Page 42 of Akur

“Good!” She bucked against his hold, trying to break free. “Maybe then you’ll listen to reason and save yourself!”

“There is no reason to abandon you.” His grip tightened as she struggled. “There is no honor in running while you face death alone.”

“Fuck honor!” She nearly spat the word. “What does honor matter when you’re dead? When everyone is dead?” Her voice cracked. “Just go. Please. Please, just go. It’s me they want. This whole time, it’s just been about us humans.”

“No.” The word rumbled through his chest and into hers.

“Why?” She thrashed against him again, tears flowing freely now. “Why are you so damnstubborn? Why won’t you—”

His mouth crashed down on hers, swallowing her words in a kiss that burned like wildfire. There was nothing gentle about it—all heat and desperation and something darker, something that tasted like possession. His hand remained locked around her wrists, but his other slid into her hair, holding her steady as he devoured her protests.

She gasped against his lips, and he took advantage, deepening the kiss until she could barely remember why she’d been fighting him. It was a strange meeting of their mouths, as if he wasn’t quite sure what he was doing but wanted to devour her now that he’d caught a taste. His tongue swept against hers, and she felt the last of her resistance crumbling. She arched into him, no longer trying to push him away but to get closer, closer. This was fire. This was heat. This was life.

When he finally broke away, they were both breathing hard. His golden eyes had gone molten, boring into hers with an intensity that made her shiver.

“I will not go,” he said, voice raw. “I will not leave. Not while you draw breath. Accept it, or we can continue this argument until the stars burn out.” His thumb brushed across her lower lip, still tingling from his kiss. “But know that my answer will not change.”

The Tasqal cleared its throat softly, reminding them of his presence. “The offer stands for only moments longer.”

In a blur of movement, the blaster was in Akur’s hands and a shot burned through the air. The panel in the door slid shut a split second before the energy beam scorched the metal where the Tasqal had been moments before.

Akur snarled, not taking his eyes off her face. “I made a vow on Tonvuhiri. I will not run away.”

Tears pricked at her eyes. “Stubborn warrior.”

“Foolish human.” His grip gentled, becoming more caress than restraint.

The panel slid open just long enough for the Tasqal’s dark eyes to meet hers, a silent farewell—or perhaps a threat. Then, with a quiet click, the door sealed shut, the opportunity vanishing with him.

Only then did Akur release her. He rose, took his warmth, and staggered away, stumbling almost as if blind to land on the other side of the room.

Her chest heaved as she watched him go, one hand rising to brush against her lips. The taste of him lingered—heat and desperation. He didn’t owe her a thing, and yet he wasn’t going to leave her. He was going to fight for her, even if it meant his death.

And the realization of his vulnerability, of the sacrifice he was willing to make, pierced through her anger and fear, leaving only a raw ache in its place.

12

Akur

The wounds.They were much. And he was healing.

He was healing too quickly.

There was only one reason he allowed himself to get hit and clawed in that tunnel. Only one reason every wound that made him bleed gave him some satisfaction rather than annoyance.

The pain was the only thing keeping his hold on reality.

Pressing the back of his head against the cold stone wall, he remained still. The cold stone felt good. Drew some of the heat away from him, but not nearly enough. His gaze fell on the human on the other side of the room and he pressed his eyes closed.

Shouldn’t look at her or he’d probably find himself across the room once more, demanding more than a pressing together of mouths.

A breath and he tried to ground himself through the waves of heat coursing through his being. But every breath brought her scent to him. She smelled of fear, determination, and something else that made his lifeblood surge.

And this was why the wounds helped. Pain was clarity. Pain was control. But even that anchor was slipping.

He shouldn’t have touched her. Shouldn’t have pressed his mouth to hers in that foreign gesture. But when she’d started striking him, demanding he leave her behind, something inside him had snapped. The need to silence her protests, to make her understand, had overwhelmed his reason.

Now her taste lingered on his tongue, sweet and addictive. Wrong. So wrong. His people didn’t exchange fluids this way. The intimacy of it should have revolted him. Instead, his body hummed with the memory, craving more.

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