Chapter 24 Roxy
ROXY
He’s still inside me.
Deep and quiet and wrapped around me like he’s afraid I’ll slip through the cracks if he lets go.
His arms are caged around my ribs, one hand resting against my breast, the other splayed across my stomach like a claim.
My thighs ache in the best way. My skin is still damp, flushed, tingling from a dozen things I don’t have the words for.
My breath catches when I shift slightly and feel the slow throb of him still nestled inside.
It’s obscene. It’s perfect.
I smile.
“Still here,” I whisper, just to see if he’s awake.
“Of course I am,” Vrok rumbles against my neck, voice lower than I’ve ever heard it.
I hum. “Wasn’t sure.”
“You think I’d fuck you like that and leave?”
“I don’t know what to think,” I admit.
His grip tightens infinitesimally. “You think too much.”
I twist just enough to look at him—golden eyes barely open, watching me like I’m a sunrise he doesn’t trust to come back tomorrow. There’s no mask on his face. No smirk, no sneer, no bravado. Just this raw, open stare that makes my ribs feel like they’re made of rice paper.
“I think I’m in trouble,” I say softly.
He brushes his knuckles down my cheek. “You always were.”
It should scare me. Should make me bolt, snap some sarcastic comment, make a joke to sidestep the panic. But I don’t. I just sink deeper into him, into the heat and weight and scent of him—spice and smoke and sweat and safety.
We don’t move for a long time.
But eventually I shift under him, slow and deliberate, and he groans like he’s being tortured.
“You’re gonna start something,” he mutters.
“I thought I already did.”
His cock twitches inside me, thick and pulsing, and I bite back a gasp as his body rouses from rest. It’s different this time—slower, heavier, more reverent. His hips roll forward, grinding us together in a lazy thrust that lights up my spine.
“Vrok,” I breathe.
“I’m here.”
He moves again. Gentle. Full.
I cling to him, nails sinking into the ridges along his shoulders, my lips brushing his jaw, his throat, anywhere I can reach. He takes his time, each push deeper than the last, each drag of his spurs drawing breathy gasps from my mouth.
“I feel… weird,” I whisper.
He grunts, not breaking rhythm. “Bond’s waking up.”
“What bond?”
“Jalshagar.”
I blink. “That soul mate thing?”
“Yeah.”
I try to keep my voice light. “Shouldn’t there be, like… a ceremony?”
He snorts. “I just buried myself inside you and told you I love you. That’s about as ceremonial as it gets for me.”
My heart tries to escape my chest.
He thrusts deeper and my brain short-circuits. Heat coils in my belly, lower, tighter, until I’m whining into his mouth with every stroke.
“Don’t stop,” I gasp. “Please—don’t ever stop.”
He groans, biting down gently on my shoulder, and moves faster. The rhythm builds—slick and perfect and full of the kind of hunger that turns worship into ruin. I come with his name on my tongue, and he follows moments later, pulsing deep inside me with a low snarl of my name.
After, he holds me.
He strokes my back. Kisses my temple. Whispers things I don’t understand in his native tongue. My eyelids grow heavy. My body feels boneless, sated, utterly wrecked.
But before I drift, I grab his wrist and murmur, “Promise me.”
He doesn’t speak.
“Promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”
He grunts. Noncommittal. Not a yes. Not a no.
I mean to argue. I really do.
But sleep takes me.
And when I wake, the bed is cold.
My heart lurches.
The silence is wrong. The weight of him—gone. The scent—lingering, but fading fast. I scramble upright, sheet clutched to my chest like it can shield me from the dread crawling up my spine.
“Vrok?” I call.
No answer.
I check the fresher.
Nothing.
The hallway.
Empty.
My pulse spikes, fists clenching at my sides. Something is off. I can feel it. The air tastes like warning.
Then the sirens start.
High and sharp—like knives shrieking against glass. Emergency lights flare red in the ceiling corners. Beacons flash on the walls. I stumble toward the nearest screen, fingers flying across the controls to access the town feed.
The door bursts open.
Mayor Tebbles barrels in, red-faced and panting. “It’s your… your man,” he wheezes. “The Vakutan. He’s—he’s at the Hooves outpost.”
“What?” I snap.
“He went alone. No briefing, no backup, no request for support. Just… marched out before dawn like a damn war god. We tried to stop him but—”
I’m already at the console.
Video feed.
West perimeter.
I punch in the codes, override the lock, and the screen floods with motion.
Vrok.
He’s a blur of red and rage, tearing through enemies like they’re nothing. Hooves soldiers scatter in all directions—some firing, some trying to run. It doesn’t matter. He’s too fast. Too strong. Every swing of his blade drops another body. His roar splits the air like thunder.
But there’s no strategy.
No cover.
No exit plan.
Just death.
Mine or theirs.
The realization hits me like a gut punch.
He left to die.
Not to win. Not to save the town. But to protect me. To keep the lie alive. To end things before Large Marj can use him to break me.
“No,” I whisper. “No, no, no.”
I’m moving before I’ve even finished the thought.
Boots on.
Gear slung.
Pulse rifle. Blade. Emergency medpack. One of Cynna’s signal jammers.
Mayor Tebbles tries to stop me at the door. “You can’t—”
“I can.”
“He told us not to follow.”
“Then it’s a good thing I never listen.”
I slam the override, step into the blaring dawn, and run.
His trail is chaos. Blood and smoke and craters where walls used to be. I follow it like a lifeline. Like a fuse already lit. Like if I don’t reach him in time, the explosion will take me too.
Because I’m not the Butcher.
But I am his.
And I’m not letting him die alone.