Chapter 9: Brenda & Zibry

BRENDA

Brenda paced her room, raking her fingers through her hair as she awaited Zibry’s return. It had been hours since he’d taken her from that amazing room with all the lights, computers, and enormous windows that looked out onto space.

The windows had arched beneath and over her, like she’d been in a shell of glass. It made it seem like she hadn’t even been standing inside a ship at all, but simply floating out in the nothingness.

Zibry was a pilot! A ~space~ pilot! Brenda couldn’t believe it. She had always dreamed about flying a plane, but it had only ever been an impossible dream.

She could feel him: anxious, worried, scared, sad. Those were the main emotions. There were so many others, but they were too difficult to isolate and understand. It was like a rainbow—like a mishmash.

He was certainly angry with her. She’d felt that like a rush of fire across her shoulders the moment she’d stepped into that room and he’d turned toward her.

Not that she’d needed to feel him to know his anger—and his horror. His face had been enough. She felt it now, that deep swoop in her guts. It wasn’t pleasant.

Gritting her teeth, Brenda gripped at her elbows, worried about how he’d receive her once he returned.

She didn’t need to worry for long.

She was sitting at the table picking at a small meal when she heard the door whoosh open. Brenda leapt to her feet. He was standing in the doorway, slightly hunched over, his face lined.

She could see his exhaustion as well as feel it, like a heaviness in her bones.

Neither of them spoke as he walked into the room. Brenda felt the desire to race around the bed and throw herself into his arms, but she didn’t move. The moment he looked back into Brenda’s face, she felt a wave of emotion that kept her frozen.

“Come here,” he commanded.

Rounding her shoulders, Brenda did so, standing before him with her chin lifted.

“You would have done the same.”

“You underestimate me,” he said.

His yellow eyes bored into hers as he towered over her. Again that rage. Again that sadness. His hands were shaking as he laid them upon her shoulders.

“Don’t you ~ever~ defy me again,” he said.

“Don’t you ever leave me behind like that!” Now Brenda was feeling her own rage, and it felt so much sharper than his. She grabbed at his shirt. “How dare you. How ~dare~ you! We are bonded! What happens to you happens to me.”

“And what happens to you happens to me!” Zibry roared back.

Shocked, Brenda released him with a jerk.

He pointed at her with a finger as sharp and as hurtful as a blade. “You have no idea. You can’t defend yourself. You were vulnerable, and that makes ~me~ vulnerable. You could have destroyed us both. You ~foolish~ Rictorian, always using emotion above your reason.”

Brenda stepped back, aghast. It was like a punch in the guts—his condescension. She’d never felt it before. Is that what he truly thought? That she was so much lesser than him?

Lowering his finger, he shook his head. “That’s not what I meant.”

“But that’s what you feel,” Brenda whispered. She went and sat down on the edge of the bed. “I feel sick.”

He went to join her.

Brenda raised her hand. “Don’t. I can’t look at you right now.” She bowed her head.

They were quiet for several long moments as Zibry kept his distance. He was worried. He was scared and guilty. But most of all, uncertain. To know so much about him without words—it was a strange and amazing and terrible thing.

Terrible—it was hard to know it all. She ~shouldn’t~ know it all.

“It’s not fair,” Brenda eventually said, gripping her knees and keeping her head bowed so her hair shielded her face. “It’s not fair that you should take me if you think so little of me.” She raised her face. “I’m like a dog to you.”

Zibry’s yellow eyes widened. “You are ~not~.”

“That’s not how it feels.”

“Then you’re not feeling properly!”

“You wanted company—and anything would have been fine.”

“It’s not true! You’re not being rational.”

Brenda shifted in the bed with a wince. “And there it is again—like a punch right in my guts. As much as you love me, you detest me. You think us ~savage~.”

“Enough of this! I can’t take this anymore.” He turned to leave.

He approached the door. She could feel the rage rippling around him. He opened the door—then stopped. With a sigh, he bowed his head. “I suppose you’re right. Perhaps, I ~do~ think less of you.”

He turned. “But that’s changing. How can it not? When we’re one.” He thumped his fist to his chest. “Feel me. Do I speak the truth?”

Brenda bit her lip, then lowered her eyes to her lap.

“I shouldn’t have said what I did. I shouldn’t have felt what I felt. I’m not perfect,” he said. “Forgive me.”

“What choice do I have?”

Zibry stiffened. “I love you.”

“I know.”

“And when I said you could have destroyed us both—my death was not what made me fear.”

“I know.”

“It was you. It’s always ~you~. And it will always be ~you~.”

Brenda raised her face as she sniffed. “I know.”

Brenda didn’t stop him, ~couldn’t~ stop him, as he stood over her. She looked up into his beautiful eyes. He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. Then he sat beside her, and Brenda slumped into his arms.

ZIBRY

Zibry held her tightly, her face pressed into the nape of his neck, her warm breath beating against his skin. Her soft body felt so good against his. To have her safe in his arms was the most wonderful feeling in the world. It was where she belonged.

It had been hard to leave her in the shuttle, but it had been terrifying to see her up in the bridge: vulnerable, innocent, fragile. He had been in shock when he’d stood from his seat and demanded why she was there. His voice hadn’t sounded like his. Just as he’d sounded nothing like himself as he’d shouted at her just now. How ~had~ she escaped?

Despite knowing the depth of his fear through their bond, she couldn’t know everything. She couldn’t read his mind, and that was a good thing. A tremendous thing.

As he held her, his thoughts turned back to his brief time in the infirmary. Those bodies: Clint, Roco, Lew, among too many others. So far, there was no cure for Wriling infiltration.

Not even after so many decades. Despite all their technology, they were doomed. And it could have been Brenda.

He thought of Clint’s mate and the rush of sadness deepened. What if it had been Brenda lying in the medical capsule? What if it had been himself sitting by her side, helpless, useless, despite all his strength?

Brenda stirred in his arms.

“Zibry?” Her face was screwed up.

“Sorry.”

Grabbing the back of her neck, he kissed her on the forehead again, then pulled her into his chest—it wasn’t enough. Sliding his arm beneath her backside, he scooped her into his lap.

“It’s okay,” she said.

“I know.”

He kissed her on the cheek. His arms were trembling as he buried his face in her beautiful hair; he could feel her breathing; he could feel her heart beating—she was alive!—but it still wasn’t enough.

“Let me be inside you,” he whispered in her ear.

He slid his fingers through hers as he sent his desperation vibrating through their bond. “~Please~.”

She didn’t need to answer.

Latching his lips upon her throat, he pushed her back onto the mattress, her legs dangling over the edge, his hand around her left breast. He kissed her on the other side of the throat, then down toward her chest.

He dropped to his knees upon the floor. Quickly, he removed her shoes and dragged down her pants. She didn’t have a chance to prepare herself before he spread her thighs and plunged his face into her womanhood.

She gasped and jerked as he sucked and nibbled, lapping at her clitoris until she was shining with cum. He could hear her panting. She was gripping the covers with tight fists.

He pushed up her shirt, rising to his feet as he kissed her abdomen before latching his lips around her breasts. Moaning, she grabbed onto his head. Her skin was hot, her face flushed, and her eyes bright.

Zibry could feel her excitement like a steady hum, exacerbating his own excitement. He removed her shirt, then turned to his own clothes. A moment later, they were discarded and she was squirming back into the middle of the bed.

Zibry hurried her along with sucking kisses on her hip bones that made her squeal. Then he was back upon her breasts, drawing them into his mouth as deeply as he could. Her legs were open and he could feel the wetness of her secretions coating the length of his shaft.

He groaned at the sensation. His shaft twitched, moving of its own volition—needing to enter her, as though it was starving. Lifting his hips, he let it seek out her opening.

Brenda was gripping onto his arms, her throat arched, gazing at the ceiling as she prepared herself. Zibry found contact, that soft wetness. Taking her face, he kissed her on the mouth as he pushed inside her.

Her lips trembled against his. She pulled away to gasp, her eyes shining, as he deepened his penetration. He watched her carefully, but there was no sign that she was in pain like the last time.

He nibbled her chin as he entered her completely. Then he dropped his face into her shoulder. For several long moments they lay together, united, safe, and connected. Zibry sighed.

This could have been enough. This was all he ~truly~ needed. He could feel their bond like a pull in his chest, like a link between their hearts, intensifying during their lovemaking.

He felt her. He knew her. Her body was his body. He could feel her pleasure simmering away between her hip bones just as much as he could feel his own boiling away in his balls.

Brenda gasped, grabbing onto his arms more tightly as he thrust more deeply. He kissed her again as he thrust rhythmically, her hips rocking in time with his. He looked into her eyes, and she looked back.

It was startling to think that only a few days ago he’d been alone. It felt like a distant memory. Somebody else’s life. They’d only been together a short time, and yet it already felt like forever.

He kissed her chin. He kissed her throat as he thrust faster. Then they were building together. At every deep thrust, he felt her pleasure. She liked it deep. She liked it forceful. So that was what he did.

As she arched her neck, he nibbled her throat. She cried out, then laughed as he moved his shaft around, firing off nerves deep in her channel that surprised her. They came together.

She gasped. He shuddered. Then they were kissing each other. Zibry’s hands were buried in her hair, and Brenda’s fingers clawed deeply into his biceps. Gently, they rocked, enjoying the last throes of their orgasm.

Zibry stared back into her eyes. She was smiling, her cheeks red. His shaft gave another little spasm of pleasure, just as her channel clamped down around it. All thoughts of the infirmary, the Wrilings, Clint and Roco, and the grieving Rictorians had vanished.

All there was was Brenda and their bond. She was safe, and they were together. It was enough.