Chapter 5
FREYA
My skin is buzzing. No, scratch that—my bones are buzzing.
I shut the door to my quarters and sag against it, pressing the heels of my hands to my eyes like that’ll stop the storm behind them.
It doesn’t. The image of him—of Vokar—is seared onto the insides of my eyelids.
Black skin gleaming like volcanic glass, red eyes glowing like some ancient predator peering through the veil of time.
That voice. That voice. Like gravel rolling down a canyon wall.
And the way he looked at me… Like he was choosing his next meal. Or mate.
I strip in a rush, tugging the apron off, peeling out of the dress that still carries the faint, smoky scent of him where his fingers rested on my hip.
I pause when I hold the fabric up, inspecting the tear.
Just a little rip. A snag from one of those bone spurs curling off his hand like elegant weapons. It shouldn’t make my breath hitch.
It does.
“Time for a cold shower,” I mutter.
The stall hisses as I step inside, the recycled water gushing around me in icy ribbons.
I dial it colder. The chill bites, but it’s not enough to cut through the heat curling low in my belly.
I scrub myself like I’m trying to erase him.
Like maybe I can exfoliate away the memory of his hand covering my entire hip, his claws twitching ever so slightly like he was claiming me.
“I’m not a thing,” I whisper, like saying it aloud makes it more true.
The water drips down my back in rivulets.
I squeeze soap into my palm, lather until there’s a layer of foam between me and the guilt crawling up my spine.
Because it wasn’t just fear. No, I wanted that moment.
The heat, the dominance, the fire behind those crimson eyes.
He’s dangerous, a walking declaration of violence wrapped in muscle and spurs and charm that shouldn't exist on something that deadly.
But he looked at me like I was the last drop of water in a desert.
I groan and rinse off, teeth chattering now from the cold. The mirror’s fogged when I step out, thank the stars. I don’t want to see the look on my face.
I towel off roughly, throwing on my oversized sleep shirt.
My hair’s damp and clingy, but I don’t care.
I move to the corner where my small collection of plushies waits, the only softness I’ve allowed myself aboard this cold hunk of metal.
Kneeling, I brush my fingers over Bunny—he’s seen better days, but he’s always been a good listener.
“Why’d he look at me like that?” I whisper to no one.
Of course, no answer comes.
I stretch out on my cot, one arm thrown over my eyes. I should sleep. I need to. Tomorrow there’ll be more diplomatic meetings, more standing in the background like I’m invisible, like I don’t exist except to pour drinks and wipe counters.
Except now I’m not invisible anymore.
I felt his attention. Like a weight. Like a brand.
I turn on my side and grab Bunny, hugging him to my chest.
“This is crazy,” I whisper, nose buried in the soft fabric. “He’s a Reaper. He’s not some flirty spacer trying to get in my pants. He could tear this whole ship apart if he wanted to.”
The thought should terrify me.
Instead, it thrills me.
My heart kicks against my ribs. It’s not just the physical part—though stars know that part has my thighs squeezing together just thinking about how easily he could lift me, bend me, take me.
No, it’s the look. The way he saw me. Like I wasn’t just another maintenance ghost skirting the edge of command’s notice.
Like I mattered.
I sit up, pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes again.
“This is dumb,” I say to the empty room.
I’m not anyone’s toy. I know that.
But maybe—just maybe—I want to be his.
Another cold shower might be in order.
I barely take a step into the room before the air shifts—thickens.
My towel’s still clutched around me, damp and barely covering anything. The light from the bathroom spills across the floor like a lifeline I’ve just stepped away from. And then I feel it. That sense—no, that certainty—that I’m not alone.
I freeze. My breath hitches.
He moves before I even see him. A dark mass uncoiling from the shadows. Black skin, gleaming faintly in the overhead lights. Bone spurs catching silver. Red eyes lit like embers in the dark.
Vokar.
My back hits the wall before I can even cry out. Not rough, but firm. Controlled. His body presses close, the towel caught between us. One massive hand comes up—slow, deliberate—and closes around my throat.
Not squeezing. Just resting there. A reminder of how easily he could.
“I could shatter you,” he growls, low and primal.
I swallow. Or try to. His hand’s warm, dry. I can feel the power thrumming in his fingertips.
“I know,” I whisper.
That makes him pause. His grip doesn’t tighten, but his red eyes narrow.
“Then why are you not afraid?”
I blink up at him. My pulse is thundering so loud I’m surprised he can’t hear it.
“I guess… I don’t believe you’re going to destroy me.”
A slow rumble curls from his chest. A sound like an avalanche starting in the distance. His head dips. Closer.
His breath ghosts against the shell of my ear. Hot. Wild.
“You’re not afraid I’ll hurt you?”
I suck in a breath, skin sparking under every inch of his proximity. My lips part before I can stop them.
“I’m afraid you won’t,” I say.
He goes still. Like the silence right before a supernova. Then his chest rises sharply—once. Twice. His clawed thumb brushes my jaw, just barely.
“You say dangerous things, little human.”
I meet his gaze.
“You do dangerous things.”
That earns a grin. It’s savage. Beautiful. Terrifying.
He leans in, pressing his forehead to mine for half a breath, and the moment teeters on a knife’s edge. I can feel every inch of him—his bulk, his power, the caged storm in his body. He could break me without effort.
But he won’t.
His hand slips lower, down my throat, over my collarbone. I shiver.
“You want this?” he asks, voice a gravel whisper. “You want me?”
I nod.
“Use your words.”
“I want you.” My voice cracks around the words. But they’re real.
Vokar growls again, deeper this time. His hand slides to the knot of the towel and tugs. The terrycloth slips free, pooling at my feet. I’m bare beneath him, blinking up into those eyes like molten garnet.
He steps back half a foot—just enough to see me. His gaze drags over my body like fire.
“You are mine,” he breathes.
I tremble. Not from fear. From want.
He lifts me, effortlessly. My back hits the wall again, thighs wrapping around his hips on instinct. I don’t care that I’m wet from the shower. I don’t care that my hair’s plastered to my cheeks. His mouth is on my neck, fangs brushing but not breaking skin.
He’s teasing.
“I could leave marks,” he says.
“I could let you.”
His answering snarl vibrates through both our bodies.
One massive hand cups my thigh. The other braces against the wall. His movements are controlled—barely. His whole body vibrates with restraint, and I know—know—if I said stop, he would.
But I don’t.
I wrap my arms around his neck.
“Don’t hold back.”
Something snaps.
He growls, low and brutal, then carries me to the bed. Tosses me down like I weigh nothing. The mattress bounces, and before I can catch my breath, he’s over me. His body a wall of heat and muscle and hunger.
His claws trace down my ribs. Feather light. I gasp.
“You are so small,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “So breakable.”
“I’m stronger than I look,” I whisper.
He just watches me.
Possessive. Fierce.
His hand returns to my hip, the same place he touched before. Like he’s claiming that spot. Branding it with memory.
I exhale shakily.
“Is this… Is this just about making me your latest conquest?” I ask, not sure why I need the answer right now.
His eyes soften. Slightly.
“No. This is war,” he says.
And I realize—he doesn’t just want my body.
He wants me.