Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
Jarran could feel his own body moving, his lungs drawing breath, his heart beating against his ribs.
But none of it was his. His legs carried him forward and his head turned to scan the docking bay with cold assessment.
He commanded none of it. Pella Rin had emerged wearing Jarran’s skin, making Jarran a passenger in his own skull.
But he was still here, and that meant he had a chance.
Jarran could see through his own eyes, even if he couldn’t direct them, but he was grateful when Pella Rin swept his gaze over Evie and lingered on her.
She was still in Durik’s grip, with the blaster pressed to her temple.
Her face was ashen and her eyes were locked on him.
She knew. He could see the dismay all over her face.
She’d spent cycles learning his face, and she could tell the difference between Jarran and the entity that had taken his place.
His entire consciousness erupted in revolt.
He would not let Pella Rin hurt Evie. He would not betray Taron again after his brother had spent half his life recovering from what Pella Rin had done to him. The Virilians had crossed a quadrant to be here. Evie had walked through fire for him, and not the metaphorical kind.
Pella Rin would burn them all. In primal form, he had the capacity to do it.
Blaster fire wouldn’t penetrate. Even Harc’s telekinetic metal would melt before it reached him if he pushed the temperature high enough.
Primal form was virtually indestructible, and Pella Rin would know that.
If Durik kept that remote device active, Pella Rin would stay in control and the people Jarran loved most would die in this docking bay.
Ah! The heat. The realization surfaced through the fog of his imprisonment.
If he could increase his fire, push the primal form higher, the temperature might be enough to destroy the implant.
Neural devices were resilient, designed to withstand normal Virilian physiology.
But primal form was not normal physiology.
If he burned hot enough, long enough, the circuitry would melt.
Durik’s remote would become useless, and Pella Rin would lose his grip.
He gathered every scrap of consciousness he had left. Every bit of rage and love and determination, and rose up with everything he had. One thrust. One impossible, obliterating push against the walls of his cage.
He broke through and the world slammed back into focus.
His hands were his. His lungs were his. His legs nearly buckled and he staggered, but he caught himself and straightened.
The bay was bright and loud around him. His body screamed with pain and exhaustion, but he was himself.
His grip was tenuous. He’d only have one chance to increase his temperature, and he’d have to do it soon, before Pella Rin regrouped and fought back.
To do that, he needed more strength. He turned to look at Evie. She stared back at him, frozen, afraid to hope.
“Evie.” His voice came out rough and scraped raw. “I love you. I have loved you since you sat down across from me in the agricultural bay and tried not to let your nervousness show. I will love you for the rest of my days, no matter how many or few I have.”
A little noise left her mouth. Tears spilled down her cheeks and she strained against Durik’s grip. “I love you, too,” she managed. “Don’t you dare leave me again.”
She loved him. Sweet stars, this beautiful, kind, absurdly intelligent human woman loved him. Hearing her say it felt like a completed circuit in his mind, and it was exactly what he needed. A rush of strength filled his mind and body. He turned inward and reached for the fire.
He’d never done this before and didn’t even know if it could be done. The primal form was triggered by emotion and operated on instinct. Had anyone ever tried to increase it deliberately? He didn’t know, but he had a feeling it could be done.
He pushed. He could feel the flames from his horns lengthen.
The red veins on his body brightened until they looked like molten channels bulging from his skin.
The air around him rippled and the deck plating beneath his feet began to soften.
He could feel the metal growing pliable between his now-bare toes.
Pella Rin surged. The pressure on his mind was enormous, a fist trying to crush him back into that dark corner.
Jarran doubled over and a sound tore from his throat.
But he kept pushing. The temperature climbed.
The nearest cargo crates began to discolor and warp.
Virilians backed away, shielding their faces.
Higher. He needed more.
He thought of Evie’s kisses. He thought of Taron. He thought of the engineered females with no light behind their eyes, and the countless others who would suffer if Pella Rin won.
The heat spiked. A high-pitched whine built inside his skull, rising to a pitch that made his vision blur. Then there was a small, sharp crack, somewhere deep behind his ears.
The pressure instantly vanished. One moment Pella Rin was a crushing weight bearing down on every synapse, and the next moment Jarran’s mind was his own, fully, completely, without a shadow pressing at the edges.
The implant was dead. He could feel the absence of it and the relief was so profound his knees almost gave out again.
He steadied himself. Drew a breath that felt clean for the first time in tericycles. Then he raised his head and looked at Durik.
Durik was jabbing at the handheld device with one hand, while the other was still holding the blaster at Evie.
He pressed buttons, his movements growing frantic.
Nothing happened. Jarran watched the realization spread across the Sifter’s face.
Durik looked up from the dead remote and met Jarran’s burning gaze, and for the first time since Jarran had known him, Durik looked afraid.
“Release her,” Jarran said in a voice deep with warning.
Durik grabbed Evie tighter. She winced at the force of his grip. “Stay back,” he snarled. “You come any closer and your heat will kill her before I can.”
Jarran stopped. Durik was right about that. The heat radiating from his body was intense enough to redden Evie’s skin, even from this distance. He could see the discomfort on her face, the sheen of sweat, the way she turned her head away from the waves of heat rolling off him.
He backed away enough to give her relief.
He needed to find a way to disarm Durik without hurting Evie, which meant he couldn’t use any of the normal means, like walking up and punching him.
Behind him, he heard footsteps on the warped deck plating.
Shouts. Blaster fire in a distant corridor, muffled and brief.
He didn’t look back. His eyes stayed on Durik and Evie.
“Let her go, Durik.” Jarran kept his voice level. “This is over.”
“Over?” Durik’s laugh was ragged, unhinged. “I’ll kill her. I swear on every star in this quadrant, I will pull this trigger.”
“If you harm a single hair on her head, I will slow roast you until there is nothing left but ash.” Jarran raised one burning finger. “You know I can.”
Durik flinched. His arm tightened on Evie’s throat and she grabbed at it, fighting for air. “Why?” Durik’s voice cracked. “Why would you throw away everything? Pella Rin had power. Control. Dominance. You could rule a quadrant. You did rule a quadrant. And you give it up for what?”
“Pella Rin was never me.” Jarran’s flames crackled.
“I was made into him. A being called Xill Rin carved out who I was and built a monster to carry on his legacy. And thanks to a terti powder explosion carried out by one of the hybrid females Pella Rin created, I was given a reset. A chance to choose.” He straightened his shoulders.
“I choose Jarran and whatever consequences come with that. Now, let the woman go.”
Durik stared at him with confusion and contempt. He would never understand, and that was okay. He just needed this desperate male to release Evie.
“I’d do as he says,” said a voice from behind him.
Jarran was no longer alone. He didn’t turn, but he sensed them.
One by one, the kings and warriors of Virilia stepped into the space beside him, keeping enough distance to not be burned by his heat.
They stood in a loose arc, weapons lowered, but ready.
He sensed Taron first, on his left, and others stepping into place.
Jarran could feel the tension in the stillness.
These males knew what primal form was and what it could do.
“It’s finished, Durik.” Taron’s voice was cold and steady. “Our forces have taken your ships, including the ones waiting outside the station. The remaining Sifters have been seized. There is nowhere for you to go and no way to run.”
“He’s right,” Niir said. “Harming the female will only make this worse for you. Much worse.”
Durik’s gaze snapped to Niir. His lip curled. “You’re defending him? The male who shot you in the chest and nearly killed you?”
Niir tilted his head. He regarded Jarran for a moment with those calm, dark eyes. “I am not entirely certain that the male standing here is the same one who shot me,” he replied in a mild voice. “And I’m not one to rush to judgment.”
The Virilians tightened their circle, closing the gap around Durik until there was no angle left, no exit, no possibility of escape. Durik’s blaster hand wavered. His gaze darted from face to face. Five Virilian males, armed and resolute, and a sixth made of fire.
Durik’s arm dropped. The blaster clattered to the deck.