Chapter 73 Noelle
NOELLE
It had taken nearly a week in the Med Center for Noelle to finally feel like herself again.
During that time, she’d learned two important facts—one, Commander Sylvan—the ice-eyed Blood Kindred with the lab coat and bedside manner of a saint—wasn’t just a doctor.
He was also the head of the Kindred High Council.
And two—being a VIP patient of said High Council leader had both perks and drawbacks.
The perk: she got a private room in the elite-level wing of the Med Center, with pale lavender lighting and plush amenities that looked more like a boutique hotel suite than a hospital.
The drawback: Sylvan was extremely thorough.
“I don’t care what they told you on the Skow ship,” he said gently, but firmly. “Nectaritis is a real medical condition—and the levels of hormonal imbalance we’re seeing in your system are concerning. We’re going to treat this properly.”
And he had. With injections, nutrient infusions, hormonal stabilizers, and soothing sonic therapies that targeted her entire endocrine system.
Noelle had undergone tests she didn’t even have names for, and at one point, a nurse had wheeled in something that looked suspiciously like a chrome-plated tanning bed and asked her to lie down inside it.
But it had worked.
Slowly—blessedly—her body had started to feel like her own again.
The relentless pressure in her breasts had eased, and the nectar had finally stopped flowing. The throbbing ache between her legs, which had made it nearly impossible to think clearly, had subsided. She no longer woke up drenched in sweat and desire, panting for hands that weren’t there.
It was such a relief.
And yet…all the treatments in the world couldn’t reverse everything that Lupin had done to her.
Case in point—she still looked twenty-five.
When she caught a glimpse of herself in the 3-D viewer in the bathroom one morning, she had to do a double take.
Her skin was smooth and glowing. Her hair—now brushed and clean again—was thick and glossy, with not a single silver strand in sight.
Even the soft lines at the corners of her eyes had faded to nothing.
When her friend Sylvia came to visit, she’d gasped out loud.
“Dios mío, Noelle! You look incredible,” she’d whispered, clutching her hand. “Like you’ve had the most expensive spa treatment of your life…or a secret affair with a hot alien who knows exactly where to kiss.”
Noelle had laughed, a little too loudly, but she had not explained.
What could she say?
“I got kidnapped by space pirates who forced me to undergo horrific rejuvenation treatments and then I was bought by a Trollox and drugged into orgasmic slavery along with a pair of Kindred warriors who gave me the best sex of my life but now won’t even talk to each other?”
Yeah, no thanks.
She loved Sylvia, but the pain was still too fresh to talk about.
She needed to keep it to herself—to process it.
The only people she really wanted to talk to about it were Burn and Bright—they had all gone through it together.
But since the Light Twin and The Dark Twin weren’t speaking, that made things difficult.
Sylvia had hugged her, left her with a bag of Earth snacks, and promised to check in again soon.
And now it was Christmas Eve.
Noelle sat on the edge of her hospital bed, dressed in one of the soft Kindred travel tunics she’d been given—deep red with silver piping around the cuffs and a V-shaped neckline.
Her soft boots were zipped up and her hair was twisted into a loose chignon at the base of her neck.
In the pocket of her tunic, a small silver vial pressed against her hip with quiet insistence.
It was Bonding Fruit juice.
She’d gotten it from one of the nurses, a pretty blonde girl who had admitted that she was mated to Twin Kindred warriors.
“It’s not illegal to have the concentrated form of the juice,” the nurse had assured her. “Just rare. And sometimes, a little push is all they need to come together.”
Noelle didn’t know if she’d use it to convince the guys to come back together. She hoped she wouldn’t have to. But it was there, just in case.
She was finally being released from the Med Center.
And not a moment too soon—she missed her Abuela fiercely, and she’d promised to be there for Christmas dinner.
Commander Sylvan had cleared her for travel and even offered to send an escort with her, but she’d declined.
She just wanted to go back to her suite, pack up, and leave quietly.
There was still a dull ache in her chest…a space shaped exactly like two Kindred warriors.
She hadn’t seen Burn once since arriving on the Mother Ship. And while Bright had visited once more, his entire energy was dimmed, like a star flickering at the edge of collapse.
“He won’t take my calls,” Bright had said, his voice hollow. “Not even the Think-me. I tried bespeaking him mentally… nothing. Just a blank wall.”
Noelle had clenched her jaw.
Fine. If Burn was too stubborn to answer Bright, maybe he’d answer her.
And so, she had a plan.
Step One—go back to her suite and pack her things for Earth.
Step Two—call both Bright and Burn and ask—no, insist—that they meet her.
Step Three—get them in a room together and make them talk. Just talk.
Step Four…? Well, she had the Bonding Fruit. Just in case.
Even if they never managed to form a Twin-Bond—even if the prophecy was dead and gone—she was still willing to try. Willing to love them both. Because what the three of them had shared had meant something.
And she wasn’t letting it go without a fight.
The suite was exactly as she’d left it—clean, quiet, and far too large for one person.
Her suitcase was where she’d left it too, and she pulled it onto the bed and started packing. A few sweaters, her favorite necklace, a pair of boots. She added a small wrapped package for her Abuela—Kindred face cream and tea that glowed faintly pink—and zipped it closed.
But just as she turned to go activate the viewscreen and place the call—Flash-Flash-Flash. The screen pulsed green.
Her heart leapt—was it Bright? Or had Burn finally come to his senses and called her himself?
She crossed the room quickly, her fingers hovering over the Accept icon. A small smile curved her lips.
“Please let it be one of them,” she murmured, and tapped the screen.
But the face that appeared was not Kindred—it was human.
A man in cammo gear with a gaiter mask pulled up over his mouth and nose stared back at her. A dark baseball cap shadowed his eyes, and mirrored sunglasses reflected the soft lights of her suite back at her. Only his voice was clear.
“Hey, babe,” the man said. “Guess who.”
His voice was a slow, oily drawl that sent ice water down her spine.
Noelle’s smile vanished and her blood turned to ice.
That voice…it was so horribly familiar.
“No…” she whispered. Her hands trembled.
The man tilted his head slightly and tapped his temple—just once—with a gloved finger.
“You didn’t think you could hide forever, did you?” he asked conversationally. “Took me a while, but I found you.”
Noelle couldn’t breathe.
It was him—her ex. The man who’d sworn he’d hunt her down. The one who wore a badge and thought it gave him the right to do anything.
The screen crackled.
“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” Branson said.