Chapter 21
Nansar
The ceiling above me was wrong.
Not the rusted, hole-riddled tin of my shack on Palaydium, but smooth panels that glowed with soft luminescence.
I blinked, trying to reconcile what I was seeing with what should be there.
My body felt like it belonged to someone else—heavy, sluggish, as if I'd been sleeping for years rather than. .. how long?
When I tried to sit up, pain lanced through my chest, and my muscles screamed in protest. A med-bay.
The realization came slowly, fighting through the fog in my mind.
But not just any med-bay—the equipment surrounding me was leagues beyond anything on Palaydium.
Diagnostic panels hummed their quiet songs, displays flickering with medical data I couldn't begin to decipher.
The walls themselves seemed to breathe light, bathing everything in an otherworldly blue glow.
Was I dead?
Then memory crashed over me. Hewes. The gun.
Chloe's face, frozen in terror. The weapon rising—so slowly, impossibly slowly—aimed at her heart.
My body launching forward before thought could intervene, placing myself between the blast and the woman who had become my entire world.
White-hot agony exploding through my chest, stealing breath, stealing everything.
I should be dead.
Slowly, carefully, I turned my head. More unfamiliar equipment lined the walls. Through a viewport, I spotted the telltale streaks of hyperspace—those familiar ribbons of light that meant we were traveling between worlds. And there, in a chair pulled close, was Chloe.
Asleep. Her head tilted at an angle that would leave her neck aching, dark shadows beneath her eyes speaking of long hours without rest. Her hand lay on the bed near mine, fingers slightly curled as if she'd fallen asleep trying to reach me.
My chest constricted—not with pain this time, but with something far more dangerous.
I lifted my hand, marveling at how such a simple movement could require so much effort. My fingers trembled as I reached for her, hesitating just a breath before letting them brush against her cheek.
Warm. Soft. Real.
Her eyes snapped open, her body jerking upright. For one suspended moment, she simply stared at me, her expression shifting through a dozen emotions—confusion melting into recognition, recognition blooming into something that looked like wonder.
Then she shattered.
"Nansar," she sobbed, hands flying to her face as her whole body shook. "You're awake. Oh God, you're actually awake."
I wanted to hold her, to gather her into my arms and swear that everything would be fine, but my body refused to cooperate. My voice emerged as barely more than a rasp. "What... happened?"
She laughed through her tears—a broken, beautiful sound that made something in my chest pull tight.
"You died, Nansar. Your heart stopped. You'd lost so much blood.
.." Her voice fractured. "But the Garoot have this medical pod—regenerative technology I've never even heard of.
They kept you in it for three days, and it.
.. it brought you back. Fixed everything. "
Three days. She'd sat here for three days, waiting. Hoping.
"Where are we?" The words scraped against my raw throat.
"The Historia," she said, reaching for a cup and helping me drink. The tenderness in the way she cradled my head, the careful press of the cup against my lips—it was almost unbearable. "We're in hyperspace. Heading to Calpa."
Calpa. The Alliance council's seat of power.
I stared at her, struggling to make sense of it through the lingering fog. "They... saved me?" I couldn't keep the disbelief from my voice. "Why would they—"
"Because I didn't give them a choice." Despite the tears still tracking down her cheeks, pride flickered in her eyes. "When they wanted to leave you behind, I pulled a blaster on War Chief Xabat. Told him I wasn't going anywhere without you."
My heart—miraculously still beating—seemed to forget its rhythm entirely. "You did what?"
"You heard me." Her hand tightened around mine. "I wasn't leaving you to die in that place. Not after everything. Not after..." Her voice trailed off, but her eyes held mine, searching for something I desperately hoped she would find.
Before I could find the words tangled somewhere between my heart and my throat, the med-bay door whispered open.
A young Garoot male strode in—all lean angles and pale gray skin, his slightly bulbous head tilted with the kind of cheerful curiosity that seemed wildly out of place given my recent brush with death.
"Well, you're awake!" He flashed a grin that was somehow both alien and utterly disarming. "I'm George—and yes, I know, it's a human name. Long story. I'm one of the healers aboard the Historia."
He ran some kind of scanning device that hummed to life, passing it over my torso.
The soft blue glow reflected in his dark eyes as he nodded, clearly pleased with whatever the readouts told him.
"The regeneration pod performed beautifully.
Your internal injuries are completely healed, tissue damage repaired at the cellular level.
Blood volume restored. I'd say you have a clean bill of health, Nansar. "
"Clean bill of health," I repeated numbly. I'd thrown myself in front of Chloe expecting oblivion, welcoming it even if it kept her safe. The idea that I was now whole—that I had a future stretching before me instead of an ending—felt impossible to grasp.
George's expression softened slightly, though his smile remained.
"You'll be weak for a few days, of course.
The pod can knit flesh and bone back together, but it takes time to rebuild your strength.
Rest, proper nutrition, and you'll be back to full capacity within a week.
" His gaze shifted to Chloe, and something like admiration flickered across his features.
"Your mate barely left your side. We practically had to force her to eat or sleep. "
My mate. The words hung in the air between us, shimmering with possibility and promise. George made a few final notations on his datapad, then headed for the door, pausing just long enough to add, "Give yourself grace, Nansar. Healing isn't just physical."
The door slid shut behind him with a soft hiss, leaving Chloe and me alone in the sudden quiet.
Before I could ask her what George meant—though some part of me already knew—the door opened once more.
Adtovar stepped inside.
The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. I felt Chloe tense beside me, her hand tightening around mine. The Aljani captain filled the doorway, his large form imposing, his piercing blue eyes fixed on me.
The last time I'd seen him, he'd been lying in a spreading pool of his own blood. Because of me. Because I'd been so consumed by hatred, by my desperate need to prove my loyalty to Ambassador Yaard, that I'd tried to kill an innocent human female. Willa.
And Adtovar had thrown himself between us without hesitation.
The memory crashed over me—the shock on his face as my blade found flesh.
The way he'd crumpled, the crimson staining his tunic.
I'd kept this male and his companions as gladiators, forced them to fight for entertainment.
Treated them as less than sentient beings.
As property to be bought and sold and discarded.
Shame burned through me, hot and acidic.
My eyes dropped to the white sheets covering my legs.
I couldn't bear to see the hatred in his gaze—hatred I deserved, condemnation I'd earned a thousand times over.
The regeneration pod had healed my body, made me whole again, repaired flesh and bone and blood.
But no technology could repair what I'd broken. No medical miracle could undo the actions of the male I'd been.
I could only imagine what Adtovar saw when he looked at me now. A monster. A coward who'd hidden behind authority while inflicting cruelty on those who couldn't fight back. The loathing in his eyes must be absolute, justified, righteous. And Chloe—my brave, compassionate mate—she could see it too.
Part of me wanted to slink away, to curl into myself and disappear into the shame that threatened to consume me whole.
But no. Chloe deserved better than that.
She deserved a mate who faced his sins head-on, who didn't cower when confronted with the consequences of his actions.
She'd chosen to stand beside me—the least I could do was stand tall beside her.
Whatever judgment Adtovar delivered, whatever hatred burned in those blue eyes, I would meet it.
Not because I was brave, but because my mate's courage demanded that I try to be.
I lifted my gaze and forced myself to meet his eyes. Beside me, Chloe stood straight and true, her hand wrapped tightly around mine.
"Captain," I managed, my voice barely above a whisper. Even that felt like too much. Like I had no right to address him at all.
Adtovar moved closer, his footsteps measured, stopping at the foot of my bed. The silence stretched between us, heavy with history and blood and regret.
"I owe you an apology," I said, the words coming easier than I'd expected.
"For what I did to you. For following others I knew were wrong.
For being too much of a coward to stand up when it mattered.
" I met his eyes, refusing to look away despite the shame threatening to drown me.
"I am ashamed of my past behavior. I'm sorry. "
Adtovar studied me for a long moment, his expression inscrutable, weighing my words. Then, to my surprise, his features softened slightly, the hard edges of judgment easing into something more complex.
"Everyone deserves a second chance, Nansar. I know that better than anyone," he said quietly. "The male who threw himself in front of a blaster to save Chloe—that's not a bad male. That's someone who found something worth being better for."