Chapter 16 Takhiss
TAKHISS
She sleeps against me like she belongs there.
One leg hooked over mine, her cheek pressed just below my shoulder, breath warm against my scales.
The air inside this sealed corridor is stale, thin, but it doesn’t matter.
Not when she curls into me like I’m the only thing keeping her tethered to this dying world.
It should feel wrong.
She’s soft. Fragile. Every instinct inside me screams that this should be prey. Alliance. A threat.
But I don’t feel hunger.
I feel at home.
Her scent floods me—copper, ozone, sweat, the sweet edge of adrenaline still buzzing beneath her skin. My claws trace the ridge of her spine, slow and reverent. She doesn’t stir.
The bond beats low in my chest like a second heart, syncing to hers. I surrendered to it days ago. Not to instinct.
To her.
This human woman with cracked knuckles and a fire in her eyes. She’s not mine because fate says so.
She’s mine because she chose me.
And I’d tear this ship to slag before I let anything take her away.
She stirs just as the heat coil flickers. Her lashes flutter. Then her eyes—storm-dark and sharp despite the exhaustion—open. She blinks up at me, uncertain for a breath. Then her hand finds my jaw.
“You’re still here?”
I nod. “Didn’t plan on going anywhere.”
Her lips curve. It’s not a smirk, not a grin—just a real, soft smile. One I’d kill to protect. Then she kisses me.
This time, it’s not slow.
Her mouth finds mine with heat, with hunger, with the kind of need that flays a man open. Her fingers dig into my scales like she wants to carve herself into me. I open to her, pulling her closer, breathing her in like oxygen.
“Still feel like hallucinating?” she whispers against my lips.
“No,” I rumble. “You feel too real to be a dream.”
She laughs, low and dangerous. “Good. Because I’m done pretending we don’t want this.”
She climbs onto my lap, knees bracketing my thighs, her hands braced on my chestplate as she drags her mouth over mine again. I groan—guttural and raw—because she’s not careful anymore.
She kisses me like she owns me.
And stars help me, she does.
Her hands tug at the buckles of my armor, and I let her. One by one, I strip myself bare for her—layers of weapon, war, and steel falling away until there’s nothing left but flesh and scale and the red-hot ache of want.
She sheds her jumpsuit with shaking fingers, and every inch of her skin is a revelation. Scars, curves, bruises. Strong thighs. Tight stomach. Breasts that heave with each shaky breath. My cock aches at the sight of her—thick, ridged, already leaking.
“You’re beautiful,” I say, voice like gravel.
She snorts. “I’m filthy.”
“Good. So am I.”
I pull her in, clawed hands gentle as I map the planes of her back, her hips, her ass. She gasps as I lift her easily, settling her astride me, our bodies flush. My cock pulses between us, thick and hot, pressed against her soaked pussy.
She grinds on me, her slickness painting me. “You’re huge,” she breathes. “How the hell is this going to work?”
“It will,” I growl, kissing her throat. “I’ll make it work. I’ll go slow.”
She cups my face, grounding me. “Don’t go easy on me, Takhiss. I’m not glass.”
“No,” I whisper. “You’re steel. Fire. Mine.”
Then I reach down, stroke the head of my cock along her folds—wet, throbbing, begging. She arches with a choked sound as I press forward, just barely. Her body resists at first—tight, trembling—but she doesn’t stop me. Her nails dig into my shoulders.
“Fuck,” she gasps. “So big—”
I pause, trembling with restraint. “Tell me to stop.”
She shakes her head fiercely. “Don’t you fucking dare.”
And so I push deeper.
Her heat wraps around me, her body stretching to take every impossible inch. I groan, jaw clenched, as she sinks down onto my cock, inch by inch, until her thighs tremble and her breath hitches and I’m buried inside her to the base.
We stay like that.
Breathing.
Shaking.
Her forehead presses to mine. Her voice breaks. “I’ve never felt anything like this.”
“Neither have I.”
Then she moves.
And the world ends.
“You okay?” she murmurs.
“Better than okay.”
She laughs, soft and low. “Same.”
Later, we sit shoulder to shoulder near the working console. I offer her what’s left of the preserved fruit paste I found in a sealed ration locker. She takes it without hesitation, her fingers brushing mine in passing. I heat a canister of broth for her and hand it over.
“You’re spoiling me,” she says, cupping the warmth.
“I was taught to care for what matters.”
Her gaze flicks to me, sharp. “Was that a line?”
“No,” I grunt, then hesitate. “Yes. Maybe.”
She laughs again, then rests her head on my shoulder while sipping. I pretend not to notice the way my pulse jumps.
We talk while we work. Cleaning weapons, recalibrating heat sensors, mapping out egress vectors. She suggests we try a long-range pulse next cycle to see if anyone responds. I agree, even though the dread’s already clawing up my spine.
Because we get the ping that afternoon.
I’m running diagnostics when the console chirps. A low, insistent chime.
Ella darts over. “That’s an Alliance signature. Civilian search grid. Probably a rescue op.”
I stare at the screen. The frequency patterns are distant. Erratic. But they’re real.
She beams. “We’re getting out.”
I nod. Force a smile. My jaw aches from the strain.
She doesn’t see it.
She’s already bouncing on her toes, fingers dancing over the interface. “I’ll prep a response burst. Let them know we’re alive. Maybe get an ETA.”
I want to tell her.
I don’t.
Because how do I say it without ruining the warmth in her eyes? How do I tell the woman I just held, just loved, that her people will see me as nothing more than a beast?
That to the Alliance, I’m not a survivor.
I’m a war criminal.
They’ll put me in a cage. Maybe worse. I won’t even get a trial.
And if she tries to protect me… they’ll turn on her too.
So I sit. Watch her program the beacon. My claws dig into my thighs, hidden beneath the bulk of my body. I focus on her voice. Her energy. The way she bites her lip when the signal strength wavers. The way her hair curls at the nape of her neck in the heat.
If this is the end, I’ll remember this.
But she’s not letting me go that easy. Not now.
And maybe I’ll fight harder than I ever did for any banner.
Not for glory.
For us.