Page 17 of The Starlight Matrix
He steps back, and his expression shifts to something formal, ritualistic. “The joining requires complete physical and emotional intimacy. All barriers between us must fall—clothing, inhibitions, the walls we build around our deepest selves.”
Heat rises in my cheeks. “I understand.”
“Do you?” His voice carries a gentle challenge. “Because once we begin, there’s no privacy between us. Every thought, every memory, every secret fear and hidden desire—all of it becomes shared property.”
“Zylthar.”
“Yes?”
“Stop trying to talk me out of this.”
He smiles, and it transforms his entire face from alien perfection to something warm and achingly human. “As you wish, Captain.”
I move to the door controls, engaging full privacy locks and activating sound dampening fields. Whatever happens in the next hour, I don’t want the crew to hear it.
When I turn back, Zylthar watches me with an intensity that makes my pulse quicken. The markings along his temples pulse with soft lavender light, and his breathing has shifted to something deeper, more controlled.
“How do we begin?” I ask.
“With truth.” He steps closer, close enough that I smell the ozone scent that seems to follow him. “Tell me something you’ve never told anyone else.”
The request catches me off guard. “What kind of something?”
“Anything. A fear, a hope, a memory that shapes who you are.” His eyes never leave mine. “The ritual requires absolute honesty between us.”
I think for a moment, sorting through years of carefully guarded secrets. “When I was twelve, I wanted to be a dancer.”
“A dancer?”
“Ballet, specifically. I used to practice in secret in the cargo bay of my father’s ship, spinning and leaping while we traveled between colonies.” I smile at the memory. “My parents thought I was studying engineering manuals.”
“What happened?”
“Reality. Military families don’t produce dancers—they produce soldiers and officers and people who understand duty before desire.” The old pain surfaces, sharper than I expected. “I traded dance shoes for combat boots and never looked back.”
“Do you regret it?”
“Sometimes. Especially when I watch the way you move—like gravity is optional, like your body remembers music I can’t hear.”
He reaches out to touch my hand, and the familiar electric jolt runs up my arm. “Your turn,” I say.
“I’ve never told anyone that I dream of flying.”
“Flying how?”
“Not in ships or shuttles. Flying with my own body, through open space between stars.” His voice carries wonder and longing. “In the dreams, I can breathe vacuum and taste starlight and experience the gravitational pull of distant suns.”
“That’s beautiful.”
“That’s impossible. Zephyrians are bound to crystalline cities and structured thought. We don’t dream of impossible things.”
“Except you do.”
“Except I do.” He steps closer, and now, I feel the warmth radiating from his skin. “Selena, the ritual requires us to share more than words.”
My mouth goes dry. “Physical intimacy.”
“Complete physical intimacy. Bodies joined, barriers dropped, nothing held back.” His voice drops to a whisper. “Are you ready for that?”
