29. Xandor

Chapter 29

Xandor

Char

T yrxie retreats out of the mess hall, her beautiful eyes glistening with tears. My heart aches at the sight, a traitorous regret surging within me for my harsh words and scornful rebuke. Her sweet face, with its petite alien paleness, almost breaks my resolve. The hope in her features when she asked to visit Klendathor stirred my soul. Such a simple request, yet the implications are massive for us both.

Even now my decision stinks worse than fresh borack shit. Or perhaps that’s the bond grating on my nerves and determination like the coarsest whetstone. I can feel the female even now, the anguish I caused her reflected at me in dulled revenge. It’s infuriating that I’m chained like this, like some timid animal that has been broken and tamed.

Yes, I did the right thing, staying true to myself!

I need only remind myself that not long ago, I never even lusted after petite females, especially timid and shy ones. Now look at me! This bond has changed me, twisting my mind, drawing me to someone who is too volatile, too unpredictable. How can this be a genuine connection?

The thought dies, turning sour and wilting under our noble Klendathian traditions. To reject the bond is to reject the Gods. A troubling thought filling me with unease, bringing with it the sense I’m battling against an inevitability as sure as the rising Klendathor sun.

“Why not just mate the female?” Noroth inquires, scratching the back of his head. “Not like you must make her your Mortakin-Kis.”

The tempting idea creates a surge of excitement until I crush it in an instant. Folding my arms, I turn to Noroth, who sits finishing the remnants of his borack steak. The sight of it makes my stomach rumble in hunger and I recall giving all mine to Tyrxie. Why did I give her all of it?

“It’s not that simple,” I reply.

Noroth groans. “It is that simple. The female’s pretty, and she’s keen. What’s the voiding problem?”

I frown towards Noroth. “You heard what I said to Tyrxie. You know my reasons,” I answer, before dragging Logarn’s half-eaten bowl of gray horrible paste towards me.

“Load of shite, the lot of it,” Noroth grimaces and waves a dismissive hand. “You bleat like a confused newborn. Just mate the female. Know who’s? It might wipe the sulk from your face.”

Noroth’s basic logic is admirable in its simplicity, but he lacks critical information. “I’m bonded to her,” I state with a casual tone, frowning at the bowl of slop before me. Its gloopy horror is like the manifestation of my angst, mocking me.

“More reason to bed her!” Noroth throws his thick arms into the air in exasperation. “You’re blessed by the Gods, yet you spit on their gift?”

His words echo my earlier worrying fear, the fear that lacks a solution. I pinch my nose to stifle the nauseating aroma— a tip I’d discovered not long after our arrival on this accursed ship. I pour the disgusting contents of the bowl down my throat, opting for the quicker, sharper torment. My face scrunches, tasting the moldy earth-like flavors despite my best efforts to avoid my taste buds.

“Why does it taste like soil?” I complain, not for the first time, my bitterness obvious.

Noroth scoffs. “You should be cursed to eat a thousand bowls each day for spitting in the eye of the Gods,” he grumbles, folding his arms, contempt etched on his flat, broken face.

I sigh with weary resignation, tired of all this nonsense. “Now who’s the one sulking?” I mock, rising from my chair. “I’ll go check on Kaanus, to make sure we’re not drifting towards a black hole.”

Logarn rises to complete the Klendathian salute, while Noroth only grunts the weakest acknowledgment. I exit the room in haste, surprised and somewhat impressed that I’ve upset almost everyone on the ship without trying.

My arcweave boots thud against the metal gangways as I walk the tight corridors. Every day, this ship feels more like my tomb, closing in, choking the life and spirit from me. My long strides carry me to the bridge in mere moments. I sigh, noticing the spent bottles of alcohol discarded near the captain’s chair that lacks a voiding captain!

Brilliant! We could drift into another Mutalisk, Nebian or Scythian attack without knowing until the moment of impact. Even a venting solar flare could send us off course and into a planet! I hurry to the controls and confirm we’re still on target—only a few days now, though it feels like a lifetime.

I investigate the navigation system, ensuring there are no obstacles in our path, at least from within range of our scanners. But the nav points are solid. At least Kaanus had managed that before he slinked off to his bed, to drown his sorrows in a never-ending sea of alcohol. Where does he hide it all?

Done with my checks, I jump into the captain’s chair, which bounces and groans in protest. Compelled by boredom and mindless curiosity, I reach for an empty bottle on the floor. Sniffing its contents, an immense burning sensation emanates from my chest. “Gods, this is strong!” I exclaim, studying the bottle. What in the universe is this stuff? Despite lowering the container, the scorching feeling only grows stronger. Dread grips my heart as I realize it’s coming through my bond, coming from Tyrxie.

Without hesitation, I leap from my seat and rush towards Job’s workshop, already knowing the source through the accursed bond. What mess has she gotten herself into this time? My mind races with possibilities, fearing a drunk, desperate Kaanus has sought her out, or a vengeful Hyanxa. A part of me thinks I should stop, to not give in to the bond, but I swat such dishonorable thoughts aside. All concerns melt away before my blazing charge.

The workshop door begins to open, and to my Rush-enhanced senses, it feels like an eternity. Finally, the way is clear, revealing my worst fears. The fierce Jungarian looms over a collapsed Tyrxie, pushing some device that sparks a wicked blue into her chest. Her sadism knows no bounds as she’s torturing my human female!

Wisps of golden fury leak from my eyes as I thunder across the room in an instant. In slow motion, Hyanxa turns her head, horror spreading over her features. Good, for horror awaits her for this crime. “Wow, wow. Wait!” she protests with outstretched arms.

Her words do not move me, only her hateful actions. Without replying, without remorse, I deliver a blow to her midriff. Hyanxa doubles over, falling to her knees, choking for agonizing breaths. Yet I pulled my punch, not intending to end her life—not yet.

“Stop...” a frail voice reaches my ears, weak and almost unheard amidst the Rush roaring through my veins. “Stop, Xandor!” Tyrxie insists, dispelling the haze of my joyous rage. My eyes glance at the human, who rests on elbows, a weary look of pain and concern etched on her pretty face.

Confusion washes over me, that she pleads for the one that has tormented her so much. “You wish to spare her? This black hearted vipertail?” I ask, gesturing to the spluttering crumpled form of the brown furred Hyanxa.

“Yes, she was helping me!” Tyrxie exclaims, and icy fingers of regret and guilt wrap around my chest.

“Helping you?” I repeat in utter disbelief. “Helping to send you to your ancestors?”

“No, you dummy!” Tyrxie yells, pulling down her shirt to reveal a savage charred area on her chest where the brand once was. “She was removing this!”

Comprehension springs to my mind as I study the blackened, weeping, blistered skin with a look of incredulity. My eyes shift from her wound to her gaze. “What madness possessed you to do such a thing?” I ask with a grimace.

“Conviction,” Tyrxie snaps back, and I frown, already knowing this is my fault somehow. The human rises with a wince, her pain evident with each movement. I offer a supporting hand around her waist before she hurries over towards the wheezing Hyanxa.

“Hyanxa, I’m so sorry,” Tyrxie consoles, placing an arm around the shoulder of the kneeling Jungarian. “I’ll use some of Mod’s ointment,” she offers, reaching for a jar of black oily substance that rests on a cluttered bench nearby. Don’t these two hate each other?

The icy fingers of regret now squeeze my chest with increased force. Bah! With such a scene, how could I not assume the worst? “My apologies for the pain I’ve caused you,” I say, helping the Jungarian to her feet, who weighs nothing in my hands.

But she squirms and slaps me away in a feeble, angry gesture. “Let go of me, you giant bastard!” she yells, her voice still raspy from my punch.

I do as she asks, without hesitation, not wishing to compound my awkward shame further. “Here,” Tyrxie offers a sodden cloth to the midsection of Hyanxa. “This will help.”

The Jungarian winces, but clutches the cloth next to her exposed stomach. “I’m going to be pissing blood for a week,” she laments with a scornful look in my direction. Thank the God’s I never used my claws! “Maybe wait a second next time, before you turn murderous psycho!”

Life and death dangle between those vital nanoseconds. Yet I remain contrite, my sense of guilt holding my tongue. “Very well,” I respond with a solemn nod.

Hyanxa spits some blood before her expression takes on a blissful aspect. “Ah, the ointments kicking in now,” she says, tilting her head back with eyes growing distant. “That’s the stuff,” she exhales.

“This was my fault,” Tyrxie interjects, with an exhausted, weary look of concern directed at Hyanxa. “I had no idea Xandor would show up so quickly.” She turns to me, her expression tired yet narrowed. “How did you know so fast?”

Last time I mentioned the bond and the Gods, Tyrxie had mocked me. But I don’t care to lie or evade the question. For too long, confusion and miscommunications have soured our relations. Seeing Tyrxie injured sears my heart, wishing no harm to come to her, to only see her happy.

“I can feel your pain through our bond,” I state, gazing at her with intensity to convey my seriousness.

“Bond?” Tyrxie repeats, a frown creasing her shallow brows. “Is that the same thing you mentioned about your gods before?” she asks. I nod, locking my eyes on her stunning green ones. The human glances at Hyanxa, who only shrugs in response. “That can’t be real,” Tyrxie states, shaking her head.

I throw my arms wide. “Well, here I stand, like I did on Tier Three,” I reply. Tyrxie scrunches her face, shifting her gaze downward.

Hyanxa winces and groans as she straightens. “Let me take you to Mod’s lab,” I offer with an open hand.

“Void no,” Hyanxa scoffs with a sharp, dismissive flutter. “I just need to lie down.” She moves to exit the cluttered room, clutching her stomach. “I’ll leave the ointment.” She stops to smirk at Tyrxie. “You might need it.”

I frown at her words, at her dishonorable implication that I’d dare hurt Tyrxie. But I remain silent, still awash in guilt for hurting Hyanxa in error. “Thank you Hyanxa. Thanks for everything,” Tyrxie says, waving at the Jungarian. I scrutinize the pair and the room, trying to fathom what happened here that prompted this drastic transformation in their relationship.

“Good luck, you two crazy bastards,” Hyanxa waves back, hobbling out of the workshop.

Relief washes over me as she departs, taking a portion of my regret and shame with her. Yet Hyanxa’s parting words raise a question. “Good luck with what?” I inquire, glancing down at Tyrxie.

Tyrxie stiffens at my question. These two have planned something! But the thought only amuses me, wondering what their conspiracy might be. “I... I think she means my brand,” Tyrxie offers after a moment. However, I remain skeptical.

I cast the thought from my mind, examining the diminutive figure of Tyrxie, noticing the tiredness behind her eyes that she’s trying to mask beneath a smile. Always hiding, but she can’t hide from me. “You need rest. Let me take you to Mod,” I suggest, gesturing towards the exit.

“No!” she snaps back with an intensity that surprises. Tyrxie rubs above her scorched wound with a grimace. “I want to see if this voiding brand is gone now,” she states, moving to stand before a polished sheet of metal.

As she motions to remove her shirt, I turn to leave, not wanting to impose further. “Don’t go, Xandor. I want you to see,” she pleads, stopping me in my tracks. I turn to see her sad green eyes, mirroring the same look as back in the mess hall—a gaze full of sadness and disappointment. An expression that breaks my heart and smashes my feeble resolve like it’s the weakest polymer.

“If that’s what you want,” I reply with a calm tone, despite my heart thumping in my chest like a war drum—a curious sensation I’ve never felt before in the presence of a lone female. I move to stand behind Tyrxie, both our figures reflected in the polished metal.

She appears tiny before me, and I notice the cutest smile being reflected in the mirror. “Thanks,” she mutters, her voice so low and alluring, I suppress a sudden urge to grasp her, and claim her with savage lust here and now. Yet the bond urges caution, to keep her safe, to not harm her. It’s a jarring whiplash of conflicting thoughts warring within me.

“You, okay?” Tyrxie inquires with a note of concern.

“Yes,” I reply, my voice trailing off, and I’m surprised to see my fangs bared in a semblance of a snarl. “A thought distracted me.” Remnants of my recent past.

Tyrxie gives a solemn nod before taking a deep breath, as if poised ready to charge into a fierce battle. In a graceful motion, she removes her shirt. My eyes drink in the sight of her soft milky curves and perky breasts, stoking excitement and desire within me. She stands with such innocence and uncertainty, as if she doesn’t realize her own beauty. My breathing heightens in response and I force my eyes to lock onto her charred wound.

Where her brand once stood between her breasts now sits an angry, blistered, blackened patch of flesh. All semblance of the brand is now gone, burned away in the fury of Tyrxie’s determination and strength. An overwhelming feeling of pride blooms in my chest, prompting me to smile. She possessed the courage to remove it, a resolve I had assumed beyond the female.

Tyrxie’s eyes remain locked on mine, reflected in the mirror. She yearns to see my reaction—whether for her wound or her body? She smiles before her gaze drifts to the wound, which she brushes with a gentle touch and a wince, examining it for a moment. Tyrxie twists and turns, moving closer to the reflective metal and back again, her expression one of growing satisfaction.

With effort, I keep my gaze level, not wishing to reveal or encourage my fierce desire for her. “Hyanxa’s done a great job,” Tyrxie comments with a nod. Her calm voice is the opposite of my thundering internal discontent.

“No, it was you who endured the pain and suffering. Now you stand proud and free, tempered and reforged with new strength,” I state with a solemn tone, my eyes piercing hers through the reflection, conveying every ounce of the pride that surges through me.

“Xandor...” Tyrxie responds, turning around to face me in a blur of movement. Her twinkling emerald eyes, framed by hair of the deepest black, are mesmerizing. A tempest of searing desire wars within me. I need only reach out and take her, and she’ll be mine. Yet the tiniest part of me still holds back a fragment which balks before the will of the Gods, before her stunning beauty.

I’m shocked noticing I’ve placed an unknowing, trembling hand on the velvety pale skin of Tyrxie’s shoulder. Her eyes shift downward, and I worry I’ve frightened her, yet she doesn’t recoil, doesn’t run.

“You can if you want to,” she mutters, glancing at me with a heady mix of desire and submissive acceptance that obliterates my final hesitation with merciless force.

My eyes snap to focus, sudden clarity rushing over me. The shattered parts of my being coalesce, an aligning of my soul that I wasn’t even aware was fragmented. Now, it becomes reforged. “My Tyrxie,” I whisper, cupping her delicate cheek with a callused hand. Gods, she’s so beautiful. How did I not see it before?

I lean in, pulling her closer, enjoying her incredible softness against me. Our lips meet with a delicate caress, the faintest of touches. Tyrxie elicits a little moan that swells my cock with desire. Yet I want to be gentle with my inexperienced female, opting for the more popular style of kissing. My lips dance on the edges of hers, testing, teasing, demanding just a little more of her with each passing heartbeat.

Tyrxie gasps as I nibble at the fullness of her bottom lip. She opens her mouth, allowing my bold tongue to slip inside, eager, probing for her sweet wetness inside. Our tongues come together in a beautiful union. She tastes perfect, like the sweetest nectar to my once jaded palate, banishing all others as a pale reflection to the bliss she offers.

I break our kiss, gazing into her dreamy green eyes. We both marvel at the other’s presence, at the other’s desire. Tyrxie’s pale face is flushed, and she elicits deep panting breaths. Yet my innocent female is keen, wrapping tighter around me, tiptoeing to resume our heady embrace.

I give her what she wants, intending to fulfill all Tyrxie’s desires. Our lips meet again, this time more frantic, full of lust and wanton need. My female moans with delightful abandon as my tongue probes and massages her with ever-increasing ferocity. Tyrxie takes it, wanting more of me, urging me ever onward to a destiny that is ours alone.

My hands trace the curves of her petite body, savoring the mesmerizing softness of my female. I drift kisses down to her neck, planting little nibbling marks of ownership upon her. She fumbles at the latches on my armor in desperate need, quickening my breath with excitement—Tyrxie desires to go all the way. My brave bonded female.

With a smooth motion, I retrieve a dioxaltor tablet from my belt, placing it in my mouth. Running my hand through her sleek black hair, I tilt her head back, kissing her deeply. Our tongues meet, and I transfer the tablet into her eager mouth. She pauses for a moment, as I straighten, unclasping my armor, drinking in the sight of my flushed, beautiful Tyrxie.

“Swallow.”