Chapter 19 #2
"Then that's his to live, not yours to end," Niki said, her hand stroking my hair with a gentleness that contrasted the fire in her words.
"I'll stay with him. I'll care for him. I'll give him every single day he has left to become whoever he's going to become.
But I won't let you kill him. Not now. Not ever. "
Charick's hand tightened on the blade as he looked at me, then at Niki, then back at me. I could see the war on his face, duty battling hope, mercy wrestling faith. He reached out, his large hand closing around Niki's arm. Not rough, but firm.
"I'm sorry, Detective. But I have to—"
The world went red as something primal surged through me, not thought or decision but pure instinct screaming protect her, protect her, PROTECT HER. The mate bond flared like fire in my chest, burning away everything except that single imperative.
Pain exploded through my body as I forced my failing muscles to obey. The blaster wounds in my ribs tore wider, fresh blood soaking through the bandages. My leg—the one that had taken two direct hits—nearly buckled, but I locked the joint through sheer will and lunged forward.
My hand shot out and clamped around Charick's wrist. He released Niki immediately, shock flashing across his face. Not at my strength, but that I'd moved at all. That I was capable of coordinated action instead of the mindless violence he'd witnessed on the Bardaga.
I pulled Niki behind me in one smooth motion, putting my body between her and my brother.
The movement nearly cost me everything. My vision grayed and darkness crept in at the edges.
I locked my knees to keep from collapsing while blood ran hot down my leg and pooled in my boot.
But I stayed upright. I stayed between them.
Every instinct I had—warrior, survivor, mate—screamed at me to protect her, keep her safe, make sure nothing and no one touched her.
"Don't," I said, my voice low and dangerous but absolutely clear. Each word was a battle, my chest heaving from the effort of drawing breath past the pain. "Don't touch her."
Charick stared at me with wide eyes—not at my strength, since he'd seen me fight and knew what I was capable of—but at the clarity in my voice and the absolute, unmistakable awareness in my eyes.
"Don't touch my mate," I said, meeting his gaze directly, unflinching despite the agony threatening to drag me under. My hand trembled where it gripped his wrist. "Do you understand me, brother?"
The silence stretched between us, thick and heavy. I felt Niki's hand gripping the back of my blood-soaked shirt. I heard her rapid breathing. I sensed her fear and hope and desperate love. I didn't look away from Charick. I couldn't.
My legs shook as I continued losing too much blood—I could feel it warm and wet, running down my side and dripping onto the ground. The adrenaline that had gotten me upright was already fading, leaving only the raw, screaming pain of my injuries. But I didn't let go. Didn't step back. Didn't yield.
"Enslak?" Charick's voice came barely above a whisper, broken with disbelief and something that might have been hope. "You're... you're speaking."
"Yes," I said. Then I took a step forward, because I had to make him understand. My leg nearly gave out, but I caught myself, my free hand shooting out to brace against the ship's hull. The metal was cool against my palm.
"I remember you. Remember fighting beside you. Remember..." The memory surfaced sharp and clear as crystal—not vague or fractured, but whole. "I remember you teaching me to use a blade when I was seven years old."
The words came between ragged breaths, each one harder than the last as sweat ran down my face and mixed with blood. "You took me to the training grounds before dawn so Father wouldn't know. You said I was too young, but you taught me anyway because I wouldn't stop asking."
I could see it so clearly—the morning light catching on the practice blade, the patience in Charick's eyes, the pride when I finally got the grip right.
"You were patient, even when I kept dropping the blade.
Even when I cut myself and cried." My voice grew weaker, the edges fraying as I ran out of time and strength.
"You said every warrior starts somewhere, and there's no shame in being a beginner. "
Charick's hand trembled. The mercy blade dipped and was forgotten as his face revealed the war raging inside him.
I could see it clearly—the shock of hearing me speak warring with the grief he'd carried for a century, the evidence of my recovery battling the terrible duty he'd come here to perform.
Hope flickered in his eyes only to be crushed by the weight of what he'd witnessed on the Bardaga: the rages, the violence, the broken creature that couldn't recognize his own family.
"That was..." His voice cracked. "That was over a century ago. You were just a child. How do you—"
"I remember," I said, taking another step forward, though this time I couldn't catch myself.
I swayed, my vision tunneling, and only Niki's hand on my back kept me from going down.
"I remember Mother singing to me when I had nightmares.
I remember Kavak teaching me to track in the forest. I remember Father's laugh—the way it would boom through the halls and make everyone smile. "
My voice caught as emotion and pain threatened to overwhelm me. "I remember home, Charick. I remember who I was. Who I am."
I gestured at myself—at the blood, the wounds, the differences that remained, at my size and my claws and everything that made me different from the child he'd known. "I know what you see. I know what you thought. But I'm here. I'm still here."
Charick's expression twisted with anguish and wonder and terrible, crushing doubt all at once.
"But on the Bardaga—you couldn't speak. You attacked everyone who came near.
You didn't recognize Mother. You didn't recognize me.
" His voice rose, desperate, as if he was trying to convince himself as much as me.
"George said your mind was fractured beyond repair. That the brother we knew was gone."
"I was gone," I admitted. The honesty cost me, and my legs shook so badly I could barely stand. "But Niki brought me back."
"Because of her," Charick said. His gaze shifted to Niki, and I saw understanding dawn in his eyes—though beneath it lay resistance, fear, and the terrible weight of a decision he'd already made. A mercy he'd already committed to giving.
"Yes," I said, moving back to stand beside her.
My hand found hers, our fingers interlacing with the kind of perfect fit that spoke of something deeper than choice.
The movement nearly sent me to my knees, and only her grip—small but fierce—kept me upright.
"Because of Niki. My mate. My heart. My reason for fighting through the darkness. "
I pulled her closer, feeling the connection between us pulse and strengthen—that bond that had anchored me when everything else fell away.
"She saved me, Charick. Not just from Merisalle.
Not just from the Ulkommenians. From myself.
" My breathing came in gasps now, each word harder than the last. "From the walls I'd built to survive.
From the darkness that wanted to swallow me whole. "
I looked down at her, seeing the tears on her face, the fierce love in her eyes, the absolute faith that had never wavered. "She refused to give up on me when everyone else had. She saw me when I couldn't see myself. She believed in me when I'd forgotten how to believe."
The mercy blade lowered completely, its tip embedding in the ground. "Brother," Charick said, his voice breaking. "You're really back. You're really here."
He said the words, but I could see he didn't fully believe them.
Couldn't let himself believe them. Because if he believed—if he accepted that I was healing, that I could be saved—then he had to face what he'd almost done.
He had to face that he'd come here to kill me.
That the mercy he'd thought he was granting would have been murder.
"Not all the way," I admitted, because I wouldn't lie to him. My vision was graying again. "There are still gaps. Things I can't remember. Moments when the walls try to come back up."
My legs gave out.
I went down hard, my knees hitting the ground with a crack that sent fresh agony shooting through my body.
Niki cried out, her arms coming around me, trying to hold me up.
But I was too heavy.
"But I'm getting better."
I forced the words out, looking up at Charick through the haze of pain.
"Every day, I remember more. Every day, I become more myself."
Charick stared down at me.
I watched the war play out across his face in real time.
Relief that I was speaking. That I remembered. That some part of the brother he'd known had survived.
Grief for what I'd endured. For the century of torture that had broken me.
And beneath it all—a terrible, crushing guilt.
"I was going to kill you."
He whispered it, the words barely audible.
"I came here to end your suffering. To grant you peace. To—"
His voice broke completely.
"To give you the mercy I thought you needed."
"I know."
I reached out with a trembling hand.
After a moment, he took it.
"You thought you were doing the right thing. The merciful thing."
"But I was wrong."
Tears spilled down his cheeks, cutting tracks through his pelt.
"If I'd done it—if she hadn't stopped me—I would have killed you. Killed my brother."
"You didn't know." My voice was fading, fighting through the pain that choked me. "No one knew. Except her."
Charick's gaze shifted to Niki.
Something in his expression changed—hardened into respect. Into gratitude.
"Thank you." His voice was rough with emotion. "Thank you for seeing what we couldn't. For refusing to give up. For saving him when we'd already let him go."
Charick's face crumpled. The warrior's mask he'd been wearing—the determination, the resolve, the terrible duty—shattered completely.