22. The Circuit
THE CIRCUIT
ELENA – RYTHAR’S FORTRESS IN THE GREEN REACH
Rythar and I spend many days and nights together as I adjust to Xytheos.
One morning, I wake in the mating chamber, my body sprawled comfortably across a padded surface. I haven’t been in here since the day I ran.
Beside me, Rythar lies flat on his back, head turned to me, his eyes open as though he's been watching me for some time. The light in the room is dim, but it casts a gentle glow on his copper skin, catching the heavy muscle of his chest and arms. His expression is unreadable.
My voice is hoarse with sleep as I turn to him. "How did I get here?"
"After we ate," he replies, "you fell deeply asleep. I brought you here to show you more ways I can bring you pleasure."
His words send a shiver down my spine. I’ve gotten used to being with him almost all the time, but there’s a gleam in his eye right now that tells me this is something more. His hand rests on the bedding near mine. If I were to flex my fingers just slightly, they would touch, and then...what?
I could place my hand in his. I could let him lead me through the mating chamber.
As if sensing my thoughts, Rythar shifts himself closer to me, bridging the distance between our bodies. His eyes are intense as they search mine, looking for…what? Reassurance? Consent?
I want to give it to him. I swallow hard and then slowly reach out to take his hand.
The touch of his skin against mine sends heat through my fingers and into my chest. Rythar's lips curve into a smile as he watches my face.
"Yes," I whisper, unable to tear my gaze away from his. I drink in his face, his broad chest, and powerful arms.
Rythar brushes his lips against my hand—a featherlight caress that sends shudders through me. "Let me show you," he murmurs against my fingers.
Weeks ago, I first let him spread me open and lick me until I saw stars, until my whole body forgot what it was to be alone. He offers me more of that now, as he has every night. But this time, it’s not what I want.
I roll to my side, propped on one elbow, and try to look him in the eye. His stare is heavy, unsmiling, and full of desire. His hair is loose around his face, the black strands tangled from sleep.
He kisses the bride mark on my finger, and the light ring brightens for him.
For the first time, I don’t fight the feeling.
I lean into it. He gave me the antivenom question and let me lie about the answer.
He carried me out of the jungle and waited.
He is still waiting. The mate bond is not just mine to accept.
If I let it close, he can't undo it. The bride can walk away. The warlord cannot. I am not going to take this and run. Whatever this becomes, I’m choosing to keep it.
Rythar’s breath hitches, barely audible, like he’s sensing the decision I’m making. His fingers thread through mine. He shifts on the bedding, chest turning toward me, the muscles along his side rippling.
He’s hard. Not subtle about it. His cock is a dark shadow beneath the thin sheet draped over his hips, already leaking at the tip. Wasting semen was a crime on New Terra. Rythar can do whatever he wants with his, and he’s chosen to wait for me to want him first.
I want him. I want to fuck him. But it's not just that.
Rythar wants to know why I saved his life when I could have let him die.
I know why. I knew the moment I knelt in the mud with the antivenom in my hands.
He was dying, and the thought of a world without him in it made me move faster than I've ever moved in my life. Saving him wasn’t duty or survival.
It was the opposite. I went against all my training.
For him. I still can't say it out loud. So I reach for him instead.
He rolls toward me, bringing our hands together at the center of the bed. His voice is rough with restraint. “Look at me.”
My eyes meet his, matching the burn in them.
“Say it,” he says roughly.
I part my lips and run my thumbs over his knuckles. “I’m ready.”
Rythar draws a deep breath at my admission. He pulls me flush to his chest and lets me climb onto him. His mouth finds my neck, gently marking me with his lips and teeth.
He settles me on top of him, hands braced on my hips, the tip of his cock nudging against my slick opening. I’m so wet it’s obscene, but he doesn’t push in. He waits, breathing hard.
"You know what I am," he says. "You know what this makes you."
“Your wife,” I say. I reach down and wrap my hand around him.
The skin is hot, underneath is steel—changeable steel.
His cock twitches, then ripples at my touch, forming extra ridges on the top as the head plumps further, the pre-cum moistening the tip.
He groans, a low, hungry sound, and arches up into my palm.
“That’s… that’s supposed to happen, right?” I breathe.
“Only for my wife,” he grunts.
I line him up and slide down, letting the plump head breach, then the shaft. He’s thick, and the ridges make him thicker, but my body stretches over each one with a hot jolt of pleasure. I sink all the way, thighs splayed wide, my knees bracketing his ribs.
Rythar’s hands are fists at my hips, his whole body shaking with the effort not to thrust up and take control.
I start to move. Slow at first, rocking back and forth, the friction stoking a fire in my belly that burns away every thought except more. He watches me, eyes black with need, lips parted.
The scent of the Reach’s minerals, spices, and sex mix in the air until it’s all I can taste.
I’m close, so close it hurts.
He feels it, too. “Don’t stop,” he rasps.
Never.
I ride him, grinding down, every nerve ending lit up. The heat spreads out, flooding my pelvis, my torso, my chest, my neck, my head. My body clenches hard around him.
I come, heat detonating outward, goosebumps prickling my skin, muscles locking down as I ride the wave. Rythar groans and lets go, thrusting up into me once, twice, then spilling inside me with a shudder that shakes the bed.
For a long moment, there’s nothing but the pulse, our breaths, and the slow return to reality.
I collapse onto his chest, breathing hard. His arms wrap around me, holding me in place.
We lie there, tangled together, for minutes or hours. The light never changes. I lose track of time as the mental bond that connects us slides back into place like it was always meant to be there.
The world narrows to the bond, the heat between us and the slow beat of our hearts.
I must have slept.
A spike of cold hits my spine.
A second presence slams into my head, shattering the peace.
Sophia.
It feels like she’s in the room with me, but she’s not.
Terror.
Sophia’s mind is compressed to a single, shivering point of terror. She’s controlling it, locking it down.
The bond yanks me upright, gasping.
Rythar sits up, alert, instantly aware that something is wrong. His body shields mine, even as his eyes scan the empty room for threats.
“What is it?” he asks, voice deadly.
I clutch my head, trying to block out the psychic intrusion, but it’s everywhere. Sophia’s fear, her pain, her refusal to submit. The connection is total, as if she’s in my blood.
“Sophia,” I choke out. “The connection to her. She’s not okay.”
Rythar's face hardens. He gathers me against his chest with one arm, his free hand pressing flat between my shoulder blades.
He reads the speed of my breathing through his palm.
I know because his own breathing shifts to match it, slowing mine down by force of example.
"Easy," he murmurs, the way he talks to things in his jungle.
"Easy. Stay with me. Stay here." His thumb moves in slow circles on my spine, patient and repetitive, until the shaking in my ribs downshifts from violent to something I can almost control.
The Stone must have reactivated the circuit with my friends when I fully accepted the bond.
“I can feel her,” I say, voice shaking. “She’s screaming, but no one hears her.”
Rythar’s jaw locks, the muscle standing out along his neck. He pulls me into his lap, holding me tight, as if that could shield me from psychic assault.
The next wave is worse. Sophia’s mind—her voice—slices through me in a psychic scream.
HELP ME.
I can’t take this. I squeeze my eyes shut and beg the Stone to make it stop.
Then, in a flash, it’s gone. Cut off, like a switch flipped.
The room is silent.
But my bride mark goes cold, too, the light snuffed out.
I collapse against Rythar. He catches me, one arm around my back, the other hand cradling my head, his mouth against my hair. He's saying something. I can't hear it over the ringing in my ears.
"I asked it to stop," I whisper into his chest. "Sophia's fear. I couldn't take it. And the Stone took everything." I press my hand flat against him so he can see the dark mark on my finger. "You, too." He wanted me forever, and now the connection is dark.
Rythar’s arms tighten. “I was built to shield you.” His voice drops. “But something reached you, anyway.”
When the shaking eases enough for me to move, he lifts me without comment and carries me to the healing pool. He washes me, never breaking contact, never looking away.
When it’s time to dress, he stays close, steadying my hands, fastening what I can’t manage. He moves with quiet purpose, already thinking past the moment.
“Can the Stone take me away from you?” I whisper.
He sits me on the bed again, his thumbs resting gently on my collarbones as he squats in front of me. “Elena. Look at me. The Stone cannot force a choice,” he says. “And it cannot erase one. But the Stone can make us pay for it. The Concord Council can make us pay for it.”
“But the bride mark. It’s dim again,” I say weakly.
“The bride marks are unprecedented. We do not understand them. Perhaps it means nothing.” We lie down together. With each minute that passes, I feel myself relax more.
Things are going to be ok, I tell myself.
Then the alarms hit.