The Breaking

by Imogen Keeper

“It will take about four days to get to Triannon,” Spiro said, in a voice so similar to Ajax’s that she shivered.

  And then we’ll see about getting on with the rest of our lives.

  42

  So much blood.

  For two days, everything went smoothly. Mostly. Spiro’s mate sulked in one corner while Torum hulked in another, but that did nothing to quash Ajax’s happiness.

  Spiro seemed to be at a loss about how to handle his future-mate and essentially ignored the woman as if they were in the midst of an inimical détente. They’d been forced together as part of their fathers’ deal. Spiro had brought her with him, hoping to give them time to get to know one another, but so far, Ajax hadn’t seen them exchange more than the briefest of passing words.

  Spiro claimed to be giving her the space and time she needed to grow comfortable with their future Bonding. Ajax wasn’t sure about that tactic. Trusting discord to disappear on its own didn’t seem like a sound plan.

  Klymeni, for her part, never spoke, staring with wide, suspicious eyes. He couldn’t get a read on her. Curious, apprehensive, calculating, terrified?

  Feola had tried speaking to her repeatedly but had gained little insight. Apparently, the woman had been raised in one of the all-female boarding schools on Argentus.

  He had no clue what happened in those mystifying establishments. His medical schooling had never taken him into their mythic halls.

  He couldn’t really blame Spiro for giving her a wide berth, but he didn’t envy his brother. Turbulent as his Bonding with Feola was, at least she had never been hostile.

  During meals, Klymeni stared into her food, aloof, refusing to speak, eyeing them all as if they were barbarians personally bent on her destruction.

  And Torum never let up. Every waking minute, he filled the air with demands for freedom.

  Ajax spent all his time in the chamber down the passageway with Feola. There was nothing else to do, and nowhere better to be than balls-deep in all her tight, liquid heat.

  She was insatiable, but he didn’t ever want to stop satisfying her demands.

  Her hair spilled over her breasts like a vibrant waterfall, shimmering and rippling as she moved. A hard nipple poked its way through her tresses, and he couldn’t resist making a grab for it, strumming it with his thumb just the way she liked.

  His cock pulsed happily inside her as she swiveled her hips over him. He stroked her hair back, over her shoulders, baring her breasts to his gaze, cupping them as they bounced with her movements. He’d imagined her bouncing just like this, back on Araa-Ara, with its lighter gravity.

  Timing his movements with hers, he thrust up just as she came down, and her eyes burst open, flaring. She groaned.

  “Touch yourself.” His voice was hoarse.

  She bit her lip, eyes widening.

  “Go on. Touch yourself.”

  After a tenuous moment, her hands drifted from their resting point over his chest muscles and down his belly, making him shiver. They traced their way up to the nexus of her thighs, where his cock disappeared inside the most glorious pussy in the universe. And it was all his.

  At least for now.

  The bitter thought washed away in the wake of her fingers sliding up through her glistening folds. She stroked a finger over her clit, keeping her gaze locked on his.

  “That’s it, baby. I want to see you make yourself come all over my cock.”

  Her neck arched, and her teeth closed over her lip, making him shudder and push deeper inside her, strumming her nipples harder.

  The moan was music. Her head dropped back, and her fingers moved more quickly, her hips lifting. With her on top of him, wrapped around him, pulling him deeper into the luscious heat of her body, he felt invincible. She built up a rhythm, pussy tightening, moans coming faster, hips bucking, until she clenched around him, wailing out a lyrical orgasm that must have come straight from heaven itself because it sucked his own climax straight from his balls.

  He joined her, plummeting over the edge, pumping hot blasts of serum inside her, never tearing his gaze from the glorious sight of her blissful face.

  As they quieted in the aftermath, bodies going still, he pulled her down to rest against his chest, wanting to feel her heart beat against his.

  The silence rippled in the cool air, the sweat drying on their skin, cooling their muscles. She sighed.

  “I should go check on Spiro,” he said. “We’ve left him alone for hours.”

  She nodded sleepily as he slid from the bed, tugged on his pants, and padded toward the flight deck.

  Spiro glanced at him from the pilot’s seat, a mug of eeffoc in his hands. “We’re good here. Go back to your mate, brother.”

  Ajax hesitated. It had been a long time since he’d last seen Spiro. Maybe he owed it to him to spend some time together.

  Spiro slanted him a look. “We can catch up later. I get it. You two seem like a good match.”

  He nodded, unsure what to say. It meant something to him, having his brother’s approval.

  He clapped a hand on Spiro’s shoulder, offering silent thanks, and left to give the rest of the ship a quick patrol to check on its strange band of inhabitants.

  Klymeni was in the galley, washing dishes. When he poked his head in the room, she didn’t acknowledge him. He offered her what he hoped was a non-threatening smile and ducked back out.

  Torum, tied up to the wall, didn’t waste the chance to bargain for his freedom, swearing not to come after them, rattling his bed, shouting threats, growling false promises.

  They’d removed his shackles a few days ago, preferring to stick to the ropes, since there’d been a lingering fear that Torum would figure out how to break his thumb off and use it to open them.

  It hadn’t stopped him from trying to break out of the ropes, but his struggles had only tightened them so dangerously that his hands had turned purple, and they’d had to retie them.

  He’d stopped twisting them lately and instead resorted to verbal assaults and general noise pollution at every available opportunity.

  Ajax ignored him and headed back to Feola.

  She’d drifted to sleep, a small smile on her perfect pouty lips. He slid onto the bed beside her, wrapping his body around her soft, naked skin.

  He wakened sometime later.

  Some internal warning system sounded. He strained his ears but heard nothing. He opened his eyes. Scented the air.

  Something was wrong.

  He crept off the bed and slid the hatch open a crack.

  Still nothing.

  Feola sat up in bed.

  A muffled grumble. A man’s voice.

  Then another. Ajax would recognize Spiro’s voice anywhere. Especially the dark and steady tone it took on when he was deadly serious. Spiro’s voice in warning had never lost that particular hoarseness.

  But whatever he said, it was muffled.

  As was Torum’s answer.

  Feola’s gaze locked on his, her eyes full of questions.

  She stood, setting her feet silently on the floor, pulling on his shirt.

  He slid his marsollian blade from a sheath and lifted a smaller blade to his left hand, not wanting to spare the time to buckle on his sheaths.

  Feola raised her brow and slid one of the smaller blades out as well, tucking it into her palm exactly as he’d taught her.

  When he opened their hatch to exit, not a single noise came from the passageway, save the standard whir of the ship’s operating systems.

  He turned to check on Feola behind him. She frowned.

  Something was seriously wrong. He gestured for her to stop and wait.

  Her frown deepened, and she mouthed, “No.”

  Stubborn.

  They walked on padded feet down the passageway.

  Feola barely breathed behind him.

  The passageway opened to the main flight deck, with the pilot’s seat and passenger strap-ins. He paused a few steps from the end of it, straining his ears, but picking up o
n nothing more than three people breathing in the main body of the cockpit. Two on the right, and one near the pilot’s seat, where Torum shouldn’t be. Which meant either Torum was near Klymeni, or he’d somehow taken Spiro’s seat.

  Ajax gestured more emphatically. This time she only nodded tightly at him. Whatever she saw must have given her pause.

  He shifted the knife to his right hand, his better throwing arm, and flexed his left-handed grip on the marsollian blade, so the butt rested securely in the base of his palm. He slowed his breathing.

  Several feet back, Feola sank to her haunches against the wall, watching him. Pale cheeks and blazing yellow-green eyes.

  He nodded and crept to the edge of the passageway again. With his back to it, he looked over his shoulder, sliding across the wall just to peek his eye past the edge to catch a glimpse of what the hell had happened.

  Just a flash.

  It was enough. His insides quivered.

  Shit. What happened to Spiro? He didn’t dare take a longer look in case Torum had managed to get a spare knife and had time to prepare to throw it.

  Torum held Klymeni with a knife at her throat. “Ajax,” the Vestige man bellowed. “I see you, you migane. I don’t need any trouble. But I do need the code to your brother’s escape pod. Tell me the digits, and I’ll leave you all in peace.”

  “Ask him yourself.”

  “He’s unavailable.”

  Ajax slammed his shoulders back against the wall, furious and unable to see what had happened to Spiro. “What did you do to him?”

  “He’s bleeding. I’m no healer. But it looks bad. A knife to the gut. And I sliced his neck. He’s bleeding like a stuck grazer. If I so much as catch a glimpse of your blond head, I’ll kill the woman.”

  Ajax’s whole body shook. Spiro. His big brother.

  “The codes, healer. I need the codes.”

  “I don’t know them. Let me go to him.” His voice echoed down the passageway. Vaguely, his brain registered Feola’s steady palm sliding across his shoulders.

  “Think. Give me the codes, and we’ll go.”

  “I don’t know the fucking codes. Just turn the damned ship around. Take us wherever you want to go, but let me help him.”

  He gripped his knife, leaned around the edge of the corner. In that split second, a blade flew toward him. He managed to duck, barely. It lodged in the wall where his face had been, with the sharp twang of vibrating metals.

  “I’ve got every last one of your brother’s knives. You do the math. We can do this all day. And in the meantime, Spiro will die. Neither of us wants that. Codes.” Torum’s voice was empty. Void of compassion, urgency, or sympathy.

  How badly was Spiro hurt? Ajax’s heart plummeted in his stomach. Really badly. The clock ticked. The metallic scent of blood filled the air.

  “Codes,” Torum said again. “Take a guess if you don’t know. We can keep on trying.”

  What would Spiro have used? Ajax shouted out his own birthday, Spiro’s birthday. Their father’s. Or maybe some version of his own name.

  In the end, out of sheer desperation, Ajax shouted out the date of his mother’s death. The escape pod hissed open.

  “See to your brother, healer. Be fast.”

  He didn’t even hear Torum enter the escape pod or its departure from the ship. He’d already crossed the deck to find Spiro, face down in a pool of blood.

  Trying to staunch the flow of blood, he carefully rolled Spiro to his back. The ship didn’t have the equipment he needed.

  Fuck. Even with every machine in the Argenti fleet, it still might not be enough.

  A box of medical supplies thumped to the deck beside him.

  Feola. He met her eyes with a grateful nod.

  Padding the wounds wasn’t enough.

  Blood. Spiro needed blood.

  Rummaging through the crate, he fashioned a line to transfuse blood to Spiro.

  Time slowed to a crawl.

  He swayed on his knees, eyeing the flow of blood down the slender tube.

  His vision blurred.

  “Ay-shocks?” Soft at first. Then more insistent, as if she were shouting from a distance. He’d lost too much blood. “Ay-shocks!”

  He disconnected the line, motions slow and blurry.

  Feola stood over him, eyes wide and sad, blood staining her cheeks and matting her hair. “You need to change the ship’s trajectory, Ay-shocks. We need to go to the nearest Argenti base.”

  Ajax dropped back to rest his head on the deck beside Spiro. His brother’s skin was pale. His breathing shallow. His heartbeat so faint Ajax’s own heart clutched.

  He lifted sluggish eyes back toward her. “We can’t—”

  “We can. We have to.” Her eyes were bright, and her voice didn’t waver. “Do it. I can face Utto. We’ll face him together. But we can’t let your brother die.”

  He swallowed the shame and nausea roiling in his throat and staggered to his feet on shaking legs. The ship spun around him, and if it weren’t for the surprising strength of Feola’s shoulder bearing up beneath his arm, he’d have shamed himself even more by fainting. “I’ll drop you somewhere safe first. You can’t go back. What if they make you return to Utto?”

  “I survived him once, Ajax. I’ll do it again. We are not letting Spiro die.”

  His throat convulsed. He looked down at his brother. Skin white as death. Spiro had a mate now. He couldn’t die. He’d find a way to keep Feola from Utto, to get them both to safety, but first, they needed to get Spiro to safety. “You’re sure?”

  “Yes.” Her voice was cold as ice, hard as steel, and stronger than he’d have ever imagined. Not so much as a quiver.

  43

  No choice left,

  But one.

  Feola clutched her hands in her lap. It was the only way to stop them from shaking. Spiro lay in his bed. Ajax had moved him, calling on superhuman effort. After rising with his brother in his arms, he’d swayed like a leaf in a storm, but he’d managed to right himself and get Spiro down the passageway to a bed. He was with him now.

  She sat in the cockpit, staring out at the darkness, absorbing the quiet in the aftermath of the frenzy. She was still wired, hands shaking.

  Klymeni was gone. Taken away with Torum. Maybe. Either that or she had helped him escape? Helped him attack Spiro? The woman had seemed suspicious, scared, overwhelmed, but not heartless enough to betray a good man.

  Feola shook her head. Who was she to judge, though? She’d done far worse to escape an unwanted pairing.

  She didn’t regret what they were about to do. Not for a second. Ajax had given up everything for her. His position as a healer, his reputation and good standing among the Argenti. She would do this.

  Utto would not get his hands on her. Not without one hell of a fight.

  The communication system on the ship dinged. A pinging chirp.

  She glanced around. If Ajax had managed to somehow fall asleep, she wouldn’t wake him for anything. With a tentative hand, she reached out and pressed the button. A bluish holo of a man’s head appeared over the button. He looked surprised to see her. He’d probably never answered a distress call before and seen a woman, not with so few of them left in the Argenti world.

  “Hello?” she answered.

  “This is Communications Captain Simoline from base Foxtrot-Thirteen responding to an emergency request for docking.”

  She took a deep breath. “My name is Feola from Triannon.”

  Simoline took a deep breath, staring at her. He knew her name.

  She brazened on. “We have a wounded Argenti named Spiro Willo with us. He needs emergency medical treatment. Please let me know where we should dock.”

  He nodded. “Please stand by.”

  She didn’t have a choice. Torum had taken the escape pod. She couldn’t even climb into it, like a ridiculous mirror of her initial escape from Triannon so long ago. No, she’d have to face the Argenti openly. Honestly. And the only thing that mattered now was that Ajax was
n’t arrested along with her.

  The next call was to Triannon.

  When Nissa and Tam finally came on the holo, they didn’t look happy.

  Tam argued. Nissa’s eyes narrowed at her.

  But they came around eventually and vowed to do everything in their considerable political power to help.

  Nissa muttered about reporters, Tam grumbled about assholes, and Reyback, the shifty man who always seemed to be in the background, grunted something about Pilan. But hopefully, they could help.

  She rose and crept down the passageway, hoping not to disturb Ajax, but mostly to avoid his notice. They’d never addressed the vials. She gathered them now. Every last one. And tucked them into her pocket. Back down the passageway, past Spiro’s room, to the bathroom, with the toilet that ushered waste straight out into space. She dropped the vials in one by one and hit the evacuation button. She’d never take Utto’s serum again—never.

  Beyond that… she didn’t have much of a plan.

  She’d do whatever she had to do to protect him. Ajax could not be punished for helping her.

  She returned to the cockpit to await instructions.

  It seemed like no time at all before the hulking concrete bulk of the base spread before them, wide and studded with tiny rectangular windows of light. Her heart rose in her throat, and her stomach flipped.

  Ajax, pale and irritable, sat at her side, moving the controls with deft ease. He kept turning to look at her, as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the right words.

  She knew the feeling.

  Their future was… undefined and turbulent. The possibilities too dim to consider. Imprisonment. A return to Utto. Death? Was that even an option?

  She stared at Ajax’s hands on the controls. Memorizing them. Just in case. They were beautiful things. Long and elegant, with a fine dusting of pale hairs. She felt a familiar stirring in her lower belly. They’d deliberately abstained, hoping to force the hands of the officials on the base. They’d have to let them see one another once they became too ill.

  The alternatives were inhumane. And precedents were well established for criminals with mates. Spiro had done the research. Such couples were separated.