Chapter 14 #2
Emmy met him halfway. For a second she just stared, unable to find words. His skin was streaked with ash, amethyst eyes bright with something fierce and alive. The Valenmark between them burned steady again.
He reached for her wrist, and the touch sent a shiver through her that tangled relief with something hotter, darker.
She was still shaking from the fight, but the touch of his rough hand grounded her, reminding her he was alive, solid, real.
Fear and gratitude collided inside her chest, chased by a flare of want she didn’t dare name.
Her breath caught as her pulse quickened, and the Valenmark drummed between them like a secret they both experienced but neither could voice.
He grabbed her hand, his touch fierce and warm. “I told you to go.”
“I did,” she whispered. “But you caught up.”
He looked down at her, a hint of a smile ghosting his mouth, but it carried more power than she expected.
His eyes softened just enough for her to glimpse the man beneath the soldier—heat and weariness, quiet humor threaded through unshakable control.
The corners of his mouth lifted as if the motion itself were a rebellion against everything he was trained to be.
When he spoke, the low timbre of his voice wrapped around her. “You are impossible.”
“Learned from the best.”
Behind them, the world burned. Voss was gone—or so it seemed—but the echo of his voice still haunted the static.
“Negative,” Core said softly. “Fragmented transmission detected. Source: Voss-unit.”
Emmy’s heart dropped. “He uploaded himself into the station’s computer system?”
“Most likely,” Apex said. His voice held no surprise, only cold certainty. “He is not finished.”
Lightning arced across the clouds outside. The Valenmark pulsed once, slow and deep. Emmy looked up at him, the stormlight cutting across his face.
“What happens now?” she asked.
He turned toward the viewport, watching the wreckage fall away. “Now, we hunt.”
The storm swallowed them. Apex stood at the center of it, breathing hard. The smell of scorched ozone and blood clung to him, heat rising from his armor. The metallic tang of battle followed him, sharp and electric.
Emmy couldn’t look away. In that instant, he appeared larger than life—shoulders squared, jaw set, light from the emergency panels catching the sweat and soot across his face.
Every line of his body burned with restrained power, and under it, exhaustion and a hint of vulnerability that only she seemed able to see.
She moved toward him without realizing she had.
Her hand came to his chest where the armor split and her fingers met flesh.
His skin was hot beneath her touch, the pulse beneath it strong, proof that he was still alive.
He caught her wrist but didn’t pull away. “You should rest.”
“I will when you do.” Her voice was husky, barely audible over the thunder. She lifted her chin, searching his face. “You could have died down there.”
He studied her, eyes unreadable. “It was necessary.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it is true.” His hand was still around her wrist, holding, not hurting. The Valenmark pulsed, their heartbeats colliding. “I cannot allow him to live.”
She shivered. “He’ll come for us again, won’t he?”
“Affirmative. But not soon. He will need time to rebuild.”
Core’s voice softened. “Structural damage minimal. Radiation levels stabilizing. Recommend medical treatment for all personnel.”
“Right away,” Emmy said. “Plot course out of orbit.”
“Acknowledged.”
She turned back to Apex. “You’re bleeding. And the others need help recovering from stasis.”
He looked down, almost surprised. “It will heal. My men and their mates need attention more than I do.”
She shook her head and pressed a cloth from her belt against the wound. His breath caught when her fingers brushed bare skin. He was too still, too close. The hum of the Valenmark deepened, warm and intimate. The vibration between them felt like a heartbeat shared.
The ship jolted as it broke atmosphere, thunder rolling in its wake. Apex steadied her automatically, one hand at her waist. He held her there, gaze locked on her mouth. The space between them vanished. For a heartbeat, she thought he would kiss her.
Then he stepped back. “You should see to your sister.”
Her pulse stumbled. “You’re impossible.”
He inclined his head slightly, that ghost of humor back in his eyes. “You said so yourself.”
She turned toward the med bay, forcing herself to breathe. Behind her, his eyes stayed on her, the unspoken tension simmering like the storm that still raged below.
In the med bay, Hannah stirred, eyes fluttering open. Emmy dropped to her knees beside the bed, tears rising unbidden. “Hey, you’re safe. We’re on the ship.”
Hannah’s voice was a rasp. “Locus?”
He moved closer immediately, dropping to one knee beside her. “I am here,” he said quietly, his hand brushing her hair back from her face. Relief softened his features in a way Emmy had never seen. “You are safe.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “You saved me.”
“Always,” he said simply, the single word carrying more emotion than anything else he could have said.
Only after her trembling eased did she look past him, searching. “Apex?”
Emmy nodded. “He’s here. He got us out.”
Hannah’s gaze darted past her, settling on the doorway where Apex stood. The light from the corridor framed him, tall and silent. “Then we’re really free.”
“For now,” he said.
Hannah frowned. “For now?”
“Voss lives. In another form. He will come.”
Emmy glanced at him sharply. “And when he does?”
Apex met her gaze. “We end him.”
Lume perched on a nearby console, wings folded, her voice soft. “The sky trembles still. The world below will not survive his machines.”
“Then we make sure they cannot spread,” Apex said. “He has lost his base. It will not be rebuilt.”
Across the med bay, Winn stirred on a nearby cot, her breathing deepening with every moment. Jo’Nay hovered close, checking the readings on the console beside her.
The color slowly returned to Winn’s cheeks, her pulse strong and steady again. When Jo’Nay looked up, he met Emmy’s gaze and nodded once—a silent reassurance that both he and Winn would recover. Then his hand covered the curve of her belly and the child held snug and safe within.
Apex crossed to the viewport, the storm shrinking behind them into a smear of silver cloud. With a sigh of relief at everyone’s recovery, Emmy joined him, drawn to the view—and to him. The glow from the planet reflected in his eyes, painting him in light and shadow.
She spoke quietly. “When you went back for him... I thought you were gone.”
Apex turned his head slightly. “You would have done the same.”
“Maybe. But I’m not built like you.”
“You are stronger than you believe.”
She laughed softly. “You really think flattery works after nearly getting yourself killed?”
He looked at her fully then, expression unreadable but not cold. “It is not flattery if it is true.”
The words landed deep, making her heart ache. She stepped closer, the air between them charged again. Lightning outside flashed across the hull, and the reflection lit his face, fierce and beautiful and terrible.
He reached up and brushed a streak of soot from her cheek. “You smell of smoke.”
“You smell like a thunderstorm,” she said.
His mouth curved faintly. “Then we match.”
Their eyes held. The ship rocked through turbulence, and he caught her again, steadying her. The contact burned through both of them.
“Apex,” she whispered.
He did not move. “Affirmative.”
She wanted to kiss him more than she wanted to breathe, but she knew the look in his eyes. He was not ready. Not yet.
Lume fluttered between them, her tone amused. “Air here is hot. Will melt metal. You need to cool down so ship not melt.”
Emmy groaned and laughed at once. “Thank you, Lume.”
Apex’s expression softened just enough for the tension to ease. “She is correct.”
Emmy folded her arms, smirking. “You’re smug for someone who nearly got himself blown apart.”
“I am alive,” he said simply. “That will suffice.”
She shook her head, unable to stop smiling. “You really are impossible.”
He turned back to the viewport. “And yet you stay.”
The words struck deep, but not in a way that silenced her. They filled her with the certainty that nothing could drive her away, not after what they had survived. The hum of the engines rose between them, steady and alive. Outside, lightning forked across the clouds, fading into the black of space.
She stepped to his side again, shoulder brushing his. “I’ll always stay,” she said.
He looked down at her, something unguarded in his eyes. “I will hold you to that.”
The stars unfolded ahead of them, the wreckage of Varnoss IX spinning away in the distance. The ship leveled out, the storm finally behind them. Emmy exhaled slowly, her fingers brushing his as they stood together.
For the first time since landing on that cursed world, she knew hope.
Apex remained by the viewport long after the planet shrank into a glimmer.
The silence stretched between them, thick with everything left unsaid.
The pulse of adrenaline pounded in Emmy’s blood, the taste of ozone clinging to her tongue.
She watched him in the reflected starlight—broad shoulders, the curve of his neck, restrained strength of his stance that betrayed how much he was capable of enduring.
Apex’s hand lifted as if to touch her, then hesitated, fingers curling instead into a fist at his side.
Her own hand moved before she could stop it. She took his hand and flattened it against her chest. “Feel that? You’re not the only one who fights.”
The Valenmark flared, a soft, radiant gold. It cast a glow that wrapped them both, their breaths syncing in the dim light.
He whispered, “You risk too much.”
She smiled faintly. “So do you.”
They stayed that way until Core interrupted softly. “Course plotted. Estimated arrival with remaining Alpha unit at the rendezvous point in three cycles. Council planet Valos Orbit confirmed.”
Apex nodded once, not looking away from her. “Good. Maintain stealth.”
“Acknowledged.”
Emmy drew back first, though it was like breaking something fragile. She turned toward the med bay door. “Try to sleep. Just once, do something human.”
He almost smiled, the expression fleeting but enough to steal her breath.
The faint curve of his mouth broke through the constant discipline that usually defined him, showing a glimpse of the man beneath the armor.
For a heartbeat, she could see how rare this softness was, how dangerous to be the one to draw it out of him.
“If you remain close, perhaps I will remember how.”
Her pulse stuttered, but she held his gaze. “I’ll hold you to that.”
When she finally left, his reflection lingered in the viewport, staring out at the black between stars. He reached up, touching the glass where her silhouette had been, and for the first time in his life, allowed himself to relax.
In her quarters, Emmy collapsed onto the narrow bunk, still in her scorched uniform.
The hum of the ship wrapped around her. Every muscle ached, but the ache was alive.
She pressed her palm to her wrist, caressing the slow, steady beat that matched his.
No words, no promises—just the rhythm that bound them.
Lume settled on the pillow beside her head. “You are safe now,” the creature said softly.
Emmy turned her head. “For now.”
Lume’s eyes shimmered with shifting light, reflecting the vast sea of stars outside—tiny worlds spinning in the dark, a reminder that survival was its own kind of miracle.
The sight drew out something tender and uncertain in Emmy, a fragile hope that maybe, against all odds, they could find peace again.
Apex’s footsteps were quiet when he entered the cabin, the dim light glinting off his armor. He paused beside her bunk, gaze softening as he looked down at her.
“The others are asleep,” he said quietly, voice low and steady. He removed the last pieces of his armor with silent efficiency until only the black undershirt and trousers remained.
The tension in his shoulders eased as he sat on the edge of the bunk.
For a moment he simply watched her, the steady rhythm of her breathing reflected in his own.
Then, with a slow movement, both protective and loving, he stretched out beside her, gathering her close, his arm wrapping around her shoulders until her back was against the steady rise of his chest.
The warmth of him surrounded her, strong and sure, his breath stirring the hair at her temple. “You should rest too,” he murmured, his voice a promise rather than an order.
Emmy smiled faintly, closing her eyes. “Now that you’re here, I can.”
Outside, the stars burned cold and endless. The Valenmark smoldered through the thin blanket, dimming at last to the same calm rhythm that filled the ship. Somewhere beyond, the echo of Voss’s laugh flickered across the void—but for now, it couldn’t reach them.
Sleep took her at last, and the storm of Varnoss IX was only a memory of light.