by Presley Hall
“I’ve known Tordax since I was twelve years old,” he says. “We joined the Kalixian Alpha Legion—an elite training school for young boys planning to join the army—together. We were immediate friends. We bunked together, ate together, trained together. Everything in our lives led us to where we are now, with him as my leader and me as his second. Rose… Tordax is a good and honorable man. He will never force you, or harm you. All of his men respect him. They would all follow him, or die for him, without question. Not because he is our commander, but because he has earned that respect from us, time and time again.” He presses his lips together tightly, as if he’s thinking of what to say. “He would be a good mate, Rose. He would care for you—cherish you.”
I stare at him, stunned, reeling from the impact of his words.
Tordax has been a soldier since he was twelve?
The horror of it slams into me with the force of a truck. No wonder he knows only rigidity, control, and violence. He’s been trained for it all his life, from childhood. I think of the gentleness in his touch when he’s approached me, the way he kissed my cheeks when I cried, the way he holds himself back from being too forceful with me, from taking more than I’m willing to give.
It’s incredible that he has such gentleness in him at all after a lifetime of war and fighting.
“There are very few women of our species left,” Malav says quietly, looking away from me, out into the vast expanse of space visible through the glass of the observation deck. “That this mate bond can exist—it means a great deal to all of us. Not just to Tordax.”
He says it as if he’s not speaking to me at all. As if he’s speaking to someone else, maybe just himself. And then he nods abruptly to me, like a soldier taking his leave, and turns to go.
I’m left standing on the deck alone again, my arms wrapped around myself as I try to gather my thoughts.
17
Rose
I stay on the observation deck for a long time, lost in my whirling thoughts. By the time I finally turn away from the dazzling display of stars outside the large windows, my mind is no more settled, but my emotions have calmed a little.
When I return to Tordax’s quarters, he’s not there. I spend part of the day lounging restlessly in our shared room, then venture into the mess hall when I see other women gathering there for the evening meal. I eat in silence, and although I can feel curious glances being sent my way, Nadia and Emma sit on either side of me, providing a buffer against Harper’s probing looks.
I’m not ready to talk about what happened, to explain everything to them, but it’s still comforting to be with others of my species, women who can relate to at least some of what I’m going through.
Tordax is still away when I return after dinner, and I fall into an uneasy sleep in the large bed.
When I awake, he’s gone.
For the next several days, this pattern continues. When I wake in the night sometimes, he’s far on the other side of the bed, not touching me in his sleep the way he did the first few nights that we shared a bed together. He doesn’t approach me, doesn’t try to seduce me, doesn’t touch me even once. And on the occasions that we do see or pass one another in the corridors or in our shared chamber, I can feel the mighty amount of self-control that it takes for him to avoid contact with me.
I can feel it in every line of his body, in the way he angles himself away from me, careful not to even brush up against me. I can hear it in the curtness of his tone when he speaks to me—one-word answers and short, clipped sentences. He’s pulled back from me so completely that I almost wonder if the first few days were some sort of fever dream, a hallucination of some kind.
But I know that’s not true. It happened. All of it.
And I feel the ache for him in every part of my body, whether he’s near me or not. When he turns away from me without speaking, when he avoids my gaze, my chest aches. I feel lovesick, like a teenager with a crush who doesn’t notice her. Except it’s me who told him to go away, who insisted that I didn’t want him or any of this.
And now I’m wishing for him to come back.
It’s foolish and stupid, and I try to ignore it. But my body and heart tell me things that my mind won’t accept.
It’s strange, I think as I walk to breakfast in the mess hall one morning, over a week after I first woke up on the ship. Tordax and I communicated more when we couldn’t understand each other than we do now that we can speak and be understood.
But of course, before we could understand one another, I didn’t know what it was that he truly wanted. Sex, of course—that much was plain. But I didn’t know he wanted what essentially seems to be their species’ version of marriage. I didn’t know he believed in fate, that he was convinced we were somehow drawn together on purpose.
Sometimes I wish I could go back to not knowing. When things were simpler, and there was only desire thrumming between us. That was complicated enough without knowing the rest. But that, at least, I could understand.
When I arrive in the mess hall, I see that it’s nearly empty. But Emma is sitting at one of the tables along the wall, and she waves at me as I collect my breakfast—a hot grain cereal that looks a bit like oatmeal with exotic dried fruits on it. I’m still suspicious of anything that looks like meat or eggs, not knowing where they might come from, so I’ve become a reluctant vegetarian while on board this ship.
Emma is more daring. She’s poking at something that appears to be an omelet, with a meat that appears similar to steak and strange vegetables folded inside it. I raise an eyebrow as I sit, and she shrugs. “It tastes pretty similar to what we have on earth. And it’s actually good. So I’ll just trust that it’s some kind of space cow.”
“You’re brave,” I tell her, scooping up a bite of my oatmeal and blowing on it to cool it.
“You okay? You look… sad,” Emma observes quietly. A lock of light brunette hair falls into her eyes, and she brushes it back behind her ear. “What’s going on?”
After the events of the fight with Sorsir and the following solution to my language barrier with Tordax, Emma and I have become closer friends. She’s always remained kind and supportive, even as some of the other women have pulled away from me, seeming averse to being around me after I admitted some of what happened between me and Tordax. They’re wary of one of their own sleeping with the enemy, I think—even though we’re not exactly sleeping together.
Emma didn’t seem to care though. She asked me what happened, and seemed sympathetic when I explained about how upset Tordax was that I want to go home, and how confused I feel. I didn’t tell her about the concept of the Irisa, or what Tordax believes about us being fated mates.
But as she looks at me across the breakfast table, I feel like I ought to say something, finally. I’m tired of keeping it all in. I can’t talk to Tordax, or anyone else here. And I need to get out of my own head.
“Tordax and I aren’t really speaking,” I tell her glumly. I’m still not sure why this upsets me so much. It shouldn’t.
Unless you really are destined to be with him.
Emma makes a face, reaching up to press her fingers to the base of her skull at her hairline. “But we’ve all got the multi-language implants in now. You got yours first, right? Didn’t the Kalixians do that so that we could talk to each other?”
“Yeah… we can talk. We just aren’t.” My nose wrinkles as I poke at my breakfast.
“Why not?”
I let out a long, slow breath. “Well… once we could understand each other, Tordax explained something to me. Something that’s completely insane.”
Emma raises an eyebrow, clearly curious.
“He claims I’m his ‘fated mate.’ Their term for it is Irisa. Basically, he told me it’s destined for me to have this connection with him, for us to love each other and be together forever. It’s like universe-designated marriage or some crazy shit like that. That the reason we want each other so much and feel drawn to each other is because it’s fate. Which i
s absolute and utter bullshit, of course, and I told him so. And now we aren’t really speaking.”
I fall silent, aware that I’ve just admitted to wanting Tordax. A slight flush rises in my cheeks, but I’m starting to be past my embarrassment over it. How could anyone who looked at him not want him?
Emma’s eyes are round as saucers as she looks at me. “You think it’s bullshit?”
“Well, yeah, of course. Don’t you?”
She cocks her head to one side, chewing on her lower lip. “I… I kind of think it’s romantic,” she admits hesitantly. “I’m kind of jealous, to be honest.”
I stare at her, my eyebrows shooting up. “Jealous?”
“Well… yeah. I’d love to have a fated mate, someone who’s meant just for me, who loves me with everything they have—devoted to me and me alone. Everyone I ever dated on earth… they always wanted to change me. I was too shy, too awkward. Too nervous. Didn’t like to go out enough. It was always an excuse to cheat, to find someone else. The idea of someone being totally enamored of me, exactly as I am? That’s pretty romantic in my book.” She shrugs.
I can’t think of anything to say for a moment. I’ve never heard Emma say so many words at once. And I’m momentarily taken aback by what she said. It’s honestly never occurred to me to think of it that way. I was so focused on the loss of my independence, of the choice being taken away from me. I felt angry at the concept of fate deciding for me who I should be with.
But the way Emma puts it—it is romantic. I think of how turned on I’ve been by the idea that Tordax desires me, that I could inspire such lust in him, such blatant need. Why wouldn’t I be touched by the idea that I could inspire love and affection in him too, in a man so clearly deprived of it for so much of his life?
I know it’s because I feel as if it’s not by choice. That it isn’t Tordax who feels this way, but whatever mystical force is driving him. But maybe I’ve been looking at that the wrong way too.
After all… he’s chosen to give in to it. He could have fought it, rejected it the same way I’ve been trying to. But he, a warrior trained to violence since childhood, welcomed the idea of love with a strange woman with open arms.
Perhaps I really have been seeing all of this from the wrong perspective.
I keep eating, changing the topic to other things as Emma and I sit companionably. We gush over the strange, furry cat-like creatures we saw in one of the holding rooms the other day, and I laugh as she wonders aloud if the Kalixians would allow her to keep one as a pet.
But through it all, I can’t stop thinking about Tordax. I want to see him. Desperately.
How can I miss someone I don’t even know?
I make an excuse as we finish our breakfasts, then make my way back to the quarters we share. No matter how much I tell myself that I’m just going back to take a shower, that I don’t care if he’s there, I can’t keep lying to myself about it. I want to see him. There’s no reason for him to be in our room during the middle of the day—but I’m hoping he is.
My heart sinks a little as I walk through the door and glance around. He’s nowhere to be found.
Of course he isn’t, I chastise myself. He’s the commander of a warrior army, you twit. He’s not going to be hanging around in bed all day.
Sighing with disappointment, I press a hand to my chest, trying to ease the uncomfortable pressure that’s been building there for the past few days. I step closer to the bank of monitors and spot Tordax easily, speaking with Malav and another Kalixian whose name I’ve learned is Tycran. I’m familiar enough with the layout of the large ship by now to know exactly where they are, and I debate about finding an excuse to wander in that direction, hoping I’ll bump into Tordax.
But what would I say to him if I did see him? I still don’t know.
So instead, I busy myself with other things, letting the hours of the day tick away slowly. Finally, I shuck my too-big pants and crawl into the empty bed alone.
Tordax managed to come up with one change of clothes for me, the same discarded mechanic-style clothing, and I’ve taken to washing one pair and wearing the other on alternating days. For sleep, it’s more comfortable to just wear the over-sized shirt.
God, I miss clothing options more than I ever knew I could. I also miss washing machines, and food I recognize, and a dozen more things, at least.
Thoughts of home make me feel lonely, and I push them away, searching for something else to think about instead.
Of course, Tordax’s face is the first thing that pops into my mind.
Those first few days on this ship, as shocked and heartbroken as I was, I rarely felt lonely. In the moments of my sharpest grief, Tordax was there to comfort me, to take care of me the best way he knew how.
My eyes squeeze more tightly shut, and I wrap my arms around myself as my thoughts spin.
I can’t help but imagine Tordax’s hands running over my body, the rough pads of his fingertips a sharp contrast to the smoothness of my own skin, and I let out a small, needy sound.
That familiar ache between my legs returns, the shocks of desire running through my body, making my skin prickle and my nipples tingle. I can feel myself growing wet as memories flood my mind, and I sink deeper into the mattress as my hands begin to roam my body, sliding under the large shirt I’m wearing.
I remember the massive gladiator’s mouth on my nipple, his tongue tracing the stiff peak of it as he leaned over me, nothing but that ridiculous loincloth of his separating his body from mine. I remember the weight of him, the sweet oily scent of his skin as he kissed me for the first time, his tongue ravaging my mouth as he held himself back from doing the same with the rest of his body. The sensation of feeling his cock in my hand, so thick and hard, pulsing for me…
My fingers slide around the curve of my breast, cupping it in my hand for a moment before they trail down my stomach, and my thighs part slightly as my fingertip flicks over the hard, pulsing nub between my legs. I remember his tongue there, lashing against my hot flesh as his fingers slid inside of me, the incredible, blinding pleasure of it as he licked and kissed me in the most intimate place, his hands spreading me apart so that he could devour me.
I gasp, my fingertips sliding faster against myself as I reach down with my other hand and slide two of my own fingers inside, feeling the velvety pressure as I squeeze around them and moan.
This is what he wants, what he would feel if he were ever inside of me. A thrill of desire ripples through me at the thought, as I picture his body over mine, his thick length poised to slide into my body. I try to imagine what it might feel like, how it would fill me, the delicious sensation of it as he finally took what we both want.
And I do want it.
I can’t pretend I don’t anymore.
The idea of his hard, muscular body on top of mine inflames me, my body hot and aching as my hands move faster and faster between my thighs. I moan again as I thrust my fingers in and out, wishing desperately that it was Tordax inside of me, his cock filling me up, his body grinding against me as he brings me closer and closer to the edge of another blinding orgasm. I can imagine his lips on mine, practically hear his groans as he reaches his own climax.
The pleasure, when it comes, is so intense that it makes bright stars explode behind my closed eyelids. It washes over me in waves, gripping me as I keep touching myself, carrying myself through the orgasm until it begins to fade.
Still, it can’t compare to the way it feels when Tordax makes me come, and as I slowly slide my fingers out of my slick pussy, I ache for him more than ever.
It’s no longer a given that if I want him, he’ll be there. I told him no, but I wasn’t prepared for how final that “no” might be.
He said he would convince me, make me believe that we’re meant to be together. But all he’s done is avoid me and ignore me. Did I cross some line, reject him so completely that he can’t bring himself to approach me again?
And if that’s the case, shouldn’t I be glad ab
out that?
After all, this is what I thought I wanted.
I don’t know what I want anymore—except that I want him. His steady presence, his strength, his commanding power. His body, on and around and inside of me in every way possible. As I blink up at the ceiling of the dimly lit room, exhaustion tugging at me and making my mind foggy, I wonder if I’ve lost my chance.
Maybe we weren’t so fated after all, I think sadly, just before I fall asleep.
18
Tordax
“Sir, we should reach Kalix in less than three weeks,” Druxik tells me as we stand in the control room, looking over the most recent status report. “Possibly two, if conditions remain favorable and we run into no unexpected snags.” He hesitates. “We’ve looked into the possibility of sending a message to Prince Khrelan to let him know our status. But it’s too dangerous. There’s no means of sending it that might not be intercepted, and if our location is discovered—”
“—Orkun raiding parties might find us,” I finish. “No, Druxik, you’ve chosen the right course of action. Prince Khrelan will have to wait for updates until we arrive.”
I can feel the restlessness and anxiety among the men, and it’s reflected in me too. It’s been years since we’ve set foot on Kalix, since we’ve even been able to consider going home. The battle against the Orkun has gone on for years, ever since the devastating virus they unleashed on our world, and there has been no reprieve, no chance of seeing our home.
Once they defeated my force in battle, using a tech weapon that temporarily incapacitated our nervous systems with a gas that they released on our ship after boarding it, we were kept prisoner for months. It took every one of those months to wait for them to become complacent enough for us to even risk a revolt and escape, and for us to plan it in a way that was likely to be successful. Even then, I had no idea if we would survive.
