His head snaps back to me.
I lean in slowly, like testing gravity. His claws flex. His breathing changes. My lips are inches from his, and this time, there’s no haze. No fever. No excuses.
But I don’t kiss him.
“Next time,” I say softly, brushing my fingers against his chest. “It’ll be real.”
And he just nods, eyes on fire, like he’s waiting for the stars to fall.
CHAPTER 14
TAKHISS
The bond doesn’t quiet. It claws at me, gnawing from the inside like a second heart trying to beat its own rhythm beneath my sternum. I feel her even when she’s not near. Her scent, like ozone and electricity. The sound of her voice echoing in my skull. Every glance she gives me lights my nerves like fire circuits.
I want her.
I ache.
But I wait.
Because this isn’t just about the bond anymore. This isn’t chemical programming or ancient instincts. It’s not even jalshagar, not just that. This is something else. Something deeper.
Choice.
And she hasn’t made hers yet.
So I move. I train. I scavenge the wreckage for parts that might matter. I slam my fists into the ship’s twisted bulkhead until my knuckles split and the ache distracts me. I run diagnostics. Patch power conduits. I bleed where she won’t see, scrub it off before she can ask questions. I hide my hunger because she’s earned her space.
But every time she walks past me, the bond thrums louder. Hotter. Like it knows what I want before I do. Like it’s daring me to act.
I don’t.
Not until she touches me.
It’s nothing. A routine injury. A torn scale along my left pectoral, cracked where I braced the generator wrong. She sees it when I strip out of my upper armor to cool off. I’m not even paying attention—too busy rerouting a coolant line with one half-dead multitool.
“You idiot,” she says.
Her voice is soft. Irritated. Fond.
I turn my head, and there she is—kneeling beside me with a dermal patch in her hand. Her fingers hover near my chest, hesitant for just a breath. Then she presses the patch to the cracked scale, and my whole body flinches.
Not from pain.
From heat.
“Hold still,” she mutters.
“Hard to do when you’re poking broken bone.”
“You have a pain tolerance like a mutant grizzly,” she says, eyes narrowing. “You’re fine.”
I laugh. Out loud.
It rumbles up from somewhere deep, foreign. Raw. I don’t remember the last time I laughed. Not a smirk. Not a sneer. A real, startled, full-bodied laugh.
She freezes.
