Chapter Six #2
Aleksy’s hand moved lower, finding exactly where she needed him, his touch firm but not rushed, building her back up instead of taking her straight to the edge.
She let her head fall back into the pillow, her breath coming faster now, her body shifting beneath them, opening without hesitation, trusting them in a way she hadn’t expected to.
That thought hit—
And she pushed it aside.
Later. She would think about that later.
Right now—she hungered.
Jarek moved over her fully, his body settling between her thighs, his hand sliding down to guide himself against her, not pushing in yet, just letting her feel him there.
“Tell me,” he murmured, his voice rough but steady. “Tell me you are up for this? I want you, but I can wait until you’re more comfortable with taking us both.”
Her eyes snapped open, locking onto his.
“I said come be with me,” she said, her voice low, certain. “I meant it.”
That was enough.
Jarek moved, pressing into her slowly, letting her feel it, adjust, take him in at her own pace, his breath catching as she drew him deeper with the tightening of her legs around his waist.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “That’s—yeah.”
Tamsin exhaled sharply, her head tipping back as the sensation rolled through her, her body welcoming him, responding instantly.
Behind her, Aleksy shifted, his hands steady on her, his presence grounding as Jarek began to move, slow at first, deliberate, building something instead of rushing it.
Tamsin didn’t stay still. Moving in perfect rhythm with Jarek.
Her hips rising, adjusting, finding the rhythm that worked for her as much as it did for him.
Aleksy leaned over her shoulder, his mouth brushing her skin, his voice quieter now, closer.
“You don’t hold back,” he said.
She smiled, breathless. “Never have.”
“Good,” Jarek said, his pace picking up, not losing control but letting it stretch, deepen, pulling more from her with every movement. “Because I’m not about to either.”
Her body tightened, the pressure building faster this time, stronger, her control slipping as sensation layered over sensation, their movements syncing in a way that felt inevitable.
Her hand found Aleksy’s again, gripping, grounding as the edge rushed up on her again, faster than before.
“This is—” she started, her voice breaking.
“Yeah, sweetness,” Jarek breathed. “I know.”
She let go.
Her body tightened, her breath catching as she came apart beneath them again, the sensation hitting harder this time, deeper, her voice breaking free as she lost the last of her control.
Jarek followed, his movement stuttering before driving deeper, holding her as he found his own release, his breath rough against her skin as he stayed with her through it.
Aleksy’s hand moved across her shoulders, his presence anchoring her as the intensity slowly began to ebb.
For a moment, none of them moved. The room settled around them, quiet again, but different now.
Full.
Tamsin stared at the ceiling from where she lay between them, her chest rising and falling as her breathing steadied, her thoughts slower now, heavier, harder to ignore.
“This...” she said softly.
Jarek shifted slightly, propping himself up just enough to look down at her.
“Yeah,” he said. “We know.”
Aleksy didn’t speak right away. When she turned her head, he was watching her again, that same steady focus, but softer now.
More open.
“What does this relationship look like for you?” he asked.
There it was. The question she’d been avoiding.
Tamsin exhaled slowly, her gaze shifting between them.
“I don’t do cages,” she said first, because that mattered. “And I won’t stay where I don’t choose to be.”
Jarek’s mouth curved faintly. “Wouldn’t want you if you did.”
Aleksy nodded once. “It’s your choice. Always.”
That settled something in her chest she hadn’t realized was tight.
She pushed up slightly, enough to look at them properly now.
“This,” she said, gesturing lightly between them, “doesn’t get to control me. But... I’m not walking away from it either.” A pause. “I want to see where it goes.”
Jarek didn’t hesitate. “Good, because we’re not going anywhere.”
Aleksy’s gaze held hers, steady and certain. “We’ll do what it takes to make you want to stay.”
Tamsin’s lips curved slowly.
“Careful,” she said. “That sounds like a challenge.”
Jarek grinned. “It is.”
Aleksy didn’t smile.
But his eyes did. “The fates have deemed us worthy of you, my love. We will not lose this challenge.”
Tamsin leaned back into the pillows, her body still warm, still humming, but something else settling in alongside it now.
Possibility.
And for the first time—she didn’t feel the need to run from it.
****
They did not meet in person. They never did.
The room existed, but only as a construct—an encrypted space layered across secured systems, accessible only through protocols that rewrote themselves after every session.
There were no names here, no faces as they truly were.
Only silhouettes. Distortions. Voices altered just enough to strip identity while preserving authority.
Control required distance. Distance required discipline. And discipline was the only reason Chimera still stood.
The feed stabilized one by one.
Five figures.
Then six.
Then—seven.
The last one did not speak immediately.
They rarely did.
A series of data streams populated the central display, not introduced, not explained. They didn’t need to be. Every person in the room had already reviewed the reports before this meeting had been called.
Three failed field tests.
One compromised site.
One recovered asset.
One missing subject.
And one—variable.
The screen shifted.
Tamsin. A still frame. A single movement capture with a thermal overlay.
Combat tracking.
Her image froze mid-strike, sai angled with precision that spoke not just of skill, but of instinct honed under pressure.
“She was not accounted for,” one of the voices said, low, measured.
“She is now,” another replied.
The display shifted again, pulling in additional footage—two larger figures entering frame, their movements heavier, more aggressive, but no less effective.
Jarek and Aleksy Kawolski—the Razorbacks.
“They have bonded,” a third voice noted.
“Not fully,” another corrected. “Not yet.”
A pause.
“Does it matter?”
Silence followed.
Brief. Considered.
“No,” the first voice said. “It accelerates convergence.”
The data changed again. Naomi Bishop. An image of the woman from pre-capture, and one post-capture.
Medical projection overlays. Neurological degradation curves.
Stability thresholds.
“She survived initial exposure,” one voice observed.
“Barely,” another countered.
“Which is still survival.”
The system recalibrated around it, projections shifting in real time.
“Adjust dosage parameters,” one of them said. “We refine through resistance, not failure.”
“And the loss of the site?”
“Acceptable.”
No hesitation. No regret.
“Relocation is already underway.”
The silence that followed this time stretched longer.
Not uncertainty. Consideration.
The final figure moved then, their silhouette sharpening slightly as they leaned forward.
When they spoke, the room shifted.
Authority didn’t need volume.
“She is the key.”
No one asked who. They all knew.
Tamsin.
Her name settled into the space, heavier than anything that had come before it.
“She understands the system because she built it,” the voice continued. “She sees the instability because she knows where it should not exist.” A beat. “She is not a threat.”
That stilled the room.
“She is an inevitability.”
The distinction mattered.
“Then we remove her,” one voice said.
“No.” The word cut through the room like a blade.
“We do not remove her,” the final voice said. “We bring her back.”
“And if she resists?”
The figure leaned back slightly, their form distorting again as the system adjusted around them.
“Everything resists,” they said. “Until it is made to understand its purpose.”
The display shifted one last time. E.S.E. headquarters.
Thermal signatures. Movement patterns. Layered defenses.
“They have already begun to adapt,” one voice noted.
“Yes,” the final figure agreed. “So will we.”
The feed began to cut, one by one, each presence dissolving back into nothing as the system erased itself in real time.
The final figure remained for a moment longer, their attention fixed on the frozen image of Tamsin mid-strike.
Then even that disappeared.
And in its place—a single line of text.
Target Priority-Primary.
Followed by another.
Acquisition Required.
Then—darkness. Because this wasn’t over. Not even close.
And the war they had just stepped into—had only just begun.