He shakes his head. “You are in my custody. You will not leave Xytheos.” He stands, reaches out, and cups my chin, tilting my face up to his. Rythar kisses me again, harder this time, his teeth teasing my lower lip. Then he walks away.
I’m a traitor for liking his touch. For parting my lips in anticipation of his kiss even though he is everything my mission goes against.
“Where are you going?” I put anger in my voice to cover up everything else I’m feeling.
“If I stay, I take you. If I take you before you are ready, I break you,” he growls. He waits, as if daring me to stop him.
He crosses the chamber and stands with his back to me, fists clenched at his sides.
I watch him, heart in my throat.
He turns, one last time, and looks at me. His eyes are molten, but his face is set. “I want you whole. By my side. I can wait.”
Then he’s gone, striding from the chamber and sealing the door behind him.
I’m left alone, aching, furious, and so fucking wet.
It’s not him I’m angry at.
It’s me.
Because I want him, and I'll want him again.
I lie back against the furs, staring at the ceiling. If I stay here another minute, I’ll go insane. I’ll crawl to Rythar and beg him to fuck me senseless, and I can’t let that happen. Not yet. Not until I know Sophia is safe.
The pool steams. The furs are the softest, most comfortable place I’ve laid down in many years. A very loud part of me wants to stay. Wants to wait for him to come back.
That's exactly why I have to go. My hands shake as I scrub my face. I don’t have any connection to Sophia. The Stone’s gift is lost. My future is uncertain.
I’m frightened of facing the jungle, but Sophia is already out there, alone. I have to be brave. Even my bravery is artificial. I snag the bottle of strange oil that made the fear drain away and unstop it. I tip it under my nose and inhale deeply. The scent floods my chest, bold and heady, replacing fear with a reckless clarity.
I pace the chamber, testing every seam in the rock. The door is locked, but I know there must be another way. There must be a vent, a service hatch, or a hidden panel. Something services that spring. My engineering skills weren’t prepared for this tech, but I know tunnels and hatches. I pry at the edges, listening for the difference in sound. I wedge my fingers into the likeliest crack and pull. A panel gives just a little.
I wedge my shoulder into it, bracing my feet against the stone. The sweat on my palms makes it hard, but I don’t let go. I grit my teeth and wrench with everything I have.
It pops free. Behind it, there’s a gap, probably too small for a Xythean male.
Good thing I’m a lot smaller than that.
The gap is just wide enough for me to squeeze through.
CHAPTER 15
ESCAPE
ELENA – RYTHAR’S FORTRESS IN THE GREEN REACH
I pushmyself headfirst into the opening and immediately have to stop.
It isn’t a tunnel. It’s barely a space at all. It’s more of a maintenance alcove carved into the thickness of the wall, no deeper than my torso. A repair access. It’s just large enough for tools, wiring, maybe a service drone. Not meant for bodies—at least not Xythean-sized ones.
The stone presses close on all sides, smooth and cool, the ambient lighting dim but steady. There’s no tunnel ahead, just the far side of the wall. I’m wedged here, knees bent, shoulders angled, my spine curved to fit the tight space.
My breath quickens as I think of what can be in tunnels, but I catch it, forcing myself to inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale.
I’ve been in worse.
On New Terra, the worst part about tunnels was the Project Hushbite rats. Sewer rats modified to carry a deadly venom. Men drop in minutes. The purple or black veins show fast, growing from the site of the bite. Organ shock and hallucinations follow. Then death. Women are immune.
