He pauses, those compound eyes focusing on me with mechanical precision.
“You know, Golden Viper, three years ago you nearly killed me with conventional combat techniques. Today, your biology has overridden your training. A bonded adversary introduces variables I have never tested. I find myself... compelled to gather more data.”
There’s something in his voice—not mockery, but genuine interest. Like a warrior who’s discovered an entirely new form of combat and wants to see how it develops.
“What I do next,” I say carefully, “is get my mate somewhere safe. Then we finish our business.”
“Ah.” Thek-Ka nods, as if this makes perfect sense. “Yes. The accidental bonding does create new priorities, doesn’t it? Very well. I will allow you to reach your ship.”
I stare at him. “You will... allow us?”
“The hunt is about honor, Golden Viper. There is no honor in killing a warrior who cannot fight because he is protecting an unconscious mate. That would be waste disposal, not combat. There is no glory in breaking a toy that is already broken.” He gestures toward The Precision with one of his four arms. “Go. Ensure her safety. When you are ready to face me as an equal, we will finish what we began three years ago.”
It’s a trap. It has to be a trap. Honor-bound warriors don’t just let their quarry escape because of inconvenient timing.
But Zola is unconscious in my arms, the mate-bond is humming between us like a living thing, and Jitters is still bouncing around Thek-Ka’s feet like he’s discovered the secret to tactical superiority.
“I do not understand,” I admit.
“The Rite of Severance has been interrupted again,” Thek-Ka says with what might be philosophical acceptance. “But this time, the interruption creates new variables rather than ending them. A bonded Golden Viper will introduce combat parameters I have never tested. I find myself... compelled to gather more data.”
He’s not letting us go out of mercy. He’s letting us go because he’s curious about how the bond will change our eventual confrontation.
This is somehow more terrifying than if he’d just tried to kill us.
But there’s something in his voice I recognize—not just warrior protocol, but the weight of a warrior who can’t go home. Can’t accept new challenges. Can’t move forward. For Exoscarab warriors, honor isn’t philosophical—it’s structural.An incomplete death-match is like walking around with a broken spine: you’re technically alive, but you can’t stand.
I understand him better than I want to admit. We’re both trapped by codes we didn’t write but can’t abandon. I ran from the arena circuits because they became corrupt, but the warrior code still holds me. He’s hunting me because our match was interrupted, and his code won’t let him rest until it’s finished. Different cages. Same bars.
Three years ago, I thought I’d escaped. But standing here with Zola unconscious in my arms and Thek-Ka allowing us mercy we don’t deserve, I realize neither of us has escaped anything. We’re both still prisoners of who we used to be.
But Zola is unconscious, and getting her to safety takes priority over understanding alien psychology.
I carry her toward her ship, with Jitters bouncing along behind us—still purple, still shaped like a tiny Exoscarab, but now vibrating with what appears to be tactical satisfaction.
“Golden Viper,” he calls out as we near the ship.
I turn back, Zola secure in my arms.
“When next we meet, bring your pet. I wish to study his... methods... more closely.”
“His methods consist entirely of panic and poor decision-making.”
“Yes,” Thek-Ka says with satisfaction. “Exactly. I find myself curious how such... unconventional tactics... might translate to a proper combat setting.”
The Precision’s airlock cycles open as we approach—apparently Zola’s ship has medical emergency protocols—and I carry her inside with Jitters trailing behind us like a purple anxiety shadow.
The airlock seals with a satisfying hiss, and for the first time since this nightmare began, we’re safe.
Temporarily.
I set Zola down in the ship’s medical bay, checking her vital signs while trying to ignore the way the mate-bond hums between us. Everything appears normal except for the faint luminescent quality her skin has taken on where we touched during the bonding. A side effect that proves what happened was real.
She stirs in my arms, her breathing deepening as she recovers from the shock.
“Zola? Are you... can you hear me?”
Her green eyes flutter open, focusing on my face with difficulty.
