Forus.
CHAPTER 17
ELLA
Idon’t think I’ve ever been this happy and this terrified at the same time. My chest feels like it’s being squeezed by invisible hands, and the air tastes like sunlight and metal. Takhiss is… more than I ever imagined. He’s not just a warrior. He’s a partner. A protector. A storm I never saw coming but now can’t imagine living without.
That night, when he rouses me from fitful sleep, I find him in the control alcove, fiddling with the beacon circuitry. He’s bent over solenoids and wiring junctions, fingers stained with flux and ash. The faint glow of the core behind panels bathes him in silhouette gold, every ridge of scale trimming sharp in that light. I slip in behind him quietly.
“Need help?” I murmur.
He glances up. His breath hitches at the sight of me. He nods and slides a panel aside, exposing fragile conduits. We work shoulder to shoulder, elbows brushing. Each contact sends little currents through me—electric jolts of promise.
“Run the Alliance fallback loop here,” I tell him, pointing to a terminal. “Then overlay with Coalition signature mask—an old smuggler's trick. The captain of theAces Hightaught me thatone. Said it was the only way to scream without getting caught. Keep it within margin, so it doesn't trip bugs..”
He smiles, that slow smile that softens his entire face. “Smart, civilian.”
I snort. “Keep that up and I’ll ask for you to patchmyheart next.”
He reaches out; his fingers brush mine as he routes a wire. The spark is physical—edges tingle against skin. We pause, blinking. That moment stretches.
“Okay,” he says, and finishes the final routing. The beacon hums. A soft pulse, steady. It’s alive.
“Signal boosting,” I whisper, pressing a sequence of taps on the console. Light flares. The message transmits outward through fractured, war-torn space. A distant warp signature picks it up. A pulse reply comes back—a faint handshake across the dark void.
We both exhale.
We look at each other like we just survived something miraculous.
Later, we end up in the medical alcove—small, cramped, sanctified by first-aid kits and antiseptic smells. The broken cot’s padding is thin, but it’s shelter. I tug his tunic off—he gives me that exasperated look, mild indignation flickering in his eyes—but he lets me.
I press him down, warm limbs against the fractured bed. My fingers trace along injured ribs, along torn armor edges. His skin beneath is hot, humming with residual energy. He winces; I pause.
“Sorry,” I whisper. “I just want to feel… everything right now.”
He nods. “I want that too.”
I kiss him then—soft at first, exploring. His arms wrap around me tight, possessive but gentle. His mouth opens, andI feel the brush of teeth, the press of tongue. But this isn’t just pressing lips. This is confession in quiet places. A vow in half-spoken touches.
Our breathing mingles, ragged. There’s laughter in the mix—half delight, half relief—when he mumbles something about “broken warriors making good company.”
I tug him closer. I feel the press of his heart through ribs. I feel the bond sharpen, a humming blade threading through us. It doesn’t burn; it connects.
When we finally still, weight against weight, he says something that freezes the air.
“They won’t let me stay.”
My heart tenses.
“Don’t talk like that,” I say, trying to pull the darkness from his eyes. “We’ll figure it out. You’ll stay.”
He shakes his head, jaw tight. “They won’t. The Alliance—Coalition—they see us as weapons, as liabilities. Especially me.”
“Then they’ll learn to see you differently,” I argue. “I’ll make sure of it.”
He presses his forehead to mine. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“Then I’ll learn. With you.”
