Something shifts in his expression—relief mixed with lingering guilt. I sense the shadow of that conversation from days ago, when he offered to find a way to break this connection.
“Crash.” I pull back just enough to meet his eyes. “That conversation we had. About breaking the bond. Finding a way to undo this.”
Through our connection, I feel him tense—preparing for rejection even now, even after everything we’ve just shared.
“I’m choosing this,” I say, my voice steady despite the intensity of what I’m declaring. “Not because I have to. Not because the biochemistry is forcing me. Not because we just had incredible sex that scrambled my brain.” I cup his face, forcing him to see the certainty in my eyes. “Because I want you. All of you. The bond, the complications, the ridiculous alien anatomy, the dangerous gladiator past, the courier who takes impossible runs—everything.”
His breath catches, golden eyes going wide. “You don’t have to decide now. The option still—”
“I’m deciding now.” My thumb traces his cheekbone, feeling the slight texture of his scales. “You gave me the choice. You offered to tear yourself apart to restore my agency. And now I’m using that agency to choose you.”
“Zola...” His voice breaks on my name.
“I had a plan,” I continue, because he needs to understand this is a real choice, not just post-orgasmic euphoria. “Safe. Boring. Predictable. Fifteen years of inspections and a perfect professional record.” I press my forehead to his. “But that plan died the moment I walked onto your platform. And honestly? I don’t want it back.”
Through the bond, I feel his disbelief warring with hope. “Your career—”
“Will be whatever I make it. Maybe I’m not an OOPS inspector anymore. Maybe I’m a courier’s partner who happens to have exceptional safety assessment skills.” I can’t help but smile at the absurdity. “Maybe I’m the person who keeps her insanely competent but disaster-prone mate from violating every regulation in the book.”
“I’m not a disaster,” he protests weakly.
“You’ve survived explosive decompression, contact with Class-5 corrosives, and direct plasma exposure.” I raise an eyebrow. “You’re absolutely a disaster. You’re just a very capable disaster.”
The tension in his body finally begins to ease, replaced by something that feels like wonder through our connection.
“You’re certain?” he whispers. “Because once I believe you’re choosing this freely, I will never let you go. You’ll be stuck with a possessive Velogian mate who thinks you hung the stars and will probably embarrass you at every station we visit.”
“I’m certain.” I kiss him softly, letting the bond carry my absolute conviction. “I choose you, Crash Maxone. I choose this bond. I choose us.”
The relief that floods through our connection is so intense it makes us both shudder. He buries his face against my throat, and I feel something wet against my skin that might be tears.
“Thank you,” he whispers against the claiming mark. “Thank you for choosing me.”
My brilliant, dangerous, surprisingly gentle warrior who offered me freedom and is now overwhelmed that I chose him instead.
“Besides,” I add, unable to resist lightening the moment slightly, “someone needs to keep you from committing seventeen different safety violations per delivery. Might as well be the person biochemically bonded to you.”
His laugh is shaky but genuine.
“Especially the dangerous parts,” he corrects with dark amusement. “My brilliant, fearless mate who flies impossible courses while letting a gladiator claim her. You’re magnificent.”
I can feel his renewed arousal stirring through the heat of our entwined connection, his body already responding to the promise of another round. Velogian recovery time is apparently impressive—he’s already hardening inside me again, ready for a second claiming.
From somewhere behind us, there’s a wet splat as Jitters drops from his hiding place in the ventilation system. He takes one look at us—still locked together, visibly satisfied, completely bonded—and turns the brightest, happiest pink I’ve ever seen him. The sound he makes is pure joy, a warbling celebration that suggests he’s been waiting for this moment since the first time he saw us together.
“He approves,” I observe, unable to stop the smile that spreads across my face.
“He’s been trying to matchmake us since you walked onto that platform,” Crash admits with fond exasperation. “The coffee incidents, the strategic anxiety attacks, the perfectly timed interruptions—all designed to push us together.”
“Smart blob,” I say, and I feel Crash’s agreement and affection for his anxious companion.
But as the afterglow begins to fade, reality reasserts itself. We’re still being hunted by Thek-Ka. We still have two days until we reach Kallos Station. And we’re now permanently bonded in ways that go far beyond what either of us expected when I walked onto that platform three days ago.
“The others,” I manage, trying to focus on practical concerns despite the way he’s beginning to move inside me again. “Thek-Ka. What happens when he realizes we’re bonded?”
His smile against my throat is sharp and predatory, full of lethal promise. “Then he’ll discover that a mated Velogian fights very differently than one who’s alone. You’re under my protection now, Zola. And I’ll destroy anything that threatens what’s mine.”
The fierce possessiveness in his voice should be alarming. Instead, it makes heat pool in my belly again, ready for whatever he wants to give me next.
