{Gait}

Wearing Korac’s leather duster, Sagan stepped into the Seam and sagged to her knees with a thud. Her muscles felt too heavy and sore for her bones to hold them up any longer. She sank forward and rested her head on the stone. So hungry. So tired. Close her eyes and take a brief rest—

“Beautiful.”

“Razor?!” She startled awake, lying on her side in the Seam. The voices. Were they back? How long had she slept in this monochromatic wasteland? Elden, she felt like shit. With a grunt and a groan, she rolled onto her stomach and forced herself to stand.

Dizzy. Back on her knees, she vomited. When the waste dried to ash and dissolved into the stone, she skid back with a cry of alarm, “What the fuck?!” Open a conduit. Leave. Now.

Nothing happened.

Terrified, Sagan clawed at the stone until she stood and tried again. “What…” She couldn’t Seamswalk. Was it her current state of weakness? Or was the Seam refusing to let her leave? Either way, Sagan couldn’t get out.

And she screamed. Trapped. Unable to leave. A place of ash and bone. No escape. Her worst nightmare. Sagan screamed. Until she fell. Until her throat burned. Until her exhausted mind gave up and choked on the futility.

“Sagan.”

Not the voice she feared. The voice she wanted to hear. “Korac!” On an instinct that fired her blood, Sagan ran through the hall and into Korac’s arms. She knew from the scent of snowfall in the dead of night. Tears poured from her eyes. Sobbing hard against him, she held on as if sure he almost lost her.

“I heard you clear through the ether. You were screaming. What happened?” The Icarean General. The war criminal. The man famous across the Vast Collective for his cool facade. For his elegant cadence in that smooth tenor. Trembled with fear. His entire body shook with it.

Sagan told him everything. Every moment of the night. Except one detail. She kept Razor’s secret. With Remorse and whoever else listening, it seemed wrong to out the man as the last of his kind. A hunted kind at that. No, she’d keep her promise.

At first mention of the Pain Curator in her recount of the events, Korac stood Sagan up with him as support. He stripped the leather duster from her shoulders and let it pool on the floor. While she told her story, he stepped back and appraised the dress with admiring appreciation. When he got to the collar, his eyes flicked up to hers. The smoldering smirk was pure commendation. Pride, even.

Sagan flushed as his reward.

Korac knelt and took her leg so he could remove one glass slipper. Then the other. Every touch further sensitized her skin and shot through her. The stimulation made it difficult to concentrate on her storytelling. And he enjoyed that. With every word stumbled, he smiled in wonder at her responsiveness.

She loved him for it. For their way of being together. “All night I wished I was dancing with you.” Okay, blurting that out wasn’t smooth, but she needed to say it.

Standing, he kissed her nose and took her by the hand. Near the shower, he slipped the first set of straps from her back. Then her shoulders and biceps. Until only a whisper held the dress on her. Korac bent to kiss her nacre port, and the dress fell. “The collar stays. And I expect to see it with my axes next time.”

Sagan finally smiled for him. “Yes, Master.”

The war criminal stopped smirking. He stared hard at her until her skin burned under the intensity. The blood rushing all over reminded her of the dizziness. He caught her gently as she faltered. Despite her weakness, Sagan took notice of his bare stomach and the light-weight sweats hanging off his hips. Celebrating her escape from the Seam, she kissed his ribs. When he shivered, she licked. Her hands wandered—

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Not yet. Let’s get you showered and fed first. We need to anchor you.” Korac peeled her off of him and gazed into her pouting face. He put a stern finger between her eyes. “After that, I’ll give you a night you’ll never forget, General.”

Sagan skipped to the tile under the shower. Neither one of them said it, but she smelled like a mixture of Korac and Razor. The dancing left vanilla and darker things on her. With the perfect restraint of a gentleman, he washed her sore muscles without a single unprofessional touch. Unfortunately. Afterward, he handed her a wrapped sustenance bar.

When she raised a questioning brow at him, he shrugged. “I’m not touching you until you eat that entire thing.” At her pout, he chuckled. “I have some Vittle supplement to spare, if you really want to experience torment.”

Unwrapped and in her mouth before he forced her to endure that frozen spinach crap.

“That’s what I thought.” Korac smirked and prepped the bed.

All the while, he never dressed and walked around as tantalizing incentive for her to choke down the tasteless brown brick. Well, two could play at that game.

Sagan sat on the floor with an oversized towel draped over her. She let it slip and expose her shoulders.

He noticed. She caught the slight falter in his fluff of that pillow.

The Progeny General also didn’t miss the sway to his bare ass when he folded the sheets back.

Okay. Hard ball. The Seamswalker leaned back, supported by both hands flat on the floor. Knees up and legs closed, the towel fell off, leaving her naked to the air still humid from their shower.

Korac glanced behind him and did a double-take. He stood straight and narrowed his eyes at her. “Woman, you finish your food yet?”

Sagan bit her lip and opened knees. Closed. Opened. Closed. “Half of it. Is that enough, Master?” And it was a rough half. All nutrition and no flavor.

His physical response complimented her efforts. A raised flag of surrender. She won. Korac opened his arms to her, and Sagan jumped up into them. He set her down on the bed. She didn’t expect any play tonight. Her man was in caretaker mode, and Sagan loved him for it.

As if he read her thoughts, he knelt between her knees. “You need anchoring and feeding. I can’t let the Seam take you, now can I?”

No interruptions this time. Even if Pehton brought the entire warden squad, Sagan was drinking from Korac. She brushed her fingers into his silver hair, so happy it was growing out. Gazing into his eyes, they looked colorless. But really they were white with dark gray flecks. And for her, they were always open to his soul.

“I love you.” Again, as if he read her mind.

Sagan choked and fought back tears. “Do you think Pehton will officiate a union for us?”

Korac pressed a finger to her lips with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “Shh. I’ve imagined our union many times for us. I have plans. And we will not spoil my plans on this cell.”

She giggled for him, and he thumbed away her tears. After which, he cupped her nape and brought her to his carotid. Atramentous. Without a reflection, Sagan knew her violet iris swallowed her eyes. Her fangs extended, and she teased out breaking his skin. Suddenly, he jerked her off the bed and onto his kneeling lap. At the sweet taste of his blue blood, the Seamswalker moaned into the war criminal’s neck. Great draws of the stuff. He groaned through his teeth and repositioned her until she straddled him on the brink.

Against her ear, he growled, “Your permission. Do you give it?”

Sagan stopped drinking only long enough to say, “Always to you, Korac.”

Slow. He lowered her slowly onto him. Drawing it out like she drew on his life. She couldn’t fight throwing her head back. With his voice rough, Korac confessed, “I look forward to the day I drink from you like this.” He settled for kissing her throat in its ecstatic arch while moving for her.

Softly, she cried, “Please.”

“You’re weak. You need—”

“Please, Master. Take me.”

Korac latched onto her shoulder and sunk his teeth in. Sagan cried out his name. He drew on her in time with his thrusts until he gripped the bed behind her and used it for leverage. The bunk’s frame pounded against her back until it bruised. And she asked for more.

Unaware of how much time passed, eventually Korac finished with her name on a growl. They finally made it to the bed with him intoxicated.

Obsessed with her skin, he brushed, kissed, and sucked on her shoulders, arms, and neck. She giggled and tried to peel him off. But not really. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

“I should sleep the effects off by morning—You have a freckle here, too. Let me get that for you.” He kissed it among others to the sounds of her girlish laughter.

Spooned against him, she put up no resistance. This made her happy. This was her haven. Not the planet with skies as purple as her eyes. Not the Emporium with its exotic experiences. Not the prison with its cells full of war criminals. Her haven was right here. In Korac’s arms.

And no one could take Sagan away from him.