Chapter 10
TAKHISS
She’s too pale.
Her lips—usually chapped and flushed with breath—are colorless.
Her hands tremble as she works the last of the plasma routing into place, but she won’t stop.
Won’t even pause. I’ve watched her push herself for the past thirty-six hours, crawling through ducts, breaking her knuckles open on twisted panels, wiring repairs with burnt fingertips. Stubborn. Brilliant. Fragile.
She’s not like us. She doesn’t regenerate. Doesn’t store nutrition in subdermal sacs. Doesn’t metabolize muscle when blood sugar fails. She just breaks.
I offer her my ration gel again. She glares up at me from under the console like I just asked her to strip naked. “No.”
“It’s not a request.” My voice is too low. Rougher than I intend.
Ella wipes sweat from her brow with the back of her hand, smearing grime across her temple. Her eyes—brown, defiant, and shaking—narrow. “It’s yours. You’re bigger. You need it more.”
I crouch beside her. The air between us is too warm from the heat coil we wired into the overhead bulkhead. It smells like burned insulation and her skin. “I’ve gone without food longer than this.”
“And I’ve gone without anyone trying to play damn savior, so back off.”
She says it like she’s ready to throw down, but her knees buckle when she stands—the bad leg giving out first. The word she manages is some variation of my name—soft, dizzy, broken—but then she folds.
I catch her before she hits the floor. Her weight in my arms is disorienting.
Not because she’s heavy—she’s not—but because she fits.
She’s hot through her jumpsuit, fevered and breathing fast. Her skin smells like metal and ozone and something sweeter—like singed sugar. My arms tighten without permission.
I lay her out across the bench, torn cushions exposed beneath her, and tear open the ration pack with my teeth.
She stirs. Her lashes flutter. “What are you doing?”
“Feeding you.”
“Don’t you dare—” She tries to sit up. Fails.
I break a chunk off with my claws, warm it between my palms, and bring it to her mouth. She turns her face away like I’ve insulted her soul.
I grip her chin gently but firmly. “Ella. Open.”
She hesitates. “If you ever tell anyone about this…”
“Eat. Threaten me later.”
Her glare could ignite an engine. But she opens her mouth, and I feed her. Slowly. Carefully. The first bite she chews like it’s made of gravel. But the second she swallows, color creeps back into her cheeks. She finishes half the pack before swatting my hand away.
“Enough. I’ll puke if I take more.”
I sit beside her on the floor. Close. Close enough our legs touch.
She lays there in silence for a long minute. Her breathing slows.
“Thanks.”
I grunt. “Don’t mention it.”
She chuckles faintly. “I won’t. Ever.”
The stars spin slowly above through the busted skylight overhead, quiet and distant. Somewhere deep in the wreckage, metal groans. Our heat coil buzzes softly in the corner. Her fingers curl just slightly, brushing mine.
“You ever been this close to death before?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“You scared?”
“No.”
“Liar.”
I glance sideways. She’s watching me, lashes low, expression unreadable.
I inhale. The bond hums in my chest again, fierce and low, like gravity collapsing inward. “It’s not death I fear.”
Ella rolls onto her side, facing me fully. The movement tugs her jumpsuit tight across her waist. My fingers twitch.
“What, then?” she whispers.
I turn toward her. The gap between us shrinks. Her breath smells faintly of protein gel and something underneath—sharp and bright, like rain before a storm. My hand hovers beside her cheek, not quite touching.
“That I won’t make it matter.”
Her brow furrows. “Make what matter?”
“This.” My voice is hoarse. “Us. This bond. Whatever it is.”
She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move. Just stares up at me like she’s seeing something she never thought she’d want. “You think this is real?”
“I know it is.”
She swallows. Her throat flexes. “Then why haven’t you touched me?”
I stop breathing.
She shifts closer—barely an inch—but it’s seismic. Her thigh brushes mine. Her fingertips trail across my forearm, featherlight. “You act like you want me,” she murmurs. “But you keep pulling away.”
“I don’t want to scare you.”
“You don’t.”
I do now. Her voice is low and velveted with exhaustion, but the look in her eyes is clear. Certain. Her hand slides up, bold now, fingertips grazing the ridge of my jaw. My scales rise beneath her touch like they’ve been waiting their whole life to feel her skin.
My restraint snaps like a cable under pressure.
I lean in. Slowly. Carefully. Let her see every inch of the decision. Her lips part before mine touch them, her breath catching.
Contact.
Not violent. Just a kiss. Warm. Searing. Real. Her mouth moves under mine like she’s been dreaming of this too. My claws curl into the seat beside her head. Her fingers fist the front of my armor.
When we part, she’s breathless.
“I shouldn’t want this,” she says.
“I don’t care.”
Her laugh is broken and honest and soft. “You’re dangerous.”
“So are you.”
I lay her back down, beside me this time. Her body nestles into the curve of mine. She doesn’t pull away. My hand finds her hip. Her hand covers mine.
I do not sleep. I don’t want to miss a second of her warmth beside me. Not with the wreck around us. Not with the stars watching. Not with the bond like a second heartbeat in my chest.