Page 4 of Sixth
Chapter 2
THE SHIPtrembled around Emmy, alow hum in its core that pulsed through the floor and into her bones. She stood at the edge of the observation port while stars poured past like a river of living light. They were not still, not really. Each pinprick shifted in almost imperceptible ways, as if breathing.
The Valenmark at her wrist glowed faintly, its pulse matching herown.
Apex had not spoken since sealing the cockpit door. He moved with quiet authority born of repetition, hands gliding over a compact navigation array, fingers brushing holographic bands of light that responded to his touch like trained animals. Every motion was deliberate. Powerful. Effortless.
Dangerous.
She should have been afraid of him. He was alien, half shadow and half bronze, his skin carrying a faint inner luminescence that made him seem carved from starlight. Hishair was short and silver-white and two narrow blue stripes marked his left temple, apattern she did not yet understand. His eyes were amethyst, bright and cold, catching the faint light like fracturedgems.
When he turned his head, she caught the flash of gold on his canines, aglint that reminded her how easily he could tear through steel. Even the ceremonial jacket he wore failed to soften the impression of size and power. The fabric strained across shoulders made for war. Every time those strange violet eyes met hers, the Valenmark at her wrist came alive, heat spiraling through her blood until she had to lookaway.
She was not afraid of him. Okay, yes, she was. But she was more afraid of theheat.
He had taken her from Aram Voss only hours earlier. Or maybe longer. Time lost edges in the dark between stars. She remembered the way Apex’s voice had sounded when he told her to hold tight, the shock of his hand closing over hers, the burn that followed when the Valenmark etched itself into her skin. Abond. Abinding. Something she did not understand and could not peel away. When his fingers brushed hers, the mark woke like a spark touching dry tinder and answered to his pulse.
He spoke at last. “You should rest.” His voice came as a low vibration that settled under her ribs. “We will reach the outer drift soon.”
“I’m not tired.” She kept her eyes on the stars, unwilling to give him more than the outline of herface.
He crossed the small space between pilot seat and bulkhead, the cabin no larger than a studio apartment from back home. One sleeping shelf. One narrow galley drawer. Two emergency harnesses. No crew. Nothing extra. The ship was built for speed and survival, not comfort.
“You are human,” he said. “You tire.”
“And you’re what exactly?” She turned then, chin lifted. “You don’t?”
His mouth curved, aghost of a smile that never reached his eyes. “Vettian. And we have longer endurance than humans.”
“Longer is doing a lot of work in that sentence. It doesn’t mean endless.”
He didn’t answer. He stepped closer instead, and the Valenmark flared in response, answering something in him she didn’t want to name. The air between them thickened. The soft hum of the ship deepened until it seemed to echo the rhythm under her skin. She should have stepped away. She didn’t.
He stopped an arm’s length from her, close enough that the heat of his body reached her skin. His scent was clean and sharp, like rain-struck stone after lightning.
“The Valenmark reacts to proximity,” he said, voice low. “The closer we stand, the stronger its signal. The Valenmark is not designed for long distance. Separation for too long causes pain, like a muscle tearing against its own nerve. The field between us demands closeness, constant calibration, or it burns both hosts.”
The mark burned brighter, bright as banked coals pushed to flame. It climbed through her veins, not pain, not exactly, an ache that turned into wanting. She didn’t have a name for the rest, but it rippled beneath the surface, gnawing at her in a way she’d never experienced before.
“I didn’t agree to this.” The admission slipped out rougher than she intended.
“You did not have to.” His gaze didn’t move from her face. “It chose.”
She laughed, asharp sound in the small cabin. “Maybe it chose badly.”
“Valenmarks do not err.”
“Then maybe we erred.”
She stepped back, breaking the line of heat. The glow at her wrist dimmed but didn’t vanish. It settled into her skin like a second heartbeat. He let her retreat. His gaze tracked the movement, unreadable as the dark beyond theport.
She watched the stars again because looking at him was dangerous. More than dangerous. Filled with emotions she refused to analyze. “Tell me what it is,” she said. “Not a myth. The truth.”
“It is a bond,” he said. “Permanent. Eternal. It forms only when genomic complement is exact and the field conditions align.”
She frowned. “That sounds like gibberish. Put it in human terms.”
He hesitated, studying her. “There are no human terms for the Valenmark,” he admitted. Then, softer, as if simplifying the concept cost him something: “It chooses only when two beings are perfectly matched. When all the conditions that govern life—mind, body, spirit—fit. It binds what should not fit and makes it whole.”
