The shadow advances, drawing on the surrounding chaos like a predator converging upon its prey, hunger held tantalizingly in check until the decisive moment arrives. Time shrinks—seconds descend upon heartbeats, compressing fate into an implement poised to strike.
Every decision feels weighted with consequence as Paragon defies logic, twisting plans into knots of unpredictability, demanding sacrifice from every breath it intersects. The city watches—an ancient predator binding schemes within shadow and whispers—and reaches.
Yet still, I stand, determination anchoring me where chaos threatens to uproot. Here in Paragon’s core, with destruction spreading its arms wide, failure is not an option. These walls—these hearts—they harbor futures worth fighting for.
Against the backdrop of calamity, the shadow approaches, its silhouette growing sharper, more defined. This intelligence, this presence—it’s alive, consciousness mingled with purpose beyond understanding.
CHAPTER 8
TARKEN
She slams into me, a frantic impact of soft curves and panicked breath against the unyielding plate of my chest. My arm locks around her waist on instinct, hauling her back from the conduit’s snapping arc. The heat of her bleeds through my suit, a shocking, immediate brand. Her heart hammers against my ribs, a wild drum mocking my own controlled rhythm.
Focus. Protect. Survive.
But stars above, she feels good. The full length of her pressed along me, the soft weight of her breasts, the frantic flutter of her pulse in her throat. A low, primal part of me roars to life, the Jalshagar surging against the cage of my discipline. It screams that she fits, that this is right, that I should push her against the shuddering wall and discover if her human skin tastes as electric as it feels.
I crush the thought, my jaw tightening until my teeth ache. The ghost of the last failed bond sears my memory—not just a flicker, but the full, gut-wrenching cataclysm. A district’s worth of lives, snuffed out in a silent, expanding ring of dead crystal. Because a Chieftain’s control snapped.
“Stay still.” The command grates out of me, rough with the effort of holding two kinds of chaos at bay. My other hand comes up, not to cradle her, but to shield her head, my body turning to take the brunt of any new spray of sparks. The air smells of ozone and her. “Trust me.”
She goes rigid, not with fear, but with a sharp, listening tension. Her breath gusts hot against the side of my neck. I can feel every point of contact with excruciating clarity—the hard points of her nipples against my torso, the lean muscle of her thigh pressed to mine. A treacherous, sweating heat pools low in my gut.
Along the walls, the conduits don’t just spark. They twitch. Faint, living shadows ripple within the glassy tubes, flowing toward us like ink in water. Paragon is watching. Hungry.
Her scent floods me—ozoneand sweat and something uniquely her—as I haul her against my body. My veins ignite beneath slate skin, molten gold light bleeding through. The Jalshagar roars, a primal drumbeat drowning the core’s shriek. Every muscle locks, coiled to spin her around, pin her to the shuddering wall, and claim that gasp trembling on her lips. My cock strains against my trousers, a hard, aching line pressed tight to her thigh. Control frays like overloaded cabling.
Discipline. Duty. Remember the dead. The warnings fracture under the heat of her. My hand moves without permission—rough, urgent—sliding up the reinforced fabric of her medical suit. Not a skirt, but the seam gives. My fingers find hot, damp skin beneath, the shock of her wetness as I push one finger inside. Tight. Clenching.
She arches, a sharp cry tearing from her throat. Not fear. Hunger. Her hips roll against my hand, taking me deeper. "Tarken?—"
"Hold on, Alana!" The growl rips from me, raw as the sparks showering around us. Her heat sears my finger, her body’s rhythm a counterpoint to Paragon’s convulsions. I want to tear the suit open, taste the salt on her neck, drive into her until the city’s death throes fade beneath her screams.
Her free hand fists in my tunic, knuckles white. Her breath comes in ragged bursts against my jaw. "The core—it’s syncing—can you feel?—?"
I feel nothing but her. The slick grip of her around my finger, the frantic pulse in her throat beneath my lips. The Jalshagar surges, gold light flaring in my vision. My teeth graze the tendon in her neck. She whimpers, grinding down.
Weakness. Catastrophe. The ghost of crumbling crystal walls flashes behind my eyes. I wrench my hand free, panting. Her slickness gleams on my finger. The loss tears a groan from her.
"Don’t stop." Her voice is a blade, edged with the same desperation clawing at my spine. She twists in my arms, facing me. Her eyes are dilated black, fixed on my mouth. "It’s the only thing stabilizing the feedback loop."
The core’s pulse thrums through the deck, syncing with the hammer of my heart. Her hips press forward, seeking the hard line of my cock again. My hand slams against the conduit behind her head, caging her. Sparks rain onto my forearm. I don’t feel the burn. Only her.
Her hands clawat my chestplate, blunt human nails scraping alloy. "You felt it too." Her voice isn't pleading—it's accusing. "The synchronization spiked when you touched me. Use that."
I grip her wrists, slamming them against the conduit behind her head. The glass tube pulses violet where her skin makes contact. "This isn't—" My throat locks around the lie.
Her knee brushes my thigh, deliberate. "Liar. Your eyes haven't stopped glowing since we touched."
The Jalshagar's heat crawls up my neck, tendrils of gold light fracturing across my vision. I lean in, close enough to taste the salt on her temple. "You mistake survival for desire, healer."
"Bullshit." Her hips roll against mine, dragging a groan from us both. The core's walls shudder, crystalline shards raining down around us. "Your city's dying because you won't feel. So feel this."
Her teeth sink into my lower lip.
Control snaps.
I spin her against the conduit, my palm splayed across her stomach. The reinforced suit peels like paper under my claws, revealing smooth brown skin. She arches into the contact, gasping as my other hand fists in her unraveling braid.
