Page 8 of Storm of Stars
Questions like,“Why was Praxis forced to take control of Nexum and its resources?”and“How long has Praxis been generously caring for the Collectives?”littered the page, each one more nauseating than the last. It was indoctrination.
Once I swallowed the bile rising in my throat, I forced my hand to move, giving them exactly the answers they wanted. Lies dressed up as history. Stories written by the victors.
In the end, my compliance earned me third place.
Not that it mattered much. I wasn’t sure any of us were going to survive the end of this Run, or what would be left of Nexum when it was over. But if our rebellion didn’t catch fire the way we hoped, if we failed here at the heart of everything, at least our Collective would have a year of education secured.
Although, what kind of education would they really be getting? A watered-down curriculum, scrubbed clean of the real truth, the brutal, bloody history of our country rewritten into a neat little fable. A glossy package where Praxis stood tall as the righteous, benevolent savior, while the death, the blood, the staggering loss they caused was buried beneath layers of lies.
Maybe an education curated by an overreaching government was worse than no education at all.
Now, only nine of us were left. More than half the contestants in this brutal, twisted game were gone, some with resources won for their collectives, others with nothing but blood and silence to mark their exit.
And with every name crossed off the roster, the balance shifted. My team… we were still standing. Stronger than most. It meant that we nearly outnumbered the remaining Challengers now.
We could feel it in every glance, every tense silence. I saw them watching us carefully, like they were studying our every move. Maybe they didn’t trust us. Didn’t like us. We’d become the threat lurking in the room, the alliance to watch, to fear, to despise. I found myself often wondering how close they were to open sabotage. Of banding together, not because they believed in each other, but because taking us down felt like their only shot at surviving what came next.
Zaffir hadn’t heard from the Archon since the night he was taken. None of us had. And even though we kept a brave face for the cameras, for the others, and for ourselves, there was a thread of unease wound tight through every one of us.
We were careful. So careful. Zaffir and I. Not a glance too long, not a brush of fingers, not a single word exchanged outside the house unless it was part of the Run or the necessary interviews. Even at home, we kept our distance when Nova came by, which was unfortunately very frequently. She’d stay past her welcome, rattling off what we needed to know about upcoming trial schedules. Every night she was there, eyes sharp and grinning all teeth, and every night I pretended not to ache for him.
And I did ache. I was starting to miss him in a way that was bigger than the walls we’d built between us. Not just the feel of his hand in mine or the warmth of his body close to mine in those stolen moments we used to allow ourselves. I missed the way his eyes met mine like we were always in on the same secret, even when no one else could see it.
I had my other Wildguard, and they were there for me offering touches, soft words, stolen moments of warmth I clung to like a lifeline. I let them comfort me, let their affection ease the weight on my chest. But no matter how tightly I held on, it felt… incomplete. Hollow. Because as long as there was distance between me and Zaffir, something in me remained restless. Like a piece of my soul was missing from this little circle we’d built. And no matter how much I wanted to sink into the comfort of the others, it didn’t feel right when I couldn’t have all of them. When I couldn’t have him.
So when we finally dragged ourselves home after the final trial of the week-long gauntlet and were at the start of a rare break on the schedule before whatever new hell Praxis had planned… I didn’t think twice.
Zaffir disappeared into the shower without a word, muscles tight with exhaustion and tension he wouldn’t name. Ezra was the first to tilt his head, encouraging me to go after him. He knew, maybe as intimately as I did, how desperate I was forZaffir’s touch. Because I think he was too. I saw the way they gravitated toward each other. I would make sure they got their time soon.
I caught Briar’s knowing smirk and Thorne’s quiet nod as I passed, and I gave them both the most thankful smile I could manage. Then, without fanfare, I slipped into the bathroom after him.
The steam was thick, curling around me like it wanted to swallow the outside world whole. He hadn’t locked the door. And when I stepped inside the look on his face, surprise first, then something softer, nearly undid me.
My gaze traced over him, drinking in every perfect line of his body. Pale, and smooth like something carved from marble. Water slid down his shoulders, racing along the planes of his chest and over the sharp cut of his hips. I bit my bottom lip, hunger curling low in my belly as I took in the sight of him.
“Brexlyn,” he rasped, a raw edge in his voice, like it physically hurt him to stay still.
I met his eyes which were stormy and desperate, and without a single word, I began to strip. One piece at a time, slow enough to torture us both. Each discarded scrap of clothing earned a fresh groan, a sharp inhale, a barely-there clench of his jaw that made me ache to touch him.
When I was bare before him, I stepped forward. His gaze swept over me, dark and possessive, and I swore I could feel the heat of it lick across my skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. My pulse thundered, my body tight and aching, my thighs clenching with a need so sharp it nearly brought me to my knees.
“I missed you,” I said, voice low, barely audible over the rush of water.
For a moment, neither of us moved. The distance we’d forced between ourselves clinging like a second skin. And then he reached for me, not desperate, not reckless, but like someonefinally allowing themselves to breathe again. I stepped into the stream of water and the warmth was nothing compared to the heat in his gaze.
“You’re not supposed to be in here,” he murmured, a smile ghosting at the corner of his mouth as his fingers brushed my wrist. “What if Nova comes by again?”
“I’ve never been very good at following rules,” I breathed back, pressing a kiss against his lips.
He moaned into the kiss, his slick arms wrapping around my waist and holding me in place. My breasts slid against his chest and I felt his cock hardening against my pelvis. His kiss was devouring, making up for lost time, and I let my hands trail across every inch of his body that I could reach. I’d been keeping my distance for so long, but right now, I didn’t want an inch between us.
My hand dipped between us, and when I wrapped my fingers around the base of him, he groaned. “Brexlyn,” he sighed.
“I’ve missed you,” I kissed his lips. “I’ve missed this,” I said, stroking a long languid hand up and down his length. His hips bucked forward almost involuntarily. “I’ve missed your dirty mouth.”
His eyes snapped open with burning intensity. “My dirty mouth, huh?” he asked, his voice rough and lust laden.
“Yes,” I replied.
