11 The Language of Control

Korath

The ship blurred with motion as I walked its length, my soldiers snapping to attention as I passed. The air outside my quarters felt colder, as if I’d left something warm behind…

I shook the thought away and entered the briefing chamber.

The Councilor was already there, speaking with Malrik. His ceremonial robes shimmered faintly, catching the ship’s light like oil over water. He smiled when he saw me—sharp and indulgent, the way one smiles at a weapon they believe they own.

“Commander Korath,” he greeted smoothly. “Your camp runs most smoothly. Orderly. Productive. I continue to be impressed.”

I inclined my head. “We aim for efficiency, Councilor.”

“Efficiency…” he repeated, savoring the word before letting it twist into a grin. “Yes, despite you devoting special attention to one of your specimens.”

My soldiers shifted, uncertain whether to snort or stay silent. The Councilor thrived on that discomfort.

“I was hoping to see your pet again,” he continued, his voice lilting with mock curiosity. “Fragile little things, these humans, but perhaps that’s the appeal—as I’ve learned. The way she clung to you last night… it was quite a display.”

The room went still.

Malrik’s expression flickered—half grimace, half warning—but I stood unmoving. My jaw locked, my hands folded behind my back. “She’s indisposed,” I said evenly. “The medic ordered rest.”

The Councilor chuckled, low and knowing. “I imagine she needs plenty of it, being kept so close to you. Tell me, how much slack in the chain is she allowed when you’re alone?”

A few of the junior officers working on their consoles dared a smirk before Malrik’s glare silenced them.

I forced my breathing to remain steady. “You forget yourself, Councilor.”

“Do I?” His smile widened, unrepentant. “I assumed all this was well-known to your inferiors. Understanding the creatures we rule is, after all, a noble pursuit.” The laughter that followed was light, civilized, yet barbed.

“Still,” he went on, circling me like a vulture, “I would advise you to keep your leash short—one pet owner to another. A pet can be entertaining until…” He paused, just long enough to make sure every eye in the room was on us. “Until others begin to wonder which of you truly holds the leash.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Finally, I inclined my head. “Your advice is noted, Councilor.”

He patted my shoulder as though speaking to a favored child. “I’m sure it won’t be a problem, Commander.” When the doors sealed with a hiss behind him, I let out a slow breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

Malrik looked at me, keeping his voice low, “You handled that well. Though I admit, I was half-expecting you to break his jaw.”

I ignored the comment and turned to the viewport. From here, the human camp was visible—ants at work under a pale sky. But my gaze drifted past it, toward the section of the ship where my quarters were. Somehow, knowing she was there, safe, steadied me in a way no victory ever had. That, I realized with grim clarity, was the most dangerous thing of all.

“Will your pet be showing off in the Sholta pens today? Serral was particularly pleased with how dinner went. Perhaps you’ve trained her better than I previously thought.”

I exhaled harshly through my nostrils. “No, and I have not… trained her. She is how she is.”

“Then I commend your choice.”

No one could comprehend what Maren and I had—including ourselves; however, it was not what they all believed. Trying to put it into words was keeping me up at night, and I wasn’t about to talk to Malrik about it—yet.

“Let us stay focused, Captain, on the Councilor and Princess’s visit. That should be our top priority. I’ll be occupied on the Training Grounds with more of Serral’s… demonstrations. I trust I can leave you to stop gossiping and get back to work.”

“Yes, sir.”

---

The door sealed behind me, muting the hum of the ship. For the first time all day, there was silence.

My armor felt heavier than it ever had, weighted not by the plating but by the day. The Councilor’s chiding still ricocheted in my skull, cutting sharper than any blade. I had spent hours on the Training Grounds, shooting, striking, and proving myself fit for command until my hands bled through the wraps. The soldiers had watched in silence, pretending not to see their Commander’s fury beneath the discipline.

Now, I stood in the threshold of my quarters, the scent of steel and blood still clinging to me.

Maren was awake, sitting in the middle of her bed, her brown hair loose and damp from washing. The light caught faintly on her rosy skin, one shoulder poking through the collar of my shirt. She looked up when I entered—cautious, as always—but something in her expression shifted when her eyes traced the streaks of deep green across my arm.

“You’re hurt,” she said quietly.

“It’s nothing.” I stripped off my gauntlet and dropped it onto the table. “Training.”

Her brows drew together. “Training or punishment?”

The words stilled me. She had learned too much—read too much in a single glance. “Both,” I resigned finally. “For the Councilor and the Princess’s inspection of the soldiers.”

I moved past her, unfastening the chestplate. The muscles in my back burned with every movement. When the last clasp fell, I exhaled and let the armor slide to the floor haphazardly. My undershirt was soaked, the scent of sweat and blood thick in the recycled air. Even if I were Supreme Commander, it didn’t mean I was coddled in training.

I pulled the soiled fabric over my head and discarded it into the bin. Giving a sore and tired stretch to my muscles, I caught Maren staring at me.

“You need a bath and to clean those,” she murmured, gesturing to my wounds. Her eyes softened when she saw the bruising across my ribs, the torn skin along my forearm.

“I’ll manage,” I said.

“Let me.” Her voice was quiet but steady.

I should have refused, but the memory of the Councilor’s words still lingered, his smirk, his suggestion that I was growing weak. And yet, the weakness he mocked felt… almost welcome.

I nodded once.

Without another word, she moved toward the bath, filling it from the overhead spout, steam curling through the air. Maren faced away, allowing me to disrobe and get into the now cloudy waist-high water. When she turned back to me, she gestured toward the bath’s bench within it. “Sit.”

I obeyed, physically and mentally drained. Direction was a balm I didn’t know I needed after a day consumed by trying to maintain control over everything, from my words to the entire operation. Maren knelt beside me with a cloth; her hands trembled slightly as she began to clean the blood and grime from my arm. She worked with a gentleness I hadn’t felt in years—since before the war, before the council chambers, before this planet.

“You shouldn’t have to do this,” I muttered.

She glanced up at me. “Neither should you.”

The words landed heavier than she probably intended. Neither should you. I looked at her then—really looked—and for a moment, she wasn’t my captive. She was something else. Something defiant, exhausted, and heartbreakingly alive.

Her hand lingered when she finished with my arm, her thumb brushing a streak of blue-gray skin where the blood had thinned. “You fight too hard,” she whispered.

“So do you.” That got a small snort of a laugh. “It is what I am made for.”

“No,” she said softly. “It’s what they made you for.”

The silence that followed stretched thick, strange, and charged. I didn’t know how to answer her, so I didn’t. She rinsed the cloth and reached for my forearm, cleaning a deeper gash there. The sting was sharp, grounding.

When she leaned closer to wipe the back of my neck, I felt her breath against my skin. The scent of her—floral and something faintly human—cut through the humid air. I closed my eyes briefly, forcing the thoughts away. “There,” she said, almost to herself. “You look less like a commander and more like a person.”

I turned toward her, voice low. “And which do you prefer?”

Her lips parted, but no answer came. She hesitated, then smiled, small but real. “Ask me again when you’ve stopped bleeding and smell less… swampy.”

I let out something between a laugh and a sigh, shaking my head. The tension that had coiled in me since morning loosened, just slightly.

As she rose to dry her hands, I caught myself watching her—how carefully she moved, how her presence softened the edges of the room. I had spent the entire day proving my strength to everyone who mattered. Now, here, with her hands still stained by my blood, I’d never felt more disarmed.

12 The Language of Inevitability

Korath

The days that followed carried a strange rhythm. The Councilor and the Princess extended their stay longer than I’d hoped, their “inspection” turning into a parade of indulgence, especially as they gorged themselves on the fresh Sholta meat meant for home. I’d grown used to their presence during campaigns—predators in silk and jewels—but never had their interest felt so dangerous. Not until now.

Everywhere I went, I felt Jorek’s eyes on me. No—on her.

So, I kept Maren close.

She stayed in my quarters most hours of the day, out of their sight. I told myself it was for her safety, and perhaps it was, but the truth was uglier. I didn’t like the quiet ache I felt when I left her there, or the odd peace that settled when I returned to find her sitting by the viewport, tracing the patterns of the stars on the glass with her fingertip. I looked forward to her nurturing presence after long days.

Maren had been right… It was attachment.

Jorek grew restless as the days passed. He spoke of the Eastern Hemisphere—how there were “different breeds” of humans there, untouched and unclaimed. His hunger was transparent. The Princess was no better, sighing about her sister bringing civilization to this world, and about how she wished to collect a pair for her attendants Vyrn was gifting her. I kept my face impassive, but every word turned my stomach.

When he finally announced he would continue his tour under Commander Vyrn’s supervision, I could breathe again.

Before leaving, he praised my “efficiency,” my “discipline.” Serral and Malrik preened like fledglings at their fifth commendations. I only nodded, keeping my expression neutral until the transport departed and the sound of its engines faded.

The silence that followed was the kind I hadn’t known I needed—that the whole camp required. I was about to dismiss all non-essential personnel when a report from Thyrek’s recon detail was delivered…

After giving my orders to Malrik to carry out, I found Maren still in my quarters, just as I’d left her—barefoot, quiet, the faint light painting her hair gold at the edges. When she turned, something in my chest shifted.

“They’re gone?” she asked.

“Yes.”

She exhaled slowly, shoulders loosening. “Good.”

For a long time, neither of us spoke. The hum of the ship filled the space between us, and for a moment, I allowed myself to believe in peace. Then I said, “You will stay here. With me. Permanently.”

Her eyes widened slightly—not in fear, not quite. Surprise, maybe, then something gentler. “Are you asking,” she said quietly, “or commanding?”

I hesitated. “Both.”

A faint smile tugged at her lips, and she rolled her eyes. “Then… yes.”

Something in me unclenched. The war outside these walls was coming to an end, but the one inside me had just begun. “There is something else you should know.”

Her smile faltered. “What is it?”

I moved to the control panel and activated the holo-map. Blue light bled into the dim room, shaping the jagged outline of the Rockies. Tiny pulses marked heat signatures—bunkers, generators, weapon caches. The Resistance.

“We’ve found the last stronghold of your people in the western ranges,” I said, my voice steady though my pulse was not. “I’ll be leading the assault myself.”

For a heartbeat, she didn’t breathe. Then her hand flew to her mouth. “That’s my home,” she whispered. “Those—those are my people. They took me in and—” Her gaze snapped to mine, horror dawning. “You can’t—”

“I can,” I said quietly. “And I must.”

“You told me you wanted your people to eat,” she spat, taking a step toward me. “You said you fought so no one would go hungry again—they are fighting for the same chance at living!”

Her words hit deeper than I cared to admit. “They are not defenseless farmers, Maren. They are soldiers. They raid supply lines and never take prisoners. You of all people should know that, for you’ve put your bullets in many of my soldiers. If I do not end them, the Councilor will send someone who won’t hesitate to raze the entire range.”

“Then let him!” Her voice broke, raw and desperate. “Why do you have to be the one?”

“Because it is my duty.” I met her eyes, forcing her to see the truth of it. “Because I can make it quick. Because if I’m relieved of my position, the Councilor will take you before my rank.”

She shook her head, a tear streaking down her cheek. Her lip quivered as she tried to think of something to say back. The situation was out of our control. The silence that followed was a wound neither of us knew how to close.

Finally, I spoke again, quieter now. “I’ll be gone several days. You may stay here or with Serral. No one would dare harm you.”

Her voice trembled, low and venomous. “You already have.”

---

Maren

The silence pressed against me like a weight.

Korath’s quarters were too clean and still—everything in perfect order, as if nothing human had ever touched it. The air carried a faint metallic scent, cold and sterile. I hated it. Hated the quiet hum of the parked ship, the endless gray metal walls, the way time seemed to stop here. He had left three days ago, and the longer he was gone, the more I felt the walls closing in.

Serral came and went like clockwork, always polite, always distant. She brought trays of food and watched me eat until I took at least a few bites. I tried, for her sake, but the thought of eating while Rhett and the others burned turned my stomach.

It wasn’t that I had forgotten what Rhett had done, but the base was humankind’s last stand. It was over. The human race is enslaved. Our history, forgotten to the ages, and scattered throughout space. Everything my family had ever loved—the Colt Ranch, the wide-open sky, the smell of rain on dust—was gone.

“You’re losing weight,” Serral said today, her narrow violet eyes scanning me as she adjusted the collar around my throat. “The Commander won’t be pleased.”

I stiffened at the mention of him. “He’ll get over it.”

Her crest lifted, flashing irritation. “You think yourself brave, but it sounds more like ingratitude.” She set the tray down, then crossed her arms, watching me with an unreadable calm. “You sit here, alive, fed, and protected because he commanded it. Do you understand how rare that is? For someone like you?”

I stared at her, biting back the retort clawing at my throat.

Serral sighed, her tone softening but still edged with conviction. “You don’t understand who he is—or what he means to us. Korath rose from nothing. He was born during a famine, when our kind devoured one another to survive, and he swore no Eksese would ever starve again. Every victory he’s taken—every world he’s tamed—was for that promise.”

I turned toward the viewport, my reflection faint against the glass. “And how many worlds had to die for that promise?”

“Enough,” she said simply. “Enough that the rest may live.”

There was pride in her voice, not cruelty—devotion, the kind that couldn’t be reasoned with. “He is a savior to our people,” she went on. “The Council reveres him, even as they fear him. And yet, he risks that reverence for you. For a human who snarls when spoken to, who refuses to eat or kneel or yield.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “You should be thanking him every day he does not tire of your defiance and throw you back to the cells—or worse, offer you to the Councilor. I’ve seen what becomes of humans who catch Jorek’s eye. He does not leave them whole.”

Her words struck deep, bitter, and true. I wanted to tell her she was wrong, that Korath’s mercy wasn’t worth the ruin he caused—but my voice refused to come.

After she left, I sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the faint scratches on the floor where his boots had scuffed the metal. Proof that he’d been here. Proof that he wasn’t now. I didn’t know what I wanted anymore; for him to come back safe, or for him not to come back at all.

The conqueror of the human race. My savior.

Outside the viewport, the sky burned orange where the sun dipped below the horizon. Somewhere beneath that light, the smoke of my former home would be rising. Tears streaked down my cheeks, mourning our—humans—loss. For all our flaws and fighting, not even a common enemy could unite us.

It would be a lesson humanity would never remember. Our history was over, and for once, it couldn’t be repeated.

13 The Language of War

Korath

From the ridge, I could see the human stronghold below, a crude network of bunkers and cabins woven into the stone. Smoke clawed toward the clouds in thick black ribbons, the air stinking of scorched earth and ion discharge. The sound of plasma fire echoed through the valley, punctuated by the screams of our prey taken unaware.

“Commander,” Malrik’s voice came through the comms, crackling over static. “Eastern flank secured. Resistance is retreating toward the old mines.”

I raised my rifle, scanning the canyon through my scope. Figures scattered in the haze—small, desperate, and fast. Humans have always run differently from other species, not strategically, just wild—survival written in every step.

“Drive them to the lower tunnels,” I ordered. “Surround the exits. No fire inside, they’re hoarding fuel down there.”

“Yes, Commander.”

I lowered the rifle, watching as the mountain wind carried embers across the snowline. The same ridges I’d once studied from orbit—where the last remnants of human defiance had hidden for months.

Maren’s home.

The memory of her voice from days before pressed at the back of my mind. The way her breath hitched when she recognized the map: “That’s my—was my home.”

I’d told her I had to see the war through. That it wasn’t personal, but it was now. Every shot, every scream, every fallen body felt like a betrayal of the strange, fragile trust we’d built in silence and stolen words.

“Commander!” Thyrek’s voice broke through the comms. “We’re taking heavy casualties. The humans are making a final stand, and they’ve prepared. They’re refusing to surrender.”

Of course they were. Humans never surrendered, not when they still had someone to protect. Maren had taught me that.

I moved down the ridge, boots crunching against frozen soil, the air so cold it burned in my lungs. My armor hummed with each measured step, a low pulse matching the rhythm of my heart. Smoke curled up from the shattered outpost below, black and heavy against the pale sky. My squad fell into formation behind me, silent and exacting. We advanced through the battlefield like a blade through cloth—and I was the tip.

Tracer fire cracked from the treeline ahead. My HUD flared red. I raised a hand, signaling my soldiers to fan out. The world narrowed to breath, motion, and instinct.

“Hold position,” I ordered, stepping forward alone. The smoke swallowed me whole. My voice carried through the valley, deep and metallic, echoing off the rocks. “Lay down your arms or die! You have already lost!”

No answer. Just the sound of ragged breathing in the dark.

Then—movement. A muzzle flash. I pivoted as the shot tore past, grabbed the figure lunging from cover, and slammed him hard against a boulder. His weapon fell with a clatter, lost to the dirt and brush.

The human couldn’t have been older than twenty. A boy. His chest heaved against my grip, defiance sparking in eyes that had already accepted death. “You’ll burn for this,” he spat, blood flecking his teeth. “Every one of you.”

I growled, then drove the butt of my rifle into his chest. He dropped, breathless, unconscious—but alive. The boy was right through, Maren would see to it. Damn her and her empathy, and damn me for wanting to understand it.

The battle surged anew. I pushed the thought of her aside and charged back into the storm. Explosions split the sky, earth shaking underfoot as our heavy weapons squad battered the remnants of the ridge with machine gun fire. I moved fast, cutting through the fog like a wraith—my rifle singing, my blade finishing what the gun could not. My soldiers followed without question, synced through the neural feed in their armor. No words. Just precision.

Bullets pinged off my chest plate, the kinetic shock rippling through my ribs. It’d bruise, but I’d be whole. Still, I advanced through the human line, step by step, their returning fire relenting.

My gaze snagged on movement near the burned supply shelter — a lone figure dragging himself through the ash, one arm useless at his side. Another man hauled him up. “Come on, Rhett! We’re not done yet!” he shouted, breath hot with steam and adrenaline.

Rhett.

The name slashed through me. I’d heard it before, in the half-light of my quarters, from a voice that had once cursed him between frightened breaths. The man who’d left Maren for dead. For a moment, I did not know whether to obliterate him where he lay or to thank him for the ruin he’d sown—because it had delivered her into my hands.

I moved toward them, rifle lowered but always ready. Up close, Rhett looked smaller than the rumors—singed auburn hair, a face caked in soot, eyes that burned with something like madness. “You’re him,” he rasped when he saw me. “The butcher.”

I did not dignify him with an answer.

His companion lunged, shotgun barking; the rounds pinged uselessly off my plates. I kicked the weapon free with a practiced sweep and dipped low as he charged, my shoulder taking the impact. He roared; I ended him with a single, clean strike to the gut—a motion trained a thousand times in a hundred worlds. He folded like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

Then Rhett did something desperate. He fired a scatter of pellets at my side. My armor absorbed most of it, but a few found gaps—seams where augmentation met flesh. Pain lanced through me, hot and immediate, a pocket of real sensation in the dull hum of command. The shock made my shoulder flare, and for an instant, I tasted copper.

He fumbled, trying to raise his weapon again. His hands shook so violently the barrel wagged. I caught it mid-swing, ripped it out of his grasp. He was not finished. With the ferocity of a cornered animal, he pulled a second piece: a concealed pistol. It spat a slug through a narrow crack in my plating. Metal screamed; my augmentations flared and stuttered in the spot where an energy sword had almost killed me years ago. The shock lit me up like a struck nerve; pain flared across my chest and shoulder, sharp and bright.

My vision narrowed. For a heartbeat, the battlefield spun, the smoke and flame dissolving into a single, focused point of white-hot clarity. Then I brought the haft of my blade down across his jaw in a motion that needed no thought. Bone cracked. He folded to his knees, blinking, stunned.

“Take him,” I said, my voice flat, hiding the pain. The soldiers beside me moved with the same efficient brutality that had carved our path through the range: hands on wrists, ropes looping, boots hauling. They dragged Rhett and his companion toward the convoy, and I spat some blood at their tracks.

Malrik arrived then, armor streaked with soot, lungs working hard. “A trophy for the Council?”

“No,” I said, eyes still on Rhett. “A prisoner,” I lied, knowing full well he was to become my apology to Maren.

Apology? For doing what I was made for? No. I will not.

I would present him to her and let her have revenge if she wanted it. I’d show her the true monster, and it wasn’t me. Surely, she would be pleased by this; how I captured the source of her nightmares and offered her his life.

I pressed a hand to my side, pulling away green, the air around us stinking of earth and blood. The flames crackled like distant applause. My soldiers moved past me to secure the rest, Malrik directing some with hand signals while listening to the comm, “All sectors reporting… the Resistance has been eliminated. Hundreds surrendering. The Council will be pleased. You’ve done it again, Commander.”

“Yes,” I said quietly. “Again.” But inside, the victory rang hollow.

Malrik’s eyes darted to my side. “You’re injured. I’ll call for the medic.” He raised his hand to push the comm button, but I stopped him.

“I want the base destroyed first. Send for the engineers and see it done.” There was a tiredness in my voice I had never noticed before. It had nothing to do with the pain, which was grounding. It brought back memories of who and what I was.

Maren would not change that.

By dusk, the outpost was nothing but embers, the smoke drifting skyward like a funeral pyre. We had taken what resources we needed, then leveled the mountain. I looked toward the horizon where the settlement had once stood, the air still shimmering with the heat from explosives. When I closed my eyes, I saw her—standing barefoot in my quarters, the light from the viewport bathing her in gold, her voice barely above a whisper. ‘That’s my home.’

Now, it wasn’t anyone’s. The war in the West was over. I walked back to the transport where a medic awaited me, the taste of smoke and iron thick in my mouth. All I could do was let the ash fall where it would.

14 The Language of Loss

Maren

The atmosphere of the ship felt heavier that evening, pressing against the walls like it was waiting for something to break. I’d grown used to Korath’s absences, but today was different. I could feel it in the air before the door even slid open.

He filled the doorway like a storm—armor dusted in ash, the cloying smell of smoke and blood clinging to him. He looked like hell. Korath’s expression was carved from stone, but his eyes… There was something behind them. Something darker.

“Come with me.”

There was no anger in his voice, no room for questions either. I followed, grabbing a band to tie my shirt—well, his—at my waist so it couldn’t make me look smaller than I was compared to the Eksese. I didn’t ask where we were going, only matched his long strides down the corridors, through the dimly lit halls of the lower decks. The air grew colder, the scent of antiseptic giving way to something more earthly.

When the doors to the holding cells opened, the sound hit first—hoarse voices, chains shifting, someone coughing wetly. My breath hitched, and then I saw them.

Rhett and Trent, with the others from the base. The last scraps of my old world, lined up behind energy bars. Mud-caked, beaten, defiant even in ruin.

Rhett looked up first. “Maren.” My name came out like a curse. “Did you tell him?! You told them where we were to get back at me, didn’t you, you bitch?!”

I flinched. Korath didn’t move. He just stood behind me, silent, watching. My mouth went dry, and I shook my head frantically, “No, how could you even think that?!”

Rhett pushed himself to the front of the cell, one hand gripping the barrier until his skin sizzled faintly and let go. His other arm hung limp at his side. “You’re dressed like them, Maren. Is that his shirt? And—what the fuck is that? A collar?! You’re a fucking traitor.”

The word cracked something in me. I took a step back without meaning to, right into the chest of the armored Commander.

“You think they’ll reward you? Ever see you as anything but a slave?” Rhett spat. My throat and eyes burned. The others said nothing, but their eyes told the same story—disgust and betrayal. “You sold us out for nothing.” His rage was cold and seething.

“I didn’t! If anyone’s the traitor, it’s you! Taking the supplies and leaving me behind!” I yelled back, furious he’d think I’d do such a thing despite what he did to me.

Before he could retort, Korath’s voice cut through the tension, low and dangerous. “Enough.”

Rhett sneered but didn’t back down. “Are you going to kill me in front of her? Go ahead. I’d rather die than share the same air as her.” At his words, the others now piped up, cursing at me, saying their piece.

My lungs wouldn’t work, as I stood paralyzed while they slung their words to wound. Any defense I tried to make was drowned out by their slander. They really believed this was all my fault…

For a heartbeat, I thought Korath might kill him. His jaw flexed, and the room seemed to shrink around him. But then he stepped forward—not to strike, but to shield. His body came between us, broad shoulders blocking them from my view.

“Disperse them into the cells with the others,” he said to the guards at the console. The soldiers obeyed instantly, giving the ones who would shut up a taste of the rods.

Korath turned slightly, just enough that I could see the side of his face. “You’ve seen what you needed to.”

I wanted to argue, but the words caught somewhere between rage and shame. I could still hear Rhett raving and ranting as Korath led me back to his quarters. Only when the door sealed behind us did I realize my hands were shaking.

He removed his gauntlets slowly, deliberately, as though trying to set his mind in order. “You lost weight in my absence,” he said, voice like gravel. “Have you been eating?”

My breath hitched, my mind a mile away. “You had me go down there to see that?”

“I thought you’d be pleased at their capture. That one—Rhett—you speak of him in your sleep.” My eyes widen, it being the first time he mentioned it, but the nightmares he spoke of were fresh. Korath looked up steadily, but something had shifted behind his eyes. “You are not one of them anymore.”

The words hit harder than Rhett’s insults. I turned away before he could see the sting on my face. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I know what I saw and heard.” He stepped closer, slow, cautious, like I was a cornered thing. “They left you there on the night you attacked my convoy. I cannot understand it.”

I laughed, a hollow sound. “You wouldn’t understand. Humans turn on each other when we’re afraid.” It was a half-truth, and the other half was even uglier than that.

“I have seen fear,” he said quietly. “It does not excuse cruelty.” My chest tightened. I didn’t know what to say, only that his voice—usually so commanding—was soft in a way I’d never heard before.

Without thinking, I whispered, “Thank you… for stepping in.”

His head tilted slightly, as though the words didn’t make sense. “You should not thank me for protecting what is mine. Had you wished him dead, he would be so.”

He didn’t look back when he walked past and disappeared into the washroom, the soft hiss of the door sealing behind him like a line being drawn. Korath called me his, but it didn’t sound like he meant it simply as a pet…

I stood there for a moment, seething—at Rhett, at myself, at the hollow ache his words had left behind. If I didn’t belong with my own kind, then where did I belong? The other slaves were weary of me—of the Commander’s pet. Rhett and the others would spread word of my supposed treachery. To the Eksese, I was nothing, but to Korath…

I followed him in.

The room was filled with mist from the running bath, the sharp tang of metal and soap hanging in the air. Korath was half out of his clothes, the clean ones stacked neatly to one side and the dirty on the other. His skin was darkened from battle grime, streaked with what looked like dirt and blood. He had multiple wounds, like from a gunshot or shrapnel, along his side. Even the augmented area of his right shoulder to the top of his pec had been repaired recently.

“Why did you do it?” I demanded.

He didn’t glance up. “Do what?”

“Capture him. Bring him here like that. You could’ve just killed them, couldn’t you?”

He was unhurried as he adjusted the bath’s temperature, the movement of his clawed hands precise. “I could have. Dead humans are of little use to me.” He paused, gazing over, gauging me. “And… I thought you’d be pleased that I’ve put them in chains.”

“Pleased?” I stepped closer. “To be called a traitor… among other things.”

“I can have their tongues removed so you don’t have to hear it.”

“What—no!”

“Then if you do not seek revenge on your enemies, I will do what I want with them.”

“And what would that be?”

“I do not owe you an explanation.”

My hands clenched. “You always think you don’t owe anyone anything, don’t you? Not answers, not feelings, not the decency of—”

He turned then, slow and deliberate. “You’re angry with them,” he said, voice even.

“What?”

His head tilted, studying me. “Your kind. You are angry with them, not with me.”

“Oh no, I am mad at you! You destroyed our home! Everything gone because you needed resources to feed your people! Couldn’t you have asked? Used a little diplomacy? What makes you so superior? You can’t even feel!”

“Be grateful it was my kind and not the Haesse, who remove their captives’ tongues and reproductive organs. Or the Osanee whose technology is so advanced compared to humans, that they could conquer you through mind-control without you noticing.”

I took a shuddering breath at the thought of either. Even so, it was hard to feel like Earth dodged a bullet, that it was Eksese who invaded first.

Korath continued, “Dwelling in the past is pointless. The war is over. What you do now does not make you a traitor to your people, for Earth belongs to the Eksese. You only require our approval now. Mine.”

“Tell that to them!” Frustration cracked in my voice.

He said nothing, removing the gauze-like bandages from his body. Beneath it, the colorful sheen of bruising caught the light, dark and strange against the patterns of scales in the places where human men usually had body hair. The ragged tear through his shoulder looked worse in the pale light of the bathroom despite being repaired. The bullet holes painted on his side, however, had made it through the flesh.

“You’re hurt,” I said, all the fight knocked out of me.

“I will mend.”

“Let me—”

“No.”

I reached for him, but he blocked me with his large arm. “If you’re going to keep me safe, then it would benefit us both if I help you.” I tried again with the same result, folding my arms across my chest. “You’re terrible at accepting help, you know that?”

He ignored me, testing the water with his hand.

“Was it Rhett who hurt you?”

He exhaled sharply through his nose. “You ask too many questions.”

“Then answer one!”

He turned, eyes flashing gold in the steam. “Enough.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but he closed the distance in two long strides. One strong steel-blue hand caught my wrist, the other pressed against my back—and before I realized what he meant to do, the world tilted. Water surged up around me with a splash.

I gasped, sputtering, drenched, and glaring up at him as he stood over the edge of the tub, arms crossed, the faintest smirk ghosting across his mouth. “I simply wanted you to stop talking,” he stated.

I blinked, stunned, hair plastered to my face. Then, despite myself, a choked laugh escaped. “So, you—you threw me in the bath?”

His expression remained unreadable, but I saw the tiniest flicker of amusement in his eyes as he shrugged.

“I hate you.”

“Perhaps now you will be quiet.”

He turned away, unbuckling his pants. I averted my gaze as he finally sank into the opposite side of the large bath. The silence that followed wasn’t hostile—just… strange. Weighted. Beneath the rippling water scented by salts and soap, something unspoken began to shift between us.

15 The Language of Endurance

Korath

The water steamed between us, carrying the faint scent of the mineral salts I had come to favor thanks to her. Maren’s anger, once a wildfire, dulled to a quiet simmer. Her breaths slowed, and her eyes drifted down to the water, rippling with each tiny movement.

She stripped away the remnants of her clothing without a word, while I shed the grime of war until only the murk separated us. The bathwater turned cloudy as it filtered, hiding her soft human shapes beneath. I told myself I was glad for it.

For several long minutes, neither of us spoke. The only sound was the low hum of the filtration jets. Then, softly—too softly—she said, “They’re gone. Everything I was supposed to go back to. Gone.” Her voice cracked. “What do I do now?”

I looked at her across the mist, unable to form the simple comfort I thought she wanted. “You endure,” I said finally.

Her laugh was brittle, but her brown eyes were tired. “Endure. That’s all I’ve been doing for three years.”

“You asked what I would do,” I reminded her, keeping my tone even. “That is what I would do.”

“That’s not living.” She looked away, shoulders trembling slightly. “I want to live.”

The admission unsettled me. I had seen her fight, curse, and bleed, and yet this quiet surrender struck me harder than any weapon could.

Her eyes shone wet, and before I could stop myself, I moved closer. The water lapped gently against her milky arms as I reached out, my hand hovering before settling on her shoulder. Her skin was fever-warm, soft in a way that made me too aware of the difference between us.

Maren flinched, not from fear, but from the shock of my touch. Then she leaned, barely perceptible, into the contact. “This isn’t how I thought dying would feel,” she whispered.

“You are not dying,” I said, too sharply.

“Then why does it feel like it?”

I had no answer for the chief cause of all her pain. None that would soothe her.

Her quiet sobs returned, barely audible over the hum of the room. I remembered the night she’d made me rest—how her hand had moved over my crest until the tension in my bones had melted. That strange, human form of comfort.

Instinct, or maybe a long-buried memory, guided me. My thumb brushed the curve of her shoulder, then her back. Her breath hitched, but she didn’t pull away.

“I do not understand you,” I murmured. “You rage one moment, and weep the next.”

“That’s being human,” she said thickly, tears cutting through her voice. “We break, we rebuild, and keep going.” Maren’s eyes glistened up at me, blinking back the next swell of tears. “As you said, I find hope when there is none. I just haven’t found any yet.”

Her words stayed with me longer than they should have. I was a commander, conqueror of continents, yet here I was uncertain, sitting in the water with a trembling human who should have meant nothing. Yet, in all of it, there was one simple truth pounding in my brain: “I do not want you to break,” I admitted at last.

She looked at me then, really looked. Something fragile flickered in her eyes.

Either way, for the first time since the invasion began, I felt disarmed. The heat between us wasn’t only from the bath anymore. It was the dangerous quiet of two people stripped bare of everything—clothes, pride, purpose—and finding that neither could turn away.

Steam coiled around us, blurring the edges of the world until only she remained. Maren’s anger had burned away, leaving something quieter and unmistakably human. She stood from the water, and my eyes darted elsewhere, though still tracking her pale form from the periphery.

When she reached for the cloth to dry me, I let her. The brush of fabric across my skin was too soft, too deliberate, around every wound. Each motion lingered longer than it should have, her touch learning me as much as tending me. Opening the towel for me, I stepped out, wrapping it around my waist.

Spinning, she reached for another one, but I took the cloth from her hand and returned the favor. She didn’t look away, but her mind was universes away. I traced the water down the curve of her shoulder, the hollow of her throat. Her pulse was a fast rhythm beneath her skin—alive, defiant, afraid. Not of me, I realized, but of everything else.

“You should rest,” I rasped when, though my voice was low, uncertain. I wrapped her up tightly in the cloth with her assistance in tying the knot.

Her lips twitched—a ghost of a smile, tired but stubborn. “So should you, having ended a war and all. You look worse than I do.”

She reached for the medkit, ordering me to sit to tend to my wounds, as was becoming a ritual for us. My augments flickered faintly in the dim light as her fingers brushed against the joint of metal and flesh. No flinching. No disgust. She dressed the wound as if she’d done it a hundred times, humming human songs I didn’t understand but felt all the same.

When she was finished, she stepped back, studying me with that unblinking gaze that made me feel seen in a way I hadn’t since before the wars. “You could’ve left me in that cell. Let me be just another slave,” she said softly. “Why didn’t you?”

“I don’t fully know, but it was your ability to hate me for longer than most that intrigued me,” I admitted, truth heavy on my tongue. “You’re… inconvenient.”

That earned a real smile, weary but bright. “So are you.”

Something loosened in my chest then—a dangerous shift in my pulse. I reached up, brushing a damp lock of hair from her face, and she didn’t pull away. For a heartbeat, the silence stretched taut between us, the air charged and fragile. She leaned forward, drawn by the same pull I couldn’t seem to fight. Our eyes studied the other, having never been so close. Her pink lips looked incredibly soft compared to Ekseses’ rough skin. Paired with Maren’s warm breath and body pressing closer, it felt like the kind of trap worth dying for.

But I stopped just short of touching her. “You should sleep,” I murmured again, more to myself than her.

Her breath trembled as she nodded. I stood, crossed to the bed, and climbed in, gesturing for her to follow. When she hesitated, cheeks flushing red, I added, “The floor is cold. You’ll rest here.”

Her bare feet padded softly across the metal floor as she climbed in beside me without argument. We didn’t speak. Her warmth bled through the thin sheet between us, even as emotions cooled. The scent of human skin mingled with the soap still clinging to her.

It was nothing more than shared exhaustion. That’s what I told myself. But when her hand brushed mine in the dark, I didn’t move it away.

---

Maren

I woke with my cheek pressed against cool scales that were far from the softness of a blanket. For a heartbeat, I forgot where I was—forgot the war, the loss, the collar. Then the rise and fall beneath my head and palm brought everything rushing back.

Korath.

He hadn’t moved all night. His arm still rested loosely across my waist, heavy and solid, as if he’d fallen asleep guarding me from his own kind. When I shifted, his fingers twitched but didn’t pull away.

There was a strange comfort in it. The kind that shouldn’t exist between captor and captive. But I needed to stop trying to fit the two of us into words that made sense. Words and reason had failed a long time ago. If this was what “enduring” meant for me now, then I was ready to accept it. I was sick and tired of being alone when there was someone right here beside me, who actually wanted me there.

He stirred when I sat up, hugging the sheets to me, blinking once before pushing to his elbows. His crest and jet black hair caught the early light from the window, shadowing his sharp features. “You slept,” he observed, voice rough from his own full night of rest.

“I did,” I smiled slightly back at him from over my bare shoulder. A heat crept up my back to my cheeks as I turned away. He was much too naked in the sobering thoughts of the morning. His ruddy chest of dark blue battle scars and chiseled muscle was starting to finally have an effect on me. A scattering of scales began between his pecs, descending down his treasure trail, making me wonder about…

No, Maren. God, I really am a fucking headcase! I’m starting to see why Korath is in a constant state of confusion over my emotions! One minute I’m yelling, then next I’m jumping into bed naked with him, thinking about what he’s packing…

Jesus, get a grip.

We ate in silence, seated across the table as if pretending we weren’t sharing the same air, the same thoughts we didn’t dare say. But I couldn’t ignore the pull anymore—the quiet gravity between us that felt less wrong and more like something I’d chosen.

Even so, I still wanted to belong with my own kind.

“I want to go to the Sholta pens,” I said suddenly.

His fork paused midair. “Why?”

“Rhett will be assigned to feeding duty. I can’t imagine them placing him anywhere else.” I looked up, meeting his yellow, hawk-like gaze. “I want to see him again. I need to.”

His jaw tightened, but not in anger. Korath studied me the way he a battle, as if weighing risk against instinct. “You think this will help you?”

“I think it’ll help me remember who I am,” I said. “And show him who I’ve become.”

For a moment, he said nothing. Then he stood with a groan from his injuries, giving me a resolute nod. “Very well. Finish eating.” He didn’t order me to silence or warn me against foolishness. That alone made my pulse race.

The Sholta pens were alive with noise and stench when we arrived, the beasts snarling and shoving at the barriers, their fangs glinting like ivory blades. Rhett and Trent stood with the other handlers, their expressions grim under a film of grime. When his eyes landed on me, the recognition there was swift—and sharp—as he also noted the Commander at my side.

The overseer, a broad-shouldered female Eksese, snapped at the humans in the vat in irritation. “They’re too slow, Commander,” she barked, in that guttural Common that grated against human ears. “Useless creatures. They’ll be eaten before midday, especially the new ones who refuse to heed commands.”

Korath stepped forward. “Then a lesson is in order to achieve maximum efficiency.”

The overseer froze, her head bowing instinctively. “Commander?”

“Maren,” he said without turning to me. “Show them.”

I moved forward slowly.

I swallowed, heart hammering as all eyes turned toward me, but I held my head high. The people who already knew me—the ones I had kept safe—seemed relieved as I led them in demonstration. I placed a warm squeeze on their arms, not as friends but comrades.

The Sholta’s breath steamed in the cool morning air, reeking of rot. The vat waited—a mountain of food, blood, and danger. I shed the jacket Korath gave me and rolled my pants to the knee.

Rhett scoffed. “Maren, what the hell are you—”

“Shut up, Rhett.” He’d learn soon enough I hadn’t barked it from malice, but for his own good.

I waded in barefoot, the entrails and pulp squelching around my calves. I didn’t spare the nicer set of fatigues Korath had made for me, whereas the others’ were permanently stained brown by the sludge. The Sholta loomed closer, their heavy antlered heads swinging and clattering against each other in excitement. Their nostrils flared at the scent of food.

Looking to the others, I waited until they were in position. My hands moved by memory, calm and sure. I tossed a melon to start the feeding frenzy, then something that looked like an intestine, murmuring under my breath. The trick wasn’t fearlessness, it was rhythm. Anticipation. I fed them like a dance, keeping pace with their hunger until the beasts’ aggression melted into greedy satisfaction. The others began alternating the throwing, with mine and they mashed, assuring there was always food flying.

When I glanced up, smearing my forehead with some pulp, Korath was watching. Not like a commander assessing a soldier, but like a man witnessing something he hadn’t expected to see again.

Rhett stared, too, for entirely different reasons. Disbelief. Hate. Most likely hoping I’d slip right into one of their mouths.

When there was an opening, I climbed out, letting another take my place with the rhythm intact. Slick with sweat and pulp, I met Rhett, Trent, and the other newbies, who gazed squarely. “That’s how it’s done if you don’t want to be eaten or get others killed.”

“Commander,” the overseer rasped, “permission to reassign your pet permanently?”

Korath’s expression was unreadable, but his tone carried that quiet authority that silenced everyone. “No. She may be consulted, but she has value that surpasses this work.” He motioned for me to come to him, and I moved closer. “If you require her, make a request.”

I smiled inwardly, not missing the way his prideful eyes lingered on me. He had personally made it clear I wasn’t just another pet… in fact, he didn’t even refer to me as such. My heart swelled.

Should it? No, I was an alien’s pet, but considering the circumstances, could one blame me? Finding hope where there was none was my new mantra. And my new hope was Korath.

I placed my hand on his arm—our signal for speaking in public. He bent to listen. “May I stay? I’m already filthy.” His brows furrowed together briefly. “The exercise would do me good.”

His ever-calculating mind worked behind his avian-like eyes. “Very well. I need to attend to a few tasks anyway. You have until I return.” Stepping over for a private word with the overseer, the female eyed me stoically before bowing her head to Korath. Striding past, he imparted, “Obey the Overseer in my absence.”

I nodded.

When he was out of sight, I walked over to Trent, while he waited for a shift with the Sholta. “You alright?”

He snarled at me, but there was no real bite behind it. “We lost the war, and now we’re slaves. How do you think I am?” His gaze glanced down at my collar. “You seem to be doing well.”

“That’s because she’s the alien’s whore.” Rhett chimed in over his shoulder.

I crossed my arms. “Think what you want, but he hasn’t touched me.”

At least not like he’s suggesting.

“The Commander saw something in me when you left me for dead,” I added.

Rhett turned, the muscles in his jaw tightening. “You think that makes you special? You think he actually cares about you?”

I laughed—a short, sharp sound that didn’t reach my eyes. “Care doesn’t matter. Respect does, and I’ve earned it.”

Trent looked between us, uneasy. “Maren, seriously—”

“No,” I said, stepping closer to Rhett. The Sholta pens reeked of decay, but all I could smell was the bitterness on his breath. “You want to talk about what matters? You abandoned me. You ran to save yourselves. Why? Because you couldn’t handle a buckin’ ranch hand like me, telling you a better way to do your job? For fuck’s sake, in the face of annihilation, you could still find it in yourself to be petty!”

“You! Pet! Silence.” The overseer wouldn’t dare scold me with the rod, for that was the Commander’s exclusive prerogative, but I didn’t want to push it.

His face flushed with ire. “You don’t know what they’ve done to us—”

“I know exactly what they’ve done,” I cut in, voice trembling despite my resolve. “I lived it. How else would I know how to tend the Sholta? I was thrown in there on my first day and stayed. And before that, beat bloody after they captured me.” I took another step, close enough that I could see the uncertainty flicker in his eyes. “You know nothing.”

For a moment, no one said anything. The air between us crackled with the same tension that used to hum between battle lines.

Rhett’s lip curled. “He’ll keep asking more of you, Maren. Then once he gets it, he’ll toss you back here.”

My throat went tight, but I didn’t let the words land. “Maybe. We both know you would—oh, wait, you did.” His nostrils flared, and for the first time, I saw guilt flicker beneath the rage. Good, let it burn him. “The Commander isn’t like you.”

He scoffed. “You know, at least one good thing will come of my shots not killing the butcher. That you’ll get to find out how right I am.”

My blood froze. “You? You’re the one who shot him up?” Something about it felt personal. I had assumed it was from days of fighting, but to find out Rhett hurt Korath…

“With your own pistol.” He smiled with barred teeth. “We found it after combing through the ambush site. How is that shoulder? Lame, I hope.”

“Augmented, actually.” Our gazes met fiercely. “Old injury from an energy sword—whatever that is—and the whole thing was replaced. So, if you were hoping it’d fester and kill him, no chance, asshole.”

Rhett bristled, but victory didn’t feel like triumph—it felt hollow, like ash on my tongue. It could be because, despite everything, he was right about one thing. What would happen if Korath tired of me? He couldn’t let me go. I had been playing the short game, but what of the long game?

The next few hours were spent speaking with some of the others, asking after injuries, and I asked the Overseer to see Kavya. I found her thigh-deep in soiled straw, mucking Sholta pens. I grabbed a rake and joined in until the rhythm of work made talking easier.

“The new group that came in?” Kavya said as she scraped up a pile of reeking hay. “The men are hotheads. They won’t last long the way they’re carrying on.”

“I just spoke with their leader. He’s the one who left me the night I was captured.” We shared a knowing look, having told her the full history. “Just stay away from him. Warn the others, too. Korath will come after him first should there be any trouble in the cells.”

There was a small beat of silence before she added, almost accusingly, “Did you just call the Commander by his name? Don’t tell me he lets you.”

A reluctant smile tugged at my mouth. “He’s a warrior far from home, fighting a war that ended before we even knew it began. Sixty years of it.” I shook a stall gate until a bolt slid into place. “I think he’s… searching for something to make it all mean something. He says humans confuse him—our defiance, our hope, our refusal to break when we should.”

“And does he say that you’re special among us?” Kavya teased, only half-serious.

I swallowed. “He says my hope is what he admires most. Maybe he thinks I can help him find something he lost.” A strange ache pulled behind my ribs. “Maybe that’s what he’s searching for.”

Kavya stopped sweeping and leaned against her broom, braid slipping over her shoulder. “Sounds like you’re the one losing some defiance.”

“I want to hate him.” My voice came out too soft. “And last night, I tried. I yelled at him.”

Her eyes widened. “And you’re standing here breathing? He didn’t snap your neck on the spot?”

I huffed a humorless laugh. “No. He’s patient with me. For now. But I’ve been thinking…” I said quietly. “This is our reality now.” I gestured to the pens, the chains, the carved stone walls. “No one’s coming to save us. I can die defiantly for a war that’s over—or accept where we are and try to make something out of the scraps.”

Kavya pursed her lips, tilting her head as if weighing stones in either hand. “That’s up to you, Maren. But let’s be honest—if you’re his pet, you’ll see him every day. Eat better. Sleep on a bed. And the rest of us?” She tapped her broom handle against the floor. “We stay here. In the dirt. Treated like it.”

The words landed harder than I wanted them to.

“What if…” I hesitated. “What if I could suggest things to Korath? Things to make life better down here.”

Kavya blinked. “Use your position?”

I nodded.

She snorted—short, sharp, bitter. “What position? You live in his rooms. That’s not power; that’s proximity. But—” She looked around at the tired, frightened faces working nearby. “If it gets us better food, fewer beatings, anything? What more do we have left to lose?”

Her voice softened, just barely.

“And if you’re the one who might survive this place long enough to speak up… then maybe that’s not nothing.”

16 The Language of Lies

Korath

The console glowed like a cold sun before me, pale-blue light washing over my desk and hands. At the top of the screen pulsed the decree I’d been dreading:

WITH CLAIMS SECURED ON THE WESTERN CONTINENT, MATING MAY RESUME AT NORMAL QUOTAS.

Below it were messages—dozens—stacked in neat, eager rows of females requesting me.

Strong males were always sought after—especially victorious commanders. This was our way, carved into instinct and ancestry. Mating was duty. Expectation. Contribution to the strength of the species.

I should have felt pride or drive, but instead, irritation crawled beneath my skin.

I opened one request after another: Genetic markers, lineage rankings, fertility windows, and transport schedules. Nothing stirred in me. Not desire. Not interest. Not even the efficient readiness that usually accompanied such obligations.

My chest tightened—irrational and unwelcome.

You grow weak. The human is clouding my judgment. The thought tasted like poison, because I knew exactly what would happen if I ignored these invitations. If I refused to mate.

Rumors.

The Commander keeps a human in his private chambers.

He fought a Councilor to protect her.

He refuses all females because he is attached.

If those whispers reached the Council, Maren would be the one to suffer. She would be made an example—the way Jorek had intended to.

My jaw ached from clenching. I could not let that happen.

I opened the roster of incoming fleets. Scrolled until I found a suitable option: a female en route with the next cargo ship, returning to Ekse after a brief layover. Unmated, healthy, compatible, and most importantly, she would be gone from my sight the moment the act was done.

Efficient. Clean. Impossible to misinterpret.

I accepted her request; the console chimed with finality. Duty complete.

Then why did my gut twist?

A violent urge clawed up my spine—primitive, territorial, irrational—to seek out Maren on the security feeds and make sure she was still within my grasp. I scrolled through them until I found her in the Sholta pens. She stood beside another female, sleeves rolled up, hair pulled into the loose knot she tied whenever she meant to work hard. Sweat glistened at her temple while laughing softly at something the other said—a small, unguarded smile that made my chest constrict.

I hovered my hand over the screen, as if I could feel the heat of her skin through the glass.

That warmth from the morning still clung to me—her breath against my arm when she’d leaned close, the faint press of her hand as she steadied herself, unaware of the effect it had on me. It clung like a brand, burning deeper the more I tried to ignore it.

I exhaled sharply, the sound edging into a growl. “Maren… how will you look at me when you learn what I must do?”

The question hollowed me from the inside, because mating for the sake of the species was simple. Mechanical. I had never cared who the female was before, and they had never cared who I was beyond my rank and strength.

But Maren would care with all her fragile emotions. As much as she knew me, I knew the human capacity for jealousy knew no bounds. She would see it as betrayal. As a choice, not duty, because she did not know our way. Because she mattered to me in a way that made everything dangerously unclear.

I dragged a hand over my face, claws scraping lightly against my jaw.

I could explain it to her and deal with the fallout, or… she never had to know. I would keep this hidden, as I hid the darker parts of myself—the instincts sharpened by sixty years of war, the blood on my hands, the ache in my chest when she flinched or doubted her place at my side.

I would time the meeting with the female precisely. Schedule the overseer to expect her down in the pens. I’d make it quick. No trace for Maren to scent or sense when she returned. As if I had not just severed something vital within myself.

A commander did what was necessary. An Eksese mated to strengthen the line. A soldier never wavered. These were my truths.

But the male inside me—the part that had begun to reach for her when she wasn’t looking, that listened for her footsteps, that found meaning in her defiance—that part was restless. I curled my fist until the metal groaned beneath my grip.

“I cannot lose you,” I breathed to the empty room, to the image of her helping the other female who struggled with a heavy bucket.

The door to my cabin hissed open. “Commander,” Malrik said, “the—I see you’re unable to go a few hours without viewing your pet.”

“It’s worse than that,” I muttered grimly.

“What?” I motioned for him to sit across from me, watching his cyan eyes through the security feed. “Why do you look ill? Did your female finally poison you to escape?” A slight smirk made his mouth crooked.

I gave him a flat glare. “Worse.”

That wiped the smirk off his face. His crest lifted in genuine alarm. “What happened? Did she attack you? Bite you? Humans carry dozens of—”

“I…” My jaw locked. I hated this. Hated the words forming in my throat like something sharp. What I had stated as a flaw in others, I was now guilty of. “I may have become… attached to her.”

Malrik froze. He stared at me as if I’d just told him I planned to defect to the humans.

“Attached?” he echoed. “Korath, attached to a weapon, is understandable. Attached to a war-beast? Fine. Attached to a human—”

“Do not say it like that.” The growl in my chest made the lights tremble in their housings.

Malrik held up both hands. “Forgive me. I simply… need clarification.” His eyes narrowed, studying me like I had sprouted a second head. “By ‘attached,’ you mean… You prefer her company?”

“I mean,” I said slowly, “I think of her when I should be thinking of war. I worry about her safety. Her moods affect my own. I feel…” I grimaced. “Unsettled when she is not near.”

Malrik’s eyes widened with slight disgust. “By the stars. You’re bonded.”

I shot to my feet. “I am NOT bonded.”

He didn’t even flinch. Malrik leaned forward, voice lower. “Does she know?”

I flopped back in my seat. “No.”

“Will she?”

“No.” I pulled up the message I sent to the female’s mating request I accepted.

Malrik quickly scanned it, nodding in understanding of what was happening. He exhaled. “Are you choosing to lie to her about it all?”

My hands tightened into fists. “This is duty. Nothing more.”

“To whom?” he challenged. I glared at him, but he didn’t back down. He never had. That was why he was still alive. Malrik shifted, toneless mocking now. “Korath… if the Council senses even a whisper of this—her life becomes leverage. Her existence becomes a threat. You know this.”

“I know. This is why I need to do this, but Maren will not understand.” The words scraped my throat raw.

“So you must act as if nothing has changed,” he continued. “Mate. Fight. Command. And never—EVER—let her see what she has become to you.”

I looked back at the feed—at Maren brushing straw from her clothes, smiling faintly at something the other human said.

Malrik followed my gaze and sighed. “Or,” he added under his breath, “you could accept that you are bonded and deal with it before it kills you.”

I snapped the console dark.

“I will control it,” I said.

“You better,” Malrik replied. “For her sake as much as yours.”

With that, I left my cabin with a plan. A clear, disciplined, necessary plan.

I would retrieve Maren from the Sholta pens. I would speak to her with neutrality. No tenderness. No softness. No lingering looks that would betray what she’d become to me. She would never sense the shift inside me; she would never see her importance reflected back at her. That way, she would remain safe. Unnoticed by enemies. Unharmed by my weakness.

I repeated this to myself the entire walk to the stables.

And then I saw her.

She stood on the lower rung of the feeding rail, one boot braced, shirt hitched slightly as she poured a bucket of slurry into the trough. A stubborn strand of hair had escaped her bun, brushing her mouth as she blew it aside, muttering at the infant Sholta, who shoved each other for the first bite. A smear of dust streaked her cheek as her shoulders rounded with honest labor.

And she smiled. Not at me—at the miniature beast knawing on the bars of the pen, like a teething fledgling. “Knock it off, you watermelon-with-legs.” Maren kicked the bar with her toes lightly to try to get it to release it from its maw. The Sholta stopped to consider her words, it seemed, then blinked blankly back and continued chewing. The small, unguarded smile she gave hit me with more force than any enemy shot ever had. It was her spark—alive again.

The spark I had nearly crushed out of her. My resolve wavered like a flimsy barricade in a storm.

Maren noticed me then, straightening. Her eyes widened slightly, and she reached up to brush her hair back, trying to look less windblown and failing miserably. “Commander,” she said, breath still a little short from work.

I nodded stiffly. “You are finished here.”

She blinked. “I—yes, but I still have to rake the—”

“I said you are finished.”

Her lips parted, then curved into something wry. “Bossy as ever.”

I swallowed hard.

Do not soften. Do not break.

“Gather your things,” I ordered.

She hopped down with a light thud, dusting off her hands. “Give me a minute.” She didn’t wait for permission—she walked right past me to the rack that held her jacket, hips swinging, humming under her breath. A warmth spread through my chest, traitorous and bright. As she grabbed the jacket I gave her, she looked back at me. “What’s that look for?” she teased.

“Nothing,” I said too quickly. Her eyes were gauging me. I forced my expression into something cold, something safe. “We are leaving.”

Her expression told me that my odd behavior was worrying her as she stepped closer. Close enough, I could smell the faint warm scent of hay, sweat, and something uniquely her. “Did something happen?” Her voice—it was soft, concerned, warm. It scraped directly against the raw parts of me I was trying to bury.

“No,” I lied, thickly. “Nothing.”

She studied me, eyes narrowing just a fraction. She always looked at me as if she could see more than I wanted her to. As if she could peel the armor open and read what was underneath, making me attempt to turn away before she could. “Korath?”

It felt like a strike to the chest—sharp, disarming. I kept my voice steady. “Come, Maren.” My instincts were kicking in, telling me this was a battle I didn’t want to get caught in. I should have told her nothing was wrong, but she just kept asking questions to draw the answers from me.

I didn’t look back, hearing her soft steps rhythmically behind me, but I could feel her aura trying to smother me. The weight of my guilt began to press on me harder than Earth’s gravity as the lift doors opened and we were alone again. The silence seemed deliberate and judgemental, absent of everything that had brought me comfort of late. Yet, it was preferable to her endless questions.

She had no idea what I had agreed to do with another female. No idea how deeply my thoughts had begun to orbit her. No idea how hard I was fighting to hide the things growing inside me. But as she stood beside me, warmth radiating off her, scent of earth and Sholta hay clinging to her clothes, I feared it would only be a matter of time before she knew.

Before everyone knew, and by then, it might already be too late.

17 The Language of Desperation

Maren

If someone had told me a week ago that Korath could go cold after everything we shared, I would’ve laughed. He wasn’t overly warm—never that, but he’d been steady. Attentive in his own intense, quiet way. The kind of man who listened with his whole body. The kind of man who let me feel… chosen.

But the shift hit fast.

The next morning, I came out of the stables after helping the newbies again, proud of myself for not dying or losing a limb. Korath waited by the doors with his hands clasped behind his back, and I swear his eyes softened for a heartbeat. Then—

“Report.”

Flat. Detached. Like I was one of his crew, giving a damage readout.

I blinked, thrown off. “Uh… feed ratios, successful. The overseer and I fixed the—” He was already walking, expression carved from stone.

And that was how the whole week went.

Whenever I approached, he stepped back. Whenever our hands brushed, he moved his as it burned. He barely looked at me unless giving an order, and even then, it felt… clinical. Cold answers with a clipped tone with no hint of the strange closeness we’d begun to form in the privacy of his quarters.

I tried not to take it personally. Really. Maybe he was just stressed with command stuff. Maybe the Councilor had chewed him out. Maybe the Sholta’s scent was making everyone cranky.

Yet, by the third day of silence and stiff posture, the pit in my stomach started eating me alive. So at dinner, I asked, quietly, “Did I… do something wrong?”

He didn’t even hesitate, as if ready for it. “I have been occupied with command matters.” The lie was subtle, but I felt it, like a soft recoil in the air between us. I saw the guilt straining his features, and the rest of the night, he acted like a gun barrel needing a cooldown; he let the warmth build, but then cool.

I worked harder after that. Tried to give him space, be useful, and not to hover even though I kept catching myself lingering our—his—quarters, hoping he’d need me again like before.

But he didn’t.

By the end of the week, he was handing me to my babysitter. Serral showed up at my door early, emotionless as always. “Greetings, pet. You’re with me today. Commander’s orders.”

I froze mid-step. “Today? All day? Why?”

She rubbed the back of his neck. “The Commander is… busy.” It felt like the same lie in a different voice. I followed still, seeing that I had no choice in the matter.

Serral had me follow her like a personal aide. I would’ve been annoyed, but I couldn’t focus. My brain kept circling the same panicked drain: What did I do? Is he angry? Is he disappointed? Is he done with me?

Every time I asked where Korath was, Serral tripped over her own tongue. “He’s… uh… in a meeting.”

“That’s what you said two hours ago.” She was lying, but I didn’t know why.

“No, wait—actually, he’s with the maintenance engineers. Hard to track him today.” Eksese were many things, but they were terrible liars, unable to make anything sound remotely convincing.

By afternoon, my nerves were shredded, so when we ran into Malrik, I pounced like a starving dog. “Captain Malrik, have you seen the Commander today?”

Malrik froze. Actually froze. The man moves like a blade, usually, but right then, he looked like I’d tossed a grenade into his hands. “He is… occupied,” he said carefully.

“That’s what she said,” I murmured, pointing over to Serral, who was taken aback by my bluntness. My stomach twisted. “Is something wrong? He’s been acting weird all week.”

Both of them exchanged a look. A whole conversation passed between them that I wasn’t invited to.

My voice came out smaller than I meant. “Can I just… see him?”

They reacted instantly. “No,” they said in perfect unison.

I stared between them. “No?” My mouth went dry. “Why not? Did something happen?” I felt like I was sinking fast, unable to tread water fast enough to ascend.

Neither of them answered. They just stared at me with their cold, unyielding expressions.

And that’s when something inside me cracked—not loudly, but with that soft, aching pain of losing something you didn’t realize mattered this much. I wrapped my arms around myself. “Okay,” I whispered. “Sure. Whatever.” I turned before they could see my eyes sting, and I foolishly ran.

Sprinting for the doors that led to the hall, I became a bull in an alien Command Deck. Anything I could tip over crashed to the floor. I grabbed anything in reach and threw it, or used it to beat a few keypads until they sparked. None of them knew what to do as the Commander’s famed pet went feral, knowing that to touch me could incur his wrath.

“Take her down, under my authority!” Malrik ordered, having had enough.

When the soldiers went to grab me, I slid under consoles, disturbing those working, sowing chaos in my wake. I could hear the buzz of their weapons charging, but I didn’t care. They could not wound me more than Korath already had. They could shoot me, because every conclusion to this fight ended with me seeing him.

Jumping up onto my feet, the door was just feet away, when I was slammed to the floor. My vision swam, and my limbs hurt as the large Eksese warrior pressed me with an arm against the cold metal as he cuffed me. I didn’t relent, though, struggling with all the anger and frustration that I kept inside for the last week. I went full-blown toddler temper tantrum on them, kicking and yelling, so much so, the whole deck went silent.

“Enough,” Malrik’s voice cut through the din, “Release her. I will handle the Commander’s pet.” He lifted me to my feet by my jacket. His aqua eyes cut me sharply with chastisement, but it did little to cool my savage breathing. After exchanging a terse look with Serral, Malrik growled, baring teeth, “Inform the Commander of the situation.” Grabbing the back of my neck at the collar, he began dragging me out the door. “Come, pet. I will let the Commander issue punishment for what you’ve done.”

I looked back at the Eksese cleaning up and righting their equipment, impressed that I was able to do so much… Shit. Maybe I did some serious damage? What if I made things worse for Korath? The pit in my stomach widened as Malrik dragged me through the halls back to the Commander’s quarters.

I was in serious trouble…

---

Korath

I cleared my quarters, so it was ritualistically bare. No shadows to hide in, no softness to pretend warmth existed here. Nothing about me or my pet lingered in the open. The air hummed with the low thrum of the ship’s stabilizers, a steady reminder of duty.

Gulima arrived on time and stood across the room, tall and broad-shouldered, marked with the sigils of her lineage. She was strong—good genetic stock. Her stance was proud but detached. “Commander,” she said with a respectful incline of her head. “Your acceptance was timely. I am prepared.”

“As am I.” The words tasted like iron.

An Eksese mating contract was not born of emotion. It was a treaty between bodies, a transaction for genetic continuation. Touch was minimal. Connection—irrelevant. The ritual required presence and endurance, nothing more.

We approached one another, offering hands—palms out, wrists aligned. A symbolic gesture to confirm consent and lineage exchange. Her skin was cool, her pulse steady.

I forced my mind into the familiar emptiness, the one I had mastered long ago. The one I needed now, because the moment I allowed thought to flow freely, Maren’s face burned through the void: Her smile in the stables; Her defiance; The way she leaned in without meaning to, like I was a gravity she didn’t know she obeyed.

I shut it down.

“You are unfocused,” Gulima observed, tilting her head.

“I am not,” I said, too fast.

She arched a brow. “You chose a female from a departing cargo fleet. It suggests a desire for no lingering attachment. That says something, and there are rumors, Commander.”

My jaw flexed. “It is irrelevant. You invited me, I merely accepted.” But she was right. Of all the females who had petitioned me, I chose the one I’d never have to see again. I looked to the luminous paint on my arm, voice like rumbling thunder, “Not all accept my lacking genetics, despite overcoming it.” It was a deflection, yes, but it was also the truth. I came from the dust of my planet. I was nothing without my rank.

“If they do, then they haven’t been paying attention.” Gulima talked smoothly and softly, helping me to focus on the task before me and not… elsewhere.

We began the ritual, removing cumbersome clothing. Gulima’s movements were direct and strong, most liking from her time serving on cargo ships. Her crimson eyes roamed my body, but I kept my gaze high, concentrating on her perfectly executed high-woven bun. Her light blue skin was a cheerful shade, in contrast to her wandering eyes.

Moving next to a series of coordinated movements meant to assess compatibility and endurance, the result was mutual arousal. It was purely clinical; the cold rhythm of obligation. It was almost too efficient, devoid of the care and want of Maren’s. Yet, this was for her. To protect her. Us.

Consenting to continue, Gilima lay beneath me on the bed, legs parting widely. I rubbed my shaft against her skin to slick it for entry, as was our way. I had overheard that it’s the opposite for humans. Precum dripped steadily from me, fueled not by the instinct to mate but protect. I avoided her gaze, which continued to try and figure out what my hesitation was.

Guilt. That’s what it was.

Stars above, I wanted Maren to be the one touching me with her warmth. Her soft skin was clinging to me at night, as she needed me. She made me feel like a true alpha male, relying on me for safety and sustenance. Esksese women were independently cold and detached from the feminine qualities of Maren, who was also strong, but still she held my hand because she wanted to.

A flood of resolve hardened in me. If I wanted to keep that warmth, duty had to come first. My rank needed to remain in place, and rumors needed to be vanquished. I needed to mate.

My eyes locked on Gulima’s, making her notice the shift in me, moving over her. Having submitted, I was in control now, for all she’d do was lie there for me until I spilled my seed in her. Then she’d leave and raise the fledgling alone for a few years—our duty to Ekse complete.

Tilting my hips and pushing in, I used one of my hands to grab her throat as an anchor as I thrusted. The quiet grunts and breaths hardly broke over the sound of our coupling and the overall stillness of the room. I worked as diligently as I could, not wishing to prolong it, but minutes later, a sharp chime cut through the room, disrupting my rhythm.

A command alert.

I stiffened. Alerts during the ritual were permitted only in emergencies. As Commander, I had to take them.

I stepped away from Gulima, crossing to the console. My heart thudded once, hard, as I opened the channel. Serral’s voice came through, tersely:

“Commander—your pet just destroyed half the Command Deck. Comms are down, and we’ve had to disable defenses temporarily until the consoles are repaired. Captain Malrik is bringing her to your quarters before the crew harms her. She’s in some kind of… rage response.”

My breath froze, then dropped like a stone, knowing that the fault of her reaction did not lie with her.

“Lieutenant, prioritize the defenses first and secure the humans in the cells as a precaution. Find the Captain and tell him to throw her in cells for the time being—”

“Apologies, Commander, but he should be there soon. Inter-ship comms are returning slowly. We prioritized yours first to advise you of the situation.”

I looked back at Gulima, who frowned, puzzled. “Your famous pet?” she asked. There was no judgment in her tone—only logic. “You are needed, Commander.”

“I cannot leave until the ritual is complete,” I snapped, hating the rigidity of the law in that moment. “I cannot jeopardize the crew’s safety, yet I cannot violate our customs either.”

Gulima exhaled slowly. “Then we continue. Quickly.” She was a reasonable partner, and for that, I was grateful.

We resumed the sequence, but my mind was nowhere in the room. Every second felt like a blade pressed to my throat. I imagined Maren—wild, furious, terrified. I imagined Malrik dragging her by the arm. I imagined her breaking, thinking I had abandoned her.

By the time the ritual neared completion, I worked myself up so much that my body begged for release, if only to soothe some of the tension brewing all over. My breathing increased at the unrelenting pace, sweat trickling down my torso. Gulima must’ve felt the end, arching her back, ready to receive my seed. And with a final thrust, everything unraveled beneath me, and I panted in my lone effort to finish.

Relief washed over me as I sat back on my heels, still spilling into her. An odd ringing in my ears persisted, annoying, becoming louder until I realized too late that they were voices from the hall. However, before I could pull out, a soft chime echoed, and the door slid open.

My spine locked.

Gulima turned.

Malrik stood in the doorway, chest rising and falling as if he’d sprinted across the ship.

And in front of him—Maren. Her eyes were blazing, jaw trembling with hurt and fury and something far deeper. Her hair and clothes were a mess, as though she’d fought her way through the ship itself. Her gaze moved from me to Gulima. To our closeness and the ritual markings glowing faintly on my arms.

And the world stopped.

18 The Language of Attraction

Maren

Malrik and I screamed at each other up and down the decks. The Eksese around us stopped and stared, as the Captain cursed at me in his native tongue and me in mine. Half the time, we didn’t even understand the references we flung about, which only furthered our arguing. When we reached Korath’s floor, he was insistent that I wait outside the room until summoned.

“Why?” I asked. “You mean, he’s in there? Why can’t I go in?”

Malrik looked like he was at his wits’ end with my shenanigans. “Obey! That is your only directive, and yet you cannot perform such a simple task! How does Korath stand you?!”

I ignored his rant. “Let me in, or I’ll scream again.” Apparently, with the Eksese’s heightened hearing, a high-pitched girly scream was insufferable, as I had learned on the way here.

“Don’t, or stars guide me I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” I challenged, “Kill me?”

His rage faltered. “You are too aware of what hold you have over him.”

I shook my head. “No, but what I do know is that something is going on, and it’s about me.” He glared harder. “Now, let me in, or I’ll squeal like a fangirl meeting her celebrity crush.”

His brow creased at the reference that held no meaning to him. “No.”

With that, I screamed.

Malrik grimaced, but managed to grab me, shoving me through the door. His hand clamped around my upper arm like a man escorting a bomb about to go off. I barely heard him muttering curses under his breath as I screamed long and high. I was still vibrating with the last shreds of anger from the Command Deck, with soldiers scattering and metal sparking under my beatings and button pushing. Whatever had snapped in me hadn’t fully reset; the world still felt too bright and loud.

And then I suddenly stopped screaming. I stopped breathing at the sight before me.

There were two people in Korath’s quarters. Korath and a female Eksese, and they were…

She lay there unmoving beneath him, posture relaxed, as if this were the most ordinary moment imaginable. Her skin shimmered faintly with what looked like painted markings that glowed like embers. Watching me, she didn’t push away from him. She didn’t even seem embarrassed, stripped bare for the three of us to see.

Korath’s head snapped to the side, eyes widening, every line of his body going rigid. “Mar—” he stopped himself, “Malrik, you should not be here.”

My brain didn’t process the words. It was still stuck on the image in front of me—on the fact that the air still smelled charged. Heavy.

“What…” My voice scraped out, cracked, and dry. I couldn’t even finish my thought, slipping through my fingers like oil.

Malrik released me with a shove like he couldn’t stand another second holding on. I fell to the floor, too paralyzed for my limbs to work properly. “I tried to keep her out,” he snapped at Korath. “Her screams are now affecting everyone’s work! Not to mention the destruction on the Command Deck.”

Korath didn’t look at him. His gaze was locked on me—wide, frantic under the surface, but still trying to look composed. When I stayed down, he jumped out of the bed without a second thought. I buried my face, squeezing my eyes shut, not wanting to see any more of them—any more of him.

“You better not have damaged her,” he growled, sounding surprisingly steady. I felt his hands grip me, placing me gently on my feet. After a few seconds, I chanced opening an eye to see Korath and the female pulling robes over their blue, naked flesh. The Commander fastened his ties, and his eagle eyes found mine searching them. “Are you unharmed?”

I nodded, mute and blank, too numb to do much else as realization began to dawn on me. I was a silly human with a crush on her captor. The Eksese may be emotionless, but they clearly had the same physical urges as others. Hell, the soldiers were taking humans for entertainment, why shouldn’t their superiors be any different, if simply more selective about it?

Even so… who the fuck was this female, and why hadn’t Korath told me about her? Especially after asking me to stay with him permanently?! My thoughts spiraled at the possibilities of perhaps an arranged marriage or maybe she was a mistress of sorts.

“So, this is her? Your pet?” She cooed at me like I was a child.

I wrinkled my nose, looking back at Korath and his eyes that were laden with discomfort. “Yes, it is, Gulima.”

Gulima inclined her head politely. “Human,” she greeted flatly. She was tall and beautiful in the terrifying way all Eksese females were—like carved stone and sharpened scales that complemented her feminine curves. Her posture said she wasn’t threatened by me, waltzing about the room as if she owned it.

Korath’s voice cut in, low and urgent. “Both of you need to leave. Now.”

Malrik scoffed. “Gladly, Commander.” He then glowered down at me, lowering his voice threateningly. “I look forward to hearing your screams from punishment. Death, if we could only be so fortunate—”

“Malrik,” Korath growled, but his Captain simply saluted and left.

Gulima was still studying me, the same way the Councilor had. The memory was still disgustingly fresh. “I have not seen a human up close.” She reached a pointed claw toward my face, and I flinched away.

“Maren, go wait in the washroom.” His stare was firm, unmoving, but pleading beneath the layers.

I followed the order without argument, because whatever fight had brought me to him was gone, replaced with dread. Crossing the room, I went inside, and the door shut automatically behind me. I still stood next to the door, trying to listen to what was said on the other side of it.

“It’s impressive how quickly their mood changes. It must make your solitude limited.”

“It is challenging, but not in the way you think.”

Gulima chucked, mithlessly. “I thank you, Commander, for your time. It was refreshing to have an experienced mating partner, and one so determined.”

I stopped listening right then and turned on the water to drown out his response.

‘Mating partner.’ What the hell was that? A one-night stand? Contractual bang? It all had the air of Eksese efficiency with no room for my… jealousy.

I threw my clothes haphazardly around the room, as the tears came unbidden. How stupid had I been. Korath does not feel like I do, living a logical lifestyle, dictated by duty. To think we were heading toward middle ground before all this was irrational, wishful thinking. In trying to understand me, he’d soon learn we were too different to be more.

The longer I thought about it, the more my mood sank with my body beneath the water. I prayed that he’d leave me alone tonight. I didn’t want to talk, but pound my fists against the walls or prune so much I just melted away. I’d never get so lucky, though, because I knew Korath and his inability to let my emotions go. He’d call them confounding, but he never let me be without a diagnostic.

And sure enough, the minute I turned off the faucet, the door behind me opened.

---

Korath

Void swallow me. I cannot fathom what Maren thinks of me. I’m sure her imaginative human mind is on hyperdrive. Malrik was not to return with her so soon.

“It’s impressive how quickly their mood changes. It must make your solitude limited.” Gulima’s lingering presence did nothing to help the situation.

“It is challenging, but not in the way you think.”

Gulima chucked, mirthlessly. “I thank you, Commander, for your time. It was refreshing to have an experienced mating partner, and one so determined.”

“Apologies,” I kept my tone level, “but I need you to leave. I must secure the base.”

“And your errant pet, no doubt.” Her head tilted, waiting for more, but I was not going to fuel her with rumors to take back to Ekse. “Stars guide you, Commander Korath.”

“And you.”

Leaving me alone, half-dressed in the middle of my quarters, I swallowed thickly, looking to the closed washroom door. I could hear nothing beyond my breathing, the quiet a farce for what was churning in my gut. All my plans had been sucked down a black hole, and worse, Maren had gone supernova. Either way, I needed to deal with the fallout. Malrik and Serral could handle repairs, but I needed to tell Maren the truth. All of it.

Rising, I made my way to the door, opening it. Immediately, the steam rushed forth and out of the doorway. As it cleared, I saw Maren hunched over, scrubbing at something on her knee. Either she didn’t hear me or was ignoring my presence. Her clothes were thrown about, unlike the usual neatness I require of her, crumpled on the floor, and even snagged on knobs to the storage compartments.

“Maren? May I join you?” I had not known my voice to ever be so soft. It had only ever commanded, but that tone had no place here.

She sniffled and straightened, still not looking at me. “You may do as you like. I have no authority over you, Commander.” The title was thrown like a blade.

Even so, I placed my robe aside and stepped into the circular bath, leaving space between us. “I need to tell you something.” I paused, waited for her attention, but she didn’t move. “I want to speak to your face, not your back.”

Maren spun with defiance and fire in her eyes despite the tears. There were so many things I wanted to say in that moment, but the words wouldn’t form. Having no idea how to broach the subject, I decided to keep it simple to end her spiraling.

“I find myself attracted to you.”

Her eyes widened, and her lips opened. After the initial shock, she stammered, “Y-You say that after w-what I just saw?! What’s wrong with you?!” She continued to rant, throwing various insults at me.

My raised voice halted her tirade. “If I can explain, you’d have the answers you want.”

Her lips pressed together in a line, but she nodded her head. “Yes, please explain why you never mentioned your girlfriend. Does she know about… You know, how… comfortable we are together? Of the human who sleeps naked beside you?”

“I would not call Gulima my friend. Simply a female who wished to mate—”

She cut me off, unable to contain her wrath. “And as gallant as ever, the hero Commander wouldn’t dare refuse.” The words dripped with bitterness.

“No. It is my duty to keep the Eksese species alive. Whether that is conquest or procreation, both are required of me. Both keep me the Supreme Commander of this mission on Earth.”

Maren balked back, splashing the water with the motion. “Let’s unpack this one stupid act at a time. So, you literally just mated with her because it’s your duty?”

I nodded. “That’s not all—”

“But she could be pregnant with your child. You don’t care?”

I sighed, realizing she was just going to continue to cut me off until satisfied. “It is not my role to care for it. Mothers raise younglings alone. Such connections to multiple caregivers interfere with development.”

She scoffed. “I’ll agree to completely disagree with you on that point, but for the sake of not getting off topic, please continue.”

“We already are off topic,” I said, brow furrowing. “I told you I was attracted to you, and now we are speaking of younglings.”

That drew a laugh out of her—sharp, then soft, like the release of pressure in her chest. “I know you’re not being a smartass, but you sound like one,” she said, glaring me straight in the eyes. “Attraction isn’t just physical, Korath. It’s about connection. Eksese call that weakness. Are you sure that’s what this is?”

“Yes,” I said simply. “It’s why I chose not to tell you.”

“Tell me why.” Her voice was quiet now, almost tentative.

I didn’t look away. “I did it to protect you. I needed to appear a paragon of Eksese culture out here on the edge of our territory. It is known I have a pet now, and of the five planets I’ve conquered, not once have I indulged in such a thing. The eyes of Ekse is upon me, and if anyone, such as the Councilor, would wish to harm me, they would seek to threaten your safety first.”

Her eyes widened, realization dawning. After a moment, her lips parted, and she swallowed thickly, finally listening.

So, I continued, “If I’m to protect you, I cannot appear to be bonded to you. There are rumors beginning that we have become so. Rumors that will only result in a chain reaction if not dealt with.”

She blinked a few times, color blooming high in her cheeks. “Bonded?”

“It’s a rare arrangement amongst my people, but not unheard of. It’s when two Eksese mate for life. Most find such a thing irrational and limiting, but there is still a minority who practice it.”

“My people call that marriage or a relationship of a sort, and it’s not uncommon at all.” The bath water rippled as she moved closer. “So, she didn’t mean anything to you? You really won’t see Gulima again?” she asked almost shyly. “Nothing?”

I shook my head. “She will return to Ekse with the first cargo fleet. I will not see her again.”

Maren’s gaze lifted to meet mine, and I could see the relief take root. The air between us hummed, thick with something neither of us had language for. Our hands brushed beneath the surface—a fleeting, electric contact that neither of us pulled away from because we needed it.

“I—,” she whispered, letting out a sigh heavy enough for the both of us, “By human standards, I should be pissed at you for ignoring me, lying, and then hiding Gulima from me, but you’re not human. And your intention was to protect me, not hurt me—emotionally, I mean.” Maren seemed unsure, breaking eye contact to look aimlessly about the room. “And we’re not—I mean, we are just… just…”

“Attracted.”

“Yes, that.” She pushed some damp hair behind an ear.

“Then you reciprocate this attachment.”

Her throat bobbed. “Yes. I reciprocate it. Whatever this is between us… It’s real to me.”

Real. Despite everything I’d done wrong.

The bathwater lapped softly around us, the only sound in the room. Her knees brushed mine under the surface, deliberate or accidental—I could not tell—but my entire body responded as though it were a signal.

“And as real as it feels,” she added, quieter now, “I get that you’re not human. You don’t think the way I do. You don’t… love the way we do.” Her voice wavered. “But you still chose me five planets later.”

I forced myself to meet her eyes. “I did not ignore you because I wished to,” I said, the words scraping out of me. “I ignored you because every time I look at you, I want things I don’t have the right to want, or ever thought I’d want.”

Her breath caught audibly, and that spark in her eyes returned, the one she’d been trying to give back to me for days. Hope, fragile but fierce.

My hand rose from the water before I even decided to lift it, touching her cheek. Wet skin on wet skin. She leaned into it, and my entire chest tightened as if she’d put her hand inside and squeezed.

“Korath…” Her voice was a whisper that trembled through me.

She moved closer, slowly and carefully raising herself out of the water. As though approaching a wild creature that might bolt.

“Maren,” I warned, though I wasn’t sure what I was warning her about—her safety or my control. “What are you doing?”

“Something human,” she murmured. “Something that means… You matter to me.” She lifted her face toward mine—too close, far too close—and before I could process the intention, her lips pressed softly against my mouth.

I froze.

Literally froze.

Her lips were warm, yielding, and gentle, but firm enough to send a shock through me like a bolt of pure heat. I didn’t understand it. The purpose, function, or sensation.

She pulled back just enough to see my face, waiting for my reaction. Maren’s hand gripped my thigh, holding me in place.

“What—” My voice rasped as if my throat were raw. “What was that?”

“A kiss,” she whispered.

“A… kiss.” The word felt strange in my mouth.

“It’s something humans do when they…” She swallowed, cheeks burning red. “When they care for someone. When they’re drawn to them and want to show it.”

I stared at her lips, glistening from the water, from the contact that lingered like an imprint on my senses. “And that small gesture—” I swallowed hard “—is meant to convey all that?”

“Yes,” she breathed.

I exhaled sharply, the sound almost a growl. “That is… dangerously effective.”

Her laugh was soft. “You didn’t hate it?”

“Hate?” I leaned closer now, unable to stop myself. “Maren, I… I felt it everywhere.”

She blinked up at me, stunned, as though she hadn’t expected the words. Her hand slid to my chest. My heart hammered against her palm, far more violently than I wanted her to feel, but she smiled, small and knowing.

“Then,” she whispered, “may I do it again?”

I should’ve said no. I knew I should have for many reasons… but there were battles even I could not win.

“Yes,” I said, voice almost unrecognizable.

And when she kissed me again—slowly, deeply—I did not freeze. I kissed her back.

19 The Language of Balance

Maren

I woke first, the light through the viewport was soft and gold, brushing pale bands across Korath’s rugged chest where my hand rested. My fingers glided over his dark blueish-gray scales lining the center of his chest and torso. His breathing was steady, deep, his arm draped over my waist like a weighted blanket. The borrowed shirt I wore hung off my shoulder; that fabric was soft and thin, allowing me to share my body heat, which he seemed to treasure. His crest nestled in his mohawk—dark, sharp, and unmistakably alien—was silhouetted against the pillow.

For a long moment, I watched him. His face was relaxed in a way I’d never seen while he was awake, the perpetual tension gone from his jaw and brow. The pronounced cheekbones not casting their normal shadows down his face, smoothing his harsh lines. It was a peace he never let anyone else witness.

Eventually, he stirred, eyes opening with a sharp, soldier’s awareness, then softening when they landed on me.

“Good morning,” I whispered.

He blinked once, slowly. “I missed this.”

Something in my chest tightened—something hopeful and dangerous. “How very human of you.”

He pushed up onto an elbow, the movement controlled and deliberate. “You’re influence, no doubt.”

I huffed a quiet breath of laughter. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m bringing out what’s been hibernating inside.” I gently rest a hand on his non-augmented pectoral. “You wage war for your people, but you’re really after peace.”

His fingers brushed a stray lock from my cheek, the pads lingering longer than necessary. That tiny hesitation—the pause, the softness—was something no one else on this planet would believe existed in him. “I must attend to my duties today, after taking care of that… matter yesterday,” he said at last, though even I could hear the reluctance.

“Right. Commander things.”

“Commander things,” he echoed, almost amused.

Watching him stand and reach for his uniform felt oddly intimate, even now after everything that happened yesterday, as if seeing behind a curtain I wasn’t meant to. The early light caught the dark scales on his spine and the network of old scars across his shoulders—evidence of sixty years of war carved into skin and bone. Piece by piece, the man who had destroyed my world put himself back together to face the next fight.

Before he sealed the last plate across his torso, he turned to me. “Stay here,” he ordered. “The corridors will be restless with gossip, but I will do my best to quell it.”

My stomach dropped a little. “Gossip? About… us?”

“About yesterday,” he corrected, though the flicker in his eyes suggested that was only half the story. “You destroyed part of the Command Deck when you were distressed.” His jaw tightened. “They must believe I punished you for it.”

“Punished?”

His silence was heavy.

Oh. Right.

If they didn’t see consequences—if they believed he treated me differently—they’d talk even more. And talk in a base like this could turn into suspicion. Suspicion into danger.

“For your safety,” he said quietly. “Only for that.”

“I understand.” I did, even if it made my stomach twist.

“I will make certain the records reflect the proper discipline,” he continued, gaze dropping briefly to my lips, and I wondered if his mind was on pleasure instead. “And that the soldiers spread it. There is a high probability I will have to send you to the Sholta pens.”

His yellow eyes lingered on mine, watching for a sign of defiance. He was going to lie to protect me in an official capacity. Another layer added to the strange, shifting ground beneath us. I’d be an ungrateful fool to fight him on this.

“I’ll do what you need me to. I was never one to hide from a fight; I’m not about to now.”

He stepped closer, one large finger lifting my chin. “You are strong, but strength alone does not win battles. We must also be smart.” I nodded in agreement. “I will return when my duties allow,” he murmured. “Remain here. No one will question your absence.”

I nodded, but inside a knot of something raw tightened. He was the Commander again, and I was his human. What had happened between us was a secret locked behind his door. Korath lingered a heartbeat too long, eyes searching mine in a way that made my pulse flutter. Then he turned and left, the door hissing shut behind him. Leaving me alone and suddenly very aware that caring for a man like Korath came with a cost neither of us knew how to measure.

I spent the first few hours pacing, feeling restless about the fact that he was out there on literal damage control while I was stuck here. Useless. There had to be something here I could do, but what…

The slate!

Rushing over to it on the table, I opened it to find something surprising: A cooking guide to Eksese cuisine, sent to him from Serral. Did he cook? No, he was a soldier; others did the cooking for him. Was Korath feeling homesick?

And then it hit me. A way to help him, though it wouldn’t be what he’d expect. With everything he was doing to protect me and the length he’d already gone, I wanted to repay that debt.

Inside his quarters was a version of a kitchenette, but he’d not touched it except to get a drink. I played around with the surface heater and found very basic cookware and dishes stored below it. I had made more with less on the driving trail over an open fire, and seeing that I was always the only woman, the responsibility of cooking fell to me by default. Aside from what we packed, I always had my eye out for wild plants and herbs, priding myself on improvisation.

Excitedly, I began reading through the recipes, but slowly began to realize the cookbook was for making food using their space-grade rations. The text flickered in Eksese symbols with a translation overlay. “Protein starch mixture,” I read aloud. “Add flavor compounds. Simmer until… purple?”

I frowned, but skimmed to the description of the dishes. Many of them resembled rich stews and hearty Earth dishes with a slightly similar taste palate. The thought of using highly preserved mixes and “flavor compounds” when there was fresh food all around was appalling.

Walking over to the wall panel, I followed the directions Korath had given me for ordering meals, but instead, I requested ingredients from the kitchens. Being the Commander, he had access to the full inventory list, so I could see what was all stockpiled by the humans they had farming and gathering. Putting together a list, similar to online shopping, I hit the button and waited. After a few minutes, the panel chimed, and I opened the door to find the ingredients neatly sorted in a large bowl.

Eager to get started, I washed, cut, and dropped everything into the stew to simmer while I tried my best with the bread. The yeast substitute they had rose much faster than I was used to, but I figured it out after two tries.

The whole time, I kept second-guessing myself. Would he like it? It was good in terms of human standards, but would it satisfy him? Would he be mad that I was wasting resources? Maybe I misread the whole situation, for all I knew, Serral was sending him recipe suggestions for the mess hall.

When the door finally opened that evening, I almost dropped the utensil I was holding.

Korath stepped in, the hard line of his jaw tighter than usual. He looked… weary. His eyes flicked to me, then to the table. “You cooked,” he said, the words slow and almost disbelieving.

“I attempted to cook,” I corrected, feeling suddenly self-conscious. “It might be terrible, but I wanted to try.”

He stared at the dish, then back at me as I rambled on about the dish and how I thought it was similar to something from Eksese, but it was like he wasn’t really hearing me. Something in his expression softened—that guarded command giving way to quiet surprise. “You did this for me.”

“You do so much,” I said simply. “And I thought maybe you’d like a meal that didn’t come from a ration crate.” No need to mention my snooping on his slate.

He exhaled, long and measured, before sitting down at the table. I served, quickly returning the pot to the alien stovetop, and joined him. I watched as he tasted the stew, his crest shifting faintly—their version of a raised eyebrow, I was learning.

“Well?” I asked, heart pounding, strangling the spoon in my hand.

“It is…” He paused, swallowed. “…better than what the rations provide.”

I beamed, because from him, it was the truth without the frivolities. “You mean that?”

“Yes,” he admitted, and the corner of his mouth lifted.

We ate in companionable silence for a time, the hum of the ship and the muted glow of the viewport wrapping around us like a cocoon. After the meal, he stood and regarded me across the table. “There are rumors,” he said quietly. “About you. About us, but I will allow it for now. They are the kind that will perish in a few weeks.” I nodded quietly, enjoying the sight of him spooning the stew into his mouth. “What matters is that when I returned… my quarters felt different. Warmer.”

My throat tightened because he was the one person in this broken world who made it feel like home. I stood and moved behind him, his eagle eyes tracking me the whole way. “That’s because it’s lived in now. You’re not alone anymore.” My hands found his firm shoulders, leaning over one to plant a kiss on his rigid cheek.

“This… closeness,” he said quietly, “you are a slave. My pet.” His eyes met mine with a burning resolve. “You know I do not see you as such.”

“I know. And I don’t see you as Supreme Commander. They are labels that others place on us, but they don’t define us.”

For a long moment, neither of us moved, letting the words settle into an undeniable truth. Then, his chair slid out, and large hands guided me to him. Even sitting, he was tall enough to be at eye level with me. Korath dipped his head tentatively, as though afraid to break something fragile, and pressed his forehead against mine.

His breath mingled with mine, warm and uncertain. I let my hands find the back of his neck, combing my hands through his hair at the back of his neck. His lips brushed my temple, the gesture careful, almost questioning, as though he was asking for permission in a language older than words.

I tilted my face up in answer. The kiss that followed wasn’t desperate, or born of hunger or victory. It was discovery—a slow, aching press that said I see you. I want to feel to understand.

When he finally pulled back, his voice was roughened to a whisper. “You bring calm where I am chaos.”

“And you bring order where I am falling apart,” I replied.

We moved together to the bed, not out of impulse, but because it felt like the natural place for two souls who had finally stopped fighting themselves. He held me, careful with every breath, every shift of his body. His skin was cool against mine, but his heartbeat—strong and alien—thrummed beneath my ear like a steady drum. Neither of us spoke for a long time. Words weren’t needed in the peace we created just by each other’s presence alone.

His arm tightened slightly around me. “Sleep,” he murmured.

I smiled against his chest. “Even commanders need rest.”

“Perhaps,” he said, the faintest warmth in his tone. “You first.”

The room had gone quiet, save for the rhythm of his breathing beneath my cheek. The air still carried the faint spice of food and the warmth that followed between us. I felt safe, and while it was probably too good to be true in the reality waiting outside the room, it was the hope I clung to along with my protector. My new home.

20 The Language of Consequence

Maren

By the end of the first day, my arms felt like Jell-O. Working the Sholta wasn’t just hard—it was brutal. The vats expelled a rancid stench that clawed into my throat, and the beasts themselves kept you on your toes with their aggressive hunger. I’d thought being a ranch hand was bad most days, but Sholta handling made horses and cattle look like plush toys.

And I wasn’t allowed water breaks. Or shade. Or time to sit, because I was “punished.”

Korath hadn’t called it that aloud—he would never demean me in that way—but everyone else did. A human pet who destroyed half the Command Deck? Yeah, she gets the Sholta trenches from sunup to sundown for weeks. Had it not been for my “pet” status, I’d certainly be dead.

Even so, when Korath told me what was set as an acceptable sentence, I agreed without hesitation. We were in this together, and I had no doubt that he spared me the worst of punishments. Whatever he asked of me, I’d do for us.

When Korath showed up at the end of my shift, every muscle in my body trembled. He played his role perfectly, stopping at the pens with an expression of a cool, unreadable slate. “Pet,” he said, loud enough for the handlers to hear. “Come. You’ll prepare my meal. Your work isn’t done.”

Despite everyone—both Eksese and human alike—listening intently, no one watched us directly. They would go back to the mess hall or the cells and speak to the others of it later, being their entertainment this week, but nothing now while the Commander’s wrath was one wrong glance away.

I kept my head down. “Yes, Commander.”

But when he escorted me through the side corridor—when the others couldn’t see—his hand brushed mine for half a second. A secret apology. A secret reassurance that it was an act.

That night, he bathed me himself. The warm water, the gentle scraping of his claws through my hair, the slow, careful rinse down my spine… all of it made the days survivable.

And the cycle repeated for days.

By the end of the first week, I stank of Sholta musk no matter how hard I scrubbed. I was scraped raw, dehydrated, and bleary-eyed. The handlers barely looked at me anymore—just another human being put in her place.

Korath remained distant in public, but every night, after the doors sealed behind us, he held me before he even spoke. Sometimes he had water and food at the ready, knowing my body was being pushed to its limits; other times, he didn’t let me fall asleep until he’d massaged the cramps out of my legs. I knew he was having full days of work too, but for him to spend his nights caring for me kindled a strange, secret tenderness neither of us had words for.

The yellow of his eyes seemed to darken when his hands trailed over my bruised, broken, and bare skin. I never shied away from his gaze when he examined and touched me, leaving goosebumps in his wake. Part of me wished he would make a move, but I realized it probably never occurred to the logically-ruled Eksese to do such a thing. Or maybe he didn’t know how.

Now, wasn’t the time for me to push anything, though, with everyone watching us. The act was working, and adding desire into the equation just wasn’t the greatest idea. As Korath had said, we needed to be smart.

The sun was dropping behind the mountains as I saw to the cleaning and preparation of the equipment for tomorrow’s feedings when I felt the prickle of being watched. Not by the handlers—they were busy arguing over a malfunctioning temperature regulator in the Sholta stables.

No. This gaze felt different. Heavier. Older.

When I looked up, Korath was standing in the far aisle. Not where anyone would normally enter. Not for observation. Not for reprimand. He was early, and he was watching me. His posture wasn’t his rigid Commander stance either—it softened by degrees as he took me in, as though cataloguing each bruise, each blister, each breath I forced out of my aching lungs.

I swallowed hard and kept working. I finished hosing off the buckets, wiped the sweat from my forehead with my sleeve, then stepped away from the equipment with legs trembling like overcooked noodles.

Korath moved then—slowly, quietly—until he was beside me, close enough that I felt the heat radiating off him through my filthy shirt.

“Commander,” I said, barely above a whisper.

His eyes flicked to the handlers. None were looking our way. Only then did his voice soften into the version only I knew. “You endure more than most of my soldiers.”

“I don’t have much choice.” It wasn’t a biting remark, just the simple truth of the matter.

“You do,” he murmured, wiping something off my cheek. “You chose not to break.”

My dry throat tightened. “You’re the reason I didn’t.”

His gaze locked onto mine, and for a heartbeat, the world narrowed to the faint scent of metal and earth he always carried, and the rush of everything we weren’t allowed to say. I turned toward him, hidden from the handlers by his large frame, letting my fingers grasp his chest plate, using his weight to drag my tired body to him. Korath looked at me with that need in his eyes he didn’t know existed—but I did.

Briefly, my aches were forgotten, surviving alone off his attention. “As my master, you have the power to do whatever you’d like with me.”

The depth in his voice could’ve brought me to my knees. “That’s a dangerous idea, Maren.”

Then—

A shuffle.

My breath hitched, and I stepped back from Korath just enough to keep the moment from tipping into something reckless.

Korath heard it too. His eyes snapped toward the sound with a predator’s precision. His posture shifted—still, alert, coiled. Then, in an instant, everything about him hardened back into the Commander. Korath’s voice sharpened instantly, transforming back into his public tone. “You are to finish your assigned tasks, then I will return for you. Do not falter.”

“Yes, Commander,” I said, still retreating back to work. I forced my gaze away from him. Forced the moment shut, but my heart tripped, pretending to scrape leftover slurry from the edges.

He didn’t wait. Didn’t linger, not risking us being seen too close. The moment he disappeared from the stall, the air thickened around me. The handlers were too far to hear anything. The corner where the shuffle came from looked empty.

Then—

A hand clamped around my upper arm.

I jerked, sucking in a sharp breath as I was yanked sideways into an empty stall. Rhett. His eyes were wild with anger, disbelief, and something unhinged sparking behind them.

“So it’s true,” he hissed, voice all gravel and venom. Rhett’s flannel shirt, vest, and jeans were holed and soiled from work.

“Rhett—” I tried to pull back, but he clamped down harder, his grimy fingers biting into muscle.

“You really are his faithful pet.” His lip curled, glistening with sweat. “First you sell us out, and now you’re spreading your legs for him?”

I gritted my teeth, trying to free myself, but he didn’t budge. “I didn’t betray anyone! I begged him not to—”

“Bullshit.” His grip tightened until my skin screamed. “I heard everything. Saw how you touched him.” His face was inches from mine. “You’re not just his pet—you’re his favorite little whore.”

My face flushed violently; having someone hear words only meant for Korath. “That’s not—let go of me, you ass!”

He shoved me against the stall wall—not enough to send me to the floor, but enough that stars burst behind my eyes. The Sholta in the nearest pen let out an uneasy, guttural snort.

“Or what?” Rhett snarled, his auburn, disheveled hair falling in his face. “You’ll run crying to your alien master? Maybe he’ll pat your head and give you a treat?”

“Stop—”

“Oh, I’m just getting started.” His free hand slammed against the wall beside my head, caging me in. “You think you’re protected? That collar makes you special?” He leaned in, breath hot and fraying at the edges of control. “I have nothing left to lose, Maren. Nothing. You can’t threaten a dead man walking.”

Anger shot through me, hot and shaking. “I don’t need Korath to handle you. I can handle you myself.”

I threw a sharp jab at his face, connecting with his nose, making him snort up the blood. Rhett took half a step back before lunging for me. His hand shot up, fingers closing around my throat—just beneath the collar. My head and back slammed up against the corrugated wall with a thud, making some of the equipment hanging there fall.

“What was that?” One of the handlers hissed.

We both froze, holding our breath. Rhett’s hand squeezed tighter in warning, but I wasn’t about to cry for help and prove him right—that I was a traitor.

“The Commander’s pet is back there,” another answered. “He said he would return shortly for her. Leave her be.” They walked off, resuming their rounds, leaving us alone once more.

I huffed at him. “If they catch you, they’ll punish you. Or worse. You should go—”

“You always think you know better than everyone else,” he whispered, spit hissing between his teeth. “We all lost people because of them. But you?” His thumb brushed the base of the collar deliberately. “You’re climbing into the bed of the monster who burned our world.”

His words cut deeper than his grip ever could.

“We lost, Rhett,” I snapped, bitterness twisting with exhaustion. “There’s no coming back from this. No rebellion. No cavalry. It’s survival now. And I—” My voice cracked. “I’m trying to make things better for us. Korath listens to me. That could help everyone.”

“The only person I see you helping is yourself.”

“You’re delusional if you think anything you do will send a message,” I hissed. “All you’ll do is get people killed. Wake up, Rhett. This is our reality.”

His jaw clenched. Hard. He looked like someone holding on to the last thread of sanity.

“I said let go,” I breathed. “Now.”

For one long, suffocating heartbeat, I thought he wouldn’t. Then Rhett released me, but he didn’t step back.

He leaned in so close I could feel the heat of him, the fury rolling off in waves. “We’re not done,” he whispered. “Not by a long shot.” His voice dropped to something colder. Meaner. “And by the end, you’ll die with them, traitor.” He stalked off down the aisle, footsteps echoing like hammer strikes.

I pressed a hand to my throat, feeling the ghost of his fingers—the imprint, the threat, the promise. For the first time since the invasion… I wasn’t afraid of the Eksese. I was afraid of the humans.

---

Korath

I saw the marks the moment she shed her shirt. Pale finger-shaped shadows along her arm and a scratch by her collar—rage tightened every muscle in my body. She tried to turn away from me, mumbling that it was nothing, that she would handle it.

“Maren.” Her name vibrated low in my chest. “If you return to me marked again, there will be blood. I will not allow this.”

She looked up at me then, brown eyes soft even through exhaustion and pain, and she did what only she seems able to do—temper the instinct to hunt, to break, to punish. Her hand came to rest on mine, small and warm. “Let me deal with it,” she whispered. “Please.”

I should have refused. Instead, I let her lean against me as I finished tending the bruises. She relaxed by degrees, first her shoulders, then her breathing, slipping into sleep before I could coax her to the bed.

That was when she said his name. Barely a breath, a dream-muddled whisper, but the fear was there.

Rhett.

She wouldn’t tell me, but now she didn’t have to.

By morning, Malrik had a direct order: Rhett is to be watched. Report everything.

The reports began that same day: “Commander, the human provoked your pet again today,” and “Commander, voices raised in the Sholta stables—hostile.” Always tense. Always near violence. Always involving her.

Through the final days of her punishment, Maren insisted she was managing it, but I saw the tightness around her eyes, the forced calm. I saw her flinch when a worker dropped a bucket too close to her in the vat.

She had made no progress and carried the burden alone, as if shielding me.

Foolish. Loyal. Infuriating.

So, I stood there in the shadows watching her walk into the Sholta stables alone, and accepted what I already knew the moment she whispered his name in her sleep:

I will handle this my way.