Page 66 of Ravaged By the Reaper
“I wanted it,” he rasps. “Every second. Every kill. Every scream. Withyou.”
My nails scrape his armor. My body vibrates like a struck tuning fork. There’s nothing polite left in me. Nothing reserved. Just raw heat and hunger and?—
The docking hatch slams open with a pneumatic hiss.
We freeze.
A medic blinks at us. Stammers. “Uh—injuries?”
“None,” I snap, dragging myself off him.
Haktron laughs—low, amused, still drunk on the aftermath.
The medic hurries away.
I glance back at him.
His smile’s crooked.
“Next time,” I say, voice steel-wrapped silk, “I fly.”
He arches a brow. “You just want to be on top.”
“Damn right I do.”
And we both laugh.
Because somehow, in the middle of a war, we foundthis.
Whatever the hellthisis.
And gods help the universe if we survive it.
We hit the edge together—like stars colliding, like entire planets cracking under tidal force. The universe narrows to a single heartbeat stretched between us, and when it breaks, it’s not quiet. It’s cataclysm.
I don’t scream. I exhale—sharp, ragged, punched out of me by the sheer violence of release. My whole body goes taut, locked around him, every nerve lit white as if I’ve been set ablaze from the inside. His name burns on my tongue, fierce and undeniable, but I don’t speak it. I live it—etched into every pulse of my body against his.
Haktron shudders against me, his massive frame seizing as though the world itself is breaking inside him. His head bows, forehead pressing hard to mine, bracing like a warrior who’s just taken the final blow. His breath rips out in broken fragments, a raw, guttural sound that is nothing like the savage laughter he carried through battle. This is different. This is real.
“Amara…” It’s barely a word—more a groan carved out of his chest.
My hands cradle the back of his neck, pulling him tighter as if I could fuse us together. “I’m here,” I whisper, though my own voice shakes apart in the aftermath. “Always.”
He trembles, every muscle quaking as if the act of holding back from crushing me is tearing him open. His claws dig just enough into my waist to remind me what he is—what I’ve given myself to—but never enough to wound. The restraint is staggering. Beautiful.
No words. Just heat. Pulse. The undeniable aftermath of something that should have been brutal, terrifying—yet somehow was gentle. Even in its wildness. Even in its fury.
He doesn’t move to leave me. He doesn’t pull back. He holds. One massive arm bands around my back, the other cradles myskull as though I am the only fragile thing in a galaxy made of war.
I sag into his chest, boneless. My cheek finds the curve of his armor, warm now, slicked by sweat and heat, the metal no longer cold but carrying us in its temperature. My heart is a drum against my ribs, fierce and erratic, and beneath my palm, his twin hearts echo, a deeper rhythm that threatens to drown me.
We breathe. That’s all we do for a long, spinning moment. Just breathe. His chest heaves under me, each exhale rattling like it’s dragged through broken glass, but steadying with mine until our lungs fall into the same cadence.
He tips my chin up, forcing me to meet the blaze of his eyes. “Say it,” he rasps, voice shredded. “Say you’re mine.”
I swallow, lips trembling—but there’s no hesitation. “I’m yours,” I breathe. My words are a vow, a chain, a promise I don’t regret. “And you’re mine.”
He groans, the sound guttural, reverent. His forehead presses harder to mine, eyes clenched shut as though my words are a weight he can’t bear and a salvation he can’t release.
