Page 42 of Bonded to the Star-Beast

I reach for my water purifier at the same moment he reaches for a waterskin lying beside it. Our hands brush.

A jolt, sharp and electric, shoots up my arm. I snatch my hand back as if burned, my breath catching in my throat. I look at my chest, and through the fabric of my suit, I see it. A soft, blue-white glow, flaring to life in perfect synchronicity with an identical light on his chest. The warmth intensifies, no longer just a gentle thrum but a wave of heat that radiates through me, pooling low in my belly.

His amber eyes, wide and startled, meet mine. The air crackles. The careful, professional distance we've tried to reconstruct evaporates in an instant. All that's left is this. This raw, undeniable current pulling us together.

This is a variable I cannot control with data,I think, my heart hammering against my ribs.I can only experience it. Hypothesis: Physical intimacy may provide crucial data on the bond's function. Or...

I look at him, at the hard lines of his jaw, the raw power coiled in his shoulders, the unexpected vulnerability I now know hides in the depths of his eyes.

Or maybe I just want him.

The thought is terrifying in its simplicity. It strips away all my layers of logic, all my carefully constructed protocols. For my entire life, desire has been a secondary consideration, an inconvenient biological urge to be managed or ignored in favor of intellectual pursuits. But this... this is different. This is not an urge. It is a gravitational pull, and I am an object caught in its inescapable orbit.

I make a choice. A conscious, deliberate, and perhaps catastrophically reckless choice. I will not fight this anymore. I will not analyze it from a distance. I will engage. I will collect the data firsthand.

I take a step towards him.

He doesn't move, but I see the muscles in his jaw clench. His eyes darken, the amber turning to a deep, molten gold. He senses the shift in me, the change from resistance to something else. Something far more dangerous for us both.

“Kendra,” he says, his voice a low, rough warning. It's a sound that should make me stop, but it only fuels the strange, exhilarating fire building inside me.

I reach him, my hand rising to touch the glowing mark on his chest. I feel the heat of it through his tunic, a living, pulsing energy that seems to answer the call of my own. His skin is impossibly warm.

“I'm not fighting this anymore, Jaro,” I say, my voice steady despite the tremor in my hands. “I want to understand what this is. With you.”

He looks down at my hand on his chest, then back to my face. A mixture of relief and a deep, profound trepidation wars in his expression. He is moved by my trust, I can see that. But he is also afraid. Not of me, but of himself. Of the beast he keeps so tightly leashed.

“You don't know what you're asking for,” he repeats, the same words he used before, but this time they are not a warning. They are a plea.

“Then show me.”

I slide my hand from his chest up to his neck, my fingers tracing the powerful tendons there. I feel the frantic thump of his pulse beneath my fingertips. I rise on my toes, my lips hovering just inches from his.

For a long, breathless moment, he hesitates. I see the battle in his eyes, the instinct warring with his hard-won control. Then, with a low growl that is equal parts surrender and triumph, he closes the distance.

His mouth on mine is a shock to my system. It is not a gentle exploration. It is a claiming. A desperate, hungry fusion of twoworlds colliding. His lips are firm, demanding, and I meet his intensity with my own, my hands tangling in the thick black hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer.

The kiss is a maelstrom of sensation. The clean, wild scent of him, the faint, metallic taste of his skin, the low, purring rumble that vibrates from his chest and into mine. It feels... fated. An event horizon from which there is no escape.

He groans, a deep, guttural sound, and his arms wrap around me, lifting me effortlessly until my feet leave the floor. I wrap my legs around his waist, my body instinctively seeking a closer connection. This is not the detached observation of a scientist. This is a complete, systemic surrender to a force I cannot explain.

He carries me deeper into the cave, to the raised ledge where our bedrolls lie. He lays me down gently, his body hovering over mine, a magnificent, terrifying shadow against the pulsating blue light of the cavern.

I look up at him, at the chiseled planes of his face, the fierce intensity in his glowing eyes. My scientific mind is still working, a frantic subroutine running in the background, documenting every sensation, every reaction.Subject exhibits signs of extreme physiological arousal. Heart rate: elevated. Respiration: accelerated. Skin temperature: increased.

“You are so beautiful,” he rasps, his voice thick with an emotion I can't quite name. It's more than desire. It's reverence. Awe.

He lowers his head, his lips tracing a fiery path from my jaw down the column of my throat. My head falls back, my neck arching to give him better access. I feel the sharp points of his fangs graze my skin, a phantom bite that sends a jolt of pure, primal electricity through me. The beast in him is surfacing, and instead of fear, I feel a dizzying wave of fascination.

I watch as his eyes begin to glow with a more intense golden light, bleeding out from the irises until the entire orb is a luminous, predatory gold. The transformation is controlled, partial, but undeniably present. It is the physical manifestation of his desire, and it is the most incredible thing I have ever witnessed.

My hands find the fastenings of his tunic, my fingers clumsy with need. He helps me, his own hands shaking slightly as he pulls the rough fabric over his head. His chest is a masterpiece of sculpted muscle and tribal markings, the glowing crescent of our bond a living jewel against his navy-blue skin.

I reach out, my fingers tracing the edges of the mark. It pulses with light and heat beneath my touch. “It's... brighter.”

“It feels you,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “It feels this.”

He captures my hand, bringing my palm to his lips, and presses a kiss into the center of it. The gesture is so unexpectedly tender it makes my heart ache. Then his tongue darts out, tasting my skin, and the ache turns into a hot, coiling need low in my belly.

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