Tazrena The Beginning

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Chapter 1
The catacombs stretched endlessly before Reaper, a labyrinth of damp stone and restless dead. His boots thudded against the uneven floor, the echo swallowed by the dark. He was hunting food—something to quiet the gnawing in his gut—when a scream sliced through the silence. Screams weren’t rare down here; they were the soundtrack of despair. But this one was different—high, female, drenched in terror.
Reaper’s lip curled beneath his helmet. He was a violent bastard, no denying it, but he lived by a code etched into his bones. Never harm a woman. The thought of ignoring her tugged at him, promising regret. With a low curse, he pivoted toward the sound, his pace quickening, the black-and-red battlesuit whispering against the shadows.
As he closed in, he melted into the gloom, assessing the scene. Two grimy male elves pinned a thrashing female to the ground, her kicks fierce but futile. A third loomed over her, tugging at her pants with eager, filthy hands. Even from the shadows, Reaper caught the glint of her blue eyes—wide, pleading, drowning in fear. Something hot and sharp twisted in his chest.
He stepped forward, silent as death, positioning himself behind the one at her feet. Clearing his throat, he let his voice roll out—casual, but laced with menace. “Leave the girl and run. Or I’ll gut you all for wasting my time.”
The elf jolted, spinning with a knife raised, bravado fading fast as he registered the skull-and-dagger emblem on Reaper’s chest. The battlesuit was unmistakable—a nightmare carved in black and crimson. The blade clattered to the stone as the elf’s hands shot up, trembling. “W-we don’t have a problem, Mr. Reaper. Take her. My gift to you,” he stammered, voice cracking.
At the name, the other two froze, releasing the girl. She scrambled back, slamming against the wall, knees drawn tight to her chest, staring at him—her unlikely savior. Reaper didn’t hesitate. A long, black war blade materialized in his grip, and with a flick of his wrist—too fast to track—he severed the leader’s head. It hit the ground with a wet thud, rolling to a stop at her feet, eyes blank and staring.
He turned to the others, voice cold as the grave. “You know my rules. Cross me again, and you’re next.”
Their faces twisted—fear warring with hatred—but they nodded, slow and deliberate, before bolting like rats from a sinking ship. Reaper stepped forward, kicking the head aside with a casual nudge of his boot. He extended a gloved hand to the girl. “I’m Reaper. Let’s get you out of here.”
She hesitated, eyes flickering between his hand and the shadows where her attackers had fled. Fear of them outweighed fear of him. She took it, letting him haul her up. The battlesuit hid his race, his face, everything but his size—towering, unyielding, a fortress of violence. She didn’t speak, just followed as he turned and led her deeper into the maze.
Chapter 2
Rena trailed her rescuer in silence, arms wrapped tight around herself. Thirty minutes of winding tunnels, and her nerves screamed louder with every step. He’d said only “Follow me” before stalking off, never glancing back to see if she kept pace. The catacombs blurred together—gray stone, grinning skulls, air thick with rot. She’d tried speaking, tossing out questions like breadcrumbs, but he ignored them, his stride relentless.
Fear gnawed at her. Where was he taking her? Alone with him, she felt the weight of his presence—a predator cloaked in armor. But the alternative—lost in this crypt, surrounded by the dead—was worse. Reaper stopped abruptly at a crumbling staircase, and Rena, lost in her thoughts, crashed into him. His massive frame didn’t flinch; she rubbed her bruised arm, wincing at the hardness of his suit.
He pointed up the stairs, voice flat, stripped of warmth. “This takes you to the city. You can find your way from there.”
Before she could respond, he turned to leave. Panic flared. Without thinking, she grabbed his arm. “Wait—”
A blade flashed, stopping a whisper from her throat. She froze, breath caught, the cold edge hovering like a guillotine. Reaper yanked his arm free, lowering the weapon. “I don’t like being touched. Go. Before it’s too late.”
Her voice trembled but held. “I just wanted to say thank you. For saving me. I’m Rena.”
He said nothing, just turned and vanished into the dark. This time, she let him go. She climbed the stairs alone, pushing through a small wooden door into an alley she knew—two blocks from home. Her pulse spiked. How had he known where she lived? She didn’t dwell on it, sprinting toward safety, not stopping until her apartment door clicked locked behind her.
Reaper lingered in the catacombs until Rena’s footsteps faded. Then he followed, keeping to the shadows, a ghost in her wake. He didn’t know why—instinct, maybe, or something deeper—but he needed her safe. She was striking: long, wavy blonde hair, blue eyes that cut through the gloom, beauty unshaken by torn clothes and terror. It had been years since anyone stirred him. Too risky, too fleeting. Yet here he was, trailing her like a fool.
A smile tugged at his lips beneath the helmet. One night with her might be worth the trouble. Elves on the street parted around him, their eyes darting to the battlesuit, fear keeping them at bay. Daylight wasn’t his time—he thrived unseen—but her path demanded it. Once her door shut, he slipped into a sidestreet, drawn to a dive bar he knew too well.
The place was a hole—greasy bar, a few stools, three rickety tables. Reaper claimed the corner, back to the wall, eyes on the day-drinkers nursing their poison. The barkeep, an old elf with a stained apron, shuffled over, setting down a bottle of gut-rot and a glass. He kept his distance. “Been a while. Never during the day.”
Reaper poured, helmet parting just enough to reveal a scarred jaw as he downed the shot in one swallow. “I was nearby. Needed a drink. Problem?”
The elf’s laugh was dry. “Trouble follows you, Reaper. Don’t kill anyone in my bar, and we’re fine.”
“No promises,” he said, pouring another. “But I’m here to drink. That’s all.”
The elf retreated, unconvinced but silent. Reaper leaned back, the burn of liquor a faint echo of the fire Rena had sparked.
Chapter 3
Rena sank against her apartment door, the lock’s click a fragile shield against the chaos still clawing at her mind. The attack. The screams. Him. Reaper. Questions burned through her—why had he saved her? Who hid beneath that skull-etched armor? She sucked in a shaky breath, forcing her pulse to slow, and stumbled to the shower. Hot water sluiced over her, washing away the catacombs’ grime but not the memory of those blue eyes locked on hers, terrified yet defiant.
Dressed in soft leggings and a tunic, she curled up in bed, the day’s adrenaline bleeding into resolve. Tomorrow, she’d find him. He deserved more than a whispered “thank you.” She might be a royal runaway, estranged from her father the king, but she still had resources—wealth, influence. Whatever Reaper wanted, she could give.
The palace wasn’t her home anymore—she’d fled its gilded cage in a fit of rebellion, trading silk for this modest apartment. Normally, her guards shadowed her every step, but today she’d slipped their leash, craving freedom. That choice had nearly cost her everything. Now, their muffled voices filtered through the hall, a reminder of her lapse. She wouldn’t ditch them again. Sleep claimed her, heavy with purpose.
Across the street, Reaper lingered in an alley’s shadows, a week since he’d pulled her from hell. He didn’t know why he kept circling back—some itch he couldn’t scratch. Night after night, he’d drifted past, always cloaked in darkness, watching her windows. Unseen. Unknown to him, Rena had ventured into the catacombs twice since, guards in tow, hunting him. She’d rather her father hear of her recklessness than face those tunnels alone again.
She passed her window now, a silhouette against the glass, and a prickle crawled up his spine—someone watching. Her. He froze as she peered out, seeing nothing but feeling everything. Then she cursed—sharp, muffled—and bolted out the door, coat in hand, off to dance with a friend. Two hulking elves trailed her, not even pretending to blend in. Reaper’s lips twitched. Guards, maybe. Trouble, definitely. He crossed the street, stalking them like a predator on the hunt.
A scuffle behind her—Rena spun to see her guards sprawled on the pavement, Reaper striding forward, all lethal grace. Horror surged, and she charged him, voice cracking. “What the hell are you doing attacking my guards?”
He tilted his head, surprise flickering beneath the helmet. “I thought they were tailing you. Keeping you safe.”
“Well, now I can’t go dancing.” She jabbed a finger at the unconscious pair. “Pick them up. Bring them back to my place.”
She stormed past, not sparing him a glance. Reaper stood rooted, stunned. No one barked orders at him—no one with a pulse, anyway. The woman had fire. He sighed, grabbed the guards by their jackets, and dragged them after her, dropping them in her hallway like discarded baggage. She stood there, arms crossed, fury carving her features.
“Come inside. I’ll make coffee.”
Wary, he followed her into the apartment—a clash of worlds. The neighborhood screamed middle-class, but inside, silver and gold gleamed: ornate furniture, a kitchen table with golden legs and a silver abstract top. She brewed coffee, setting two cups down and sliding into a chair. He took his, staying upright, back pressed to the wall.
“You can sit,” she said, brushing hair from her face.
“Nothing personal. I don’t know you well enough to relax when your guards might storm in.”
She smiled, soft but sharp. “They won’t touch you. They’re not allowed in without my say.”
“No offense, princess, but hallway guards won’t hear a tracker slip through your window. You’d be dead before you could scream.”
“Why do you care about my safety?”
Her blue eyes pierced him, clear as a blade. He hesitated, then let the truth slip. “I don’t know.”
She arched a brow, unconvinced, but pressed on. “Take off your helmet. Let me see you.”
“No.”
“Why not?” Confusion edged her voice.
“You don’t know who I am?” He leaned forward, voice low. “This suit—the skull, the dagger—marks me as one of the most wanted bastards on this planet. There’s a bounty for my face alone.”
Fear flickered in her gaze, quickly masked. She was good at that. “Then it makes no sense—saving me in the catacombs, or tonight. Don’t you know who I am?”
“Rena. Middle-class elf, judging by the street. But this place”—he nodded at the opulence—“doesn’t add up.”
She paused, weighing her next move. Rumors painted Reaper a monster—slaughterer of innocents, hater of royals. Yet he’d protected her twice. Lies had driven her from the palace; she wouldn’t start this, whatever it was, with more. “I’m Princess Rena of Elder House, daughter to the king.”
His helmet’s scanner hummed, confirming it. He didn’t flinch. “Then why live here?”
“Drama at the castle—lies, backstabbing. I was done with it.”
“You think you had it rough?” A bitter edge crept into his tone. “Try the dregs under your father’s boot—living in the catacombs because royal guards kill for sport.”
She couldn’t argue. The corruption was real, and defiance meant a blade or poison. Cowards, all of them. “I’ve trusted you with my secret. Sit. You’re safe here.”
He took the chair opposite her, facing the door, blaster resting under the table. They talked—mostly her, his replies clipped, one-word grunts. A knock shattered the quiet. She darted to the door, ushering in her father. Reaper vanished, leaving no trace, as she turned to face the king.
“Hello, Father. What can I do for you?”
“What can you do?” he echoed, incredulous. “Explain why your guards say you were attacked tonight.”
She forced a smile. “A misunderstanding. Someone saw them following me, thought they meant harm. Just protecting me.”
“Who?”
“No idea.” Not entirely a lie—she didn’t know his face.
“I don’t like this. You’re coming home. Tonight.” His king’s tone brooked no argument as he swept out, leaving guards to pack her things.
Hours later, she paced her palace apartment, freedom stripped away. Anger simmered—at her father, at Reaper. If he hadn’t hit her guards, she’d still be free. A breeze chilled her skin. The window—closed moments ago—gaped open. Before she could react, a hand clamped over her mouth, stifling a scream. A soft voice cut through her panic. “Don’t scream. It’s me. Wanted to talk—left without a goodbye.”
Chapter 4
Reaper released her, and she shut the window, whirling on him. “You’re why I’m stuck here! You attacked my guards!”
Her voice bit, sharp with frustration. He could feel her anger—deserved, maybe. He should’ve walked away that first night, forgotten her. But here he was, drawn back like a moth to a flame. “Don’t sneak up on me,” she snapped. “Why are you even here?”
He studied her, her fury a mirror to the fire he’d admired. She hadn’t ratted him out to her father. That trust—rare, dangerous—shifted something in him. He made a reckless choice. Reaching up, he unlatched his helmet, setting it on a chair. Blonde war braids spilled free, deep blue eyes meeting hers.
Her jaw dropped, shock painting her face. Was it his trust or his looks that floored her? Stunning, she’d think later—rugged, scarred, beautiful in a brutal way. She rallied, voice steadying. “Why’d you do that?”
He stepped close, brushing her hair back, cupping her chin. Then he kissed her—hard, claiming, a storm unleashed. He pulled back, still inches away. “So I could do that. You asked me to take it off. I’m trusting you. Betray me if you want.”
Her cheeks flushed, heart hammering. Boldness surged, and she yanked him down, kissing him deeper, losing herself in it.
The door exploded inward, wood splintering like thunder. A stun grenade followed—blinding light, deafening roar. Reaper reeled, helmetless, vulnerable. Guards poured in, weapons trained. He lunged for his helmet, fingers grazing it as a blast tore through his back—kill-shot, not stun. Pain seared, but he slammed the helmet on, blasters snapping into his hands.
The table tipped, buying him seconds. He dropped the first two guards with precise shots, then grabbed Rena, hauling her against him. She didn’t flinch—pissed, not scared. He pressed a gun to her head, voice ice-calm. “Back out slow, or the princess dies.”
“Do it,” she barked. “If I’m hurt, my father’ll have your heads.”
The guards retreated to the hall. Reaper fired—stun, not kill—Rena slumping in his arms. He slung her over his shoulder, grappling hook launching him out the window. He hit the street running, vanishing into alleys before reinforcements swarmed. Fifteen minutes at a sprint, catacombs swallowing him whole, and he reached his hole—a cramped, safe box carved from stone.
Breathing ragged, he laid her on his bed—narrow, rough, home. She’d be furious when she woke. No time for explanations back there; she’d have slowed him down. He sank against the wall, watching her, the weight of her trust—and his—settling like dust.
Chapter 5
Rena stirred, the world bleeding back in fragments—stone walls, a damp chill, the faint rasp of her own breath. Her head throbbed, a dull pulse from the stun blast, and she bolted upright, heart slamming against her ribs. The bed beneath her was a slab—hard, narrow, draped in a threadbare blanket. Not her palace room. Not her apartment. Him.
Memory crashed over her: the kiss, the guards, Reaper’s gun at her head. She’d trusted him, and he’d stunned her anyway. Fury ignited, hot and sharp, as her gaze snapped to the shadowed figure leaning against the wall. Reaper. Helmet on, blasters holstered, blue eyes glinting through the visor like twin stars in a void.
“You bastard,” she spat, swinging her legs off the bed. The stone bit cold through her socks. “You shot me!”
He didn’t flinch, voice low and steady. “Had to. No time to argue with a dozen guns in our faces.”
“You could’ve warned me!” She stalked toward him, fists clenched, stopping a breath away. “Trusted you, and you dragged me down here like some damn hostage!”
His head tilted, a flicker of something—regret?—crossing his stance. “You’re not a hostage. You’re alive. That’s what matters.”
“Alive and trapped in a crypt!” She gestured at the cramped space—a single room carved from the catacombs, lit by a flickering lantern. A battered table, a crate of supplies, a weapons rack gleaming with deadly edges. It smelled of earth and rust, a far cry from her gilded cage. “Where are we?”
“My place.” He pushed off the wall, towering over her. “Safe. For now.”
“Safe?” She laughed, bitter and jagged. “My father’s guards’ll tear this city apart looking for me. You’ve painted a target on both our backs.”
“Let them try.” His tone hardened, a blade unsheathed. “They won’t find us. Not here.”
She glared up at him, fury warring with the memory of his lips on hers—rough, desperate, real. Why did I kiss him back? The thought burned, but she shoved it down. “Take me home. Now.”
“No.”
The word landed like a punch. She stepped closer, chin jutting defiantly. “You don’t get to decide that. I’m not some damsel you can lock away.”
“You’re a princess on the run,” he countered, voice dropping to a growl. “And I’m the most wanted bastard alive. We’re both dead if they catch us. I’m not risking you—or me—until I know more.”
Her breath hitched. He was protecting her, still, in his twisted way. But the sting of betrayal lingered. “You should’ve asked. Not stunned me like cattle.”
“Didn’t have the luxury.” He turned, pacing to the weapons rack, fingers brushing a blade. “Your father’s men weren’t there to chat. Kill shots, not stun. They wanted me gone—and you controlled.”
She froze, the weight of it sinking in. Her father’s voice echoed in her mind—You’re coming home. Tonight. No debate. No mercy. “He’s tightening the leash,” she murmured, more to herself than him. “Because of you.”
“Because of us.” Reaper faced her again, helmet tilting as if reading her soul. “You didn’t tell him about me. Why?”
Her lips parted, then pressed tight. Why hadn’t she? Loyalty to a stranger who’d saved her twice? Or something deeper, sparked in that kiss? “I don’t know,” she admitted, echoing his own words from her apartment. “Maybe I’m tired of being a pawn.”
Silence stretched, thick and electric. He stepped closer, the air between them crackling. “You’re no pawn, Rena. Not down here.”
Her pulse raced, caught between anger and a pull she couldn’t name. Before she could snap back, a distant rumble shook the walls—faint, but growing. Dust sifted from the ceiling. Reaper’s head snapped up, hand dropping to his blaster. “They’re searching the tunnels.”
Her stomach lurched. “Already?”
“Royal guards don’t waste time.” He grabbed a second blaster, tossing it to her. She caught it, the weight unfamiliar but solid. “Know how to use that?”
She nodded, grip tightening. “Enough.” Years of palace training—useless etiquette and basic combat—might finally pay off.
“Good.” He moved to the door, a slab of reinforced steel, and cracked it open, peering into the dark. “Stay close. We’re moving.”
“To where?”
“Deeper.” He glanced back, eyes locking with hers. “Trust me again, princess. Or we’re both dead.”
She hesitated, the blaster cold in her palm, his kiss still a ghost on her lips. The rumble grew louder—boots, shouts, the hunt closing in. No choice. She stepped up beside him. “Don’t make me regret this.”
He smirked beneath the helmet. “No promises.”
The catacombs swallowed them, a maze of twisting stone and skeletal remains. Reaper led, his stride sure, every sense honed to the shadows. Rena kept pace, blaster ready, her breath a tight rhythm against the drip of water and the distant clamor of pursuit. He’d misjudged her father’s reach—royal wrath moved fast, a storm breaking over the underworld.
She’s a liability, he thought, cutting through a narrow passage. And a damn distraction. Her fire, her defiance—it stirred something he’d buried deep. Too long alone, too long running. Yet here he was, tethered to a princess who’d upended his world.
A shout echoed—close. Too close. He grabbed her arm, yanking her behind a jutting wall as torchlight flickered ahead. Guards, six of them, armor clanking, blades drawn. Reaper’s scanner pinged their heat signatures. “Stay down,” he whispered, releasing her.
She crouched, blaster aimed, eyes fierce. “I can fight.”
“Not yet.” He slipped a knife from his belt, silent as death, and crept forward. The first guard rounded the corner—Reaper struck, blade slicing throat to spine. The body dropped without a sound. The second followed, catching a blaster bolt to the chest before he could scream.
Chaos erupted. The remaining four charged, and Rena fired—wild but true, clipping one in the shoulder. Reaper moved like a specter, blaster barking, knife flashing. Blood sprayed, painting the stone, until the tunnel fell silent again, littered with bodies.
He turned to her, chest heaving. “Told you to stay down.”
“You’re welcome,” she shot back, standing, blaster still smoking.
His laugh was low, rough—damn, she had grit. He nodded toward the dark. “Come on. We need to move.”
She followed, stepping over the carnage, her fear swallowed by something fiercer. Trust was a gamble, but with him, it felt like winning.
Chapter 6
The catacombs twisted deeper, a labyrinth of shadows and forgotten bones, until Reaper slowed, his helmet’s scanner pinging a hollow ahead. Rena stumbled behind him, blaster still gripped tight, her breaths sharp against the damp air. The rumble of pursuit had faded, swallowed by the maze, but her pulse hadn’t settled—too much blood, too much running. He stopped at a jagged archway, stone worn smooth by time, and motioned her through.
She stepped into a cavern—small, domed, a sanctuary carved from the underworld. Stalactites gleamed faintly overhead, catching the dim glow of his helmet’s light. A shallow pit sat center, ringed by blackened rocks, and a trickle of water snaked along one wall. Safe. For now.
Reaper sealed the entrance with a slab of loose stone, grunting as it slid into place. “They won’t find this,” he said, voice rough through the helmet. “Not without a map and a death wish.”
Rena sank against the wall, legs trembling from the sprint. “How do you know?”
“Been hiding here longer than you’ve been breathing, princess.” He turned, scanning the space, then crouched by the pit. “We’re staying put till the heat dies down.”
She bristled at the nickname but let it slide, watching as he pulled a bundle of dry moss and twigs from a crevice—someone’s stash, maybe his. He struck a flint, sparks flaring, and soon a fire crackled to life, casting dancing shadows across the stone. Warmth seeped into her bones, chasing the chill.
“Stay here,” he muttered, rising. He vanished into a tunnel offshoot, returning minutes later with a skewered rat—fat and impaled on a sharpened stick. Her stomach twisted, hunger warring with disgust.
“You’re joking,” she said, eyeing the rodent as he propped it over the flames.
“Eat or starve.” He rotated the stick, the scent of roasting meat filling the air—gritty, but not unbearable. “Catacombs don’t cater to royal tastes.”
She glared, but her gut growled, betraying her. When he handed her half, torn free with gloved fingers, she took it, biting into the tough flesh. It was stringy, faintly bitter, but it filled the void. He ate his share in silence, helmet parted just enough to expose his jaw—scarred, strong, a flicker of blonde stubble catching the firelight.
The quiet stretched, broken only by the fire’s snap and the distant drip of water. Rena wiped her hands on her pants, staring at him across the flames. “Why’d you kiss me?” The question slipped out, raw and unbidden.
He froze, mid-bite, then lowered the rat. “Why’d you kiss me back?”
Her cheeks heated, but she held his gaze—those deep blue eyes piercing through the visor. “I asked first.”
A low chuckle rumbled from him, rare and rough. “Fair.” He tossed the stick aside, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “Felt right. You’re… different. Not what I expected from a royal.”
“Different how?” Her voice softened, curiosity edging out the anger she’d clung to.
He hesitated, as if the words fought to stay buried. “You’ve got fire. Not just polish and privilege. Down here, that’s rare.” His gaze dropped to the flames, then back to her. “And you trusted me. Stupid move, maybe, but it stuck.”
Her breath caught. Stupid move. Maybe it was—trusting a killer, a ghost in a battlesuit. Yet here she was, alive because of him. “You trusted me too,” she said, scooting closer, the fire’s warmth a bridge between them. “Taking off that helmet… why risk it?”
He reached up, unlatching it again, setting it beside him. Blonde war braids spilled free, framing a face carved by violence and time—sharp cheekbones, a jagged scar tracing his brow, eyes that held storms. “Wanted you to see me. Not the myth. Just… me.”
Rena’s heart stuttered. He was beautiful—not soft, but fierce, like a blade honed to perfection. She leaned in, drawn by the heat of him, the honesty. “And what do I see?”
“Trouble,” he murmured, a smirk tugging his lips. But his hand lifted, hesitant, brushing a strand of hair from her face. His fingers lingered, rough against her skin, and her breath hitched.
“Worth it,” she whispered, closing the gap. Her lips found his—slow this time, not the frantic clash of before, but a deepening tide. He tasted of smoke and survival, his hand sliding to her neck, pulling her closer. The fire crackled, a heartbeat to their own, as she melted into him, fingers tangling in his braids.
He broke away first, forehead resting against hers, breath ragged. “We’re insane, you know that?”
She laughed, soft and real. “Maybe. But I’d rather be insane with you than sane in that palace.”
His thumb traced her jaw, a tenderness at odds with the killer she knew he was. “You’re gonna get me killed, princess.”
“Only if you keep calling me that.” She nipped his lip, earning a grin—rare, unguarded, hers.
The fire burned low, embers glowing as they sat tangled together, her head against his chest, his arm around her shoulders. Reaper’s mind churned beneath the quiet. She’s a royal. I should hate her. He’d lost everything to her kind—family, home, burned away by royal greed. Yet her warmth, her defiance, unraveled that hate, thread by thread.

Chapter 7
The fire crackled low in the cavern, its warm glow painting Reaper and Rena in flickering gold as they sat close, the taste of their last kiss still lingering. Her head rested against his shoulder, his arm a steady weight around her, the battlesuit’s hard edges softened by the quiet. The rat’s charred bones lay discarded near the pit, the air thick with smoke and something unspoken—something growing.
Rena tilted her face up, blue eyes searching his, unguarded now without the helmet. “What happens next?” Her voice was soft, but it carried a hunger—for answers, for him.
He shifted, turning to face her fully, his hand sliding from her shoulder to cup her cheek. “What do you want to happen?” His thumb brushed her skin, rough yet tender, sending a shiver through her.
She leaned into his touch, bold despite the flutter in her chest. “You. Us.” Her fingers traced the skull-and-dagger emblem on his chest, then slipped higher, grazing the scarred line of his jaw. “I don’t care where, as long as it’s with you.”
His breath hitched, a rare crack in his armor. “Dangerous words, princess.” He caught her hand, pressing it to his lips, eyes darkening with need. “You’re unraveling me.”
“Good.” She closed the gap, kissing him—slow, deep, a tide of heat washing over them. He groaned into it, pulling her onto his lap, hands splaying across her back as she straddled him. Her fingers tangled in his blonde war braids, tugging gently, and he responded with a growl, deepening the kiss until the world shrank to just them—fire, stone, and the rhythm of their breaths.
He broke away, forehead pressed to hers, voice ragged. “You’re gonna ruin me, Rena.”
“Promise?” She nipped his lip, earning a grin—sharp, unguarded, hers.
“Damn right.” His hands slid to her hips, holding her there, his gaze fierce. “Been running solo too long. You make me want… more.”
“More what?” She pressed, fingers brushing his neck, feeling his pulse race beneath her touch.
“Everything.” He kissed her again, softer now, a vow sealed in the flicker of the flames. “But we can’t hide here forever. Your father’s reach—it’ll find us eventually.”
Reality crept in, a cold thread weaving through the warmth. She nodded, reluctant but resolute, easing off him to sit beside him again, their hands still linked. “Where do we go?”
He squeezed her fingers, voice steadying into a strategist’s edge. “Kryon V. Outer rim. Refugees are building something there—dregs, runaways, survivors of the king’s purges. They’ve got ships, a chance. We join them, we’re out of his grip.”
Her heart thudded—leaving meant shedding her past, her title, all of it. But with him, it felt like freedom, not loss. “How?”
“Spaceport. North edge of the city. Two hours through the tunnels, then open ground to the docks. I’ve got a guy—Zek, flies a junker called the Shade. Owes me a lift. We reach him, we’re off this rock.”
She studied him, the fire casting shadows across his scarred face. “And if he’s not there?”
“He will be.” His tone was iron, but his thumb brushed her knuckles, a quiet anchor. “I don’t play losing hands.”
“The tunnels—safe?” She leaned into him, needing his certainty.
“Safe enough. Old smuggler’s route—tight, hidden. No patrols this deep, not yet.” He glanced at the flames, then back to her. “We move at dawn. Rest now, while we’ve got the chance.”
She nestled closer, head finding his chest again, his heartbeat a steady drum beneath her ear. “Together?”
“Always.” He pressed his lips to her hair, voice a rumble she felt in her bones. “Sleep, Rena. I’ve got you.”
She smiled, eyes drifting shut. “Not a princess anymore. Just me.”
“Just you,” he murmured, holding her tighter. “Mine.”
Dawn seeped through the cavern’s cracks, a faint gray chasing the night. Reaper stirred, easing Rena off him, her warmth a ghost on his skin. She woke as he stood, stretching, blaster in hand. The fire was cold ash now, the cavern stark and silent.
“Time?” she asked, voice thick with sleep, rubbing her eyes.
“Now.” He offered a hand, pulling her up, their fingers lingering, electric. “Tunnels, then the port.”
She grabbed her blaster, checking it with a nod. “Let’s go.”
The smuggler’s route was a narrow vein—stone grazing their shoulders, air heavy with dust—but it held no threats, only the echo of their steps. They moved fast, Reaper’s stride sure, Rena matching him, her resolve as steady as his. Two hours later, they emerged into open air, the spaceport sprawling ahead—rusted docks, ships groaning in the wind, the tang of fuel sharp and bitter.
He led her to a battered freighter, the Shade, its hull a patchwork of scars. Zek lounged at the ramp—wiry, elfin, grinning like a scavenger. “Reaper, you bastard. Who’s the shadow?”
“Passenger,” Reaper growled, guiding Rena forward. “Kryon V. Favor’s due.”
Zek’s grin sharpened. “Paid in full. Get in.”
The Shade shuddered awake, engines coughing as it climbed, the planet shrinking below. Rena stood beside Reaper in the tight hold, her hand slipping into his. He shed the helmet, blue eyes locking on hers, fierce and raw.
“Free,” she whispered, stars blooming ahead.
“With you,” he said, pulling her close, “it’s everything.” His kiss was soft, a seal on their new beginning, as the galaxy stretched wide before them.
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by 3 Armored Kittens · Prodromos v.1.1 - World Anvil 0.9.15.045 © 2017-2024 [en] | Anvil Time: 18:44, Apr 3 2025