Chapter 17
LIORA
My lungs are empty, my pulse hammering so hard I wonder if I’ll crack a rib just from the impact. The sealed chamber is too tight. Air smells stale, metallic. My compad glows weakly—its only light, and I cling to it like a lifeline.
The door behind me is sealed tight. No vents open. No failsafes visible. I pound on the wall. Nothing. My fists sting. My thoughts spin.
Then the lights flicker—violet. The corridor shifts color into an unmapped zone, the kind of shader the Maze uses when it’s scrambling geometry. The walls pulse, purple veins. The hum deepens.
“Override,” my compad pulses. One word, bleeding white onto the black display.
Override.
I swallow. My fingers shake. I crawl forward, press the pad against a console panel. It’s as raw and real as when I designed this game months ago. I’d never expected I’d have to live in it, code it with my own blood.
Cable ports scramble into view. I pull out a flex-wire, jam it in. The compad port flickers, then opens. I watch code scroll up the screen like fire—lines I know, traps I built, logic I tested. The backdoor I left, the vulnerabilities I hoped no one would ever find.
My heart pounds. The purple light pulses in sync. The Maze reads to me. It shivers.
I force control. Commands unlock locks. Panels behind the door hiss. The door groans. I nearly drop the compad.
The door slid open. Reality tastes like sweat and ozone. I see corridors reconfigure. The Maze’s walls bleed away, reshaping.
He’s there.
Gyon.
Bleeding. Clawed open panel behind him. His shirt shredded, ribs bruised, hair plastered to his brow. His eyes burn with shock, with relief, with all of it.
My mouth opens. I should scream, I should shout. Instead I stand frozen.
He staggers forward. His chest heaves. He collapses into my arms. I feel steel-warm blood soaking my sleeve. I breathe in him—smoke and ozone, a scent that speaks only of him.
“I heard you cry,” he whispers, voice rough silk. It’s not a demand. It’s a confession. My tear ducts break. I’m not angry. I’m not wise. I break.
“Where—how—why are you here?” I manage, voice trembling.
He presses his face to my shoulder. “I had to come. The Maze was splitting. They separated us. I tracked you. When I heard—” He struggles to stand. “When I saw you on the sealed side, I—I didn’t know if you’d die or hate me. But I knew you were crying. I had to—”
I push him back, hands trembling. Blood glistens on his skin. “You could’ve died.”
He pinches his lips. “I almost did. But not before I came.”
My chest caves in around his words. Gyon. Monster. Reaper. Guardian. What the hell do I call a man who stormed through a dying Maze to reach me?
“You used my name as a weapon,” I whisper, wiping a smear of blood from his jaw. “You—you branded me.”
He closes his eyes. His smile is fierce, broken. “Yeah. And I’m sorry for that. I did. But not to hurt you. To find you.”
“Took you so long.” My voice cracks. The ache between my ribs finds a rhythm in my pulse. It isn’t pain. It’s need. Raw and terrifying.
“I was lost,” he says, breath trembling. “But when I heard the scream—I heard you—I found the door.”
He holds me like I’m fragile. But I’m not. Not with him.
The Maze shifts behind us, but I don’t look. I press closer. “We rewrite it. Together.”
His body twitches. His arms tighten around me.
And then I’m kissing him.
There’s no poetry in it. Just heat. Tongue. Teeth. The groan he lets out is low, primal, vibrating through me. I taste blood and salt and desperation.
He backs me into the wall, massive hands spreading over my hips. Bone spurs skim my waist, jagged and hot from the fight. His cock hardens between us, thick and hot, grinding through his leathers against my core.
I shiver. My body wakes all at once.
“Liora,” he rasps, mouth against my throat, “tell me to stop.”
“No,” I breathe. “Don’t stop.”
He growls and lifts me. My thighs lock around his waist. I feel his cock press right against my pussy—through two layers, sure, but it doesn’t matter. I’m already soaked. Already aching.
He carries me two steps down the corridor and kicks open a flickering panel—some pocket in the Maze where time and rules and gravity bend.
Inside, it’s soft. Pillows. A decaying couch. A cracked screen showing the constellation I was born under.
He drops to his knees.
“Gyon,” I gasp as he pulls me down with him.
“I’m not going to fuck you yet,” he growls. “I’m going to worship you first.”
He spreads my legs open, pushing my pants down and off. His claws are careful. His mouth isn’t.
He kisses the inside of my thigh, then higher. Then higher.
“Oh—fuck—” I arch, one hand in his white hair, the other gripping the back of the couch as his tongue flicks over my pussy. Soft, then firm. Circling, then plunging. He eats me like a man starving.
“You taste like fire,” he mutters. “You always did.”
“Gyon—please—” I sob, grinding against his mouth. He groans, licking harder, sucking my clit until the pleasure sparks white behind my eyes.
My thighs clamp around his head. I come hard, moaning so loud the Maze stutters.
He licks me through it, then stands—one hand dragging me up with him. I’m shaking. Panting. Bare from the waist down. And he’s still fully clothed, hard as stone.
I grab the front of his pants. “Now,” I hiss. “Inside me. I need—”
He pulls his cock free—long, black-veined, ridged with that faint Reaper texture that makes my mouth go dry. The head glistens. He’s already dripping.
“You’re sure?” he growls.
“I’m sure.”
He turns me, bending me over the broken couch. The cool Maze air brushes my bare skin. Then I feel him—his cock pressing at my entrance.
“Hold still,” he rasps.
Then he slides in.
Slow. Steady. Maddening.
“Fuck—” I choke on the word as he fills me. Stretching. Claiming. Every ridge inside me lights up.
His hands clamp down on my hips. “You’re so tight,” he groans. “So perfect. Jalshagar.”
His voice breaks on that last word.
He starts to move.
Slow thrusts. Deep. Grinding into me like he wants to imprint me.
My fingers dig into the cushions. My body burns.
“I’ve never—” I gasp, “—felt this.”
“This is mine,” he growls, fucking me harder now. “This pussy—your moans—your heart. All of it.”
I moan, helpless against the onslaught of pleasure.
His rhythm builds. Faster. Rougher. One hand slides over my belly, pinning me down while the other snakes between my legs, rubbing my clit in tight circles.
“Come again,” he orders.
And I do.
My body wracks with it—pussy clenching, vision blurring, voice breaking on his name.
He roars behind me. I feel him swell, pulse, and then he’s coming—deep inside, heat flooding me. He holds me down, body shaking as he empties every last drop.
When he pulls out, I collapse.
He gathers me in his arms and sits with me on the ruined couch, kissing my temple, my cheek, my neck.
“You’re mine,” he says again. “Not as a brand. As a promise.”
I curl against him.
And for once, the Maze is quiet.