Page 17 of Primal Bond

Zanik took a deep breath, the air thick with the mingled scents of the station. Guilt twisted in his gut, a sharp reminder of how far he’d fallen.

He continued walking, the silence in his earpiece stretching on.

He hadn’t meant to lash out, but Finn’s admiration had cut too close to the bone. Zanik had spent years burying his emotions, but Finn’s constant chatter had started to break down those walls.

Now, without it, the silence was deafening.

Finally, Finn’s voice came through again, quieter, more subdued. “I didn’t mean to—”

Zanik interrupted, his tone softer now. “I know. Just… don’t. I’m not someone you should admire.”

The silence returned, heavy and oppressive.

Zanik trudged through the bustling corridors of Korros, the silence in his earpiece weighing heavily on him. He felt broody, a sensation he despised. It reminded him too much of the person he used to be, before he'd learned to shut away his emotions.

As he passed a merchant's stand, a familiar scent caught his attention. His eyes landed on a display of freshly baked vrok'nar, a traditional Borraq pastry. The sight of it transported him back to his childhood on Vasz, before the war had changed everything.

Finn's earlier joke echoed in his mind:Do Borraq even have comfort food?

Without consciously deciding to do so, Zanik found himself purchasing a box. As he handed over the credits, he realized what he'd done, and felt a twinge of embarrassment.

Finn's voice crackled through the earpiece, surprise evident in his tone. "Did you just buy something? What is it? Does it have something to do with Rivek?"

Zanik cleared his throat, trying to sound nonchalant. "This is vrok'nar. It's a sweet pastry filled with spiced fruit."

"Oh," Finn replied, sounding confused. "Is it... for you?"

"It's for Kelara," Zanik said quickly. "She has a monstrous sweet tooth." He paused, then added, "You may have a small amount, if you wish."

There was a moment of silence before Finn spoke again, his voice uncertain. "Are you... making fun of me?"

Zanik couldn't help but chuckle at Finn's bewilderment. The human's confusion was oddly endearing. "No, I'm not making fun of you."

Zanik quickened his pace, eager to return to the ship and leave Korros Station behind. The unfamiliar weight of the vrok'nar box in his hand felt like a physical reminder of his momentary lapse in control. He hadn't intended to buy anything, much less some sentimental treat.

But perhaps it wasn't a bad idea to offer Kelara a peace offering after their earlier argument. She'd wanted to get rid of Finn, to not put their faith in intel sourced from — of all possible things — a random human pet.

It was good advice, even if Zanik had disregarded it.

As he approached the Ironclad, his ship loomed large, a symbol of his power and influence. It was a constant reminder of how far he'd come and the empire he'd built from the ashes of his past. But now, as he stared at the massive vessel, he couldn't shake the feeling that it also represented the uncertain path that lay ahead.

They'd taken a step forward, and were closer to taking down Rivek. But there were still steps to take, challenges to face, and unknown variables to account for.

And now, pastry to eat.

Chapter eight

Finn lay in the dim light of Zanik’s quarters, eyes fixed on the plate beside him. The crumbs of the pastry Zanik bought earlier in the day dotted the surface, remnants of a rare moment of indulgence.

The Borraq treat had had a rich, buttery flavor, with a hint of sweetness that lingered on his tongue. It was easily the best thing he’d eaten since being taken as a slave.

His stomach twisted at the memory of Kelara snatching most of it for herself, her eyebrow cocked at Zanik, as if questioning his sanity for buying it in the first place. He almost laughed, remembering her unapologetic delight as she devoured it.

But laughter didn't come easily tonight. His mind was stuck on the image of Zanik, cold and efficient, stabbing Drezak without hesitation. Finn had watched it all on the monitor, feeling a mix of awe and fear. Zanik’s blade had plunged into Drezak’s throat with deadly precision, a testament to his strength and ruthlessness.

Why couldn’thebe that strong? That dangerous?

Finn’s fingers curled into fists, nails digging into his palms. If he'd been stronger, maybe he wouldn’t have ended up here. Maybe he could’ve fought Rivek off, escaped the chains, avoided the torment…

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