Chapter 16
KRAJ
The message pings through my secure channel at dawn, sharp as a blade to the gut. I know it’s the one before I even open it. My claws flex against the console, scraping faint grooves in the cheap alloy.
Encrypted text resolves across the holo:
My chest feels too tight for air.
I slam the acceptance key harder than I should, and within seconds Targen’s face flickers into existence above the console. He looks like hell—always does—creased scales, a mouth set in a permanent grimace, eyes gleaming like worn brass.
“You can’t be serious,” I snarl before he even opens his mouth. “This isn’t an assignment. It’s suicide. The Combine may be neutral, but they’re not stupid. They’ll trace blood back faster than you think.”
Targen doesn’t flinch. He takes a long drag from the thick cigar smoldering between his claws, smoke curling around his head. “Don’t be dramatic. You’ve ghosted bigger ops with less prep. Plant the evidence right, and the Alliance will take the fall.”
“Why him?” I demand. My tail lashes, rattling the vent cover behind me. “Why this executive? He’s just numbers and contracts.”
“Because numbers and contracts keep wars alive,” Targen replies coolly. “The Combine teeters. They could tip either way. Our job—your job—is to make sure they don’t lean toward the Alliance.”
I bare my teeth. “And if they collapse into open war instead?”
He exhales a cloud of smoke, slow and uncaring. “Not our concern. The order is simple: remove him, make it messy, leave Alliance fingerprints. Do this, Kraj, and you walk away. You’ve earned that much.”
Something inside me twists. I hear the promise in his words, the lure I’ve chased through years of blood and fire. Freedom. Out. No more handlers, no more directives, no more leash.
But then I see Luna’s face in my mind—her eyes soft when she whispered she was scared, her lips trembling when she kissed me like the world was finally right. I see Solie’s tiny hands clutching pebbles by the canyon pools, her laughter ringing in my ears.
And suddenly “walking away” doesn’t sound like freedom. It sounds like betrayal.
“I need time,” I rasp. “Seventy-two hours. Minimum. I’ll do it right, or not at all.”
Targen studies me for a long moment, smoke curling from his nostrils. He nods once. “Seventy-two hours. Fail me, and there’s no walking away at all.”
The holo cuts.
I sit there in the dim glow, claws dripping sweat against the console, breath dragging rough through my throat.
Seventy-two hours to decide who I am.
The day vanishes in a blur of shadows and lies. My body moves on instinct, every step an echo of the soldier, the spy, the weapon I’ve always been. But my heart drags like lead in my chest.
I splice into the undernet, rerouting data trails.
I plant Alliance chatter in the comms archives, a fake cell discussing sabotage ops.
I seed a shipping manifest with equipment that screams black-ops sabotage.
I pay a smuggler to run a beacon tagged with Alliance encryption near the Combine executive’s quarters.
Every keystroke is a betrayal.
Because while my claws fly, my mind drifts to Luna. To Solie. To the warmth of that canyon, to the sound of their laughter, to the way Luna’s body trembled under mine when she finally let me back in.
The lies taste like ash. But I can’t stop. I can’t let the Coalition see through me. Not yet.
By nightfall, I drag myself back to her apartment, muscles sore, mind heavy. My claws still smell faintly of grease and metal from the smuggler’s docks. My chest reeks of guilt.
But when she opens the door, everything inside me shifts.
She doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t push. She just looks at me, her face soft in the glow of the solar lamp, and steps aside.
I step through. The air smells like spice and something sweeter—her.
She touches my jaw with her small hand, thumb brushing the edge of my mouth. “Rough day?”
“You have no idea,” I murmur.
Her lips curve, sad and knowing, and she tugs me down into a kiss. No words, no demands. Just warmth, just surrender.
I follow her into the bedroom, the lamplight flickering across the walls, our shadows stretching long. She pulls me down onto the bed, her body curling into mine.
This time it isn’t hunger driving us—it’s reverence. My claws skim her skin like she’s breakable, like if I press too hard she’ll shatter into light. Every kiss is an apology. Every touch is a vow.
Her mouth is soft, parted, inviting me deeper. I taste her moan before I hear it, sweet and raw against my tongue. My scales rasp lightly over her thighs as I settle between them, careful, reverent, heat pooling low in my gut. Her skin smells like lavender and fear and something aching.
“You’re shaking,” I whisper.
“I know.” Her voice cracks, and still she presses closer.
I run a claw down the center of her chest, not to harm, just to feel the stutter of her breath as her nipples harden under the brush of my touch. “Say what you want.”
“You.” Her eyes meet mine. “I want you.”
Gods, she doesn’t know what that does to me.
I kiss down her throat, my tongue flicking over the flutter of her pulse. She whimpers and arches, hips rising to meet mine. Her legs open wider, cradling my mass as if our bodies remember what our hearts are terrified to accept.
I tease the slick heat of her pussy with one slow stroke of my fingers. She’s already wet. My cock throbs against her thigh, hard and aching.
“Luna,” I growl into her neck, “You’re so soft. So wet for me.”
She pants, twisting under my hand. “Don’t stop. Please—don’t make me beg.”
I slide a thick finger into her, feel her tighten around me like she’s starved. She gasps, back arching, and I groan, kissing the corner of her mouth.
“More,” she whispers. “Give me more.”
Two fingers. Then three. Her body quakes, hips rolling to meet every slow curl of my hand. Her pussy is hot and soaked, clenching around me like it never forgot how to want me.
“You feel that?” I murmur. “That’s mine.”
“Yes,” she breathes. “Gods, yes.”
I kiss down her belly, sharp canines grazing, tongue tasting every inch of her until I reach her core. My claws pin her thighs open gently as I bury my mouth against her. She cries out, fingers grabbing at my horns, her whole body trembling.
I suck her clit between my lips, tease it with flicks of my tongue. Her legs tighten around my head and she writhes, sobbing my name. I feel her come undone against my mouth, spasms rolling through her as she bucks.
“Stars, Kraj,” she gasps. “I—I can’t—”
But I don’t stop.
Not until she’s begging again.
Only then do I rise over her, lining my cock to her entrance. It’s thick, ridged, the head flaring with heat. Her eyes widen, breath hitching.
“You sure?” I rasp.
She nods, lips parted. “I want to feel all of you. Please.”
I press into her slowly, every inch a stretch that makes her gasp and claw at my shoulders. Her pussy wraps around me, tight and perfect, pulling me deeper until I’m fully inside her.
“Gods,” I choke out, “you feel like heaven.”
She bites her lip, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. “You’re so big… I feel full.”
“You are,” I growl. “Every part of you is mine.”
I start to move, slow and deliberate. Every thrust is a promise carved into her bones. Her hips rise to meet mine, her cries growing louder, more desperate. She chants my name like it’s salvation.
“Kraj… don’t stop… don’t ever stop—”
I slam into her, hips snapping. Her pussy grips me like a vice, slick and pulsing. I reach between us, rub her clit in fast circles, and she shatters again, screaming into my shoulder.
I follow her over the edge with a roar, spilling deep inside her.
We collapse into a tangle of limbs and sweat, breath mingling.
Her heartbeat races against my chest. I hold her close, breathing her in, memorizing every curve, every sigh. Because I don’t know how many more nights I’ll have before the storm crashes down.
But tonight, she’s mine. And stars help me, I’ll tear apart the galaxy before I let anyone take that from me.
The night holds its breath around us. The only sounds are the faint buzz of the old solar lamp and the rhythm of her heart pressed against my chest. My claws trace the curve of her shoulder, featherlight, afraid of leaving marks on skin I’ve already bruised enough with my presence in her life.
Her breathing is steady at first, then hitching as though something unsaid is pressing against her ribs. I lower my head until my lips brush her ear, the taste of sweat and salt on her skin sharp on my tongue.
“Luna,” I murmur, my voice rough. “I want to build something with you. Do you understand? Not missions. Not lies. Something real. Whatever comes, I’ll stand between you and it.”
She stiffens for a heartbeat, then clutches me tighter, her small hands fisting against my back like she’s afraid I’ll slip away if she loosens her grip. Her breath shudders. Warm tears slide across my skin where her cheek presses into me.
I pull back, confused. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” she whispers too quickly. Her voice is thick, trembling.
I tilt her chin up with one claw, but she squeezes her eyes shut. “Don’t,” she says, so soft it almost breaks me. “Please don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I deserve this.”
The words slice deeper than any blade. I want to demand more, to shake her until she tells me what she’s hiding, but I don’t. Not tonight. Instead, I kiss the tears from her cheeks, tasting salt and sorrow, and hold her until she stops trembling.
She almost tells me something—I feel it, the words rising in her throat, the way her lips part. But then she shakes her head, buries her face against my chest, and lets the silence swallow it.
I don’t press. I should. But I don’t. Because tonight isn’t for questions.
Tonight is for us.
So I focus on her. The curve of her hip beneath my hand.
The way her breath warms my chest. The faint scent of lavender clinging to her hair.
She melts against me, little by little, until the tension leaves her body.
For a night, we exist only for each other, wrapped in sweat and whispered promises that feel more fragile than glass.
I don’t sleep. I lie awake long after her breaths even out, long after her tears dry, memorizing the weight of her against me.
Because in the morning, I’ll go through with it.
Not for the Coalition. Not for Targen.
For freedom.
A final job. One last sin to pay for all the others, so I can bury that life once and for all.
And maybe—come back to this bed without chains around my throat.