Page 103 of Akur

“Akur…I…I can’t…” Her words were a jumbled mess, her body trembling, her breath coming in sharp gasps.

“You can,” he growled. “With me, Kon-stahns. Come with me.”

He increased the pressure on her little nub, his hardness driving into her with more force, more urgency.

“Yes…” she whimpered, her gaze locked onto his. Her body was taut, balanced on the precipice of release. He could feel the tremors running through her, her inner muscles fluttering around him, gripping him as if they wanted to strangle him. And qrak, it felt good.

“Now, Kon-stahns,” he commanded, his voice a deep rumble. He pinched her nub gently, and she shattered.

Her cry echoed around them, her body convulsing as waves of pleasure crashed over her. He felt her climax, her body pulsing, drawing him deeper, milking him. It was too much, too intense. With a final, powerful thrust, he joined her.

His release exploded from him, seed pods filling her with his essence. He roared her name, his body shaking with the force of his climax. Lights danced behind his eyes, his heart pounded in his chest, and for a moment, he was lost, drowning in a sea of sensation.

For a moment, he truly died and came back again.

Kon-stahns collapsed onto him, her body seizing with peak after peak, and he held her there, refusing to let go. He wasn’t ever letting her go.

They lay like that for a long time, their bodies entwined, their breaths mingling, life-organs beating as one. He stroked her filaments gently, his digits combing through the soft strands as she nuzzled into him, as if, like him, she didn’t want to move.

As the ship continued on and they lay there together, one thing became clear.

Death and retribution were no longer the goal.

“Before you,” he whispered, “my existence was a battlefield. An endless cycle of violence and loss. I was a weapon, forged in fire, honed for destruction. I knew nothing but duty, nothing but pain. But you…you have shown me something new. You have shown me…hope. You have shown me…life.” His hand tightened on her waist, pulling her closer, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “You are not just mine, Kon-stahns. You are…my salvation.”

She looked up at him then.

“Forever.”

She smiled. “I like the sound of that.”

28

Akur

Kon-stahns lay draped over him,her breathing soft and steady against his chest. For the first time since they met, he allowed himself to feel the weight of her—not just her physical presence, but the meaning behind it.

She was exhausted, her body limp and utterly spent. He could feel the subtle tremors in her muscles from their earlier union, the way her hands had gripped him, the way she had clung to him as if he was the only thing tethering her to this world. And now, she slept—deep and unbroken, the kind of sleep that could only come after days of relentless vigilance and fear.

She’d been afraid. But oh so very brave.

Glancing around the ship, his gaze narrowed as he took in their surroundings. The dim light from the console flickered, casting eerie shadows across the bulkheads. The air smelled faintly of lifeblood, metal, and antiseptic—a reminder of the state he’d been in when she’d fought to save him.

Shifting slightly, he tested his limbs. Pain flared in his chest, the bandages tight against his ribs, but it was manageable now. Slowly, carefully, he slid his arms around her, lifting her from his chest. His muscles protested, but he ignored the strain. Kon-stahns murmured something unintelligible, her head lolling against his shoulder as he carried her to the sleeping cushion she’d fashioned for herself.

“You’re safe,” he whispered, voice rough but low. “Sleep, bright eyes.”

She didn’t stir. For a moment, he couldn’t move. Couldn’t leave her side. His life organ thumped hard as he watched her, concern growing in his gut. Her body was so completely relaxed that it unnerved him. She had been running on nothing but adrenaline, her will to keep him alive carrying her far beyond her limits. Now, she had nothing left, and it showed in the way her body had just…stopped. Almost like she’d gone into some kind of hibernation. It showed too in the pallor of her skin, the way her breathing hitched faintly even in sleep.

Frowning, he leaned closer, rubbing his nose into her throat.

“I am sorry,” he whispered. “Sweet, soft things like you don’t deserve an existence like this.”

Her mane was a tangled mess, strands clinging to her damp forehead. There were minor cuts on her arms, bruises along her wrists, the bloody bandages on her shoulder. Guilt twisted in his gut like a blade.

The old Akur would have called this a failure.

He ran a hand down his face, exhaling slowly. No. That life was gone. The male he had been—the weapon, the killer—he had no place here. Kon-stahns had saved him, not just from death, but from himself.

---