3013: REMEDY: A 3013 Novella (3013: The Series)

by Kali Argent

  Revulsion.

  Fear.

  Emotions raged against what her mind told her was right. Her instincts pounded against her consciousness, desperately trying to pull her to the surface. She was scared, but she didn’t know why. Angry for no reason. It felt like dying, like being erased, but she couldn’t fight it. She didn’t want to fight it. All she had to do was listen to Henry, and everything would be okay.

  Listen. Obey. Everything was just as it should be.

  Throwing the blankets back, Astrid launched herself off the bed, rubbing violently at her face as if she could scrub away the memory. The dream haunted her, tormented her, and tore away bits of her sanity. Still, she refused to let it break her.

  She paced for a long time, back and forth in front of the empty fireplace, trying to shake the nervous energy that battered against her. Her black tank top clung to her sweat-dampened skin, but goosebumps broke out over her bare legs.

  “Hydrogen. Helium. Lithium. Beryllium.” Fisting her fingers around the hem of her sleep shorts, she continued pacing. “Boron. Carbon. Nitrogen. Oxygen.”

  Halfway through the periodic table, her pulse had begun to slow, and her breaths came more evenly. Three-quarters finished, and the shaking subsided. By the time she reached Ununoctium, the panic had subsided, and reason had returned.

  She wasn’t on Avox anymore. Henry was in a cell on Mars, unable to hurt her ever again. Her past didn’t make her weak, and she couldn’t let it define her.

  Inhaling deeply, she held the breath for a count of three, then released it slowly before pushing open the double doors and stepping out onto the balcony. The night was cool but not cold, and the breeze that kissed her skin held a hint of the sea. The silence washed over her, calmed her, and she tilted her head back, letting the stillness envelop her.

  “Couldn’t sleep?

  The words were hushed, probably so as not to startle her, but she had no trouble recognizing the voice. “No, but it looks like I’m not the only one.”

  Dressed in nothing but a pair of loose-fitting lounge pants that hung low on his hips, Kylir rested his elbows on the low, stone barrier that separated their balconies. His white hair gleamed in the moonlight, falling down over his shoulders and drawing her eyes to his sculpted chest.

  “Anything you want to talk about?”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to deny him, but something stopped her. Instead of a firm “no,” she found herself saying, “You first.”

  “Just thinking,” he answered evasively. “Trying to work through a problem that I’m not sure has a solution.”

  Concerned by the sadness in his tone, she took a step toward him. “Sometimes, things are a little clearer when you say them out loud. Maybe I can help.”

  His gaze caressed her, heated but cautious. “Aren’t you cold?”

  “No.”

  She wouldn’t push, but she wasn’t going to give him an easy out to run from his problems, either. Sure, it made her a hypocrite, but helping him sounded a lot better than dealing with her own baggage.

  “Do you believe in fate?”

  The scientist in her balked at the idea, but she answered honestly. “Yes.”

  Kylir nodded slowly. “Do you think fate can be wrong?”

  “I think that sometimes, fate tests us. I think that while the journey isn’t always easy, and it can feel like we’re just wandering in circles, the destination is always the same.”

  “Do you think fate is testing you now?” His eyes moved to the mating mark on her face. “Is that why your bonded isn’t with you?” He continued to stare, his gaze burning into her. “Sorry,” he muttered when she didn’t answer. “I shouldn’t have asked that. It’s none of my business.”

  “No.” Her mouth felt dry, and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, but she forced herself to swallow and continue. “I think fate is testing me, but not the way you mean. This mark?” She fingered the tattoo, picturing it clearly in her mind, seeing Henry Atwood’s initials etched into her skin. “This has nothing to do with who I am.”

  Silence hung between them for a long time, before Kylir pushed away from the barrier and sighed. “I’m sorry. I feel like you’re trying to tell me something, but I don’t understand.”

  It felt like the entirety of the Alliance knew what had happened to her. She’d heard her name whispered with pity on space stations, and her life had become something of a cautionary tale to others. She never talked about it herself, though, and she never let anyone close enough to ask.

  She expected the panic to return, but staring into Kylir’s eyes, she felt…safe.

  “The man that put this here is in prison.” She touched the mark again. “He stalked me. Drugged me. Claimed me against my will. He manipulated me. Used me. He did his best to break me, but here I am.” Taking a step back, she held her arms wide. “Still standing.”

  “Then, why do you still wear his mark?”

  He spoke so quietly, she barely heard him.

  After Henry had been carted off to Mars, the Alliance had given her the choice to have the mating mark removed, but she’d refused. Partly, because it protected her from other elite males. The tattoo was immediately recognizable, and as long as she bore it, she didn’t have to worry about someone else forcing her to bond with them. The other reason was less practical but more important.

  “I wear it to remind myself to be strong, vigilant. I wear it, so I’ll remember that the only person I can trust is myself.”

  “That sounds like a very lonely way to live.” He stared at her for another heartbeat, then sighed. “You should try to sleep. Goodnight, Astrid.”

  Without waiting for a response, he turned away, but not before she saw the single tear that tracked down his cheek glint in the moonlight.

  * * * *

  Right hook. Left jab. Uppercut.

  It would take about six weeks to get to Mars, which was far too long.

  Ducking a wild swing from one of the sentries, Kylir responded with a knee to the male’s abdomen.

  He wondered if one of the Xenon could just zap him there. Probably not. Maybe a Dragon Warrior. Too bad he didn’t know any Dragon Warriors. Okay, so six weeks. On the bright side, it would give him plenty of time to plan exactly how to find Astrid’s former bonded and peel the skin from his body, piece by excruciating piece.

  He wouldn’t kill the asshole. Not right away. Oh, he’d make him wish he were dead. He’d make him beg for death. It still wouldn’t be enough. No amount of violence or pain he could inflict would ever be enough.

  Another fist flew toward his face, but he blocked it easily. Tired of the game, he grunted as he drove his elbow into the sentry’s throat, then dispatched him with a hard kick to the chest.

  “Next!” he roared. No one answered. Looking around the training pit, he snorted at the seven sentries sprawled in the sand, all nursing various wounds. “Fine. You can use magic. Now, someone get over here and let me hit you.”

  “Rough day?” Dressed in black tights and a white T-shirt, Ivy stepped into the center of the pit. “Everything okay?”

  Kylir glared at her. “Just working through some shit.”

  She glanced from one side of the room to the other, taking in the wide stares of the sentries. “I can see that.” Bouncing up on her toes, she leaned her head one way, then the other, making the vertebrae in her neck crack. “So, you said I can use magic, right? You sure about that?”

  “I’m not fighting you.” He’d never hit a female, no matter how pissed he was. Besides, throwing a punch at the queen of the entire race would probably be bad for his health.

  She looked around again. “Well, it looks like I’m your only option.”

  Dropping his bleeding hands to his sides, he shook his head and turned his back on her. “Forget it.”

  Quick as lightning, the female appeared in front of him, her fist catching him hard in the jaw and snapping his head to the side. The next jab connected with his mouth, forcing him back a step. His low
er lip throbbed, and a familiar coppery taste filled his mouth. Turning his head to the side, he spat the blood into the sand with a low growl.

  “I told you I’m not going to—” His head snapped back again, and this time, he was sure the female had broken his nose. “Fuck! Would you stop hitting me already?”

  The hard sole of her boot collided with the side of his thigh, forcing him down on one knee. “Are you going to fight back, or just sit there and bleed?”

  It was instinct more than anything that had him lifting his hand to stop her next kick, this one aimed at his head. He caught her ankle, intending to topple her off balance, but the next thing he knew, she’d vanished, leaving him grasping at nothing but air. Reappearing on his other side, she swept her foot wide, connecting with his temple and sending him crashing into the sand.

  “Good,” she sang, laughing as she bounced around him. “See? You almost had it that time. Try again.”

  All rage and no skill, all of his training forgotten, he spun in the sand and dove at her. Of course, she sidestepped him easily, and delivered an elbow to the back of his head for good measure.

  “One more time?”

  Scrambling to his feet, he threw a series of sloppy punches that all missed their mark. Frustrated, he jerked to the side, swiping his tail at her, but the female caught the appendage in both hands, using the momentum to propel herself into the air. The punch she landed that time knocked him to the ground again and blurred his vision.

  “You done yet?”

  “Yeah.” She’d effectively beaten all the anger out of him. “I’m done.”

  With a gracefulness he would never be able to imitate, Ivy lowered herself to the sand beside him and pulled her knees up under her chin. “So…want to talk about it now?”

  Sometime during their fight—or more accurately, during his ass-kicking—the sentries had disappeared from the room, leaving him alone with the Vasera. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “That’s fine. I’ll tell you anyway.” She rolled her head to the side, resting her cheek against the tops of her knees. “Have you ever heard of xili?”

  Kylir nodded. A few of their bounties had involved hunting down people accused of using the drug to alter trade deals.

  “His name is Henry Atwood. He didn’t love her. He was obsessed with her. There’s a difference.” She stared at him pointedly. “Anyway, when she rejected his advances, he drugged her with xili and claimed her as his chosen.”

  “How long?” He wasn’t sure he wanted the answer, but he needed to know. “How long was she like that?”

  “Eight months,” Ivy whispered.

  Kylir was going to vomit. “He did all of that to her, and the worst punishment the Alliance could conceive was to send him to Mars. It’s fucking pathetic.”

  “I agree, but it’s over now.”

  “Not for her.” Astrid Strong was as resilient as her namesake. Of that, he had no doubt, but wounds like those Henry Atwood had inflicted never truly healed. “Maybe for everyone else, but not for Astrid.”

  “Hey,” came a voice from the other side of the room. “Did I hear my name?”

  “Hey,” he echoed flatly, watching Astrid stride toward him. “How’s the research coming?” Sweet mother of the cosmos, she looked adorable in her white lab coat with her hair falling down from her messy bun. “Fuck, I love science.”

  Next to him, Ivy fell into a peel of giggles that rang throughout the training room. “Smooth, big guy. Super smooth.”

  “Oh. My. Stars.” Hurrying her steps, Astrid marched right up to him, then knelt between his legs. “What happened to you?” She traced his jawline with her fingertips. Brushed his hair back from his temple. Smoothed her thumb over his abused lip. “Kylir?”

  He planned to answer her—just as soon as he remembered how to breathe.

  Ivy laughed again. “He was…working through some shit.” Rising to her feet, she brushed the sand off her backside and waved. “Okay, I’ll leave you to it. Later.”

  “I’m never going to get used to that,” Astrid mumbled when Ivy poofed out of the room. “She kicked your ass, didn’t she?”

  Kylir nodded, still working on the whole breathing thing.

  “Did you deserve it?”

  He dipped his head again.

  “Okay,” she said as if he’d given a perfectly reasonable explanation. “Uh…don’t be mad.”

  A little ominous, but he doubted there was anything she could do that would make him angry. “Sure.”

  “Well, since we need to clean you up anyway and treat these wounds, would you mind being my lab rat?”

  He wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, but he shrugged anyway. “Whatever you want.”

  “Great. Don’t move.” Hopping to her feet, she hurried back across the training center to fill a small ceramic cup with water from the fountain. She held the cup in both hands, walking carefully as if carrying something precious as she made her way back to him. “Here. Drink this. It’s just water. Nothing weird.”

  Still not understanding, but wanting to please her, he took the cup and drank down the water in one gulp. “Thanks.”

  Crouching in front of him again, she stared at him intently, tilting her head from one side to the other as she studied him. “How do you feel?”

  “Like I got hit by a freighter.” Not entirely true. He had felt that way before, but now… “Better. I feel a little better.”

  “Remarkable,” she breathed. Leaning in, she took his face in both hands, turning his head to the left, then back to the right. “The bruises are completely gone, and the cut on your lip looks like it’s had days to heals, not minutes.”

  He slid the lip in question out in an exaggerated pout. “Still hurts.”

  “Poor baby.” Slow and easy, she leaned in and pressed her mouth to his.

  So, of course, he reacted like any normal person would by jerking back and staring at her like a lunatic.

  “I’m sorry.” They seemed to be saying that each other a lot. “I shouldn’t have done that. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

  “No. I mean, yes. I mean…” Damn, his brain always seemed to malfunction around her. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable.” Ha! A whole sentence. “I just wasn’t expecting it. I’ve never kissed anyone before.”

  For whatever reason, she didn’t look surprised by this. “Never?”

  “No. Never wanted to.” Until he’d met Astrid. Now, he could think about little else.

  “Kylir?”

  Mesmerized by her nearness, he made a spastic movement of his head that might have been a nod.

  “Am I…are we…I mean, I’m your…”

  While she struggled to find the words, his brain finally kicked back online. “You’re mine.”

  His keeper. His mate. His destiny. Whatever label she wanted to use, it all meant the same. She was his.

  “That’s what you were trying to tell me last night.” Her expression turned thoughtful, but she hadn’t moved away from him. “When you asked me if I believed in fate.”

  “Don’t be scared.” More than anything, he wanted her to be happy. Even if that meant letting her go. “It’s your choice.” With a shaking hand, he cupped the side of her face and smoothed his thumb across her cheek. “You can walk away.” It might just kill him, but he’d let her do it. “I have no expectations, onye.”

  Her brow knitted, and her lips turned down at the corners. “I’m not getting a translation for that last word. It sounds Reema, though.”

  Well, damn. Talk about sending mixed signals. Sighing in resignation, he started to pull his hand away, but froze when she leaned into it, nuzzling against his palm.

  “Won’t you tell me?”

  “It’s an old Reema word.” If she kept touching him like that, he’d tell anything she wanted to know. “The literal translation is ‘my heart,’ but that’s not exactly accurate. It’s more like, ‘the one who holds my heart.’”

  Her smile was pure sunlight, and
he basked in its glow.

  “Like a keeper.”

  “Yes,” he whispered. “Like a keeper.”

  “Kylir?”

  “Hmm?”

  She moved closer, straddling his thighs, and took his face between her hands again. “You’re about to have your second ever kiss. Are you ready?”

  Although she didn’t wait for an answer, she moved slowly, giving him plenty of time to stop her if he wanted. He didn’t. When their lips met, he groaned, his entire body shaking with the effort to hold himself in check.

  “Don’t think about it,” she murmured against the corner of his mouth. “Just do what feels right.”

  She sounded so confident, he couldn’t help but obey. He stopped thinking. Stopped fighting himself, and let instincts take over. Locking one arm around her waist, he crushed her against his chest. Stars, she was so warm, so soft, and she fit against him like a puzzle piece, their bodies molded together in perfect symmetry.

  Placing his other hand on the side of her neck, he applied pressure under her chin with his thumb, urging her head back to claim her mouth in a slow, tender kiss. When her tongue teased his lips, seeking entrance, he growled deep in his chest and opened for her. It wasn’t a battle. There were no winners, no losers. He had nothing to prove. So, he followed her lead, mimicking the way her tongue swirled lazily around his own until he felt assured enough to take the kiss deeper.

  He didn’t know how long it lasted. It could have been seconds, maybe years, but when he pulled back, he saw the universe through new eyes. The beautiful, spirited, enigmatic creature in his arms was his, and he’d lay waste to whole galaxies to keep her safe.

  “I don’t know if I’m ready for more—”

  “Your choice,” he reminded her. Whatever she wanted, whatever she needed, she had only to ask. “We’ll go as slow or as fast as you want, or not at all. Anything you want.”

  His feisty mate had the audacity to roll her eyes at him. “You’re sweet. Now, shush, so I can finish.” As easy as breathing, she pressed their mouths together again. “What I was going to say is that I don’t know if I’m ready for more right now.” That smile he loved so much returned, and she kissed him again. “However, I’m not going anywhere. So, you can knock it off with all the ‘not at all’ crap. Got it?”