Page 52 of Zayrik

A shift. A threat to the part of me I kept locked down so tight I barely remembered what it felt like to want anything that wasn’t survival. He made me remember what it was to feel. To need.

And then I’d kissed him.

No, I’d grabbed him. Pulled him in like oxygen. Like the last breath before drowning. Like something wild and desperate and necessary.

And the worst part?

I’d meant it.

Not as a distraction. Not as a ploy.

As pure, undiluted want.

Desperate, aching, impossible want and it still burned in my blood, hours later.

I sank back on my heels, gripping the locker door to steady myself. My ribs still throbbed, but that wasn’t what hurt. What hurt was the part of me that wanted to believe him. The part that ached to trust his promises, to let myself fall into whatever this was becoming.

The part that wanted him to stay, anyway.

Despite everything.

Because of everything.

Zep fluttered down from the shelf and chirped softly, rubbing his nose against my cheek. The familiar gesture made my throat tight, eyes burning.

“I’m fine,” I whispered, lying to both of us. My voice sounded raw, even to me.

He made a sound that said he didn’t believe me.

Neither did I.

I’d been hiding from Zayrik for hours now, pretending to reorganize inventory that didn’t matter. Pretending like my legs didn’t still shake from the kiss I shouldn’t have wanted. Like my heart didn’t stutter every time I heard his footsteps down the corridor. Like I couldn’t still taste him on my lips, couldn’t still feel the heat of his hands.

The storage bay felt too small, too warm. Every shadow held memories of that kiss. Every breath carried his scent. Male heat and something uniquely him that made my pulse skip.

But eventually, I knew what would happen.

He’d come find me.

He always did. Like he could sense when I was spiraling. When I needed... No. When I wanted...

And when he did—

“Still avoiding me?”

I flinched, heat flooding my face.

Damn it.

Zayrik stood in the doorway, arms folded, filling the space like he owned it. Like he belonged there. His voice wasn’t cold. Just quiet. Knowing. Like he already understood exactly why I was hiding.

I looked back down at the ration bars, trying to ignore how my skin prickled with awareness. “I’m busy.”

“That why you’ve been stacking the same pack for fifteen minutes?”

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Not when he saw through me so easily.

He stepped into the room slowly. Not threatening. Not trying to corner me. But every inch of space he claimed made my lungs feel smaller. Made the air thicker, charged with something dangerous and electric.

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