Page 59 of The Death Games

Perhaps it was his alien physiology, but he was withstanding the effects longer.

Or maybe he was just that determined to keep me safe.

As we fell, a growing sense of lethargy washed over me.

My limbs felt numb, my vision blurring at the edges.

My brain, in its oxygen-deprived state, started to wander, pulling snippets of memories at random.

Memories of the first time I had seen Talan, his towering presence intimidating yet oddly magnetic.

The way his eyes had appraised me, not just as a mate, but as an equal.

The first touch, the first kiss, the warmth and strength of his embrace.

Even as my consciousness threatened to slip away, a singular thought remained:

I didn’t want this to be the end of our story.

I wanted more time, more memories, more of everything with Talan.

Through the haze, I heard him speak, his voice distorted but still audible. “Riley, it’s okay,” he pleaded, his voice holding a note of desperation I had never heard before. “You can let go.”

I tried to respond, to assure him I was fighting, but my voice was a mere whisper, a fleeting breath.

My eyelids grew heavy, each blink becoming a battle.

As the darkness crept in, I felt Talan press his lips against my forehead, a tender gesture, filled with sorrow and longing.

It was a kiss of hope, of love, and of goodbye…for now.

With that final touch, the world faded, the turquoise glow dimming, and I succumbed to the silent embrace of unconsciousness.

Talan

“Ten...”

The familiar voice echoed, heralding the reset.

As my surroundings reconfigured, I felt the familiar curve of the pod cocooning me.

I reflexively turned to check on Riley, fearing the worst.

But there she was, her beautiful, flushed face, those eyes wide but very much alive.

A flood of relief washed over me. “Riley!” I exclaimed, reaching out to touch her.

Her hand met mine, our fingers entwining in a grip that spoke of shared experiences and fears overcome.

As my gaze darted around, taking in the other pods, I saw the Zylvari in his own enclosure.

A grimace of frustration on his face, he was still desperately trying to dislodge the grenade that was embedded in his fur.

With a final tug, he managed to wrench it free, but not without taking a sizeable tuft of his own hair with it.

The grenade blinked, its light pulsing faster, signaling, I assumed, imminent detonation.

Panic flashed across the Zylvari’s eyes, and with a frantic motion, he hurled it upwards.