch alone.
He laid her back against the thin cushion, following her down, his frame a comfort rather than a cage.
His mouth traced a path down her throat, across her collarbone, lower.
When his lips closed around her nipple, she arched off the shelf with a cry that echoed in the small space.
He lavished attention on her breasts, drawing sounds from her she didn’t know she could make, his hands steady on her hips to keep her grounded.
“Apex, please—”
“Patience,” he murmured against her skin, though his own restraint was fraying.
His hand slid lower, fingers tracing the inside of her thigh, teasing, testing.
When he finally touched her where she ached most, she shattered into sensation.
He stroked her with maddening care, learning what made her gasp, what made her beg, building her higher with every deliberate caress.
She turned to face him fully, the air humming between them. Light slid over the sculpted lines of his body. The sight struck her breathless. For a moment she could only stare—at the curve of his shoulders, the strength in his thighs, the raw power coiled beneath his skin.
Her hands trembled as she reached out, fingers skimming down his chest, following the path of muscle to his abdomen. He caught her wrist, then guided her hand lower, his own breath uneven.
The heat of him against her palm made her gasp.
He watched her reaction with eyes darkened by desire, the air alive with everything unsaid.
She touched him again, slower this time, a tight, gradual stroke, learning the texture of him, the pulse that beat under her fingertips.
The world outside the cabin vanished until there was only the sound of their breathing and the quiet crackle of want between them.
Her fingers wrapped around him and he made a sound like prayer and profanity tangled together.
She explored him carefully, noting the differences—the impressive mounds along his length that seemed to pulse in rhythm with the Valenmark, the way his body responded to her touch with an intensity that bordered on overwhelming.
“Emmeline,” he growled, thrusting into her fist. “If you continue, this will end before it begins.”
She smiled, fierce and wanting. “Then don’t make me wait.”
Instantly, he swept her hand aside and positioned himself between her thighs, his eyes locked on hers.
“This will bind us further,” he said, voice tight with restraint.
“The Valenmark reacts to choice and connection. When we come together in full awareness—body, heart, and will—it draws us closer, merges our life forces. The mark will deepen. There is no undoing what comes next.”
“I choose this.” She cupped his face, pulled him down for a kiss. “I choose you.”