Several years ago, the best warrior I ever knew died in single combat. I watched, stunned, as a small twist of fate did him in. We were invading a small settlement, and the ruler of the planet offered us trial by combat. He would fight any Zalaryn chosen champion, and the winner would get claim on the settlement. Our captain—an amazing fighter, shrewd, skilled, lightning-fast instincts—agreed. They fought. Our captain hadn’t even broken a sweat when he was preparing for the killing blow.
Then a slight mis-positioning of his foot, and he stumbled over a stone lodged in the ground. He staggered, opened himself up—and it was the other man who struck the killing blow.
The greatest warrior of an entire generation, killed by a rock smaller than his fist.
I always remember that day. The day I learned that skill can’t save you. Training can’t save you. Preparation can’t save you.
Only fate can save you. And only if the universe decrees it.
All of these thoughts fly through my head as I see Aren sprinting towards me. No, not towards me. Towards the lone straggler, the forgotten rebel who is pointing a fully-charged anankah at me.
All my skill, all my training, all of the careful preparation… And I’m about to be killed by a scrawny lad who can barely figure out which end of his weapon should point towards his enemy.
Aren is holding something high above her head. I hold my breath. I will her not to scream—not to make a noise. If she says anything, the lad will turn and—in his surprise—fire straight at her, instead.
But she has the spirit of a warrior. She is fleet of foot and single-minded in purpose. She doesn’t falter. She doesn’t hesitate. With one fell swoop, she bludgeons the rebel on the head and he crumples to the dirt.
She stands stunned before me, not able to believe what she’s just done. I am not able to believe what she’s just done—and I witnessed the whole thing.
Her fingers twitch and she drops the weapon (I see now that it is the long, tubular canister that serves as the escape pod’s fire extinguisher) with a loud clank. Loud as it is, I can barely hear it over the violent beating of my heart.
“I—” I start to say. But there are no words. The defining moments of your life? There are never words.
“I saw him,” she starts to say, as if she needs to explain herself. She starts to shake, the adrenaline overloading her system. I step over the body and take her into my arms. So much inside me is threatening to burst. I have almost been killed before, and the relief at finding myself still alive is only a small part of it.
There is a storm inside me, my skin not quite enough to hold it all inside. Desire is the most pressing because it causes an obvious physical response. Underneath my breeches, my cock begins to swell. Such an odd time to feel this way—but not really. Aren is disheveled, her hair swirling wildly around her head, tiny pin-prick splatters of blood are sprayed across her cheek. The oversized tunic she wears has slid down one shoulder, exposing the rounded top of one breast and a tiny pink crescent of nipple. My chest flushes, and I feel that surging heat return.
My body cries out to bond with my mate—to exchange genetic material and physically become one body. Our spirits—our fates, our destinies—are already intertwined. That much is obvious. It was no coincidence that I found her on Yrdat. No mistake that I got onto the wrong ship back at New Pallas. I was meant to find her. Meant to protect her.
Meant to bond with her.
Void take my vows. Void take the Imperial Guard. Void take everything except me and her.
I hold onto her so tight, I fear I might crush her—but she grips me back with the same panicky fervor. I pick her up and carry her to the escape pod. It’s already programmed to go to the fortress. As the door to the pod closes, I hear Ayvinx in the distance, calling to me. But our work here is done.
- - -
My chambers at the fortress are furnished in a manner befitting someone of my station. I’m not nobility. Not a member of the High Counsel or ruling class. I’m a warrior, and my dwelling reflects it. I have two rooms: a bedroom and a receiving room, plus a bathroom.
I enter the passcode, and the door slides open. It feels so good to be home. No, that’s not right. I don’t normally mind leaving on long voyages. It’s not that I’m glad to be back—it’s that I’m glad to be back with her. With Aren.
She steps inside and I close the door, rearming the lock.
No one is going to disturb us.
This cannot wait any longer. I feel possessed—like some spirit has invaded my body, controlling my limbs and my lust. I have wanted to do this since she leapt out of her hiding place—her puny knife clenched in her puny fist, in a valiant but doomed effort to defend her home.
I have desired her since then—but I’m disciplined, and can control my desires.
I have needed her since she ran from the pod and dashed the brains of the rebel.
And this I cannot control.
Something inside me is crying out—screaming, shouting—to her body. As if the universe is upset that I have thus far ignored the mate it has presented to me. So a black hand of the void has materialized and entered me—controlling my actions, guiding me to her, urging me to unite in the flesh. Knowing that our frail brains will make excuses. Give so-called logical reasons to deny this desire. Knowing that our bodies are weak and will surrender to the pull of the loins.
“Is this where—” she starts to say, but I don’t let her finish.
“Now,” I say. I grab that oversized tunic and pull, tearing it from her body with a loud ripping sound that echoes across the room. Her breasts jiggle—her nipples stiffening before my eyes, the soft pink tips wrinkling and pointing straight at me. I take both of her breasts in my hands and squeeze. Her skin feels cool and soft underneath my worn, old warrior’s hands. A little moan passes through her lips and I feel my cock grow even harder.
I have felt desire before—except, I haven’t. Not really.
Until this moment, I never really knew what true desire was.
This is desire—when it’s fueled by the bond between two spirits. Desire that is strengthened by that bond. Desire that is the only way to express something that is so overwhelming, so powerful, so vast that it’s rivaled in significance only by the void itself.
It’s slightly absurd that the only way that planetary beings can express such a powerful, spiritual bond is with the coarse and rude act of rutting like common animals. But I can’t help it—because most of me feels coarse, and rude, and I am definitely in rut.
I have found my mate. She is ready to be claimed.
I brush the palms of my hands across her nipples and she gasps.
That sound. Her innocent voice seeming to experience raw lust for the first time. I want to make her do that again and again.
My fingertips find the tips of her nipples and I pull gently. She is breathing hard, her breath hot against my neck. I take her into my arms and lift her onto the bed. She’s nude beneath me, pale and panting. I can smell her arousal, thick and clean, a scent no other species of female has. My head reels slightly, as the sensation is a lot to take in. The thick patch of hair between her legs is driving me crazy. It’s hiding her sex. Hiding her essence. I take hold of her thighs and spread them apart. When her lips spread, I see the wet, pink flesh and know that once I taste it—once I feel it, and get inside it—I will never be the same again. It will ruin me for all other forms of earthly pleasure.
Protruding from between her legs is a small pink nub, hard and sticking out. Some species of females possess these small pleasure appendages, but I’ve never seen a human female’s before. Hers is the best looking of them all, small and pert, looking like it needs some attention.
I lean forward and put my head between her legs. I lap my tongue across her sex, tasting the slick and slippery fluids that coat her lips. With the sensory pads on my tongue I can sense her pleasure. Her tension. Her excitement. I take down my breeches and free my erection. I grab it and start stroking myself. I can’t help it, stroking it like a randy lad awake in bed.
She’s making all sorts of noises now, high pitched squeals alternating with low guttural moans. I can feel her heart beating with my tongue. She’s getting excited, her heart beating faster. Her muscles are tense, her legs pressing against my head. With my free hand I reach up and grab one breast, flicking my fingers over her rock hard nipple. She moans louder, arching her back and grinding her cunt into my face. I suck on her, feeling her little appendage grow hard between my lips. I suck on it, pull it into my mouth and sweep my tongue back and forth. I feel my own climax is close and I force myself to stop stroking. I reach my other hand up to cup her other breast. I play with both of her nipples as I lick her—and I know that her climax is not just close, but barreling down like a ship reentering the atmosphere.
She writhes and squirms, squealing louder now. Her hips buck up and down. I know she’s never done this before. No one has tasted her essence and felt her gyrating hips pushing and begging for more.
No one but me.
This is a new experience for her. This pleasure. These sensations. She doesn’t know how to act. Doesn’t know what sounds to make. She doesn’t know what is expected behavior. She’s innocent in her actions, wholly pure in her pleasure.
And then, in an instant, she’s screaming—panting and pushing hard against my face. She’s making delighted and frantic moans, and convulsing in wave after wave of her climax.
As she calms down, I lift up and get on the bed next to her.
I can’t wait to see how she reacts to having my cock inside her.
Her legs are still spread and she’s so wet, her arousal fluids are smeared all over. I fist my cock and press it against her opening. Her hot, wet lips feel so good wrapped around my tip. I stroke myself a little, sliding my head up and down against her folds. It’s so slippery, the sensation is almost enough to send me over the edge.
But I will not spill my seed like that. I’m not going to put it anywhere else except deep inside her. I must. She is my mate, and that will complete our bonding. She’ll take in my essence and I will take in hers.
We will belong to each other.
She starts to grind her hips again, pushing herself against me, searching out more pleasure. I slide one finger down and press it against her opening. She’s pure. Intact. Her opening covered by the human’s purity membrane. I was going to stretch her out with my fingers—loosen her up first—but I am overtaken by the desire to pierce that membrane with my cock. Once that idea is in my head, I can’t get it out.
The very first thing to ever go inside her sweet, tight little hole is going to be my thick, throbbing erection.
I press my cock against her, pushing it slowly. She feels so small underneath me. So tight. I don’t know if I’m going to be able to fit inside.
I lean forward and put my mouth to her ear. “Does this hurt?” I ask her. My lips trail down to her neck and I kiss it, inhaling her scent. It’s strong—her arousal and desire seeping through her pores. I can feel it in my mouth with my sensory pads. I grip my shaft and try to push it inside, but there’s tightness and resistance. “We can stop,” I say.
But we can’t. Not really.
Not until I have claimed my mate.
“Put it in me, Droka,” she says, her voice a sweet whisper—so low that I can feel it tickling against my ears more than I can actually hear it. My name on her lips—so sweet, so hot.
That’s all the encouragement I need.
I push it through and feel everything give way. She gasps and tenses beneath me. I slide it in all the way until my cock is entirely surrounded by a warm, wet gripping. I can do nothing but shudder from the pure ecstasy.
Because now we are one.
Our spirits can find each other through this bridge of the flesh.