Chapter 72
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
NORA
“You’re only worth a fraction of the credits if you’re a suffocated, bloated carcass, so you’ll need to suffer the chill.” Iver smiled at Nora. “Maybe if you behave, I’ll find you a blanket.”
She glared at him, still bound to the bench and shivering in the cold breeze from the open exit ramp. “Fuck you.”
“Not right now, darling. Maybe after I’m done.” He returned to his work, presumably hijacking the ship.
After another attempt to cut off the collar—this one had left him with blood trickling from his nose—he straightened, then went to the ship’s open panels and connected a small clamshell-style computer to a wall terminal, as if nothing had happened.
He had donned clawed gloves from his bag, and their tips had lengthened into needles.
They glowed red hot as he began cutting and retwisting the ship’s wires, filling the command deck with fumes.
Only when the woman had started to cough did he open the door to let the smoke escape.
Now the woman wheezed softly beside Nora, asleep or unconscious—it was unclear which. Iver didn’t seem too concerned about either of them, tapping away on his devices.
Her heart constricted, reminded of Joe collapsing hexagons and coding the HyperGate just before blasting her off the Abeona, unknowingly programming the shuttle to come here.
Like her uncle, Iver hummed as he worked. Songs from Earth. Some she even recognized.
“Can you please shut the fuck up?” she snapped. “If you’re going to keep me captive, I’d like some quiet.”
Iver flicked her a glance before continuing with whatever it was that he did. “Captives don’t make requests. Consider that a free lesson in how to survive what comes for you next.”
After several minutes, he set down his tools and closed the computer. He looked up and spoke to the ceiling in the alien language.
“It’s not going to talk to you,” Nora said, feeling a little sorry for him. It was clear he wasn’t fully in control of what he was doing, and if he strayed from his task, the collar would somehow know and buzz him. “The ship will only talk to morazir—”
“Saravin. Chara ma ti komki?” The ship’s calm voice filled the room. All the lights brightened. All the screens that had gone dark the day before flickered back on. One even displayed a welcome screen of wings soaring through a starry sky.
When she turned back, Iver was already in front of her, smug. She jerked back—how could she not have heard him move?
“Don’t look so eager to slap me.” He twirled his finger, and another needle-like stick he commanded—this one equipped with a liquid-filled vial—pointed at her arm. He leaned in close, his eyes glittering like crown jewels. “It excites me.”
Nora’s breath quickened as the needle glinted above her. He hadn’t needed a tool to put the cuffs on. She kicked out, screaming as the needle drew closer.
“All right, little doll,” he said, pushing her sleeve up and holding her elbow extended. “Time to sing you a lullaby and go to—”
Heavy footsteps raced up the ramp.
A pop echoed.
Iver bellowed in pain, falling to one knee.
The shadows on the wall shifted as a figure stepped onto the ship, haloed in sunlight. Nora felt faint, afraid that if she moved, the illusion of Airik before her would shatter. He was a little bloodied but looked okay. Still alive, still hers.
Airik’s eyes swept the room as he kept Iver at the end of his gun’s aim, pausing briefly where his sword lay on the table. He moved on until he found her.
For a moment, their eyes locked. Airik’s lips parted. He said something, cool and composed. A breeze blew wisps of his hair across his face, and his fierce gaze softened just a little.
“Fuck…” Iver gasped as he twisted to Airik and clutched at his thigh.
Airik’s attention snapped back to him, scowling. “Fuck,” he repeated, narrowing his eyes. “Why do you know that word?”
Scrambling, Iver raised his hand, the needle pointing to Airik. He ducked just as the needle shot past his cheek, catching it in midair. Darting toward Iver, he was right behind him in less than two strides.
Iver reached for the gun he’d taken from Nora, but Airik caught his arm. “I don’t like sharp things near my face,” he said, then shoved the needle into Iver’s thigh, where Airik had already shot him.
He cried out. “A bit rough, aren’t we—”
Airik twisted Iver’s arm behind his back, and his words cut off in a harsh groan. Before he could send out another needle, Airik yanked off the gloves and tossed them aside.
The captive woman shot up, falling off the bench.
Airik paid no mind, neither speaking nor making any sound except for his breath and grunts of exertion as he fought the much larger man into submission.
He wrapped an arm around Iver’s neck. The collar buzzed, shocking both of them.
Airik frowned, pausing briefly to examine the collar.
He hissed, then threw Iver forward with such force that it gave him a second to reach for his sword.
He knelt over Iver’s back and, as if slicing through paper, cut through Iver’s collar.
The metal collar fell to the floor, still crackling. Airik tossed his sword beside it.
Iver gasped, his free hand flying to his throat as he felt his skin. He tried to speak, no longer resisting.
But it made no difference to Airik. Complete submission—that was what he wanted. He wrapped an arm around Iver’s bare neck, lifting him back to his knees, vibrating with tension. Iver’s face reddened from the choking force.
“Don’t—” Nora held out an arm as if she could reach him through the small distance that separated them. “Airik, don’t kill him.”
Airik shot her a look—pained, confused, and maybe a little annoyed. He shook his head and kept pressing.
Drool leaked from the corner of Iver’s mouth as Airik yanked another pair of cuffs from the man’s belt.
Iver’s eyes fluttered shut, and his body fell forward with a thud.
Now limp, Airik dragged him by the ankles to the wall in front of Nora.
Arranging him like a broken marionette, Airik secured Iver’s arms over his head with the magnetized cuffs.
He stretched Iver’s legs out in front of him, sneering at the blood spilling from his thigh onto the floor.
Then he went back to his sword, picking it up before approaching the two of them. The woman cried out, scrambling away.
“It’s okay,” Nora said, hoping to calm her. “He’s mine—he won’t ever hurt you. Just…calm down.”
Airik, still ignoring the other woman, fell to his knees before Nora, pushing her legs apart to squeeze in.
He sliced the cuffs off her wrists, freeing her.
Starting with her feet, he ran his free hand up her legs, her thighs, her sides, then checked her hands, massaging the reddened marks on her wrists.
The only sound he made was the tremble of his breath, taking her braid, as if to check that every hair was still in place as he had left it that morning.
“I’m fine—I’m okay,” Nora said, holding his face to make him stop searching for something wrong. He had a cut on his temple, but thankfully it had already stopped bleeding.
He pulled back. “My entire life…” he said with a tormented expression. “Yours.”
Airik’s lips crashed into hers. He took what he wanted—needed—in a bruising kiss that pressed the totality of his possession upon her.
She whimpered as his fangs pricked her tongue and his hands closed around her neck, holding her to him. As if she’d ever retreat. All she’d ever do was let him sink into her.
His fingers dug into her hips as he continued to kiss her, even as the woman beside them kept struggling and Iver’s boots scraped on the floor as he regained consciousness.
“Let me…go.” The woman’s voice cracked beside them.
Airik and Nora parted, both of them breathless.
“There’s your voice, sweetness.” Iver chuckled, his head lolling from side to side, still dazed. “I knew it’d be lovely.”
Airik bolted up, standing over him in the blink of an eye.
Nora swayed forward, confused, as Airik drove the tip of his sword into the wound in Iver’s thigh.
“I did not yet permit you to speak.” Airik pushed the blade down until Iver gritted his teeth. Fresh blood pooled on the floor.
“A-Airik,” Nora gasped.
The beauty of Airik’s scars twisted into something monstrous as he ignored her, and the blade sank deeper into Iver’s leg.
This is how he’s survived, she reminded herself. He has to be stronger and faster. No mercy or forgiveness, because if he gets hurt— Another heartbreaking realization hit. He can’t even be healed if his body is destroyed in service to his world.
Even if this was how he’d been made, Nora loved him. She’d cherish his body and heart in a way his world never would.
“Sweetheart,” she called out to him.
He stopped, turning slightly toward her but not fully. He adjusted his grip on his blade, but it didn’t sink any farther. She dared not stand or rush to him. Airik balanced on a razor’s edge, and she knew anything could push him into an act his loving soul would regret.
“Please…stop.” She smiled, hoping he could hear that it was okay. That he had already controlled all threats. That they were safe. “I think this man might be a prisoner himself.”
Iver stopped squirming, glancing between Nora and Airik with a cautious look. Airik exhaled sharply, his throat moving as he swallowed. He avoided looking at Nora but slowly lifted his weapon away from Iver.
“Why do you have English words?” he asked Iver. “Why are you here at all?”
When Iver didn’t answer, Airik used the tip of his sword to point the man’s face up, exposing the skin of his throat. Starburst-shaped, fractal scars covered the area where the collar had been, some still bloody and crusted.
“I might’ve answered you a few moments ago—when you were still the hero who had freed me.” Iver’s chest shuddered as he laughed. “But now I don’t think I will. I’m feeling a bit…lightheaded and”—he jerked his injured leg—“a little abused. Don’t forget, God sees all—”
“Why do you never…shut up?”