Page 69 of Phoenix's Last Heist
I became a ranger because I wanted to help my people, to make my parents proud—to protect my culture. It’s the only thing that’s ever made sense. But now there are two things that matter in this galaxy: Xylothia, and Lyra Phoenix, and I don’t know how to save them both.
I want to do what’s right. I want to bring the idol home. I want to see my planet thrive again, unburdened by the sins of its past.
But, selfishly, I want her more. I want her safe. I want her free. I want her in my arms and at my side and in every version of the future I can imagine.
She’s flinging herself into danger like she’s already damned. Like she has to atone for something I don’t even understand. But I won’t let her go alone.
She’s afraid of belonging to anyone and I was too much of a coward to tell her she already belongs to me, the same way I’ve always belonged to her. She’s afraid of losing herself—of being tied down, caged, consumed.
But she already has me. Every shattered, stubborn piece.
I may not know the right path. I may be breaking all the rules I was raised to follow. But I know this: I won’t let her disappear into that black hole she keeps orbiting. If she’s at the edge of destruction, I’ll be the one to pull her back. Even if it dooms me. Even if I fall in with her.
I’m not leaving her behind.
Plastering her underwear to my face, I unzip my pants and grip my shaft. My mating nodes pulse faintly, my body aware that I’m not between my mate’s lithe legs. Still, I feel like I’m coming apart at the seams without Lyra’s constant presence, and the memories of her body entwined with mine send a surge of aching need to my cock.
If I breathe deeply enough, I can almost taste her slick sex on my tongue. Stars, how she sounded, how she moved, how shefelt. My fist pumps over my cock in a punishing rhythm, and it’s an embarrassingly short amount of time before pleasure shoots down my spine. I come with a grunt, spending across my stomach and not in Lyra’s perfect cunt. The brief satisfaction eases some of my discomfort, but the worst of it lingers—lying buried until I have my mate in my arms again.
“Ada,” I mutter, jittery with frenzied exhaustion. “I don’t suppose you have any recordings of the noise of theAldrin-136, do you?”
I can loop recordings of background noise, yes. Do you want me to filter out Lyra’s nocturnal stertor?
“Her what?”
Her snoring.
“No, please. I want to hear it,” I say, willing my erection to subside. If I can’t persuade the simmering mating hormones to ease, perhaps I can sleep through them. Reluctantly, I stuff Lyra’s underwear underneath the pillow and focus on the soft,comforting chaos of theAldrin-136’s white noise humming through the cruiser’s speakers.
It isn’t long before the sounds soothe me into slumber, and as ever, I dream of Lyra.
Ada’s estimatedarrival time is incredibly accurate. We’re about to descend through Epsilon-6’s artificial atmosphere—the thick gray clouds and condensing moisture pelt the cruiser’s windshield, rattling the craft with weather-generated turbulence.
Harbor Patrol is directing us to dock in bay AA92843. A customs agent will meet you upon disembarking, ensure you’re not bringing any contraband materials aboard the station, and will accept your port fees.
I nod, then remember Ada can’t register my acceptance.
“Okay,” I reply.
Do you wish for a final run-through?
“A what?”
When Lyra embarks on a mission, she insists upon a final run-through of her plan. Would you like me to do so with you now, Orion?
“Oh. Yeah, sure,” I say, tension coiling through my muscles as I straighten my worn uniform. “Okay, according to your data, Lyra was approached in the Tumplesh sector. You’re going to give me turn-by-turn directions to the bar via my earpiece, where I’ll camp out and wait to see if I can spot any Feds. I know this guy is supposed to be undercover, but I’m hoping with my experience dealing with them back on Xylothia, I’ll be able to suss him out.”
Agreed. So far, so good. Continue.
I blow out a breath, dreading this next part.
“Assuming I can find him, I convince him I’m a friend of Lyra’s, show him the idol, and see what he can do to help her. If he approached her in the first place, he’s got to be motivated to take Brill down, right? If he’s got a file on her, presumably he’ll believe she’s an asset worth protecting.” Unbidden, a sickly twist of grief winds through me. My father would’ve known exactly what to say. He could talk sense into zealots and traitors alike. All I seem to do is bruise what I’m trying to protect.
“I’m willing to bet he has some kind of back-up plan. There’s no way he’d just trust her to get the idol, make the swap, and sit back while they built a case against Brill. I doubt it’ll be a formal operation if they don’t have enough evidence to arrest him yet, but maybe he has resources…contacts, something that can help. I don’t know that Lyra has the kind of time it would take to swap the idol and justwaitfor the Feds to have enough to plan a raid,” I continue.
The probability is high that she does not.
“I’ll still offer to swap the real idol for the fake, if it’ll get me to Ooneryx with some help,” I say, the admission wrenched out of me with reluctance.The idol for Lyra? My past self would be horrified.“But then it’s a matter of heading there, bargaining or brawling my way through a probable army of Void Stalkers, and stealing Lyra away from one of the most dangerous mob lords on the other side of the galaxy,” I finish, despair seeping into my tone.I am so, so screwed.
