Chapter 17
JAELA
The oil-fueled generator makes a sound like a dying god choking on its own tongue—loud, uneven, and impossible to ignore.
It rattles through the floor of the war tent, vibrating up my spine like some demon lullaby.
I stare at the ceiling, eyes dry and stinging, Kyldak’s warcoat half-twisted around my legs.
His scent clings to it—smoke and iron and stormlight.
He’s beside me. Still. Breathing deep and heavy, chest rising and falling in sync with the low thrum of the camp outside. But even in sleep, the man doesn’t look peaceful. His fingers twitch, jaw tight, eyes flickering beneath closed lids like he’s trapped mid-battle.
I know that kind of restlessness. The kind you never get rid of. Not with time. Not with love. Not even with blood.
I slip out of bed without a sound.
The floor is cold as hell. Sharp-edged metal patched with scorched rubber and frayed tarp. Every step is a question. Every shadow holds a blade.
But nobody stops me.
Out here, in the hours before dawn, the warcamp is almost... tranquil. Almost. Smoke coils lazy from engine pits. A few grunts snore into half-empty jugs of liquor that could probably strip rust from an assault cruiser. There’s laughter in the distance—soft, tipsy, human.
I wander.
Past the comms scaffold, still jury-rigged with my hacked relay. Past the blood pit, scrubbed raw from yesterday’s executions. Past Kyldak’s beast of a cruiser, its engine still warm, purring like a half-fed lion.
Everywhere I go, I hear his name.
Red Eye.
Not whispered. Not feared.
Revered.
Like a title. Like a promise.
I pass two guards posted near the supply cache. One’s missing three fingers. The other’s got a crude Kyldak symbol carved into his chest, fresh and still oozing. “He gave me food when the Alliance left me to rot,” he says to the other. “Red Eye don’t forget who you were before you broke.”
And I just... stop.
Right there in the middle of the damn path. Heart pounding.
Because this—this isn’t the Kyldak I remembered. Not entirely. The warlord, sure. The rage, the iron spine. But this?
This faith.
It scares the hell out of me.
By the time I return to the tent, the horizon’s bleeding pink and purple, thin as a scar. The wind’s picked up. Grit stings my cheeks.
I push through the flap.
He’s awake.
Of course he is.
He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, shirtless, red eye glowing like an ember. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. Just watches me.
I close the flap behind me. "Thought you were out cold."
"I was listening."
"To what?"
"You. Breathing."
The words drop like molten lead between us.
I walk past him, pretending it doesn’t land. “Your camp’s a scrapyard held together with duct tape and threat levels.”
He snorts. “That’s generous.”
I pause. Lean against the wall. “They love you.”
His brow lifts. “They fear me.”
“No,” I say, voice low. “They believe in you. That’s worse.”
I sigh and lean into his touch.
But I don’t speak.
His breath fans over my lips, hot and laced with something primal. I feel it—not just on my skin, but deeper. Like a current humming through the air, tightening every nerve in my body.
“You’re trembling,” he murmurs, his voice more rumble than word. “Are you scared of me, little fire?”
“No.” My voice cracks like glass.
“Then what is it?” His thumbs press firmer into my jaw. “Say it. Give me something real, Jaela.”
“I don’t know if I can survive this,” I whisper.
Kyldak leans in, forehead resting against mine. “I don’t want you to survive me. I want you to burn with me.”
His mouth claims mine—not gentle, not patient. He kisses like a starving man. Like someone who’s waited too long and lost too much. I answer with my whole body, clinging to his massive frame as if it’s the only thing tethering me to gravity.
His golden-scaled arms wrap around me, pulling me off the ground like I weigh nothing. One arm, one leg gone—yet his strength is terrifying, godlike. I moan into his mouth, helpless, aching.
He carries me backward, until my spine hits the bulkhead. Cool metal. His heat. The contrast makes my thighs clench.
“Say it,” he growls against my neck, licking the pulse hammering under my skin. “Tell me you want this.”
“I want it,” I breathe. “I want you.”
He makes a sound—deep, guttural. Almost like pain. “You have me. All of me.”
His hand slides down between us, rough palm pressing against my breast. My nipple hardens instantly, the fabric of my top doing nothing to hide the way I arch into his touch. His claws are retracted, but his grip is possessive, demanding.
“You smell like desire," he murmurs, dragging his tongue along my collarbone. “Like need. You want to be fucked, little human?”
I gasp, fingers tightening in his shoulder scales. “Yes. Gods, yes.”
His hands are everywhere—on my hips, up my back, under my shirt. He tears the fabric over my head in one swift motion, baring my chest to the warm air. His red eye darkens, flickering with some internal light.
“You’re beautiful,” he says, voice low and reverent. “So soft. So fragile. I should be careful with you.”
He isn’t.
Kyldak lifts me, pinning me to the wall. His cock presses against my core through his pants—thick, hard, alien. I grind against him, desperate for friction, for anything that might ease the throbbing between my thighs.
“Touch me,” I beg.
He obliges.
One hand cups my ass, the other slides beneath the waistband of my leggings. I feel the shock in his breath as his fingers meet the wet heat of my pussy.
“Fuck,” he groans, red eye flaring. “You’re soaked.”
“For you,” I pant, biting my lip. “Only for you.”
He growls, the sound vibrating through my chest. “Then take it.”
Two thick fingers sink inside me, curling instantly. My back arches, stars exploding behind my eyes. His fingers feel... wrong and perfect. Slightly longer than human, textured. They hit every nerve, every sweet spot.
“Gods—Kyldak!”
“I want you to scream my name when I fuck you,” he growls, pumping slowly. “I want the whole damned moon to hear you.”
My body bucks against his hand, grinding down on his fingers. He works me open, stretching me, preparing me. My thighs tremble, hips rocking of their own accord.
“Fuck me now,” I beg, voice hoarse. “Please, I can’t—”
He withdraws his fingers, smearing my slick on my inner thigh as he pulls back.
“Not yet,” he snarls, and drops to his knees.
I gasp as he spreads my legs wide, mouth finding my pussy with zero hesitation. His tongue is wide, rougher than a man’s, but gods—he knows how to use it. He licks up my slit, then buries his face in me, tongue fucking me so deep I can’t breathe.
My hands slam against the wall, nails scraping down metal.
“Oh fuck—Kyldak—yes, yes—”
He growls into me, sending aftershocks through my core. His claws dig lightly into my thighs, holding me open as he devours me like he’s starving.
“Look at me,” he demands, voice vibrating against my clit.
I force my eyes open. He’s watching me. Watching everything—how I tremble, how I come apart.
He doesn’t stop until I’m shuddering, hips jerking, climax tearing through me like lightning.
Only then does he rise, mouth slick with my need.
“Now,” he says simply. “You’re ready.”
He undoes his pants and his cock springs free—and gods, it’s alien. Thicker than anything I’ve ever taken, ridged near the base, flushed with golden veins pulsing with heat. The head is broad, blunt, and dripping.
My breath catches. My legs shake.
“Can you take me?” he asks, voice gentle now. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I want to feel it,” I say. “All of you. Inside me.”
He growls again, low and possessive. “Then hold on, fire.”
He lines up, one hand braced against the wall behind my head. The other holds his cock steady as he presses the head against my entrance.
The stretch is immediate. Pain and pleasure. His size forces my body open, inch by inch.
“Fuck,” I sob, throwing my head back. “It’s too big—”
“You’re taking it,” he hisses. “Gods, you’re perfect. So tight.”
I feel every ridge, every vein. My body molds around him, desperate to pull him deeper. He thrusts slowly, carefully, until he’s buried to the hilt.
We both stop.
I’m full. So full I can’t think.
“You feel like fire,” he groans, head dropping to my shoulder. “Like home.”
Tears prick my eyes. I wrap my arms around his neck, legs around his waist. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”
He starts to move.
Slow at first. Grinding. Rolling his hips so his ridges drag along my walls. Then faster. Rougher. Until I’m moaning with every thrust, crying his name like a prayer.
“Mine,” he growls, pounding into me. “Say it.”
“Yes—yours—”
He fucks me like he’s carving it into the stars. My nails draw blood from his back. His teeth graze my throat. We’re tangled in heat and sweat and gasping breaths.
“I should’ve died,” he rasps. “But I lived for this. For you.”
I break again. Shatter around him, sobbing, pulsing. He follows with a roar, thrusting deep, flooding me with heat.
We stay there. Tangled. Breathing each other in.
And I know—this isn’t just sex.
It’s war.
It’s surrender.
And I’ve already lost.
I wake with that bitter guilt already burning in my chest, like it never left.
It’s there the moment I open my eyes, sharper than Jurtik’s wind cutting steel.
I hear Kyldak before I see him—low laughter echoing through the courtyard as a few of his lieutenants spar over scavenged weapon cores.
He laughs like a man who still believes he’s alive.
I close my eyes and hold the memory of Kel’s face in my mind. The little fevered body, the tremor in his lungs, the whisper of “Mama” like a prayer. It’s why I came. Why I risked dying—and doing things I swore I’d never do again. The longer I stay silent, the heavier the lie weighs.
I swing my legs out of the cot, feet hitting the metal planks. The air is thick with dust and engine grease. I taste iron in the back of my throat. I rise, cloak drifting behind me, and move like a ghost through the tents.