Chapter 24
MAUG
Ithought I’d feel guilt.
I’ve felt it for so long it’s a reflex—like breath. Like blood. I’ve worn it like armor, let it bleed into my bones until there wasn’t a part of me it hadn’t touched.
But not now.
Now, as I lie in the hush after firelight and flesh and storm, there is no room for guilt. Only awe.
Her body is curled against my chest, warm and soft and perfect in the strange way only something truly alive can be.
One leg tangled around mine, her face nestled into the crook of my shoulder, lips parted just slightly as she breathes against my skin.
Her fingers—those delicate, daring things—are laced in my hair like she was born to be there.
I don’t dare move.
Not yet.
If this is a dream, I refuse to wake.
But it isn’t.
The heat between us is real. The pulse of her heart where her chest brushes mine is real. The way she whispered my name like it meant safety instead of fear, like it was something holy… that’s real too.
She chose me.
Not because she had to. Not out of some desperate need for protection, or fear of the things that crawl and hunt on this cursed planet. She didn’t choose me for survival.
She chose me because she wanted me.
And that… that breaks something inside me.
No. Not breaks.
Rebuilds.
She kissed every scar like it was a promise. Touched every jagged edge and didn’t flinch. Met every growl, every hesitation, with patience. Her hands roamed my body like they weren’t afraid of what they’d find, only eager to learn.
I’ve been called a monster, a butcher, a failure. I’ve called myself worse. But last night… she called me Maug.
And when she cried my name into the hollow of my throat, her whole body arched against me and her voice cracked in the quiet—I felt something uncoil in my chest that I didn’t know I still had.
Hope.
The fire’s almost out now. Only a few smoldering coals remain, casting lazy amber light across the inside of the rocky alcove. The blankets beneath us are damp with sweat and rain and the lingering heat of what we shared.
I should be thinking of what comes next. The mission. The dangers. The fungus. Ciampa.
But all I can do is watch the way her hair clings to her temple, how her eyelashes flutter against my shoulder in sleep, and feel something sacred take root in the ruins of who I used to be.
A rumble stirs in my chest, low and involuntary. Not warning. Not threat.
Contentment.
It’s foreign. But not unwelcome.
Her nose wrinkles, like she hears it in her dreams, and then she shifts, just slightly. Her hand tightens in my hair. Her leg slides higher over my hip, and her breath catches softly in the space between us.
I go still. Wait.
She murmurs something unintelligible and then relaxes again. Her mouth brushes the side of my neck.
I close my eyes.
If she wakes now and regrets any of it, I’ll die. Not by her hand. Not by the fungus. But from the simple reality that I would never forgive myself for believing I deserved it.
But that’s fear talking. The old voice. The coward’s whisper.
The truth?
I feel rewired.
Every part of me is still Odex. Still massive and battle-worn and dangerous. But something in my blood has shifted. My instincts still scream to protect her, to stay between her and every blade in the galaxy—but now there’s something else underneath.
A need to be known.
She did that. With her eyes. Her touch. Her voice when she said, “Don’t stop.” With the way she didn’t look away after the first kiss, or the second, or the hundredth.
She made me feel like more than just what I’ve survived.
She made me feel wanted.
I reach up slowly, careful not to wake her, and brush a strand of hair from her cheek. Her skin is still warm from our closeness, flushed faintly pink under the fire’s fading light. I could look at her for hours.
No one’s ever touched me the way she did. Not just the way her body moved against mine—but the way she looked at me while she touched me. Like every scar told a story worth hearing. Like I wasn’t ruined, just waiting to be read.
I shift slightly, adjusting the blankets to keep her covered. The movement draws a soft sigh from her, and her fingers twitch in my hair, but she doesn’t wake. She just nestles in deeper.
Mine.
The word doesn’t come from my mind. It hums from somewhere deeper. The bond that snapped between us when she said my name like a vow. It’s not a chain. It’s not even a tether.
It’s gravity.
And I know—if she asked me to leave this planet, to board a ship and face a thousand armed soldiers, to march into hell itself—I would.
Not because I’m brave.
Because I can’t be apart from her now.
Jillian is the truth I didn’t know I needed.
The storm has passed. The world is quiet. But inside me, there’s a hum—a new current, electric and endless.
She begins to stir, finally. A soft, sleepy hum at first, then a shift of her shoulders, a stretch of her legs. Her hand tightens once more in my hair before sliding down to rest over my chest.
I don’t breathe. Just wait.
Her eyes blink open, slow and drowsy. They find mine, and she smiles.
Gods help me, she smiles.
“Hey,” she whispers.
“Hey.”
She traces lazy circles over my chest. “Didn’t mean to pass out on you.”
“I didn’t mind.”
She looks up at me fully then, eyes clear, no regret in them. Just warmth. Something glows in my chest.
“You stayed,” she says, voice barely audible.
“I wasn’t going anywhere.”
She leans in, presses her lips to my sternum, then props her chin on my chest. “I don’t want this to be just a moment.”
“It’s not.”
She watches me for a long time, and I let her. Let her see whatever it is she’s looking for.
Eventually, she nods. “Okay.”
That one word does more to crack the walls around my soul than a thousand promises ever could.
She kisses me again, slow and lingering, and I know—no matter what happens next, this is the point everything changed.
We are no longer two creatures navigating a dead planet.
We are together.
And that changes everything.
She kisses the side of my neck, just beneath my jaw, soft and warm and deliberate. Not testing. Not hesitant.
Like we’ve done this a thousand times.
She sighs.
And I swear it’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard.
My arms tighten around her without thinking, and for a moment, I don’t breathe. I just feel. Her heartbeat against my chest. Her scent, sweet and real and unmistakably hers. Her hair tangled across my shoulder, her cheek resting in the crook of my arm.
She’s here.
With me.
Still.
“I half expected to wake up alone,” I mutter.
Her lips curve against my skin. “I told you. I don’t run.”
I close my eyes, exhale slow and steady. The storm outside has passed, but inside me… something’s still settling. Something tectonic. Like the shift of continents beneath old, cracked skin.
“I need to say something,” I whisper.
She draws back just enough to see my face, eyes still heavy with sleep but alert. Curious.
I stare at her for a long moment, memorizing every detail. The freckles scattered across her nose. The curve of her mouth. The faint mark where she bit her lip last night.
“You are…” I start, and the words stick in my throat. Too heavy. Too ancient. Too sacred.
But I force them out.
“You are my jalshagar.”
She blinks. “Your what?”
“Jalshagar,” I repeat, slower this time. “It’s… old. From my people. It means something like… soul-bound. Chosen. Fated.”
She lifts a brow. “Like soulmates?”
I nod, heart thudding. “More than that. It’s not just love. It’s the love. The one that rewrites everything. That eclipses every war, every pain. That ties two people together across lifetimes.”
She goes quiet.
And in that silence, I brace myself for laughter. For disbelief. For the slow retreat of someone who’s just realized the thing in her bed is more beast than man.
But when she speaks, it’s with a softness that makes my ribs ache.
“You believe that?” she asks.
“I never did,” I admit. “Until now.”
She looks at me a moment longer, then grins. “So you’re telling me I’m stuck with a grumpy, giant, battle-scarred warrior for all eternity?”
I grunt. “You make it sound like a punishment.”
She leans in, presses a kiss to the corner of my mouth. “Not if the sex stays that good.”
I blink.
She laughs, the sound light and teasing—but there’s a depth behind her eyes that betrays the truth.
She feels it too. She might not have the word for it, but her soul’s already halfway bound to mine.
I see it in the way she looks at me when she thinks I’m not watching.
In the way her fingers trace the old scar on my shoulder like it means something. In the way she chooses to stay.
Every time.
She curls back into me, hand resting just over my heart, and I realize I’ve stopped bracing for the blow.
For the first time in years… I believe I could be loved.
Not just needed. Not just tolerated.
Loved.
I turn onto my side, looming over her but keeping my weight to the elbow. Her eyes catch the firelight and hold it, like twin stars. She doesn’t look away.
“Tell me if you want to stop,” I say quietly.
She lifts a brow, teasing. “Why would I want to stop now?”
And then I’m gone.
I dip my head and press my mouth to the base of her throat. She arches slightly, lips parting with a soft gasp. My hands slide down her sides, slow, reverent. Mapping her. Memorizing her.
She’s still sore, I can tell. But she doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t pull away. Her body welcomes me with a kind of trust I’ve never earned.
I slide down between her thighs and press my face against her, inhaling the heady, intoxicating scent of her desire. She makes a sound—needy, helpless—and her hands tangle in my hair again, tugging me closer.
I kiss her slowly. Thoroughly.
She tastes like lightning and rain and everything I never thought I deserved.
She writhes beneath me, soft cries spilling from her lips as I take my time.
Worshiping her. Devouring her. Her pussy is soaked and hot and perfect, slick against my tongue as I explore her with aching reverence.
I drag the flat of my tongue over her clit and she chokes on a moan, hips lifting into my mouth.
“Oh fuck, Maug—”
The way she says my name makes me growl into her.
It vibrates through her, and she gasps, trembling.
Her legs lock around my shoulders as I lick her again, again, each stroke firmer, deeper.
I slide one thick finger inside her, feeling her walls pulse around me, tight and welcoming.
She’s smaller than me in every way, but her body opens for me like it’s meant to.
Her voice breaks, breathless and pleading.
“I’m close—don’t stop—don’t stop—”
I don’t. I drink her in. I worship.
And when she breaks apart beneath me, when her thighs shake and her back arches and her scream echoes off the cavern walls—I hold her through it, my hands steady on her hips, anchoring her in the storm.
She falls back against the blankets, panting, glowing.
Her eyes find mine.
“Come here,” she whispers.
I crawl up over her, slow and careful, placing kisses along her stomach, her ribs, her collarbone. I hover over her, thick cock nudging her slick entrance, pulsing with the need I can’t hold back much longer.
“You sure?” I murmur, voice rough with restraint.
She cups my face in both hands. “I want to feel everything.”
I press forward.
Her pussy stretches around me, wet and hot and tight, and I groan—low and guttural—because the sensation is almost unbearable. She gasps beneath me, clinging to my shoulders, nails digging into the fur there.
I go slow. Inch by inch. Letting her body adjust.
“You’re so big,” she pants, but there’s no fear. Just awe.
I still once I’m fully inside her, letting her feel the full weight of me, the way my cock fills every inch of her.
She exhales a shuddering breath.
“Fuck,” she whispers. “You feel… incredible.”
I begin to move.
Slow thrusts, deep and controlled. Each stroke sends her moaning, her hips rising to meet mine. Our bodies find a rhythm—sacred, instinctive, right. The wet sounds of our joining echo in the alcove, lost under the patter of rain and the crackle of fire.
Her hands roam my back. My chest. She kisses my jaw, my throat, my scars.
“You’re mine,” she whispers.
I thrust harder.
And she moans—loud, needy, raw.
“You’re my jalshagar,” I growl, voice shaking. “My mate. My everything.”
She meets my gaze.
“Then make me yours,” she says. “All of me.”
And I do.
I fuck her with everything I am—with devotion, with desperation, with centuries of grief burning into ash beneath her touch. Her body clings to mine like she was made for it, her pussy fluttering around my cock as she comes again, sobbing my name.
When I follow—when my climax breaks like a wave against her—I roar, burying my face in her neck as I spill deep inside her, our bodies locked, trembling, whole.
Then… silence.
Sacred silence.
I stay inside her as long as I can, our hearts hammering together, our breath one storm.
And when I finally pull her close again, curling her against my chest, I realize—
I’m not alone anymore.