5. Bruticus

CHAPTER 5

brUTICUS

B lood. Screams. The acrid stench of plasma fire scorches my nostrils as I watch her fall again. My mother's body crumples like a discarded rag, her final words lost in the chaos of gunfire and explosions.

I bolt upright, sheets tangled around my waist. Sweat trickles down my spine, my chest heaving as I gulp in the sterile station air. The bone spurs along my arms ache, a reminder of what I am - what she made me.

A gentle touch slides across my bicep. Silk-soft fingers trace patterns on my ebony skin.

"Bruticus?"

Maryse. Reality crashes back. The spare condo. Her perfume still lingers in the air, mixed with the scent of our passion. Her red hair spills across the pillow like liquid fire.

"You were calling out in your sleep."

"It's nothing."

"Come here." She tugs me back down beside her, wrapping her arms around my chest. Her warmth seeps into my cold bones. "You're safe now."

Safe. The word echoes hollow in my chest. My mother wasn't safe. She deserved better than to die on that station deck, gunned down by Daniels' men. Better than to have her death dismissed as collateral damage in a failed raid.

Maryse's fingers trail along my jaw, drawing me from the darkness of memory. Her touch offers comfort I don't deserve. Not while my mother's killer still draws breath. Not while Daniels walks free.

But as Maryse's steady breathing lulls me toward sleep, I let myself sink into her embrace. Just for tonight. Tomorrow, the hunt begins again.

Light streams through the viewport, painting patterns across the empty sheets beside me. My hand slides over the lingering warmth where Maryse slept. Her voice drifts from the bathroom, a sweet melody about starships and distant worlds.

The mattress cradles my body, softer than any bunk I've slept in for years. My bone spurs catch on the silk sheets - another tear joins the collection from last night. The fabric stands no chance against Reaper anatomy.

"The stars are bright, the night is long, but I'll find my way back home..."

Her voice wraps around me like a caress. I close my eyes, letting myself sink deeper into this moment of peace. The scent of her shampoo lingers on the pillow, mixing with the artificial pine fragrance of station-regulated air freshener.

A particularly high note makes me smile. She hits it perfectly, her joy evident in every word. The sound of running water provides percussion to her impromptu concert.

My spurs snag again as I stretch. The upholstery of the headboard sports fresh gouges from our activities last night. This bed wasn't built for someone like me. Nothing soft ever is.

But for now, I let myself enjoy it. The comfort. The warmth. The simple pleasure of listening to a beautiful woman sing.

Daniels can wait. Just for this moment.

Maryse strides into the bedroom, her university jumpsuit crisp and new. A silken scarf loops around her neck - navy blue with silver threads that catch the light. My marks peek from beneath the fabric when she turns her head.

"What do you think?" She twirls, the standard-issue coverall somehow transformed into something graceful on her curves. "Had to raid my closet for this scarf. Someone got a bit enthusiastic last night."

The playful tone doesn't mask my failure. A proper lover wouldn't mark his mate like some untrained pup. My fingers curl into fists at my sides.

"Hey." She steps closer, touching my arm. "I'm not complaining."

I grab her waist, pulling her against me. The scent of her soap mingles with something deeper, more primal - us, together.

"What are you doing?"

The zipper of her coverall slides down smoothly. I brush aside the scarf, exposing the constellation of bruises I left on her pale skin. Purple and red marks mar her throat, a testament to my lack of control.

My mouth finds her pulse point. The subtle salt of her skin floods my tongue as I let my healing saliva do its work. The bruises fade beneath my lips, angry colors dissolving into cream.

She shivers against me, hands gripping my shoulders. "That tingles."

I move to the next mark, erasing each reminder of my roughness. Her breath catches with each touch of my tongue. The scent of her arousal spikes, sharp and sweet in the recycled station air.

The last bruise vanishes under my ministrations. I pull back to examine my work, satisfaction rumbling in my chest at her unmarked skin.

Her eyes flutter half-closed, pupils blown wide with desire. Each breath comes quick and shallow, her chest rising and falling against my palm. The sweet scent of her arousal fills my nostrils, making my mouth water.

My fingers trail across her breasts, teasing the sensitive peaks before tucking them back into her jumpsuit. The fabric does nothing to hide how hard her nipples are, pressing against the material like little diamonds.

"You're going to be late," I murmur against her throat.

"Don't care."

The zipper inches up slowly as I savor each newly covered inch of skin. My hand slides lower, cupping her through the jumpsuit. The heat of her core burns against my palm.

Her moan echoes off the station walls when I claim her mouth. My tongue sweeps inside, tasting mint toothpaste and something uniquely Maryse. She melts against me, soft and pliant.

The sharp crack of my palm against her ass makes her jump.

"Get to class, little human."

"But-"

Another smack, harder this time. "Now."

She bites her lip, cheeks flushed pink.

"Yes, Sir."

Those hips sway with deliberate intent as Maryse heads for the door. The navy fabric of her jumpsuit hugs every curve, a tempting reminder of what lies beneath. My fingers itch to grab her, drag her back to bed, and damn the consequences.

The door hisses shut. Her scent lingers - jasmine and vanilla mixed with the musk of our coupling. My bone spurs ache with the need to mark her again, to claim her properly this time.

Mate.

The word echoes in my skull, primitive and demanding. The urge to hunt for her, to provide, to protect burns through my veins like molten steel. To hell with Daniels. To hell with revenge. I could build a life here, with her.

My mother's face flashes before my eyes. Blood pools beneath her broken body as Daniels' men step over her corpse. Just another casualty in their botched raid.

The rage returns, familiar as breathing. How dare I consider abandoning my purpose? How dare I dream of happiness while her killer walks free?

But Maryse's laugh echoes in my memory. The way she touches my bone spurs without fear. How she sees past the monster to the man beneath.

My claws gouge fresh marks in the doorframe. The metal screams in protest, but the pain does nothing to silence the war in my chest. Duty versus desire. Vengeance versus passion.

Passion…or something more? Something much more.

The realization hits like a plasma bolt to the gut. When did this slip past my defenses? When did she become more than a pleasant distraction?

I press my forehead against the cool metal, breathing in the last traces of her perfume. My heart knows the truth my mind refuses to accept - I lost this battle the moment she smiled at me in that alley.

The ancient mourning song rises unbidden from my throat, a low resonant hum that vibrates through my bone spurs. Words in the old tongue spill forth - a lament for the fallen, a prayer for vengeance.

"Kah'ra meht, sah'ra dohl." Mother of mine, rest eternal.

My voice deepens, the song growing in power. The bone spurs along my arms and back resonate with each note, amplifying the dirge until the very air seems to thrum with sorrow.

"Veht'ka nahl, meht'ra sohl." Blood will answer blood.

Through the viewport, I watch a human woman pause mid-stride on the street below. Her hand rises to her chest as tears stream down her face. She can't hear my song - no human ears could detect these frequencies - but the emotion carries nonetheless.

More pedestrians stop, overcome by a grief they don't understand. An elderly man removes his hat, pressing it against his heart. A young couple holds each other, shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

"Kah'ra meht, dohl'ra sahn." Mother of mine, forgive my weakness.

The song builds to its crescendo, my bone spurs humming like tuning forks. A security officer below draws his weapon, scanning for the source of the disturbance he can feel but not identify.

I cut the song short, swallowing the final verses. The bone spurs gradually still their resonance. Below, the affected humans shake off their unexplained sorrow and continue about their day.

Too risky. If Daniels' men investigate reports of mysterious emotional manipulation, they might trace it back here. Back to Maryse's condo. Back to her.

My fingers trace the viewport's edge. Soon, mother. Soon your killer will pay in blood and bone. No distractions. No mercy.

Not even for love.