by Presley Hall
But is it worse than that?
Will he die?
Without thinking, without even knowing what I’m doing, I push myself away from the wall and follow them, my feet taking me in the direction that the warriors are headed with Druxik without my conscious command.
My entire world seems to have narrowed down to one thing, every other thought crowded out of my head.
I have to make sure that Druxik is okay.
8
Druxik
I wake slowly.
As I come back to consciousness, I see the smooth glass dome of a medical pod overhead, the white ceiling and the bright lights of the med bay gleaming above me.
The machines beep, alerting Osynth that I’m awake, and I see him flip a switch to open the pod.
I feel groggy, my entire body sluggish and heavy. I blink as I pull myself up to a sitting position, feeling muscles that haven’t been used in a few days complain. The med bay door opens as I lick my dry lips, trying to steady the sense of vertigo in my head, and Zhori walks in.
“Druxik?” His voice is cautious.
I lurch a little, still regaining my sense of balance. Osynth reaches out to steady me.
“You’re all right,” he tells me. “The pod has been healing you, but it’ll take a moment to regain your equilibrium.”
“I’m glad to see you’re alive and well,” Zhori says. “I don’t want to run things any longer than I have to.” I can tell he’s trying to keep a lighthearted tone in his voice, but there’s strain just beneath it. He grins at me, the concern under the smile showing a little. “We were worried about you, Druxik.”
“I’m alive,” I say, and then hesitate. Something feels strange. I see the tension on both Osynth’s and Zhori’s faces, and I turn my head slowly to look down at the rest of myself.
A shock ripples through me as I see the robotic arm where my flesh-and-blood limb used to be. I lick my lips again unsteadily, trying to sort through the sudden, complicated tangle of emotions that rises up in me. I’m grateful to be alive, grateful that the ship didn’t explode, that we’re all safe. But…
“What happened?”
My voice is hoarse, and I keep my gaze fixed on the arm. It doesn’t look like a part of me. It’s smooth and metallic, well-crafted and sleek. The robotic arm starts just below my shoulder, with a functional hand at the end. It’s a beautiful piece of equipment—but it shouldn’t belong to me.
I should have two hands. Two arms. This isn’t mine. It can’t be.
“You saved all of our lives, that’s what happened,” Zhori says carefully.
“You’re lucky you didn’t lose yours in the process,” Osynth adds. “We weren’t sure you would make it, at first. You lost a lot of blood.”
“And the ship?” I can’t look at them. I can’t look at anything but the metallic limb extruding from my shoulder. Somehow, inexplicably, my arm still aches. It’s impossible, but it does.
“There shouldn’t be another engine failure,” Zhori assures me. “We’ll have to be careful when we land on Nierra, though. We’ve lost a little time, and it’ll be a bit harder to pilot the ship going forward. In order to keep up our current pace, we’ve had to temporarily disable the AI in order to route all power to the engine. I’ve been piloting it primarily, although Vrexen is capable enough when I need a break. We should be able to re-engage the AI unit soon.” He pauses. “But the ship will have to be repaired on Nierra before we can take off again. We’ll have to figure out how to manage that while getting the women safely away from the auction and off the planet as quickly as possible.”
“Try the use of your hand,” Osynth encourages. “It was lucky that I had the equipment available on board. It’s top of the line tech. After a while, you’ll hardly notice it’s not the real thing.”
I doubt that, I think grimly as I focus, attempting to move the fingers of the… of my hand.
As I lift the arm with some effort, bending the elbow joint and twitching the fingers, I bite back a groan. The movements are jerky and awkward, nothing like the steady and reliable motion of my old hand. My real hand.
“It’ll get better,” Osynth says quickly, seeing the expression on my face. “You’ll need to retrain your mind to connect to the robotic arm more organically. But it can be done, and it’ll soon be effortless. You won’t even have to think about it.”
Something twists in my chest as the realization of what this means hits me. Without proper function in my dominant hand—at this point, not even basic function—I can’t pilot the ship. And no matter what, even if I retrain myself to use the new hand, even if I can make the function organic, I’ll never be the pilot I once was. It’s impossible. I might be able to fly again, but I’ll never be the best. I’ve lost something that I can never regain.
The realization hits me hard, and for a moment, it’s as if all the air has been sucked out of me. It feels as if something has died inside me. Something that I needed, that I can’t be whole without.
The door slides open again, and to my surprise, Cora steps in. The two men standing beside me look up and nod respectfully.
“We’ll come back in a little while,” Zhori says, jerking his head at Osynth and then toward the door. “Shall we?”
Osynth nods before glancing back at me. “Call me on the comms unit if you need anything. We’ll be back later.”
My pulse beats hard in my throat as Cora tentatively walks into the room, pushing her light brown hair out of her face. Her delicate features are taut with worry, her eyes filled with concern. They flick to my new arm, and I see the concern replaced with pity, burning deeply in those beautiful blue-green eyes.
Eyes that not long ago were burning up at me for a different reason, full of lust and desire. Full of need.
I can’t stand to see the pity in her face.
My heart seizes in my chest as I look away from her. I feel small and worthless, like half a man. I’m an unworthy mate, a failure as a warrior.
The things that made me great and special—my prowess as a fighter, my unmatched skill as a pilot, my fearlessness and brash confidence—those things don’t exist anymore. They’ve been stripped away from me in a matter of seconds, physically sheared away from my body, leaving me with only the memory of what I used to be and a clumsy path back to being even a shadow of what I once was.
Cora comes to sit down gingerly next to me.
“How are you feeling?” she asks softly. Then she blushes a little. “I’ve been checking up on you a lot since the accident. I came by every few hours so that Osynth could update me.” She laughs, her lips twisting a little. “I think he’s a bit tired of seeing me here, honestly.”
I can’t imagine anyone ever getting tired of seeing her. I know I never would.
But how can I be anything to her now? She deserves so much more than a cripple.
“I’ll be fine once I learn to use the new arm,” I say flatly, trying not to be curt with her. She’s sweet to be here, and she doesn’t deserve any of my ire.
Her worry for me touches me in a way that I haven’t felt in a long time. But I feel the need to put distance between us now, to keep her from getting too close. I can’t disappoint her any more than I already have. More than I will, by saying what needs to be said.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” she admits, glancing at the robotic arm. “It’s impressive, honestly. I can’t believe that sort of tech exists. It definitely doesn’t back on Earth.”
Impressive. Not the word I would have chosen. I force a small smile onto my face.
“I’m glad to see that you’re safe,” I tell her honestly. “I didn’t want to leave you alone when the alarms went off. But I knew the problem had to be dealt with quickly. And I knew you could take care of yourself.”
I see a bit of pride fill Cora’s face at that. “I’m glad you think that,” she says quietly. “It feels good to be respected by someone, you know? The way you respect me.”
A flare of pain shoots through
me. I’ve been respected for a long time now—by my king, my commander, my fellow warriors. And then, by the woman I believed to be my Irisa. But what respect will they have for me now? What respect is there for a pilot who can’t fly? For a warrior who can’t fight? For a man who is missing parts of himself, both outward and in?
Cora takes a deep, slow breath. “There’s something I need to talk to you about,” she says quietly.
My heart clenches in my chest all over again. I know what she’s going to say next. And I know what I have to say in return. I never imagined that this would happen, or that this would be the outcome. It feels almost as terrible as losing my arm, as if I’m losing some other part of myself. A part I didn’t even know I needed.
“In the hallway… before the engine failure…” Her voice is soft, hesitant. “You said I was your Irisa.”
I can remember every moment of that interaction as if it had happened just moments ago. Every bit of it, every word, every touch and smell, how close I was to tasting her lips for the first time. The softness of her under my body and hands, the scent of her skin, of her arousal. Everything about it was the most precious thing I’d ever experienced.
It all flashes through my mind—the press of her against me, the brush of her hair against my hands, the feeling of her cheek, the incredible, yielding softness. The rush of lust I felt, the need to claim her. I feel the same pull toward her now, the desire to turn and clasp her face in my hands, to kiss her deeply.
But if I took her face in my hands now, she’d feel cold metal against her skin. She’d forever be reminded that I’m not the man I was mere days ago.
She deserves more than this. More than what I’ve become, more than the pain and frustration and anger that are ahead of me.
Cora opens her mouth as if to say something, but I shake my head quickly, cutting her off. The words tumble from my mouth, forced out in a painful rush, every one lancing through me.
“I was mistaken,” I tell her firmly, forcing my eyes to meet hers. Gods, they’re beautiful. She’s beautiful. But I have to sever this now, before I make it so much worse for us both.
“I mistook a moment of connection between us for the mate bond,” I tell her, my voice flat and emotionless. “I wanted you, and I thought it was more than it was. But it isn’t the bond. I was wrong. It was just simple desire, nothing more.”
Cora’s mouth snaps shut. She looks at me, her expression surprised and a little hurt—along with a myriad of other emotions that I can’t even guess at. She’s quiet for a long moment, and then she nods, giving me a small smile that doesn’t quite make it to her eyes.
“I thought that must have been the case,” she says finally, her voice low. “It was just a mistake.”
For a moment, the words hover in the air between us. My heart hurts, a deep ache that I haven’t felt in years.
Krax. Did I do the right thing by telling Cora that it was all a mistake? Should it hurt so badly if I made the right choice?
The right thing isn’t always the easy thing, Tordax told me once, when I was a younger warrior. Sometimes doing what’s right is the hardest thing of all.
“I could help you with your arm.” Cora clears her throat, her words a bit hesitant as she awkwardly tries to change the subject. “I know it’s difficult… but maybe I could help with the… the mind-body connection that Osynth told me you’ll have to develop. I have some training in psychology, like I told you. This isn’t exactly what I studied,” she adds with a small laugh, her blue-green eyes flicking up to meet mine. They’re calm now, her emotions gathered and tucked away. Whatever she’s feeling, I can’t read it now. “But it still might be of some help. I’d… I’d like to help you. If you want me to.”
“Yes.” I nod quickly, before she can change her mind. “I’d like that.”
I still feel the pull to be near her. Releasing her from the possibility of the bond was the honorable thing to do, to not tie her to a weakened warrior, a cripple. But I still want her. My heart still yearns for her closeness, to know more about her, to have her near me at all times.
Because no matter what I tell her, the truth still resonates inside me, a deep knowledge that I can’t ignore.
My soul has recognized hers.
9
Cora
I don’t linger too much longer before leaving the med bay. When I pass Osynth and Zhori in the hallway as I leave, I nod politely to them, but it’s impossible for me to summon much more enthusiasm than that.
Even though I know what Druxik said is for the best—that it was all a mistake, that it wasn’t really the mate bond that we felt before—I still feel oddly crushed, almost heartbroken by his words.
And I don’t know why.
What he said mirrored the exact thoughts I had when I was left reeling in the corridor while he went to go deal with the engine failure.
That it isn’t real. That the bond hasn’t chosen us. That it isn’t possible.
After all, that’s what I was going to tell him when I went to go find him that day, before I saw him being rushed to the med bay. I was going to tell him that he couldn’t be right about me being his Irisa.
But then I found out he was injured, and everything else seemed to fall away. Seeing him lying on that stretcher made me feel as if my soul were being ripped apart, a deep, visceral pain that was almost physical.
I couldn’t stay away from him during his recovery. I visited him while he was healing far more than I admitted just now. Every few hours was an understatement. I was barely able to pry myself away from his side for more than a minute.
Osynth had to remind me to eat, drink, and sleep. Every second away from Druxik felt like an eternity. I was terrified that he might die in that space of time while I was gone, that he would slip away from me if I wasn’t there to watch him.
I’ve never experienced that before—the deep terror of losing someone, the aching dread in my chest.
And yet… I can’t understand why I felt that way. I barely know Druxik. He’s kind and intelligent, and I’m obviously attracted to him. But none of that can explain why I stayed at his bedside day and night like a shadow.
Now I’m more confused than ever. Despite my absolute certainty that the bond can’t be real, that whatever happened between us in the hallway has some other explanation, when I opened my mouth today to tell him that we can’t be mates, I couldn’t bring myself to say the words. Because for all of my psychology training telling me that the attachment could be things like trauma bonding or even just plain unfulfilled attraction, it feels like something different. Something unexplainable, almost mystical.
But then he cut me off before I could say anything at all, and he confirmed exactly what I thought at first.
It was a mistake.
As I walk into my cabin, I can’t help but think again about the moment when I collided with him. We didn’t even kiss—we were so close, a breath away from each other’s lips, yet not quite touching—but it was still the most intense and erotic encounter I’ve ever had.
It was like something out of a movie. It felt like every cell in my body was straining toward him, desperate for his touch, starving for him. It was primal, exciting, beyond anything I ever thought would happen in real life. Certainly not like any of my experiences with boyfriends back on Earth.
College boys aren’t exactly known for being rock stars in the bedroom. Although I had what I always considered decent sex, it was never anything to tilt the world on its axis. I’ve never felt desperate for a man’s touch, never felt hungry for someone before.
And after I got cancer, well… I didn’t really want anyone to touch me at all.
Even after I recovered, it was difficult to feel beautiful or sexy. I haven’t been with anyone since before my cancer treatments began. My therapist on Earth encouraged me to date, and I went out with a couple guys, but I couldn’t let it progress past kissing.
The idea of anyone taking my clothes off felt too intimate, too vulnerable. I didn’t
know either of those men well enough to be that open with them, to show them the body that had betrayed me and that I was now learning to live in all over again.
With Druxik, none of those old hang-ups even occurred to me.
I didn’t even think about my old illness, or what he would think of my body, or my usual discomfort in my own skin. Rather than feeling shy or vulnerable, I actively wanted him to rip my clothes off then and there, to touch every inch of me.
Biting my lower lip as thoughts swirl in my head, I enter my cabin and close the door behind me. I shuck my clothes quickly before heading toward the small bathroom. Hopefully Druxik didn’t notice, but I haven’t even bothered to shower over the past few days. I was too busy watching over him and worrying about him. The time it would’ve taken to get to my cabin and back for even a quick five-minute shower had seemed like way too long.
The hot water feels blissful as I step into the small shower pod. But as it washes over my hair and body, Druxik stays front and center in my mind.
What would have happened that day in the hallway if we hadn’t been interrupted?
I know I shouldn’t fantasize about it, that giving in to my secret desire isn’t going to change anything. If anything, it’ll just make this harder. But I can’t seem to stop.
What would it have been like to kiss him? To really kiss him?
I lean against the wall, letting out a soft sigh as I imagine his lips closing that final gap between us. They’re so full and soft, and I envision them pressed against mine. I imagine the brush of his tongue parting my lips, sliding into my mouth gently at first, then more insistently.
Druxik wouldn’t be rough, exactly, I don’t think—but he would take what he wanted if he knew I was willing.
I picture a knowing, desirous smirk on his face as he breaks the kiss in my fantasy, his hands sliding over my waist then down to my hips. He grasps them and lifts me up, pinning me back against the wall as I wrap my legs around him.