Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“The bond is progressing faster than I anticipated.”
Veyalor’s words slithered through the sterile air of the laboratory, accompanied by the soft click of claws against a datapad. Becsul stood rigid before the doctor’s workstation, watching the scientist scroll through what he assumed were observations about Melissa. About the two of them.
“Her cortisol levels have dropped significantly since you began your regular visits. Her heart rate elevation when you enter the room is consistent with the attraction response. And the infant shows marked improvement in temperament when you’re present.
” Veyalor looked up, his pale yellow eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
“The first past of Pagalan’s theory appears to be vindicated—you can form a mate bond with a non-Cire female.
That argues that the second part of his theory is also correct. ”
His tail twitched nervously, betraying the tension he was fighting to conceal. “What does this mean for the experiment?”
“It means we can proceed to the next phase.” Veyalor set down the datapad and rose from his seat, moving towards a wall of refrigerated storage units that Becsul had carefully avoided examining too closely.
“I’ve been analyzing your genetic profile alongside hers.
The compatibility markers are exceptional—better than I’d hoped.
If the bond continues to strengthen, we should be ready to begin the insemination procedure within the week. ”
Within the week.
The words felt like a blow to the chest. He’d known this was coming, but hearing it stated so clinically, so matter-of-factly, made bile rise in his throat.
A child with Melissa.
The thought stirred something primal in him, something that had nothing to do with duty or species survival.
He could picture that child with startling clarity—a small form cradled in his arms, skin perhaps tinged with the warm brown of her skin, and dark eyes that might hold some echo of his. A family. A future.
But not like this.
Not with her locked in a cell. Not with the choice stripped away from her. Not with their child destined to be raised as an experiment, poked and prodded and studied like a specimen in Veyalor’s collection.
“And you believe the injection process will go smoothly?” he asked carefully, keeping his voice neutral.
Veyalor turned back to him, one eye ridge raised. “I’ve been considering that. Given the level of compatibility, a more… natural approach might be best.”
Natural approach. Longing surged through him with unexpected strength, but he immediately shoved it aside. Not like this. His nails dug into his palms. “Does Melissa know about this?”
“Not yet. I prefer to wait until we’re certain the bond has reached sufficient strength. No point in agitating the subjects prematurely.” Veyalor waved a dismissive hand. “Besides, in my experience, females adapt more readily after the fact. Less time for anxiety to interfere with the process.”
His vision flickered red at the edges.
After the fact. As if she were a problem to be managed rather than a person to be respected. As if her consent, her feelings, and her autonomy meant nothing at all.
He had tried to tell himself that what they were doing was necessary.
That the survival of his species justified difficult choices.
That the ends would ultimately justify the means.
But standing here now, listening to Veyalor discuss impregnating her like she was livestock, the foundations of that belief crumbled beneath him.
“Is there anything else, Captain?” Veyalor had already turned back to his datapad, clearly considering the conversation finished.
“No.” He forced his hands to unclench. “I’ll continue as directed.”
He left the laboratory before his control could slip any further.
The facility’s corridors had become intimately familiar over the past few weeks.
Every turn, every junction, and every security checkpoint was burned into his memory.
But now he walked them with new eyes, cataloging details he’d previously overlooked.
The supply lift at the eastern end of the building.
The maintenance access panels that led to the building’s environmental systems. The rotation schedule of the guards, which left certain areas unmonitored for precisely three minutes every four hours.
He had to find an escape route.
The realization had crystallized in Veyalor’s laboratory, but the truth was it had been building for days.
Every time he watched Melissa kiss Robbie’s forehead.
Every time she looked at him with those dark eyes that saw past his alien exterior to the male underneath.
Every time his tail reached for her without conscious thought, seeking the connection that his body recognized even when his mind tried to deny it.
He couldn’t let them do this to her.
And he knew—knew with absolute certainty—that she would never leave without the other two human females.
She asked about them frequently, her brow furrowed with genuine concern for women she’d never even met.
That was who she was. Fierce and protective and unwilling to save herself at the cost of others.
It was one of the reasons he—
He cut the thought off before it could fully form. He wasn’t ready to name what he felt. Not yet. Not when so much was still uncertain.
He needed information first. Naran claimed that the Council hadn’t organized this experiment, but he wasn’t sure he believed that.
But how deeply were they involved? Was this a sanctioned operation with full governmental oversight, or something more clandestine?
If he could determine that Naran was acting outside his authority, it might give him leverage.
A way to expose the project without implicating himself as a traitor.
Without getting Melissa killed in the process.
His first stop was the communications hub, a small room tucked into the facility’s administrative wing. The Tandoran technician manning the console barely glanced up as he entered. The staff had grown accustomed to his presence, and his captain’s insignia ensured that few questioned his movements.
“I need to access the supply logs,” he said. “To cross-reference with the training camp’s historical records.”
The technician grunted and waved him towards an auxiliary terminal. “Help yourself. System’s running slow today because of some solar interference.”
He settled into the chair and began to work.
The records painted an interesting picture.
Supply shipments arrived every ten days via automated transport from a distribution center far enough from the capital that the Council’s oversight was minimal at best. The manifests were deliberately vague, listing contents as “research materials” and “specialized equipment” without further specification.
More telling was what the records didn’t show.
No Council authorization codes. No official requisition numbers.
No chain of approval that would indicate sanctioned activity.
Either Naran had buried the paperwork so deeply that it couldn’t be traced, or he was funding this operation through unofficial channels.
If Naran was acting alone—or with only a small faction of Council support—then the project was vulnerable.
Exposure could bring everything crashing down.
But it could also provoke a desperate response.
Males who had invested this much in an illegal operation wouldn’t surrender quietly.
He needed more evidence before he could act.
The transport routes were more promising.
The automated ships followed a predictable path through three stations before reaching the facility.
If he could get Melissa and the others to the second station, they could potentially access offworld traffic and disappear into the chaos of the trading lanes.
It would require precise timing, access codes for the transport bays, and away to disable the facility’s tracking systems long enough to launch.
Impossible, whispered a voice in his head. You’re one male against an entire operation.
But he’d spent decades learning to assess threats, identify weaknesses, and exploit opportunities. This was simply another battle—one with stakes higher than any he’d faced before.
“Find what you needed?”
He looked up to find the technician watching him with mild curiosity.
“Just some background research,” he said smoothly. “Councilor Naran asked me to review the facility’s operational efficiency.”
The technician snorted. “Good luck with that. This place runs on prayers and expired ration packs. I’ve been requesting updated encryption protocols for months.”
“I’ll note that in my report.”
He cleared his history, logged out of the terminal and left, his mind already racing through possibilities. The supply transport arrived in four days. That gave him less than a week to assemble a plan. Less than a week before Veyalor planned to begin the procedure.
Not enough time, the voice whispered again.
It would have to be.
The afternoon stretched into evening as he continued his investigation, moving through the facility with careful nonchalance. He memorized guard positions. Tested the security locks on auxiliary corridors. Tracked the movement patterns of the Tandoran staff.
By the time he finally made his way to Melissa’s cell, the artificial lights had dimmed to simulate approaching nightfall, and he was exhausted but hopeful.
The pieces were beginning to fall into place.
If he could just keep Veyalor satisfied for a few more days and maintain the appearance of cooperation while building his evidence against Naran…
The door slid open, and he knew immediately that something was wrong.