A sour weight settled in her stomach. The fever. The helplessness of being unconscious. Complete dependence on him… then waking in his arms, warm and safe while the storm raged outside, suddenly felt different.
Not romantic as it had felt before, but helpless.
“So I’m just a burden.” The words came out flat.
Zeke’s hand found her face, fingers gentle but firm under her jaw as he turned her to look at him. “You’re mine to protect. Mine to die for if necessary.”
“I don’t want that.” She jerked away from his touch. “I don’t want to be something you die for. I want to stand beside you, not cowering behind you.”
“That’s not how it works.” His voice carried absolute certainty. “You’re human. I’m Izaean. I’m stronger, faster, designed for combat. It’s my job to keep you safe.”
She gritted her teeth so hard she thought they’d break off. She’d spent decades building her independence after her divorce. Raised two children alone. Run engineering teams on many different planets. She’d carved out her competence with stubborn determination and raw skill.
And now she was being reduced to something fragile.
“This is why I don’t do relationships.” Raaze’s voice cut through the tension, as casual as if he were commenting on the weather. “All this emotional trall, these expectations and hurt feelings. Too complicated.” He examined his blade in the firelight. “I prefer killing things. Much simpler. You know where you stand with violence.”
“Shut the draanth up,” Zeke growled, but the damage was done.
She leaned back against the rock behind her. The few inches between them might as well have been light-years. The comfortable intimacy from earlier, pressed against his side, his arm around her, felt like it belonged to different people.
The memory of his touch, his possessive gaze, felt different now. What had thrilled her, that fierce certainty, now felt like a brand. She hadn’t been a partner.
She’d been a prize.
He watched her with unblinking yellow eyes. In his world, keeping something precious safe was the highest expression of care.
But she had never wanted to be precious.
She’d wanted to be loved. There was a difference.
Her engineering teams hadn’t respected her because she was protected or special. They’d respected her because she could diagnose a failing fusion reactor by sound alone, because she’d pulled twelve-hour shifts alongside them during critical repairs, and because she’d earned her position through skill and determination.
Here, none of that mattered. Here, she was just another fragile human who needed protection.
The legion cast on her leg pulsed with warmth.
She closed her eyes, exhaustion pulling at her bones.
“I survived twenty years in deep space engineering,” she said quietly, not opening her eyes. “Fifteen of those as department head. You know what the casualty rate is for deep space construction?”
No one answered.
“Thirty percent first year. Sixty percent by year five. I’ve seen fusion cores breach, hull decompressions, cascade failures that turned entire sections into molten slag.” She opened her eyes, staring into the fire. “I didn’t survive by being kept safe. I survived by being good at my job.”
“This isn’t a construction site,” Zeke said, his voice low. “This is Parac’Norr. Everything here wants to kill you.”
“Everything everywhere wants to kill humans. Including deep space.” She slid a glance sideways at him. “We’re not the apex predators. We’re not the strongest or fastest. We survive by being smart, adaptable, and working together. Not by being kept like pets.”
Zeke’s jaw was a knot of muscle. He opened his mouth, then snapped it shut, his hands clenching into fists on his knees. Then he growled in frustration, shaking his head.
“You’re mine,” he finally bit out.
There it was. That word that had thrilled her just hours ago, that had made her feel claimed and wanted.
Now it felt like a cage.
Pulling her knees to her chest, she wrapped her arms around them despite the protest from her injured leg.
