Page 31 of Ravaged By the Reaper
I bury my face in her hair—tangles of silver, sweat, human warmth—and I breathe her in. Her heartbeat drums against my chest, still fierce, still wild. I cradle her close. My spurs dig gently—reverently—into ribs that still shudder. I taste her mouth again, soft, salt-sweet, quiet now.
She whispers into the tangle of my hair, voice ragged: “I didn’t argue.”
I press a kiss into her temple, teeth grazing soft skin. “Good girl,” I murmur, voice thick with something like awe.
No need for words. In the oppressive hum of the shuttle’s engines, in our ragged breathing, in the aftermath of what we just wrought, everything is said.
I hold her—for longer than I’ve held anything that mattered in my entire life. The world outside is still collapsing. Systems are failing. But right here, in this small space wrapped in sweat and blood and fierce claim, time is carved out for us.
She sighs, soft and close. The shame of Companion training, of years sculpted to control and discipline, drips through me—washed away by the pulse of raw chaos we just shared.
I whisper again, soft but trembling: “I am yours,” even though I already said it.
She doesn't respond with words. Her body relaxes into mine, breath even. The trembling slows. The storm abates.
Together, we’re bruised. Scarred. Bonded. Not by vows or contracts—but by violence and blood and breath.
The shuttle shudders again, a reminder that nothing’s done. The battle outside is not over. Duty awaits. But for now... for this one moment, we are carved in flame.
CHAPTER 9
AMARA
The shuttle deck is slick with sweat, scorched and fragrant like ancient ruins. We lie tangled—me caught in the crush of my dress, him sprawled beside me, breathing loud and ragged enough to rattle my bones. The hum of the engines washes through the hull like the aftermath of an explosion: regular, insistent.
I can’t believe what just happened.
I can’t believe Iwantedmore.
Every fiber of my training—every lesson of elegance, of calm seduction, of wielding power with a diplomat’s smile—shatters inside me. Under him. With him. In that relentless, terrifying, beautiful convergence of bodies and wills, everything I thought I was cracked open.
I should feel guilt. Shame. Loss of control. But when I think about it, I don’t. Not really.
I liked it.
No—Ilovedit.
He’s next to me, chest rising and falling, exhaling the final drumbeat of our collision. Fumes of his heat and the sweat of our bodies mix—a scent that anchors me to the moment more than any vow or code ever could.
My hand drifts up to trace the curve of his jaw. Rough, bone-protruded, scarred. I taste his skin when his breath brushes mine. Smoke and iron and belonging.
“What the hell just happened?” I whisper. My voice is raspy, eyelids heavy, every nerve firing on excess.
He chuckles low, near my ear—thick as gravel in velvet. “You did,” he says, voice raw. “You came with my name on your lips.”
I blink. The words—howling bone-deep—reverberate in my chest. I can taste the memory, salty, real. The way he made me break. Something vital inside me uncoiled.
I press a finger to his lips. They’re cracked from firelight. “Shush,” I murmur. “I’m not… I didn’t…”
He doesn’t reply. His fingers curl through my hair, feather-light—it’s not affection. It’s claim. His fingertips pulse with quiet power, steadying me. I'm not sure if I’m tethered or freed, but I don’t pull away.
I listen to his breath. The feeling blooms in me. I wasn’t missing someone until I met him, but now... now I ache with it.
“It’s wrong,” I say, not looking at him. The words echo. I taste ash and regret.
He clears his throat. “Maybe for someone trained to hold power. But not for us.”
I enclose his wrist, lean my forehead into the inside of his elbow. His skin is warm, ridged, strong.
