Chapter 8 Tarken
TARKEN
She slams into me, a frantic impact of soft curves and panicked breath against the unyielding plate of my chest. My arm locks around her waist on instinct, hauling her back from the conduit’s snapping arc.
The heat of her bleeds through my suit, a shocking, immediate brand.
Her heart hammers against my ribs, a wild drum mocking my own controlled rhythm.
Focus. Protect. Survive.
But stars above, she feels good. The full length of her pressed along me, the soft weight of her breasts, the frantic flutter of her pulse in her throat.
A low, primal part of me roars to life, the Jalshagar surging against the cage of my discipline.
It screams that she fits, that this is right, that I should push her against the shuddering wall and discover if her human skin tastes as electric as it feels.
I crush the thought, my jaw tightening until my teeth ache. The ghost of the last failed bond sears my memory—not just a flicker, but the full, gut-wrenching cataclysm. A district’s worth of lives, snuffed out in a silent, expanding ring of dead crystal. Because a Chieftain’s control snapped.
“Stay still.” The command grates out of me, rough with the effort of holding two kinds of chaos at bay. My other hand comes up, not to cradle her, but to shield her head, my body turning to take the brunt of any new spray of sparks. The air smells of ozone and her. “Trust me.”
She goes rigid, not with fear, but with a sharp, listening tension.
Her breath gusts hot against the side of my neck.
I can feel every point of contact with excruciating clarity—the hard points of her nipples against my torso, the lean muscle of her thigh pressed to mine.
A treacherous, sweating heat pools low in my gut.
Along the walls, the conduits don’t just spark. They twitch. Faint, living shadows ripple within the glassy tubes, flowing toward us like ink in water. Paragon is watching. Hungry.
Her scent floods me—ozone and sweat and something uniquely her—as I haul her against my body.
My veins ignite beneath slate skin, molten gold light bleeding through.
The Jalshagar roars, a primal drumbeat drowning the core’s shriek.
Every muscle locks, coiled to spin her around, pin her to the shuddering wall, and claim that gasp trembling on her lips.
My cock strains against my trousers, a hard, aching line pressed tight to her thigh. Control frays like overloaded cabling.
Discipline. Duty. Remember the dead. The warnings fracture under the heat of her.
My hand moves without permission—rough, urgent—sliding up the reinforced fabric of her medical suit.
Not a skirt, but the seam gives. My fingers find hot, damp skin beneath, the shock of her wetness as I push one finger inside. Tight. Clenching.
She arches, a sharp cry tearing from her throat. Not fear. Hunger. Her hips roll against my hand, taking me deeper. "Tarken—"
"Hold on, Alana!" The growl rips from me, raw as the sparks showering around us. Her heat sears my finger, her body’s rhythm a counterpoint to Paragon’s convulsions. I want to tear the suit open, taste the salt on her neck, drive into her until the city’s death throes fade beneath her screams.
Her free hand fists in my tunic, knuckles white. Her breath comes in ragged bursts against my jaw. "The core—it’s syncing—can you feel—?"
I feel nothing but her. The slick grip of her around my finger, the frantic pulse in her throat beneath my lips. The Jalshagar surges, gold light flaring in my vision. My teeth graze the tendon in her neck. She whimpers, grinding down.
Weakness. Catastrophe. The ghost of crumbling crystal walls flashes behind my eyes. I wrench my hand free, panting. Her slickness gleams on my finger. The loss tears a groan from her.
"Don’t stop." Her voice is a blade, edged with the same desperation clawing at my spine. She twists in my arms, facing me. Her eyes are dilated black, fixed on my mouth. "It’s the only thing stabilizing the feedback loop."
The core’s pulse thrums through the deck, syncing with the hammer of my heart. Her hips press forward, seeking the hard line of my cock again. My hand slams against the conduit behind her head, caging her. Sparks rain onto my forearm. I don’t feel the burn. Only her.
Her hands claw at my chestplate, blunt human nails scraping alloy. "You felt it too." Her voice isn't pleading—it's accusing. "The synchronization spiked when you touched me. Use that."
I grip her wrists, slamming them against the conduit behind her head. The glass tube pulses violet where her skin makes contact. "This isn't—" My throat locks around the lie.
Her knee brushes my thigh, deliberate. "Liar. Your eyes haven't stopped glowing since we touched."
The Jalshagar's heat crawls up my neck, tendrils of gold light fracturing across my vision. I lean in, close enough to taste the salt on her temple. "You mistake survival for desire, healer."
"Bullshit." Her hips roll against mine, dragging a groan from us both. The core's walls shudder, crystalline shards raining down around us. "Your city's dying because you won't feel. So feel this."
Her teeth sink into my lower lip.
Control snaps.
I spin her against the conduit, my palm splayed across her stomach. The reinforced suit peels like paper under my claws, revealing smooth brown skin. She arches into the contact, gasping as my other hand fists in her unraveling braid.
"Breathe..." My mouth trails down her neck, tasting ozone and desperation. "Stay grounded."
She laughs, sharp and breathless. "Says the man shredding my clothes."
My teeth find the junction of her shoulder. Her back bows, pressing her ass against my throbbing cock. The core's pulse quickens, shadows coiling around our legs.
"Not a man." I rip the rest of her suit open. "Not kind."
Her hand snakes behind her, grasping me through my trousers. "Prove it."
Discipline fractures.
I flip her to face the wall, my forearm braced beside her head. Her breath fogs the glass as I yank my pants down just enough. No finesse. No mercy. One thrust and I'm buried to the hilt.
Paragon screams.
Or maybe I do.
She chokes out a curse, her inner walls fluttering. "Data spike—right quadrant—!"
"Fuck your data." I drive deeper, watching her breasts sway with each brutal snap of my hips. Golden light bleeds from my skin onto hers, swirling where we connect. "This is biology."
Her palm slaps against the conduit. The city responds, tendrils of black mist weaving through her fingers. "Slower. Or we'll overload the—"
I bite her earlobe. "Make me."
Her heel hooks around my calf, throwing me off rhythm. She spins, all defiance and disheveled hair, and shoves me against the ruined conduit. "My turn."
The core holds its breath.
She sinks onto me in one fluid motion, her nails drawing blood from my shoulders. "Now. Breathe."
Gold light erupts from my scars.
The city...
Her reinforced suit tears like ceremonial silk under my claws. Alana’s breath hitches—not fear, challenge—as I pin her against the core’s pulsating wall. The chamber thrums with Paragon’s failing heartbeat, shadows coiling around our ankles.
“Still think this is about biology?” Her hips arch into my grip, the scent of her arousal sharp beneath ozone.
I move in time with her rhythm. Hot. Clenching. “You talk too much.”
Her laugh fractures into a gasp as I curl my fingers. “Says the—ah!—man with a glowing problem.” Her nails score my forearm, drawing beads of gold-tinged blood. The Jalshagar’s light radiates from my scars, illuminating the sweat on her collarbone.
I press my thumb against her clit, ruthless. “This what you wanted? Human. Curiosity.”
Her heel digs into my flank, urging me deeper. “Slower. Core resonance needs—”
“Need’s got nothing to do with it.” I scissor my fingers, relishing her choked moan. The walls shudder, black tendrils snaking toward her bare shoulders. “Your science. My rules.”
She seizes my wrist, stilling my hand. Eyes blazing. “You’re syncing pulse patterns. Faster isn’t smarter, Chieftain.”
A conduit bursts overhead. Molten shards rain down. I shield her with my body, my free hand splayed across the wall beside her head. Her breath mingles with mine—spiced adrenaline and ozone.
“You’re bleeding,” she murmurs, swiping gold blood from my brow.
I bite her thumb. “Focus.”
Her thighs lock around me as I drag her higher. “Breathe,” I growl against her mouth.
“Don’t. Patronize. Me—”
I thrust up.
She shatters around me, walls fluttering, back bowing against the conduit. Gold light erupts from our joined skin, spiderwebbing across the chamber. Data streams flare crimson on nearby panels—critical overload.
“Satisfied?” I snarl.
She grips my horns, forcing my gaze level. “Never.”
We freeze—her breath hot on my neck, my claws buried in the wall beside her head. Three Baktu guards stand framed in the breach, pulse rifles raised. Their eyes widen at the carnage of torn clothing, glowing scars, and the human pressed between their chieftain and a crumbling conduit.
Alana’s chuckle vibrates against my spine. “Awkward.”