Page 68 of Phoenix's Last Heist
“Ada?”
After interminable moments fearing the worst and trying to breathe paste the tightness in my chest, the familiar cheery tone crackles through the cruiser’s speakers.
Upload complete.
“Oh, thank the stars,” I exhale. “Alright, Ada. Set a course forEpsilon-6. I encourage you to take full advantage of whatever speed this cruiser has to offer.”
Setting our course now. Estimated travel time: one day, 21 hours, and 37 minutes.
Since the cruiser is on autopilot and there’s nothing left for me to do while Ada pilots us away from theHephaestus, it’s the first opportunity I’ve had to reflect on…everything. Fatigue pulls at my senses, warring with the simmering anxiety that only seems to get worse the farther we get from the salvage ship and from Lyra.
From the one thing that made me feel like maybe—just maybe—I could be more than what I’ve always been: an ineffectual loner trying to keep pickpockets from running off with pottery fragments.
How much of this is the mating instinct, and how much of this is because of my guilt? Is it even possible to separate the two? Why is it so hard to untangle the emotions knotted within my chest? The betrayal I feel at Lyra keeping her law-abiding duplicitousness from me, the respect I have for her sacrificing her freedom and relinquishing the idol, the anger at her pushing me away and refusing to let me go with her and help her…and beneath it all, the deeper truth I haven’t wanted to name: despite everything, I want to be hers. I want her to be mine. And I don’t know if I deserve that.
I start digging through my bag, wanting to find a safer place for the idol. The warmth of the enaurium and faint vibrations tingle through the cloth wrappings as I put it in one of the cruiser’s small lockers.
I can’t just hand it over to a Federation officer I don’t know—but then, how can I keep it out of Brill’s clutches? Does the Federation know the idol’s link to the Dark Star? How will we be able to get the idol back to Xylothia when Brill is in prison?
As I rifle through the remaining supplies I tucked away during my rushed escape, my fingers drift to the stolen pair of Lyra’s underwear. They’re a far cry from her seductive, ethereal Velusian garments—soft, black, distinctly utilitarian—and yet the sight of them seems to add another crack in my heart.
Shamelessly, I bring them to my face and inhale deeply. The painful prickling that’s been radiating out from my synesfores eases a little, despite the fact that I can barely scent her. Even though the fragrance is mostly laundry soap with the faint undercurrent of summer blossoms that permeates her skin, it’s enough to send blood straight to my throbbing cock and thrumming mating nodes.
I grew up believing Xylothian matehood was equal parts ancient mysticism and biological compulsion. Not love. Not destiny. Just compatibility. Unlike many species that experiencematehood as the soul’s answering call for another, Xylothian matehood is more of a reproductive predisposition. It’s our bodies—and our instincts—sayingcongratulations, this person is a paragon of biological fitness for you.
Sometimes matehood develops between our chosen partners, but other times, it does not.
We’re taught it’s a bonus, not a promise. A thing you might get lucky enough to find with someone you’ve already chosen. And if you don’t…well, you move on. You make do. You tell yourself it didn’t matter anyway. It’s not required for us to conceive, but it does add a certain element of ease, of certainty, to the process. It isn’teverything, but itchangeseverything. Partners who don’t achieve matehood in their relationships tend to falter more often, so to some extent, it is—and isn’t—the end goal of every relationship.
When Sylph and I were unable to find matehood with each other, it precipitated the slow decline of our relationship. There was never any one moment that heralded our end, and we never stopped caring for each other, but I think we both felt that outside the walls of our little apartment life together, there was something bigger, better,morewaiting.
I hope Sylph has found a mate. I fear I have found mine.
Ever silent, the voices of my ancestors offer no guidance. Perhaps they have abandoned me. Perhaps they were never there to begin with. I can’t help but feel that my choices have disappointed them—that the entirety of this selfish mission that endangered Lyra from the beginning—was a mistake. I don’t know if they’d see me as a fool for chasing after her…or as a coward for letting her go.
My parents would be furious, I think, that I’m not heading straight back to Xylothia to replace the idol in its temple home. Or would they be furious with me for not heading straight backto Lyra,my mate, and cutting my way through her enemies to earn my place at her side?
Crossing to the small berth opposite the cockpit, I flop down onto the thin mattress and stretch out. Sleep, I suspect, will be elusive, but I’m going to need all my wits about me if I’m going to hunt down an undercover agent with little information to go on.
Frowning, I consider the enormity of the task ahead of me. Assuming I can find the Fed in the first place, what’s my gambit? Walk right up to him and say, “Hey, I have that priceless Xylothian artifact you wanted from Lyra Phoenix and maybe I’ll give it to you as long as you lend me the firepower to bust down Brill’s door and arrest her patron”? The thought of letting anyone have the Solar Mother sends nausea roiling through my insides again. Am I betraying my people by entertaining the idea in the first place? Or would I be betraying myself if I didn’t try?
I scoff, and the sound echoes through the too-quiet cabin. I never thought I would miss her grating singing, her smart mouth remarks, her shrieks and abrasive laughter, her snoring that reverberated throughout the entire ship. But this quiet screams at me with its lack of her, and I never realized how empty space would feel without her.
Stars, everything is such a mess.
I don’t know if I want to run to her or run from her—if claiming her would save me or ruin us both. I didn’t even have the chance to tell her. Didn’t get to say the words clawing at my throat since the moment she touched me and something ancient inside me howledmine.
She’s my mate. And I let her go.
She told me to go—to save the idol—and like a fucking spineless idiot, I listened. I should’ve stayed…I should’ve fought for her. I should’ve been smart enough to figure out a different way…another solution.
I’m doing what she asked, what we both believed was right. But how can it be right if it means losing her—even if it means protecting my people? If I’m doing what she wanted, why does it feel like I’m being peeled apart with every lightyear between us?
She’s sacrificing herself to keep the idol from Brill, and I’m just…here. Sitting in a fucking cruiser, clutching her underwear like a ghost of what I can’t have.
My mating nodes throb like open wounds, screaming for a connection I can’t give them. I’ve barely known her, and yet she’s inside me—etched into my blood, my bones, every breath.
I used to think matehood was biological. A practical bond. Nothing more. But this? This feels like gravity. Like fate. Like standing on the edge of something vast and terrifying, knowing one step forward will consume me—and stepping forward anyway.
