13. Astrid

13

ASTRID

I showered. And waited.

Then waited some more.

Visions of Yoree somehow slipping free of his restraints and overpowering Zyrus assaulted me, twisting my stomach into knots. My mind raced with worst-case scenarios until I felt physically ill. I paced the small room, cursing myself for leaving Zyrus alone with that monster. What if something had gone wrong?

But an eternity later—or an hour or two—the door finally slid open. Zyrus marched in, his face an impassive mask of nothingness. Even when his eyes met mine, I couldn't read a single emotion. It was like looking at a stranger, and I desperately wanted to know what had happened to make him retreat back behind that cold fa?ade. Except I was pretty sure I did know. And I didn't need to know any more about it.

"He'll live," Zyrus stated flatly, his voice devoid of inflection.

"Yes." I wouldn't have walked away if I didn't trust him. And if he was lying to me, whatever there was between us could never be more than a flicker of possibility.

Zyrus headed straight for the shower without saying another word. I had questions about how he'd ended up in a waste compactor smelling like rotten food and worse, but now wasn't the time. Whatever he'd just done, he needed to get his head on straight. I wasn't going to make it worse.

The water ran for a long time. The seemingly eternal hot water was my favorite thing about Nebula Outpost. I'd bathed in a river for a decade, I'd missed the luxury of steam.

Eventually, it shut off, and I realized I'd been sitting and doing no more than listening to the water run the entire time. I stood and grabbed a plate and cup sitting on the table beside me, tidying up.

I turned around, and Zyrus emerged from the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel, drops of water clinging to his bare chest. His scars were more visible now, little nicks and scratches that had healed poorly over the years and the dark marks that covered his teal skin in a random pattern. I wanted to trace them with my fingertips and learn every story behind each mark.

But first I had to say something. Or I should.

Zyrus was looking at me, frozen where he stood. His teal skin glistened with moisture, muscles tense beneath the surface. He had some clothes in a drawer in the bedroom; it would only take him a minute to change, but he stayed put. The air between us felt charged, heavy with unspoken words.

"Are you okay?" I finally asked, my voice barely above a whisper. The question was inadequate, but I needed to break the silence.

Zyrus's eyes flickered, a hint of something raw behind them. "I don't think I'm the one anyone needs to worry about," he said, his tone flat but with an edge of bitterness. The words hung in the air, laden with implications about what had transpired with Yoree.

"I always worry about you." The words tumbled out before I could stop them, more of a confession than I'd intended. I let them hang in the air between us, my heart pounding. Then my gaze fell to his hands, and I noticed the angry red swelling across his knuckles. Without thinking, I reached out and gently took his hand in mine, bringing it closer to inspect the damage. The skin was mottled with fresh bruises, and I tried not to imagine how he'd gotten them. For me. Because of what I'd let him do.

"Do you need healing gel?" I asked softly, my throat tight. I didn't want to think about what had caused these marks, how he'd inflicted this pain on himself for my sake. The weight of it settled in my chest, a mix of guilt and something deeper I wasn't ready to name.

"They'll heal," Zyrus replied, his voice low and rough. "But thank you." He didn't pull away. Instead, he held my hand, his larger one engulfing mine. I felt the calluses on his fingers as he began to trace my palm with his thumb, the gentle motion at odds with the violence those hands had just committed. The contrast made me shiver.

My heart was beating too fast, and I couldn't quite catch my breath. I remembered what had happened the last time we kissed—the way fear had crashed over me when Zyrus went limp.

But I couldn't pull away.

And I didn't want to.

I held his hand up and brushed my lips against his bruises, something more tender than a kiss, more tentative. The warmth of his skin against my mouth sent a shiver through me. I could taste the faint metallic tang of blood, reminding me of the violence he'd endured—and inflicted.

His thumb slid over the pulse in my wrist, caressing my skin. The gentle motion contrasted sharply with the raw evidence of what his hands were capable of. My breath caught as his touch ignited a spark that raced through my veins.

"Astrid …" His voice was rough and low, a mix of desire and hesitation that made my name sound like both a prayer and a curse. I couldn't tell if he was warning me off or trying to coax me closer. The uncertainty hung between us, thick and heady. I swallowed hard, torn between the urge to step back and the overwhelming desire to close what little distance remained.

I tilted my head up to look at him, my neck craning to meet his gaze. He towered over me, his broad frame dwarfing mine. I was surprised by how much I liked that, how it made me feel protected and safe in a way I hadn't experienced in years. The realization sent a shiver down my spine. My voice was barely above a whisper when I asked, "What do you want, Zyrus?"

His eyes darkened to red, pupils dilating as they locked onto mine. The air between us seemed to crackle with tension. After a heartbeat that felt like an eternity, he answered, his voice low and rough with need.

"You."

Before I could process his response, he leaned down, one hand coming up to cup my cheek. His touch was surprisingly gentle for someone so powerful. I felt his warm breath against my skin a split second before his lips brushed mine. The contact was feather-light, almost hesitant, but it sent sparks racing through my body.

I was the one that deepened the kiss, sliding my tongue against his mouth and letting him open for me. Heat rolled through me, something raw and primal that I'd only ever felt with him.

It scared me.

But I'd be lying if I said I didn't want more.

He wrapped his arm around me and drew me flush against him, heat searing me wherever we touched. It was everything I wanted and everything I was terrified of all at once.

Zyrus was strong enough to crush me, he had claws that could tear me apart, but I trusted him with my life, with my very soul. And I wanted him more than I'd ever wanted anything.

He lifted me up as if I weighed nothing, and I wrapped my legs around his waist, never breaking our kiss. There was nothing tentative about this now, and he was as steady as ever. If he passed out again, I didn't know what I'd do, but I couldn't stop.

He carried me to the bed and laid me down, stretching out above me. His towel fell away at some point, but I couldn't get a good look. There didn't need to be a rush. We could take our time.

But my body wanted more. Demanded everything.

Zyrus's fingers played at the hem of my shirt, and I helped him tug it over my head. Then he took a moment to just look at me, nostrils flaring and eyes going that demonic red. I shivered under his gaze.

I loved how he looked at me, as if I was something precious. Something he needed to claim.

He leaned down and kissed me again, exploring my mouth with his tongue, and then moving to my jaw and my neck. His teeth scraped my skin, and I couldn't stop the moan that slipped out.

I arched under him, grasping his shoulders and holding him close. I never wanted him to let me go.

He kissed a path down my collarbone and then to my breasts, taking one in his mouth and sucking on my nipple until I writhed beneath him.

I tangled my fingers in his hair and pulled him up for another kiss. I didn't want him to stop, but I wanted more . My pants and underwear went next, and then I was completely naked before him.

I felt bold and powerful.

Cherished.

Zyrus stared down at me with a reverence that stole my breath. "You're beautiful," he whispered.

I reached down between us and wrapped my hand around his cock, stroking him from root to tip. This didn't feel like something new; instead, it felt like we'd been waiting forever and now, finally , we were where we were supposed to be.

He groaned and thrust into my grip, eyes closed and face tense with pleasure. I wanted to taste him, to make him feel as good as he made me feel. But not yet. I kept stroking him, teasing him until he gasped and pulled back.

He cursed under his breath and then grabbed my thighs, spreading my legs wide for him. His fingers teased my slit, dipping inside me and then circling my swollen flesh until I was panting and arching off the bed.

"Please, Zyrus," I begged.

He moved over me, lining himself up with my entrance. "Look at me." The demand wasn't something I'd dream of resisting.

I did as he asked, meeting his red gaze and losing myself in his eyes. Then he pushed inside me, filling me with one long stroke that made me gasp and moan.

He stayed still for a moment, giving me time to adjust. And then he started to move, thrusting into me with a steady rhythm that stoked the fire burning inside me higher and brighter.

I clung to him, digging my nails into his back and urging him on.

It felt like something more than physical was tying us together, a bond reaching out from him to me, anchoring itself deep in my chest, never to be undone.

I felt wild and free and unbreakable.

Zyrus picked up his pace, fucking me harder, hitting a spot inside me that made me see stars. I cried out, my body tightening around him as I spiraled higher and higher towards the edge of the universe.

And then I tipped over, waves of pleasure rolling through me. Zyrus groaned and followed me, filling me with hot spurts of his seed as he came.

It was perfect. Everything I could possibly want.

Until Zyrus's eyes rolled back into his head, blood trickled out of his nose, and he collapsed, weightless, on top of me.