Page 47 of Taming Chaos

His bare fingertips grazed her dewy skin, and the sensation was electric.

Seph took a deep breath and held it. “I trust you, Torin.”

Suddenly, he was on a precipice. On one side stood his enemies, shrouded in darkness. On the other side was Persephone.

Sanctuary versus chaos.

Madness versus redemption.

He was the wall, the guard, the protector, the only thing standing between her and a terrible fate. The nanites in his body surged and seethed, consuming little pieces of him as they sought to maintain their active state. His muscle stores were slightly depleted, and if he had to, he would become a fucking skeleton before he let anyone lay a finger on his woman.

His one and only future mate.

She just didn’t know it yet.

Outside, a horde of Bartharran pirates watched and waited, plotting their next move. No doubt they were curious to see how Torin would deal with the Kordolians beyond this door—his very own people. So far, everyone on this ship who’d moved against Torin had ended up dead.

Fate, you are a cruel Goddess indeed.

“I will return.” He removed his hand from Seph’s cheek and left her waiting in the shadows.

“Make sure you do. I need you.” Her voice drifted after him, a sultry, secret whisper. Were those words intended for him, or had she forgotten that he could hear everything?

Either way, her sweet little plea dragged him deeper into this blissful-yet-torturous un-reality, where his soul was being stretched between two extremes.

Beast and tender savior. Could a man be both things at once?

Chapter Twelve

Torin tried Parrus’s little cube on the inner doors, but they wouldn’t open, so he cut a man-sized hole in the metal and kicked it in, sending an oval-shaped piece of metal clattering to the floor.

Blamblamblam! A barrage of plasma fire hit him in the chest, throwing him backward.

Seph gasped. Parrus shrieked.

Idiots! As he lurched to his feet with smoke rising off his exo-armor, agonizing pain shot through his body. Torin didn’t care. He staggered forward, gaining strength as the effect of the plasma fire wore off. It would take a moment for their guns to recharge, and in that time…

He kept low, sheathing his swords as he ran forward in an awkward hunched-over stance. Gathering momentum, he kept his hands close to the floor. His body hurt like hell. He threw the cold veil across his mind, momentarily putting his pain someplace else.

There! He scooped up the edges of the cut metal door-piece. Torin swung it to one side, then hurled it with all his considerable strength.

It sliced through the air like a blade, and Torin knew it had connected with his intended target when shouts of pain and profuse cursing—in perfect Imperial Kordolian—filled the air.

“Get out and take cover!” he roared at Seph and the Veronian, fearing the effect of another volley of plasma fire. His body had absorbed the first barrage, but if the guards fired again, even one mis-step could get his precious charge killed.

It wasn’t ideal, but they had no choice. If Seph encountered Bartharrans in the outer corridor, Torin trusted she would do the sensible thing and shoot.

He turned back to his attackers and found himself facing a squadron of eight Kordolian guards. At least three of them were getting to their feet, and one was still on the ground, clutching his belly and moaning in pain.

The others raised their guns. Torin didn’t see the sense in fighting plasma with plasma. They were close enough. His hand became a blur as he threw his sword.

Thwack! And one was down, speared right through his Callidum armor-plated chest with Torin’s obsidian blade.

Only Callidum could penetrate Callidum.

He threw his other sword. It connected. His hands became a blur as he retrieved the set of throwing knives that were sheathed at his waist.

Thwack. Thwack. Four down.

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