16. Rethan
RETHAN
The drone vanishes toward Westline like a predator returning to its nest, and I understand two facts with absolute clarity.
First, Helix now knows their destination.
Second, Lucy Hartwell is still bleeding.
The injuries are not life-threatening—a cut inside her mouth where she bit down during the crash, deep bruising along her ribs from the harness, and a shallow graze at her temple where flying glass sliced her.
Yet each mark ignites something fierce and protective in me, far beyond professional duty.
I force my gaze away from her before the emotion can show.
“We cannot continue to Westline,” I say quietly.
Lucy is already retrieving the sealed evidence case, one arm held protectively against her injured side. Mud streaks her face and clothes. “The drone is heading there. That means the depot and those records matter. We can’t just abandon them.”
“It means Helix wants us to follow— injured, on foot, straight into ground they are likely already securing. We would be walking into a trap.”
“So we hide and give up?” Her voice carries exhaustion but also that unyielding fire I’ve come to admire.
“We survive first. Then we choose our path with clear minds and full strength.”
She levels a narrow, stubborn look at me. “You make strategic retreat sound philosophical.”
“It is strategic.”
“It is annoying.”
“Yes.”
That earns a brief, unwilling smile from her. It fades as the first heavy raindrops strike the dust around the wrecked crawler. The sky has darkened to bruised violet, thunder rolling in the distance. We have to move.
I consult the regional topography I memorized before the journey. “There is an old survey shelter eight hundred meters north. Stone roof, manual door, no active power grid. It will shield us from scans and the storm.”
Lucy squints up the slope through the increasing rain. “You know that from studying a map once?”
“I studied the entire region thoroughly before travel.”
“Of course you did.” She hands me the evidence case. “Fine. Lead the way, Scholar.”
We climb the slippery ridge as the rain intensifies. Loose stones shift underfoot. Thornbrush snags Lucy’s trousers and scrapes her arms. I shorten my long stride multiple times. On the fourth occasion, I stop pretending detachment.
“Take my arm.”
“I do not need—”
“Lucy.”
Her name leaves my mouth weighted with concern. She looks at me—rain freckling her cheeks, curls escaping their braid, eyes bright with pain and defiance—then slowly slides her arm through mine. The contact sends another ripple through the deepening bond.
We reach the shelter as the downpour turns the ground to mud.
The structure crouches beneath a rocky overhang, half-hidden by tall grass.
I force the rusted manual latch after two attempts.
The door groans open. Inside, the air is cold, stale, and blessedly dry.
Old storage racks line one wall. A cracked emergency lantern casts a weak, flickering glow.
Lucy steps inside and immediately presses a hand to her ribs, breathing shallowly.
“Sit,” I instruct.
“You keep saying that like it works on me.”
“It worked earlier.”
“Because you threatened to involve Torren.”
“I can repeat the threat.”
She lowers herself onto an overturned crate with a wince. “Cruel man.” There is no real heat in it.
I locate a sealed emergency kit and begin treating her injuries. I clean the graze at her temple with careful, clinical movements. When my fingertips brush her hairline, however, the bond ignites without warning.
A powerful surge of recognition floods me. My hearing sharpens dramatically—I can hear every raindrop striking the stone roof, Lucy’s quickened pulse, the faint hitch in her breathing. Beneath my silver-blue skin, the bioluminescent patterns along my wrists, collarbone, and chest flare bright blue.
Lucy notices immediately. “What was that?”
I step back, trying to steady myself. “A physiological response.” I explain the ancient Pi’rell soul-recognition bond: rare, not chosen at first but impossible to ignore once awakened.
It is profound alignment—biological, emotional, and spiritual—not ownership or forced destiny.
I will not allow my biology to strip away her choice the way Helix tried to strip away her home.
Lucy absorbs every word in heavy silence. Rain drums steadily overhead. She stands slowly, favoring her injured side. “Do you want the bond?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want me, or just the bond?”
“You,” I answer without hesitation. “The bond only named what had already begun forming the day I watched you stand between your people and those ships.”
Tears shimmer in her eyes. She rises onto her toes and kisses me.
The kiss starts tender but quickly turns desperate and hungry.
I cup her face with both hands, then let them slide down her body, careful of her bruises.
Our clothes come off in a heated rush. My formal coat and tunic fall to the dusty floor.
Lucy’s fingers work impatiently at the fastenings, pushing the fabric from my shoulders.
Her shirt follows, revealing smooth skin marked by fresh bruises.
I help her out of her trousers, then remove the last of my own clothing.
My cock springs free, thick, hard, and aching. The bioluminescent patterns across my torso glow brighter in response to her. Lucy’s gaze traces my body with open hunger. She reaches out, wrapping her hand around my length and stroking slowly. I groan, hips jerking into her touch.
“Lucy…”
“I need you,” she whispers against my mouth. “Right now. I want to feel alive. I want to feel you.”
I lay her down gently on the emergency blankets we’ve spread across the floor.
My mouth claims hers in a deep kiss as my hands explore her body.
I kiss every bruise tenderly, then move lower.
Settling between her thighs, I lick along her folds, savoring her taste.
When my tongue circles her clit, Lucy moans loudly, fingers tangling in my long hair.
I slide two fingers inside her slick heat, curling them as I suck gently on the sensitive bundle of nerves.
Her hips buck. “Rethan—please—”
I bring her to the edge, then rise over her. The head of my cock presses against her entrance, hot and heavy. “Meet my eyes.”
She meets my gaze, eyes glazed with need.
“Only if you still choose this. Choose me freely.”
“I choose this. I choose you, Rethan.”
I push forward, sinking into her tight, wet heat inch by inch.
Lucy gasps sharply, nails digging into my shoulders as I stretch and fill her completely.
The bond flares white-hot between us, every sensation doubled.
I hold still a long moment, letting her adjust, then begin to move—long, deep strokes that gradually increase in intensity.
“You feel incredible,” I groan, voice rough. I grip her hip with one hand, bracing the other beside her head as I thrust harder. Our bodies move in perfect rhythm, skin slapping against skin. Lucy rises to meet every thrust, legs wrapped tightly around my waist.
“Harder,” she demands breathlessly.
I oblige, driving into her with powerful strokes. The shelter fills with the wet sounds of our joining, her moans, and my low groans. The patterns across my skin illuminate her face, highlighting every expression of pleasure. I lean down to kiss her fiercely, tongues tangling as I pound deeper.
Pleasure builds rapidly through the bond. I can feel her tightening around me, her climax approaching. I angle my hips to hit the perfect spot with every thrust.
“Now—Rethan, now—”
Her orgasm hits hard. She cries out, clenching rhythmically around my cock, body shaking beneath me. The intense contractions pull me over the edge. I bury myself to the hilt and come with a deep, guttural groan, pulsing thickly inside her as waves of ecstasy crash through us both.
We stay locked together for a long time afterward, breathing ragged. I carefully lower myself beside her and pull her into my arms, mindful of her injuries. I press soft kisses to her forehead, her cheeks, and her lips.
Lucy traces the glowing patterns across my chest with lazy fingers. “That was… not what I expected from a legal historian.”
“I possess many skills not listed in my official files,” I reply, a faint note of dryness in my voice.
She laughs softly against my skin. “You really are terrible at comfort.”
“I was not attempting comfort. I was attempting to remind you that you are alive, wanted, and no longer facing this fight alone.”
Lucy lifts her head. The warmth and affection in her eyes makes my chest tighten. “You’re doing more than fine, Scholar.”
We dress slowly in the dim lantern light, exchanging quiet touches and lingering glances. Lucy winces as she pulls on her trousers. I note the bruises with renewed resolve. I help her with her boots, then hand her the evidence case.
“Together?” she asks.
I take her free hand firmly in mine. “Together.”
We step out of the shelter into the gray dawn light. The wrecked crawler lies behind us in the ravine. Ahead, the ridge rises toward Westline and whatever awaits us there. With Lucy’s hand in mine and the bond warm and steady between us, I feel prepared for anything.