Chapter 6

Chapter

Six

BEHTU

C onsciousness claws through the fog of the concussion beam the Grymloks blasted at my ship. The cold metal floor beneath me offers no solace as I blink into awareness, my body heavy and unresponsive. The air is thick with the scent of ozone and something ghastly familiar— the stink of Grymloks, heavily muscled, leathery-hided idiots with sharp claws and jagged teeth set in a deformed face only a mother could love.

My head throbs as I blink hard, fighting the disorientation that clutches at my senses. My vision clears, and the sight that greets me incites a surge of fury.

"Behtu!" Her voice, laced with pain and desperation, cuts through the fog of my mind.

I push myself up from the floor, fighting back a wave of dizziness as my muscles protest. Inside a cargo hold that isn't mine, Grymlok minions circle me, their grotesque features twisted in mockery, eyes gleaming like amber shards set into their grotesque faces. They think they have me at a disadvantage, but they don't know who they're dealing with.

"Jules," I growl, voice raw with emotion I'm unaccustomed to displaying. She's ensnared in energy bonds, her lithe body writhing against constraints designed to subdue even the mightiest of species. Still wrapped in the sheet she stripped from my bed, her dark hair is a wild halo around her head.

Verdant eyes fix on me, wide and pleading, yet brimming with an unspoken trust that acts as a catalyst to my rage. Behind the fear flickers the fire that fuels her spirit still burning fiercely despite her captivity. It's this fire, this untamed defiance, that makes her so irresistible.

The Grymloks chuckle, a guttural sound that grates on my nerves. Anger simmers beneath my skin, a tempest ready to be unleashed, yet it isn't my sivot's protective instincts that stir. My beast is silent and still as if he slumbers.

Bliking sivot! First Vont 4 and now here. I don't have time for these games. The beast's sole purpose is to protect Jules, yet where he is now? Enjoying a nap!

The single tear that rolls down her cheek is a beacon amid the chaos raging inside my mind, a siren's call that unleashes the storm within me.

I launch myself at the nearest Grymlok minion, my movements precise and lethal. There's no room for hesitation or waiting on my sivot to emerge, these creatures are but obstacles in the path to free my female, and I am the unstoppable force. My arm swings through the air, a deadly arc that meets a scaly throat with a satisfying thud. The first minion crumples at my feet, a silent scream etched on its monstrous face.

The second rounds on me, claws extended, but it's too slow, too clumsy. I sidestep its lunge, my body moving with practiced ease born of countless skirmishes. With a swift pivot, I drive my fist to the center of its face, feeling cartilage give way beneath the force of my strike. It gurgles, falls, but I don't look back as I prepare to take on a third opponent.

"Enough!" The voice that rumbles through the cargo hold is thick with authority and malice. Warlord Zarnak steps into the dim light, his towering form casting long shadows across the metal floor. Intricate tribal markings adorn his leathery body as symbols of his status and achievements.

"Your little display is quaint, Behtu Ky'Orlax," he sneers, the amber glow of his eyes like twin suns in the gloom. In his hand, he holds a device, small and innocuous, yet I know its purpose all too well.

Jules' breath hitches as Warlord Zarnak approaches her, the threat clear and present, stills her struggles. The collar around her throat, a wicked piece of technology capable of explosive decimation.

"Take one more step, and I will activate the detonator," Warlord Zarnak threatens, his clawed finger hovering over the button. "Just one touch and your bondmate's head will be reduced to stardust."

My pulse roars in my ears, drowning out all other sounds. It's a standoff, one false move and Jules pays the price. My hands clench into fists at my sides, the need to protect her warring with the undeniable reality of our situation.

"Let her go, Grymlok scum," I growl.

"Just as soon as you return what you've stolen from my people," he replies, the smile that curls his thin lips is devoid of any humor. "Return the holy relic. Give me back the Zorite Statue. You need it not, its significance to my people transcends your comprehension."

A surge of primal fury courses through my veins, a call to my beast within. The sivot stirs, but something's wrong. The familiar swell of strength doesn't come. Instead, there's a void, an emptiness where force should be. My sivot remains dormant, unresponsive. The corium on my arm remains inert, the etchings mere decorations rather than the harbinger of my sivot's might.

"Struggling, Star Maverick?" Warlord Zarnak's voice is laced with mockery, his amber eyes gleaming with contempt. "Your precious sivot won't answer your call."

I glare at Warlord Zarnak and try again, the desperation a bitter taste in my mouth. Muscles tense, heart pounding against my chest like it wants to escape the cage of my body, yet nothing.

"Imagine my surprise when I received a hail from General Kragar." Warlord Zarnak paces before me with a wicked sparkle in his eyes. "He told me a most curious thing of how a Star Maverick had transformed into his sivot and fled with a human female. The very space pirate who renounced his seat on the throne of Klaxis to navigate the stars. Such flippant disregard for the crown you were born to wear explains why you hold no reverence for ancient artifacts of other species when you have none for your own."

"Release her, Zarnak!" I seethe.

"If I'm not mistaken," Warlord Zarnak ignores my demand with a dismissive hand, "sivots haven't presented in your kind for millennia, not since Kaul females joined your warrior ranks to fight alongside you. The beast having gone dormant since the sivot's sole purpose to protect a bondmate is no longer needed. That is, until now. A most curious phenomenon."

I cringe as Zarnak turns to face Jules. His clawed thumb sweeps across the detonator, taunting her with the threat of death. My sivot doesn't even stir at the display. It makes no sense, my beast should have already slaughtered every Grymlok in this room to secure Jules' safety.

A prickling sensation crawls up my spine. I rub at it and look over my shoulder to catch a glimpse of the lump under my fingertips. My head whips around to fix a piercing gaze on the Grymlok warlord.

"Did you think I'd face you unprepared?" Warlord Zarnak steps closer, his thick hide catching the dim light, casting him in a monstrous silhouette. "I've sedated your beast. Neutralized it."

"Your tricks won't hold forever, Zarnak." I snarl, though inside, ice runs through my veins. "When my sivot breaks free?—"

"It won't. Not until I remove the neuroblocker from your spinal column." The towering Grymlok warlord stands before me, his amber eyes blazing with an intensity that could ignite stars. "Your thievery has consequences," Warlord Zarnak continues, his voice low and threatening. "Return the statue, or suffer the wrath of the Grymlok horde." He steps closer, his monstrous frame casting a shadow that swallows the light from the room. "Your petty life will be extinguished, and she," his clawed finger points accusingly toward Jules, bound and desperate, "will pay the price for your folly. Return the statue in exchange for your bondmate. If not, I will not hesitate to relieve her of her pretty head."

I feel the weight of his demand settles over me like a shroud of darkness. The sacred relic, the luminous Zorite Statue, revered by the Grymloks, an object rumored to hold such potent power that it binds their scattered clans under one purpose. And here I am, caught in the gravity of its importance without the means to alter my course.

The air crackles with tension, the threat hanging palpable between us. I can almost taste the electric sting of it on my tongue, mixed with the subtle scent of ionized metalloid and fear. My heart pounds inside my chest, forcing me to face the internal battle that rages within.

"Warlord Zarnak," I begin, my voice steady despite the chaos storming inside me. "You think I would travel with a prize such as the Zorite Statue?" I let the words hang, a bluff cloaked in the arrogance I've worn like armor throughout the Universe. But even as I speak, panic gnaws at the edges of my resolve. My sedated sivot, my once indomitable strength, now lies dormant beneath my skin, a useless defense against the looming threat to Jules. There's no escape from this web of deceit, each strand woven tighter by my own hands. The Zorite Statue is gone, melted down, and molded into solid bars.

"Where is the statue, Star Maverick?" Zarnak hisses.

"Hidden in a safe place," I lie easily, but the dance is a treacherous one, and I am no longer sure of the steps. With each heartbeat, I feel the heat of fury and the chill of dread intertwine, coiling around my soul like the cosmic serpents of old legends.

As I stand there, locked in a silent standoff, I know the stakes have never been higher.

"Time is not your ally," Warlord Zarnak warns, and I can see the truth of it reflected in Jules' terrified gaze. "Though, I'm feeling generous. You have one Kaul day to retrieve the relic and bring it back to me. If you fail, she dies."

"I will return with your relic, Zarnak," I hiss.

"For her sake, I hope that you do."

My pulse hammers in my ears as I turn away from Warlord Zarnak, his malicious gaze boring into my back, a laser blaster locked on its target. The air in the cargo hold sizzles with the tension of a brewing storm, and I can taste the metallic tang of impending violence.

I stride toward Jules who struggles against her restraints, her verdant gaze wide with fear yet burning with an untamed fire, and for a moment, the Universe narrows to the space between us.

"Jules," I say, my voice low and steady despite the chaos churning inside me. "Listen to me." She stops writhing, her full attention on me. "I will come back for you." The words aren't just a promise, they're an oath, a vow etched into the very core of my being. Without my sivot here to protect her, it's all up to me.

Her lips part, but it's her eyes that speak volumes, conveying trust along with terror. "Behtu, please don't leave me—" Her plea cuts deep, but I silence it with a look I hope conveys all that I cannot say right now.

"Trust me," I urge, my hand hovering above hers, aching to touch her but restrained by the energy pulsing through her shackles. "Stay strong. I will return before you even realize I've gone." Her nod is slight, almost imperceptible, but it's enough.

I turn, each step away from her feels like a light-year. The marrow in my bones heats to spill more blood as I pass the slain bodies of the Grymlok minions, victims of my wrathful dance. Their lifeless forms are a grim reminder of the peril that curls around us both, waiting to strike.

As I approach the vessel's exit, my reluctance drags at me like the gravitational pull of a dying star. A glance over my shoulder reveals Jules watching me, her figure a beacon of strength in the dimly lit cargo hold. With every fiber of my being screaming to stay, to fight, to end this here and now, I force myself onward.

The door to the docking bridge hisses open, exposing the wavy solidity of a luminetric tunnel that connects to my ship and the vacuum of space beyond. The coldness of the void mirrors the icy dread coiling in my gut. The corium marking my arm feels heavier than a comet's core, a constant reminder of my sivot's forced slumber and my current helplessness.

Stepping over the threshold, I run the length of the luminetric tunnel to my waiting ship. I will return for Jules. No force in the cosmos will keep me from my female, nor quench the inferno that she has ignited within me.

The docking bridge door seals shut with a definitive clank, and I'm propelled by duty and the unyielding promise made to a female whose spirit burns brighter than the stars themselves, I am resolute.

Beyond the viewport, stars flicker like the eyes of a thousand distant watchers, a silent audience to the unfolding drama as I take my seat behind the command console. My ship's engines hum softly as I veer into the expanse that separates me from the retrieval of the Zorite Statue which no longer exists, but I have a plan.

Well, maybe you should stop pissing people off and you wouldn't have to worry about being first on everyone's shit list , Jules' earlier words echo in my mind, a haunting refrain that holds so much truth.

The wisdom of her words is like a cold blade against the heat of my resolve. Caution was never my strong suit; I've danced on the edge of too many black holes, flirted with danger as if it were a lover's game. But this time, the stakes are etched in flesh and blood. Jules' life hangs by the thread of a tyrant's whim and it's my own doing.

I adjust the thrusters, setting course for my hideaway on Ritk. My fingers brush over the controls, each movement deliberate, betraying none of the turmoil beneath my composed exterior. As my ship hurtles through the stars, the thought of Jules, bound and at the mercy of Warlord Zarnak, ignites a fire within me that no distance or danger can extinguish.

I will face any peril, brave the wrath of the cosmos, even traverse the fires on Dund itself to ensure she remains by my side.

JULES

I hang there, suspended by beams of light that cradle my limbs with an unyielding grip, the blast collar around my throat a cold reminder of my precarious existence. Warlord Zarnak looms before me, his clawed hand possessively curled around the detonator, a grotesque god deciding whether to spare or smite. Muscles bulge under his thick, leathery skin. The amber glow in his eyes seemed to sear into my soul, a reflection of his relentless and unyielding nature. And I thought the orc was scary.

"Comfortable?" His guttural voice drips sarcasm, resonating through the cargo hold's cavernous space. As he moves closer, I visually trace the intricate markings covering his body like thick tribal tattoos.

"Just fabulous," I retort, refusing to let him see how his presence unnerves me. His face is a twisted canvas of deformity, skin resembling weathered leather stretched taut over sharp angles and protruding bones. His eyes, deep-set and burning with an intense amber glow, pierce through the shadows like fiery embers. Even as fear claws at my insides, I refuse to cower before this tyrant.

"Let us hope for your sake the space pirate still has the relic of my people." Warlord Zarnak's amber eyes flicker with malice.

"Behtu will return for me," I declare.

"So sure, are you? Perhaps he finds you... replaceable ."Warlord Zarnak's words are calculated, aimed to wound. Yet beneath the hostility, something else lurks… curiosity?

"He doesn't."

Warlord Zarnak's heavy brow arches. "A bold statement from a lesser species. Do you truly believe yourself his equal? Despite the fact that you awakened his sivot, you are, after all, only a human."

Only a human? Lesser species? Behtu's equal? It never occurred to me to worry about these things, and Behtu had never treated me as beneath him. Holding himself back, maybe, but never as if I was a lesser species than him.

Warlord Zarnak smirks as he watches my throat work through a hard swallow. New questions plant seeds of doubt about Behtu's loyalty. For all I know, he might consider the relic more valuable than me.

I shake myself. I can't think like that. Behtu said he was coming back. I have to believe that he will.

The air in the cargo hold is thick with tension, a tangible entity that coils around me like another set of shackles. I steel myself, fighting against the raw fear that threatens to choke me as much as the blast collar at my throat.

"So, tell me about the Zorite Statue," I say breaking the suffocating silence, voice steady despite the tremors racing through my veins. "Why is it so vital to your people?"

Warlord Zarnak's amber gaze narrows, flickering with a flame that might ignite the very air between us. "It is not your place to question the Grymlok sacred relic."

"I was just curious. Being a mere human, I'm utterly clueless about such things." I try stroking his ego, seeking any glimpse into the significance of this statue that now determines my fate.

A low growl rumbles from his chest, but pride glints behind the suspicion in his hard gaze. He takes a step back and paces the room, creating space that allows me to breathe, if only slightly.

"Then, let me educate you, human ," he sneers and rakes his fiery gaze over me like I'm summer trash stinking up the place.

"The Zorite Statue is a sacred relic carved from a rare and precious zorite stone, though more metalloid than granzite," he explains, voice booming through the cargo hold. "Legend says it has the ability to harness great energy, making it one of the most coveted artifacts in existence. Passed down through the generations of warlords, it holds all the clans on Grymsite together."

As he spoke, I wondered how much of what he's saying is total bullshit. Legend says, he said. If the statue is an old relic, wouldn't the thing have already done something noteworthy by now like harnessing this great power he boasts?

It's on the tip of my tongue to tell him his relic is a joke, but I smile sweetly and give him the appropriate oohing and aahing he expects without rolling my eyes.

Then it dawns on me that if I'm right and the statue is worthless, Behtu might have already sold it for a profit. I mean, why keep something that's only sacred in the minds of the Grymloks?

Behtu said he was coming back for me, but what if he isn't? What if he no longer has the statute? Can I really trust the word of a space pirate?

"You said I was his bondmate," I begin, pushing further into unknown territory. "What does that mean exactly?"

My wrists ache from the shackles' relentless grip, the cold light beams encircling them a stark contrast to the warmth of my skin. I stand before Warlord Zarnak, my pulse quickening as the amber glow in his eyes seems to penetrate right through me.

"A female whose mere presence stirs the primitive instincts of the dormant primal sivot to life," he explains what Behtu "But the Kaul must first choose the female he wishes to mate."

"Choose?" I whisper, tasting the word, feeling its weight. And for a moment, beneath the predatory gaze of Warlord Zarnak, I allow myself the luxury of wondering what it might be like to be truly chosen by Behtu.

The concept resonates within me, stirring something deep in my chest. It's a dangerous thing, hope , but it blooms anyway, unfurling its delicate petals in defiance of my grim reality.

"Surely you are not so dim-minded a species to not understand what it is to be claimed by your male."

I swallow hard, the dryness in my throat making it difficult to speak. "And what happens when a Kaul claims their chosen mate?" I ask, desperate for clarity and answers in the wake of Behtu's vague explanations.

Warlord Zarnak leans closer, his breath hot against my face. "A Kaul and his sivot cannot resist the primal urge to knot his mate, to spill seed deep within her and mark her as his own." He inhales deeply and growls. "Going by your ripe scent, you were recently rutted. I can smell his spill leaking from your cunt."

I feel the heat rise in my cheeks, an involuntary response to his vulgar reply. "Yes," I lie, hoping the warlord won't know that Behtu has been holding himself back. "Behtu has claimed me as well as his sivot."

Uncertainty settles heavy in my chest, as my fate is in Behtu's hands. I never gave much thought to why Behtu has never knotted me, unlike his sivot. I figured it was just a physical difference between the Kaul and his beast.

The unsettling realization creeps in that maybe Behtu doesn't want to claim me as his mate, intensifying my fears that he may not return for me.