She’d accepted him anyway. Loved him anyway. Told him, with her hands on his unfamiliar face and her bond flung wide, that shape meant nothing. That she’d bonded withhim—the scholar, the sentinel, the male who’d waited lifetimes for her.
And now she was standing at a viewport, staring at the stars like she was trying to count the distance between herself and everyone she’d left behind, and her body was eating itself alive because she refused to rest.
The crimson thread pulsed. A slow, heavy throb that matched his heartbeat and carried the taste of her depletion.
Please sit down,he thought, not for the first time.Please let me do something.
It happened without warning.
One moment Selena stood motionless at the glass, the galaxy streaming past her like a river she’d waded into and refused to leave. The next, her weight shifted. Subtle—a list to the left, her shoulder dipping as though an invisible hand had pressed down on it.
Zyxel was already rising when her knees buckled.
Ryzen moved faster.
The Verya male covered the distance between his corner and the viewport in three strides—impossibly quick, fluid, the kind of speed that came from decades of combat instinct. His spirit daggers flared to life, snapping outward in a defensive ring as his arms caught Selena mid-fall, one hand bracing her shoulders, the other hooking beneath her knees as her body went limp against his chest.
The daggers cast emerald light across her slack face. Her spots had dimmed to almost nothing—light tan flickers against dark skin, guttering like candles in a draft.
“What’s wrong with her?” Ryzen’s voice came sharp, edged with a control that was cracking. He shifted her weight, cradling her against him, scanning for injury. “Is she hurt?”
Zyxel dropped to his knees beside them, his demi-human legs folding with a grace that surprised him—muscle memory finally catching up to intent. He pressed his palm to Selena’s forehead. Warm. Not feverish. Then lower—two fingers against the pulse point at her throat, feeling the rhythm beneath fragile skin.
Steady. Weak, but steady.
He reached through the bond.
The crimson thread opened like a door, and Selena’s interior landscape flooded him. Not pain. Not injury. Not the sharp alarm of something broken.
Emptiness.
She was drained. Hollowed out. Every reserve she’d drawn on during those final days on Destima—the training with Ryzen, the goodbyes, the sleepless nights memorizing her family’s breathing—had been spent. The pregnancy was pulling from her at a cellular level, demanding resources she no longer had. Her shields, normally layered and reinforced, had thinned to gossamer. Through them, he caught fragmented impressions of her scattered mates, all singing with the strain of distance.
She’d been holding all of them. Reaching across the galaxy, maintaining every connection, refusing to let a single bond thin beyond her awareness.
Ofcourseshe’d collapsed.
“She’s not injured.” He kept his voice level. Professional. The scholar’s detachment was useful here—it kept his hands from shaking. “She’s exhausted.”
Ryzen’s brows drew together. The daggers pulsed brighter, responding to his agitation. “Exhausted? She was standing—”
“She’spregnant.” Zyxel met the Verya male’s eyes—emerald to chartreuse, two species united by the unconscious woman between them. “She didn’t sleep last night. She barely slept the night before. She left every person she loves behind on Destima,and she’s been holding the bonds open since we launched—reaching for them across light-years, refusing to let go.”
He paused, lifting an eyebrow. Let the weight of it settle.
“Her body demanded what her mind refused to give.”
Ryzen’s jaw shifted. Something in his expression changed—the combat alertness draining, replaced by a quieter understanding. His arms tightened fractionally around Selena, and the daggers dimmed, settling into a lower orbit. Protective rather than aggressive.
“Should I put her down?”
“No.” Zyxel shook his head. “Don’t move her yet. Let me—”
He pressed deeper through the bond. Carefully. The way one handled delicate specimens—with reverence and a steady grip. He sent warmth. Not words, not thoughts, just a slow pulse of presence through the crimson thread. “I’m here. You’re safe. You can stop holding.”
Something in her shifted. A small, involuntary unclenching—like a fist loosening in sleep. Her spots flickered once. Warm blue. Then settled again.
Still unconscious. But calmer.
