Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Liora woke to the solid weight of an arm draped over her waist, the slow rhythm of breath stirring her hair, the furnace heat of skin against her own. Then memory flooded back in vivid detail, and a smile spread across her face before she could stop it.
Baylin.
She lay perfectly still, afraid that any movement might shatter the moment. His arm tightened fractionally around her, pulling her closer, and she felt his heartbeat against her shoulder blade—steady, strong, real. Slowly, carefully, she turned in his embrace until they were facing each other.
He was still asleep. The harsh lines of his face had softened, the perpetual alertness that characterized his waking hours finally relaxed.
Without the weight of vigilance, he looked younger somehow.
Almost peaceful. A strand of dark hair had fallen across his forehead, and she reached up to brush it aside before she could think better of it.
His eyes opened.
For a heartbeat, she froze—caught in the act of touching him, suddenly uncertain of the protocols for morning-after behavior. The books she’d read had been frustratingly vague on this particular subject.
But then his expression shifted, and the worry dissolved. His gaze was soft and warm, filled with something that made her chest ache in the best possible way. The corner of his mouth curved upward.
“Good morning.”
“Good morning.” Her voice came out scratchy with sleep. “I was just—your hair was—”
“I know.” He caught her hand before she could pull it away, pressing a kiss to her palm. “I don’t mind.”
Heat flooded her cheeks. After everything they’d shared the night before, she shouldn’t be blushing over such a small gesture. But somehow, the tenderness of it felt almost more intimate than the passion had been.
“Did you sleep well?” she asked.
“Better than I have in years.”
“Me too.” She hesitated, suddenly uncertain. “Was it... I mean, last night... was it...”
“Perfect.” He brushed his thumb across her knuckles. “It was perfect.”
The knot of anxiety in her chest loosened.
She’d worried, in the quiet hours before dawn, that perhaps he’d regretted it.
That perhaps, in the light of morning, he’d realize she was inexperienced and awkward and not at all what he wanted.
But the way he was looking at her now—like she was something precious, something rare—banished those fears entirely.
“I have so many questions,” she admitted.
His laugh was a low rumble that she felt as much as heard. “Of course you do.”
“About the physical responses, and the neurochemistry involved, and whether the intensity correlates with emotional connection or is purely physiological—”
“Liora.”
“Yes?”
“Later.” He pulled her closer, tucking her head beneath his chin. “Right now, I just want to hold you.”
She melted into him without protest.
They stayed like that for a long, peaceful stretch of time—neither sleeping nor fully awake, just existing together in the warm cocoon of tangled sheets and shared breath.
Pip eventually roused himself from the foot of the bed and hopped up to investigate, chittering softly as he nuzzled against her shoulder.
“He’s accepted you,” she said, watching the little creature eye Baylin with something approaching approval. “He wouldn’t come this close if he hadn’t.”
“I’m honored.”
“You should be. Pip is an excellent judge of character.” She scratched behind the glider’s ears. “He bit Susan’s ankle once when she tried to cut my hair without asking.”
“Wise creature.”
“She deserved it. My hair is mine.” She ran her fingers through the long strands absently. “I decide what happens to it.”
Something flickered across his face—a shadow of the anger she’d seen before, when he’d learned about her captivity. But he smoothed it away quickly.
“Are you hungry?”
The question reminded her stomach that it existed. “Starving, actually.”
“I’ll make breakfast.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and began to disentangle himself from the sheets. “Stay here. Rest.”
“I could help—”
“You could.” He found his trousers and pulled them on with a speed that suggested a lot of practice in dressing quickly. “But I want to do this for you. Let me?”
The earnestness in his voice undid her resistance. “All right.”
She watched him pull on his shirt, leaving it unfastened, and move towards the door.
In the morning light filtering through her window, the scars on his chest stood out in sharp relief—pale lines against silver-bronze skin, each one a story she hadn’t yet heard.
She wanted to trace them with her fingers, to ask about every battle, every wound, every moment that had shaped him into the male he was now.
Later, she told herself. We have time.
At the doorway, he paused and looked back at her.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing. Just...” A muscle in his jaw worked. “I keep expecting to wake up.”
“From what?”
“From this. From you.” His expression was raw, unguarded. “You’re real, Liora. Tell me you’re real.”
The vulnerability in his voice made her chest ache.
“I’m real,” she said firmly. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
He nodded once, sharply, as if confirming something to himself. Then he slipped through the doorway and disappeared down the stairs.
She fell back against the pillows with a smile she couldn’t suppress.
This, she thought. This is what happiness feels like.
She allowed herself a few more minutes of indulgent lounging before the restless energy that had always defined her made staying still impossible. Pip chirped his disapproval when she slid out of bed, but she ignored him, padding across the cool floor to her wardrobe.
The face that greeted her in the small mirror mounted on the inside of the door was unfamiliar.
Her features hadn’t changed—same blue eyes with their gold flecks, same spray of freckles across her nose, same untamed mass of blonde hair—but something had changed.
There was a softness around her mouth, a brightness in her eyes, a general sense of aliveness that hadn’t been there before.
Is this what sex does? she wondered. Or is it just him?
She suspected it was the latter.
She dressed quickly in a simple shift, not bothering with the more complicated garments in her wardrobe. There seemed little point in formality when she intended to spend the morning with a male who had seen her entirely without clothing.
The thought sent another wave of heat to her cheeks.
Get a hold of yourself, she chided. You’re a scientist. Act like one.
But the scientific part of her brain had been decidedly offline since the moment he first kissed her, and she wasn’t sure she wanted it back.
She was halfway down the stairs when she heard the sound.
A heavy metallic clunk, followed by the hum of power being redirected. She froze, one hand on the railing, her heart suddenly pounding.
“Ari?”
“Good morning, Liora.” The AI’s voice was pleasantly neutral, utterly unchanged from every other morning of her life. “I trust you slept well.”
“What was that sound?”
“Security protocols have been engaged.”
Ice crystallized in her stomach. She took the remaining stairs two at a time, nearly stumbling in her haste.
“What security protocols? Why?”
“Analysis of overnight activity indicates a potential threat to your safety. Containment measures have been implemented.”
She reached the bottom of the stairs and stopped dead.
The door leading to the tower’s lower levels—the entrance hall, the storage rooms, the exterior access point—was sealed.
Not just closed, but sealed, the heavy blast doors that she’d never seen activated in her entire life now firmly in place.
Red lights pulsed along its edges, warning that the lock had engaged.
And somehow she knew that Baylin was on the other side of that door.
“Ari.” She fought to keep her voice steady. “Open this door.”
“I’m afraid I cannot do that.”
“Why not?”
“The Vultor male has been identified as a threat. He has been contained in the lower level pending further analysis.”
“A threat?” The word came out sharper than she intended. “He’s not a threat. He’s—we were just—he was making me breakfast!”
“I am aware of your activities last night.” The AI’s tone remained perfectly neutral. “The intensity and nature of those activities have triggered protective protocols established by your father. The Vultor’s influence over you has exceeded acceptable parameters.”
Her hands curled into fists at her sides. “His influence?”
“You have formed an emotional and physical attachment to a male of an aggressive species known for predatory behavior. This attachment has clearly impaired your judgment, as evidenced by your willingness to engage in intimate contact with a minimal courtship period. For your own protection—”
“For my own protection?”
She was shouting now, something she’d never done in her life. Pip had followed her down the stairs and was pressed against her ankle, his small body trembling at the unprecedented volume.
“Open the door, Ari.”
“I cannot—”
“Open it now.”
“Liora.” The AI’s voice softened fractionally—a programmed simulation of concern. “I understand you are upset. Your neurochemical levels indicate significant emotional distress. But my primary directive is to keep you safe. The Vultor male presents a clear threat to that safety.”
“He doesn’t. He’s protected me. He’s cared for me. He’s—”
“He has engaged in physical intimacy with you despite your vulnerable psychological state and complete lack of experience with interpersonal relationships. He has encouraged you to question the boundaries that have kept you safe your entire life. He has—”
“He’s shown me that there’s more to life than this tower!”
The words echoed off the walls, sharp and raw and undeniable. She pressed her hand to her mouth, shocked by her own vehemence.
Silence stretched between them.