Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The guard’s jaw crunched under Becsul’s fist with a satisfying crack, but the sound did nothing to cool the rage boiling through his veins.
He touched her.
The thought pulsed like venom through his mind as he watched the guard crumple to the floor, unconscious and bleeding from the mouth.
Part of him—the warrior part, the part that had been honed over twenty years of combat training—wanted to finish the job.
Wanted to wrap his tail around the bastard’s throat and squeeze until something vital gave way.
But Melissa was pressed against the wall behind him, Robbie clutched to her chest, her dark eyes wide and watching. She didn’t need to see him kill someone. Not now. Not when they still had so far to go.
Focus, he commanded himself. The mission is what matters. Get them out. Everything else can wait.
He turned away from the guard’s prone form and crossed to her in two strides. His hands moved over her face, her shoulders, her arms—checking for injuries, yes, but also simply needing to touch her, to confirm she was real and whole and safe.
“I’m fine,” she said, her voice steadier than he expected. “Becsul. I’m okay.”
The relief that washed through him was almost painful. He pressed his forehead to hers, just for a heartbeat, breathing in her scent—warm skin and something floral, underlaid with the sharp tang of fear. His tail wound around her waist, holding her close.
Mine, something primal whispered in his mind. My mate. My family.
He forced himself to pull back. There would be time for this later. Time for tenderness, for reassurance, for the thousand words he wanted to say. Right now, they needed to move.
“The shuttle is waiting,” he said, his voice rough. “Stay close. Don’t let go of my hand.”
She nodded, shifting Robbie to one arm so she could take his hand with the other. Her fingers were small and warm against his skin, her grip surprisingly strong.
“Lead the way.”
The corridor outside her cell was a nightmare of smoke and chaos.
He had chosen the chemical mixture carefully—something that produced thick, acrid smoke without actually burning hot enough to cause structural damage.
The fire suppression systems would handle it within the hour, but for now, the grey-black clouds billowing through the ancient stone passages reduced visibility to a few meters and sent everyone into a panicked frenzy.
Staff members rushed past them without a second glance, too focused on their own escape to question why a captain was escorting a prisoner through the chaos.
Someone shouted about containment protocols.
Someone else screamed about contaminated samples.
The alarm continued its relentless wail, drilling into his skull like a hammer.
Melissa kept pace beside him, her breathing steady despite the smoke that made his own eyes water. She didn’t panic, didn’t falter, didn’t ask questions they didn’t have time to answer. She simply moved, trusting him to guide them through the labyrinth.
Remarkable, he thought, not for the first time. Absolutely remarkable.
They rounded a corner and nearly collided with a pair of guards heading in the opposite direction. His hand dropped to his weapon, but the guards barely spared them a glance before continuing past, shouting something about securing the east wing.
“Where are the others?” she asked, keeping her voice low.
“Already at the shuttle. I moved them during the initial evacuation announcement.”
“And we’re going to…?”
“Landing pad three. Secondary supply dock.” He pulled her around another corner, down a narrower passage that he knew would be empty because it was only for maintenance access, rarely used except by cleaning crews. “The pilot is a friend. He’s been helping me for weeks.”
“A friend.” She glanced at him sideways. “You have friends who are willing to commit treason?”
“I have friends who remember what honor means.”
The passage opened into a wider corridor, this one blessedly clear of smoke. Emergency lights strobed red against the ancient stone, casting everything in bloody shadows. He quickened his pace.
“Almost there,” he said. “Just through the—”
“Captain Becsul!”
He froze.
The voice came from behind them—sharp, authoritative, and familiar. He turned slowly, his hand still gripping hers, his body positioning itself between her and the threat.
Dr. Veyalor stood at the junction they’d just passed, his usually pristine lab coat stained with soot, and his expression caught somewhere between confusion and suspicion.
“Captain.” Veyalor’s eyes flicked to her, to Robbie, to their joined hands. “What are you doing? The prisoners should be secured in their cells during an emergency.”
“I’m moving her to a safer location.” He kept his voice level, his posture relaxed. “The smoke is concentrated in her wing. Standard protocol for high-value assets.”
“High-value—” Veyalor’s brow ridges drew together. “Captain, I wasn’t informed of any such protocol.”
“It’s a recent addition. Councilor Naran authorized it personally.”
The lie came easily. It shouldn’t have. Twenty years of military service, of following orders, of trusting in the system—and here he was, lying to a superior officer without hesitation. A few weeks ago, the thought would have been unthinkable.
A few weeks ago, he hadn’t known Melissa.
Veyalor studied him for a long moment. Something flickered in his expression—doubt, calculation, perhaps even a hint of understanding. Then his gaze dropped to Becsul’s tail, still wrapped protectively around Melissa’s waist.
“I see,” he said slowly. “And this safer location… it wouldn’t happen to be on the supply shuttle that’s currently prepping for departure, would it?”
His blood went cold.
“I’m not sure what you’re implying.”
“I’m not implying anything.” Veyalor took a step forward, then stopped. His hands rose slightly, palms out in a gesture of non-aggression. “I’m merely observing that the shuttle’s manifest doesn’t include any personnel transfers. Only standard equipment returns.”
“Manifests can be updated.”
“They can.” Veyalor’s voice softened. “Captain… Becsul. I’ve seen how you are with her. How you are with the child. I’m not blind.”
Melissa tensed beside him. He could feel her preparing to run, to fight, to do whatever was necessary to protect her son. He squeezed her hand once—wait—and faced the doctor fully.
“What do you want?”
“I want the same thing you want.” Veyalor’s expression twisted with something that might have been regret.
“A future for your people that doesn’t require them to become monsters.
” He glanced over his shoulder, checking the corridor behind him, then lowered his voice.
“Use the secondary access tunnel. It will get you to the landing pad without passing through any security checkpoints.”
He stared at the other male. “Why?”
“Because Naran is insane. Because this project was never about saving your species—it was about his legacy and his ego.” Veyalor’s jaw tightened.
“And because I’ve seen the data, Captain.
The real data. The mate bond isn’t something we can manufacture or control.
It happens or it doesn’t. Pagalan understood that. Naran refuses to.”
“You could have said something sooner.”
“I could have.” The admission cost him something—Becsul could see it in the way his shoulders dropped.
“I didn’t. I told myself that the ends justified the means, that the situation was too desperate for ethical niceties.
I was wrong.” He stepped aside, gesturing towards a narrow doorway that Becsul had assumed was a storage closet.
“The tunnel is through there. It comes out twenty meters from the landing pad. Go. Now. Before someone less… sympathetic… comes looking.”
He hesitated. Part of him was convinced that this was a trap, that Veyalor was buying time for reinforcements, that trusting him would get Melissa and Robbie killed. But the instinct for danger that had kept him alive through a hundred battles was quiet.
Trust your instincts, his old commander had taught him. They know what your mind hasn’t figured out yet.
“If this is a trap—”
“It isn’t.” Veyalor met his eyes steadily. “I’ve done enough harm, Captain. Let me do this one thing right.”
Melissa tugged on his hand. “We need to move.”
She was right. Every second they spent here was a second closer to discovery, to capture, to failure. He gave Veyalor a sharp nod—acknowledgment if not thanks—and pulled Melissa towards the hidden door.
“Captain.” Veyalor’s voice stopped him at the threshold. “For what it’s worth… I hope you make it. Both of you. All of you.”
He didn’t look back.
The tunnel was narrow, dark, and smelled of moisture and rust.
He went first, one hand trailing along the rough stone wall to guide him, the other still clasped firmly in Melissa’s. Even his night-adapted eyes could barely make out shapes in the darkness of the tunnel, but she followed without complaint, her footsteps steady behind him.
Robbie made a small sound of protest, probably disturbed by the jostling, and she murmured something soothing that he couldn’t quite catch. The sound did something to his chest, making it ache with a longing he couldn’t name.
This is what I’m fighting for, he reminded himself.
The tunnel angled upward, then leveled out. Light appeared ahead—a thin crack of grey that widened as they approached. He slowed, pressing Melissa back against the wall, and crept forward to peer through the exit.
Landing pad three spread out before him, a wide circle of ancient stone updated with modern landing beacons and cargo equipment. The supply shuttle sat at its center, a boxy utilitarian craft that looked about as threatening as a delivery vehicle.
Because that’s exactly what it is, he thought. Which is exactly why no one will look twice at it.