(The final segment of this chapter is NOT safe for work.

A brief note on the subject of consent: quite frankly I have no idea where that last bit came from. You may safely assume, however, that Nine and Theron have had more than one conversation about what is and isn't okay when it comes to sex, including power dynamics. If there is ever a time where consent is not implicit between them (and there will not be, rest assured), that would be made very clear.)

Interlude IV: Til Human Voices Wake Us

She doesn't ask about it on the way out of the bar. (Too soon.)

The bartender does a double-take when she steps back into the open, still in her dancing costume but with her own hair running red down her back instead of Xari's silver, but then he simply shrugs and turns back to his patrons- enough money changing hands usually made sure no questions meant no questions this far down and they'd been more than generous. Even so, Nine wraps one arm around Theron's waist and turns her face toward him as her hand slips into his back pocket.

To a casual observer the break in his stride might have been an adjustment to the drag of her weight against him; a dozen other couples in this place were doing the same thing, falling over each other after too many drinks in the age-old negotiation of 'your place or mine.' But he wasn't used to wearing this particular mask, not like she was, and whatever Balkar's message meant has him ill at ease. He glances down when she leans against his side.

"Sorry," she murmurs. "Operational camouflage. I was trying to make a point earlier, but I ought to have thought it through a little better."

"And here I thought it was because you liked me."

She resists the urge to pinch him. "You know I do. I only-"

He pulls her in closer as they fall back into step until her head rests against his shoulder, his fingers curling in her hair to curtain it over her face.

(He wasn't used to it before.

He's learning.)

She doesn't ask about it on the street outside. (Too many eyes watching, too many ears listening.)

She'd thought the lockdown would have been lifted by now. But as they walk together half the taxi stands are still shut down, their droid pilots too obedient to the security lockdown to fly, and the nearest one to the bar has a line stretching halfway around the block; she glances down the queue but doesn't see Jonas- his safehouse must be local, then- and she turns away with a roll of her eyes and a soft sigh as they duck into the mouth of a narrow alleyway.

"That'll take an hour to get through. Give me your holo."

Theron reaches into his pocket out of reflex and pulls it free, starting to hand it over and then- "I'm almost afraid to ask who you're calling."

"A ride." She pries his fingers back, one by one, and lifts the holo from his palm. "Unless you want to walk all the way back."

"We can't just call the car back from the apartment?"

She shrugs as a breeze drifts down the street in the wake of a security cruiser passing overhead between the buildings. It carries the scents of Nar Shaddaa with it, ozone and hot metal and a whisper of sickly-sweet decay filling her nose and the back of her throat, prickling her skin and ruffling her skirts until the splits of silk float high around her bare thighs and someone in the taxi line whistles. "We could-" she eyes the whistler, who winks and turns away, before checking the time on the holo; it's later than she'd thought- "but Lana and 'liyo might not even be back themselves yet given they had to summon it here too. We might as well wait in line in that case."

Seeing her shiver, Theron adjusts his jacket tighter around her shoulders. She isn't cold, not really, but before she can wave him away he's already got her wrapped up. (How can she possibly protest, when he looks at her like that? It isn't even a little bit fair.) "Good point. You think they'll answer?"

"They're night people. It's more a question of whether they're busy." Powering on the holo, she switches it over to full encryption. "Although Mama does owe me a very big favor."

She dials in the address; the holo rings. Once, twice, three times- come on, pick up already-

"Wait," Theron says, "who's-"

The call connects.

"Kintan Transportation Services." The speaker, a red-skinned Nikto barely grown into his horns, yawns into the camera as he mumbles in Huttese."Whatd'ya want?"

"I need to talk to Mama. Tell her Ereth's calling."

(As she responds Theron raises an eyebrow and signs a question- how many aliases do you have? that's four this op alone.

Which is true- sourcing a few last parts for the explosives had required some grey-market creativity. Though doesn't everyone give a false name when they order caf? That really oughtn't count, she doesn't think. She signs back, dropping her free hand down. officially? fifty-three. shh.)

The kid sighs. "Hang on."

He vanishes out of frame; she waits. And waits. Until-

"Well, well. Look what the Hutt dragged in." Mama- if the matriarch of the Kintan Kings had a name no one ever dared to use it- peers at her as she strolls slowly into view. "Little ghost. Still not dead after all these years, hm?"

"Not for other people's lack of trying."

The old woman grins, sharp teeth bright in her green-scaled face. "Good. You're on the wrong channel for business, little ghost. And no matter how much I like you, I already told your masters no."

She files that away for further reference and keeps her face very, very still. The Empire's planning a hard move, then. Interesting. "Not calling about that, Mama, not tonight. Just need a favor. Legit business." Void, her Huttese has gotten rusty, though it's still better than Theron's; she can tell by his face he's only half-following.

No reply, just a gesture. Continue.

"I'm stuck in Lower Industrial behind the security blockade- some explosion or some shit- and I need out now. Any of the boys actually driving tonight?" She pauses. Nikto were always hard to read. "I'll pay double if-"

Another gesture, hands fanning out; she quiets. "For family? Not necessary. Qeti's out on a delivery in Upper but they're three cycles behind on their payments so they can keep twitching until tomorrow. I'll send him your way. Coordinates?"

"In front of the Black Dot. Onith Street."

"You expecting trouble, or what?"

She shakes her head. "Just in a hurry."

Mama turns from the holocomm, probably typing out a message by the sound of claws on glass. "Five minutes. He'll meet you out front," she says after a minute. "You and your boy."

"Who said anything about a boy?" Theron understood that much, at least, covering his mouth to keep from laughing, and he dodges out of the way before she can step on his toes.

"Jacket's way too big for you. Show me."

She blinks.

"You get me involved in a booty call-" Theron does actually laugh at that (of all the phrases to recognize, how does he know that one? It doesn't even translate properly) and this time he doesn't move fast enough; she balances on one foot and swats at his nearer leg with the other- "I get to have an opinion. Show me."

And they say Nikto don't have a sense of humor. Shrugging apology toward him, she turns the holo toward his face. He blinks, then waves.

Mama clicks her tongue. "Not bad, little ghost. Not bad. Five minutes."

The call disconnects and she slumps back against the alley wall, laughing so hard she has to bite down on her knuckles to keep the sound from echoing off the buildings. Theron doesn't move at first, expression alternating between perplexed and amused, and then he takes the holo from her hand.

"Now I actually am afraid to ask," he says over her muffled laughter. "Though I have to say you don't look anything like your mother."

She grins. "Your people left the Kintans leaderless about ten years ago. Mine helped Mama's faction take advantage of the power vacuum. But I think she likes you. She doesn't like very many people."

"She seems to like you just fine."

"Yes, well. I did poison three of her brothers."

He raises an eyebrow.

"She asked me to. It was that or ritual combat, and they were very large."

"So, what're the odds we're going to get murdered on the way back?" Theron glances over toward the street as someone passes, a dark shadow at the mouth of the alley, and he steps in close as a harder edge creeps into his voice. "Hang on. I just-"

He bends down to kiss her, hand raised to her face and ungentle enough that her back presses harder into the wall and her hips hitch a little against him- it's pretense, she knows, hiding them both in plain sight, but but she can't help how her body responds to his touch- and something in it reminds her of Rishi.

(He tasted of blood, then, and salt and sweat and anger and fear and want all mixed up together and today they are safer, no blood in their mouths but he is still afraid of something and more than that, oh, he wants- )

The shadow moves away but Theron doesn't; he stays pressed close against her, tension etching lines across his forehead as he keeps watching the passersby. She reaches up, rests her hand on his wrist. "What is it?"

He shakes his head, forcing a smile. "Nothing. I thought… it's nothing. Sorry."

"Don't apologize-" she punctuates the sentence with a kiss against the bridge of his nose and he softens, just a bit- "for that. I might suggest we move a few meters in for privacy's sake, though."

At that he blushes, clear to the tops of his ears, and she ruffles his hair playfully and slips out from between him and the wall.

"We're not going to get murdered." She takes a step back toward the street. "Now or later. But I'd recommend not looking in the trunk when our ride gets here."

"Let me guess. Someone else got murdered."

"Force, no," she says. "It's probably just stuffed full of spice."

She doesn't ask about it on the way back to the apartment. (It can wait a little longer.)

The trunk was almost definitely stuffed full of spice. But it's usually better not to know.

She wants to ask about it once they get to the apartment. (But-)

Kaliyo's sitting at the kitchen counter, cross-legged on a stool and with half a sandwich crammed inelegantly into her mouth; she holds up one hand as she chews. "Sorry," she mumbles around a mouthful, pointing toward Lana's closed door, "she was starving, so we made a pit stop. There's extras if you want them."

"I'm all right," she says. "How are you holding up?"

Kaliyo shrugs. "Miot called- he's inbound. Got just enough time for this and a smoke before I need to clear the landing platform for him. I'll grab a couple stims on my way out." She demolishes most of the rest of the sandwich in two quick bites. "Can't crash your baby, after all. You'd drag my dead ass out of the wreckage and then kill me again."

"We'll see you back at base, then." She steps out of Theron's way; he's hungry even if she isn't, and reaches around her for one of the foil-wrapped bundles. "I think I need a bath before I turn in. I've still got glue in my hair."

"I wasn't gonna ask. I'll be outside if you need me." Pulling a slim case and a lighter out of her back pocket as she hops down, Kaliyo draws out a cigarra between two fingers. "You want one?"

She rolls her eyes in reply; 'liyo never could avoid needling her about that.

"Suit yourself." She tucks the case away. "Oh- you've got a missed call from Io Rist. We poisoning someone I didn't know about?"

"No. I'll call her tomorrow."

With a nod, Kaliyo walks across to the balcony door and slides it open. For a moment she stands in the doorway with her face lit in profile, a soft blue-flame glow from the lighter fading into orange as the cigarra catches and the first faint whiff of smoke drifts back across the room, and then she steps out into the dark.

Theron's already most of the way through his own sandwich when she turns back to him. He was always a quick eater. It would have been a useful habit, she supposes, the way he grew up. "I don't remember you being a smoker. Not back on Rishi, at least, and that was a place for bad habits if ever there was one."

"I'm not." She shakes her head as the door clicks shut. "She knows I can't stand the smell of the smoke. It's always made me queasy."

"How'd you work around that on ops?" Theron reaches out to take his jacket back as she slips her arms free of it. "I turned down a cigarra from a Suns boss on Coruscant once and you'd think I'd called his baby ugly."

"I managed," she shrugs, "though it's not a habit I'll ever take up recreationally. Smile, say thank you and try not to inhale. Or throw up on their shoes."

He sighs. "Is that your answer for everything?"

"I used to have to do a lot of things I didn't like." And I still do, she doesn't say. That isn't his fault. "On that particular hierarchy, having to choke down the occasional cigarra was by far a lesser evil."

"You have a point."

"Of course I do." Stifling a yawn, she inclines her head toward their shared room. "I'll go start the bath running. Plenty of room for two, if you'd care to join me?"

"I-" Theron frowns. "I need to make a call first."

Something's really wrong.

He'd been eyeing the bathing-tub for days but with all the chaos of the op they'd spent so little time at the apartment they hadn't had a chance to take advantage of it. She'd promised him, though- a proper bath was a luxury Odessen didn't afford them, the fact that the tub was the size of a small pond and the other possibilities of the situation notwithstanding. If he's too tired for sex tonight she certainly doesn't begrudge him that; her own shoulder's still throbbing and she's half-sleeping on her feet. But of all the times to make a fucking holocall-

"Can't it wait?" She matches his expression, hands on her hips. "It's late, Theron. Whatever it is, you can call Balkar tomorrow."

"How did you- that wasn't meant for you to hear. But I guess nothing gets by you, does it?" The words cut through the air between them, sharp as a blow, and she takes half a step back with a retort already half-formed- whatever happened to 'I don't keep secrets from her'? (but then she wasn't supposed to have heard that either. Deserving it doesn't make it hurt any less.) As soon as the question leaves his lips, though, he raises one hand to his mouth and the other, still holding his jacket, falls limply to his side. "Fuck, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I'm sorry."

"I thought it must be something bad," she says softly. "I don't know what's going on, but his offer didn't scan- you hate gorak."

Theron rubs his forehead. "Old joke. Yeah. It's… I need to know how bad, Nine. If I'm a liability-"

"Then we deal with it, whatever it is."

"Okay." He exhales. "Okay. I just…"

She closes the gap between them, catches his face between her hands and rests her forehead against his. "Breathe. Use the holotable in the bedroom; they can't track it. And lock the door. I'll stay out until I hear otherwise."

"But if-"

"We will deal with it, darling. Breathe."

He nods.

He breathes.

"Okay," Theron says, and kisses the tip of her nose. "Enjoy your bath."

She can't ask about it yet. (The door's still closed. He'll tell her, she knows, when he's ready.)

Instead, the last remnants of adhesive and makeup scrubbed clean and the heat of the water pulling the ache of the last days from her bones and the jets- she didn't even remember that the bath had jets until she hit the button by mistake but blessed Force that's delightful- fluttering along her skin, she drifts and lets her mind wander, eyes closed against the candlelight. She was never any good at floating; even in childhood swimming lessons she had to paddle and paddle to simply keep her head above water. Tonight she doesn't particularly mind.

She exhales, all the breath leaving her body in a slow stream of bubbles, and lets herself sink toward the bottom of the tub.

After a minute she wonders what would happen if she decided simply not to breathe at all.

An excellent question. Shall we find out? Valkorion flickers in and out of focus on the backs of her eyelids. You're so fragile, after all. So limited.

Suddenly her body's heavy. Her heart pounds, the panicky animal part of her brain suddenly desperate with air hunger but she can't move, she can't-

(She remembers.

She remembers the training tank. The leather cuff bites into her bare ankle, the chain tethering her down to the heavy weight resting on the bottom as she floats, watching the instructor pace back and forth in the room beyond the glass walls.

"Two minutes." Maestra's voice, distorted, echoes through the water. "Exercise complete. You may press the button when you are ready."

She can do better. She can do better.

She floats.

"Two minutes and fifteen seconds." The red release button's getting blurry- are her goggles fogging up? She blinks. She can do better-)

But you needn't be.

Fuck that. One by one, she forces her fingers into a fist. He will-

Not-

Control-

Her-

You could be so much more. The voice fades beneath the soft roar of water in her ears. You only have to-

"Go away," she says, and opens her eyes.

She can barely see through the dimness and the bubbling jets but someone's there, a vague shape looking down at her, and for a moment she thinks it's Valkorion; she reaches for the edge of the lowest step, pushing herself upright with a gasp until her face breaches the surface.

"I didn't mean to startle you," Theron says. "I was waiting for you to come up for air. I think you beat my record."

She slicks her hair back and collects herself, a lazy half-stroke taking her from the center of the bath to the side nearest him before she settles on the stairs. "I didn't hear you come in. How long were you standing there?"

"A minute, maybe. Not so long." He sits down on the tiled edge of the tub. "Is your shoulder feeling any better?"

Oh, he's so good at dodging the obvious subject, good enough that she almost falls for it and starts to test her range before she makes a face at him and splashes water in his direction. "Not important. Did you talk to Jonas?"

"Yeah."

She waits. And waits. And- "How bad is it?"

He wrinkles his nose. "On a scale of one to ten? About a nine-and-a-half."

"That's… bad, yes." She shivers, the air too cool on her bare back, and edges off the stair to kneel on the bottom; the water comes to chin height that way but at least she's warm. She has far too many bad memories of cold. "Will you tell me what's going on now?"

Instead of answering Theron stands up again, strips off his shirt and drops it onto the floor beside her crumpled-up dancing costume. He pulls off one boot, then the other.

"I'm terrible at charades, Theron. Words, please."

He cracks a smile at that, at least, then steps out of his trousers and the underclothes beneath; in the half-light from the candles she can barely see a bruise on his side that she doesn't remember from this morning. He must have struck something, too, when he caught her as she fell. "I thought I'd join you in there. Swimming always used to relax me, and I figure it's hard to relax and panic at the same time."

"Sound logic."

He shrugs and steps into the bath, picking up a bottle of scented shampoo from the decorative tray. "Come here. I'll get your hair while we talk."

Another blatant dodge. She'll allow it.

She slips back up onto the seat beside him and turns away; he starts to comb carefully through tangles with his fingers, working the lather in. "So," he says by way of preamble, "you remember that guy your friends killed on Alderaan?"

She nods.

"We were two-thirds right- he was Republic, and he was looking for me. But he wasn't military." Before he hits the punchline she knows it, goes still at the implication and he keeps his hands moving, slow and rhythmic, nails scraping along her scalp. "He was SIS."

"He shot to kill. That isn't protocol," she says carefully, "even for a burn notice."

"No. Trant burned me as soon as he realized I was serious about not coming back, but I've been working around that for years. This isn't a burn. This is-" He sighs, one fist winding in her hair and clenching tight enough that she winces but doesn't make a sound- he didn't mean to do it and it only hurts a little and it's understandable. She'd have smashed something to pieces by now, probably, if it were her. "It's a death mark."

"Hunters?"

"In-house. So far."

She takes a deep breath, in and out. No point in losing her temper until she knows who she needs to try to kill back. "But Balk-" she catches herself- "Jonas didn't even try to make a move tonight. He could have dropped you at the bar before I even came around the corner, if he'd really been trying. Or did I miss it?"

Theron goes silent for a long moment. She's not sure he'd thought of that.

(It wasn't a pleasant thing to think about: an old friend, an embrace, a knife between two bodies. It was even worse for an old lover.

They always looked so surprised as the blade struck home.)

"He's not involved. I mean, I guess he is, indirectly, since he knows about it, but..." Letting go of her, he strokes her shoulder gently in quiet apology before he lowers his cupped hands into the water. "He overheard something he shouldn't have- he always had a knack for that."

"Your father?"

Theron raises his hands and lets a trickle of water fall over her head- not enough to rinse properly, but he tries so terribly hard to please her and she doesn't quite have it in her to correct him; he submerges them again as she closes her eyes against the streaming soap. "That particular cat's still in the bag, thank fuck. I don't think I'd ever have heard the end of it otherwise. And Trant already knew. He found out during the run on the Ascendant Spear. "

More water. She lets him speak.

"But Jonas heard the end of one conversation and the start of another. He didn't recognize the first speaker but to go by context… when I left Coruscant, my father-" his tone stays neutral but she can hear the grief creep into his voice, raw as an open wound- "put his fist through a wall and then called my old boss. And the first call he made was to black ops."

"And he's absolutely certain it's a mark? That Jace asked for?" She'd rather not have to go after the Supreme Commander of the Republic, if she's being entirely honest with herself. But she will if she has to. "I know he was angry, but-"

One last gentle stream of water before he realizes, she thinks, that it isn't working; the water moves in waves behind her as he shifts toward the center of the bath, guiding her onto her back. "Yes and I don't think so, in that order. What little he actually heard seems to suggest that was the Director's idea."

'That's… something, at least." She opens her eyes as the last of the suds washes away, looking up at him. "Why didn't he tell you sooner? Or earlier tonight, for that matter?"

"Trant realized the door was half-open right around the same time he started throwing the word treason around. With me gone and all the rumors flying around about the Alliance, about us, at first Jonas thought- "

Her lip twitches.

She turns her body abruptly, curling, reaching with her toes for the bottom of the tub. "You're not a traitor. And you're not SIS property. If they think for one moment I'm going to let them-"

"Wait, wait, wait." Theron catches at her waist and she can't tell if he's trying to help her upright or hold her still. "What do you mean, going to let them? This is my problem to deal with."

"Like all the Corellian hells it is." She finally finds solid footing, still chest-deep even at full height in the deepest part of the water, and turns to face him. "I'm supposed to be leading this Alliance and it's past time I started playing the part."

"Nine, no. If you go after the SIS it's as good as declaring war on the Republic and we do not-" he's still got his hands on her, one on each hip, and his grip tightens- "have the resources to fight on two fronts. We'll deal with it, like you said. I just need to be careful."

She shakes her head, takes a step backward toward the edge; he reaches for her again to pull her back in toward him and she sidesteps, scowling. "You should know me better than that. You think I want another war?"

"No, but-"

The gears of an idea click into place, one by one by one. Oh, she likes that. She likes that very much. "Do you remember," she says, "when I told you about the Black Codex?"

Theron nods slowly, head tilted as he considers. "Yeah. But you don't have it any more, so I don't see how that does us any good."

"I don't, true. But the Minister let me look at it for a little while before he took it for safekeeping. I had questions I needed answered."

"I still don't see how-"

She smiles. She isn't any good at battles, never learned to lead soldiers into the field. But this sort of war- "And you wouldn't believe the things I learned about Marcus Trant. After Rishi, too- did you know his ex-wife works for the SIS now?"

"Garza? Sure. Came on as an advisor after she retired from the army."

"That's a pretty story," she says. They'd caught the whole fucking thing on satcam and hadn't even realized it until months later- Republic soldiers implanted with Rakata tech? Tsk, tsk, General Garza. But she'd never had a chance to use the intel. "It has a better ring to it than 'sheltering a war criminal from Republic justice,' doesn't it?"

Theron blinks, lets go of her like her skin's ablaze and she'll burn him if he keeps hold too long. "You're not serious. You're- that's blackmail. You're suggesting we blackmail the director of the SIS."

"Technically I'm suggesting that I blackmail the director of the SIS. Leader to leader. A polite holocall conversation."

"He hates you, you know."

She shrugs lightly. "I'm led to believe that most of politics is making deals no one likes with people who hate you. In any case, the intel about Alderaan came through my contacts. He won't even know that you know, and it keeps Jonas out of the line of fire as well."

"Didn't think you cared about Jonas." He's still looking at her like he doesn't quite recognize her.

"I know that you do."

Theron exhales. "This is insane. You realize that."

"Trant is trying," she snaps, "to murder you. I'd eat his heart in the middle of the Senate Plaza if I thought I could get away with it, but I will do whatever it takes to make him stop. He won't take you away from me, Theron. I won't let him."

She wishes she could see him better. All the light's behind her, candles guttering low in their holders on the countertop- how long has she been idling useless here?- and casting shadows on his face as his expression shifts and his eyes glitter bright as stars. He's angry. She knows it; it's there in the line of his mouth, in the set of his shoulders.

(For the hundredth time she tries and fails to picture him as a Jedi. It would have been impossible, she thinks, even if he'd had the Force: Jedi locked their emotions down tight, replaced them with platitudes like duty and honor and justice that weren't meant to be felt so much as chiseled on the plinths of statues. His Master Zho must have taught him that as a child, before he threw him away.

And Theron must have tried to follow what he'd been taught. He tried so hard. But if their idiot philosophy worked for them it left something in Theron a little bit broken, like he'd only ever learned to dam up feelings with no outlet and nights like tonight there's so much walled away that it all threatens to come rushing out, cracks across the surface like stress lines in half-shattered glass.

She would never change anything about him. He wouldn't be himself if she did. But if he could have harnessed all of that-

-oh, stars, he would have been magnificent.)

"Say it again."

"What? That he's trying to-?"

Shaking his head, he cuts her off, an odd tension in his voice. "Not that. The last part."

"I won't let him-" she doesn't even remember exactly what she said and the words catch on her tongue now that she realizes she's saying them- "take you from me. I won't let anyone take you from me and if that makes me insane then-"

He was never far from her, only a step away, but he closes the distance between them and more as his momentum carries them both toward the side of the bath; her back hits the tile hard enough to knock the breath out of her and before she can catch it again Theron's there, pinning her flat against the surface. "Again. Please."

Oh. She needs air for that. Instead she tries to find something to hold on to, scrabbling for purchase on the slick tiles and not catching hold so she reaches for him instead, fingernails biting in to his back and still slipping just a little, raking down his skin. He mutes a moan against her mouth and she inhales with his kiss, desperate, stealing breath from him until she can speak again and even then she can't manage more than single syllables. "Know you don't want me to," she gasps. "Don't care. They can't-"

"Can't what?" Theron's hands slide down her sides, down her hips, his weight against her and what he does want a question answered by the press of his cock hard against her belly. He doesn't lift her, though- instead of bearing her up he draws back, just for a second, just long enough to turn her so she's facing away. When she tries to look back over her shoulder he catches a fistful of her hair, deliberate this time, and tightens his grip just enough to make her twitch and squirm backward; his knee pushing between her thighs, he nudges her legs apart. "Or if what I don't let you?"

"I outrank you." She tilts her head into his hand and arches back against him. "You wouldn't dare."

It's all she can get out before he shifts her over, just a few inches to the right, and she- oh Force damn him oh stars oh Void oh what else is there but this and-

The water's relentless, lined up just so, every nerve ending in her body howling half-bliss and half-agony in a single electric line from her cunt to her brain. He keeps hold of her- his other hand, the one not still clutching at her hair, dances upward again across her stomach and (carefully, not on her scar) up and up and along her ribs, her breasts, catching and teasing, and his lips trace another line in perpendicular along the side of her neck. "You didn't finish before. Can't what?" he says again.

"Can't have you. You're-"

His teeth sink into her throat, the shape of her name on his tongue, again and again, familiar on her skin. If this is what he's been fighting against all night, anger-fear-want all mixed together in his head, all she knows right now is that he wants because she can feel it in his kisses, can feel it when he pushes against her again, insistent, and she reaches down to guide him, can feel it when he enters her and they move together and she answers him again in the only words she has left.

"You're mine," she whispers. "You're mine."

Author's Note: Life is, as usual, chaotic, with summer holidays segueing into another upcoming surgery for my husband. Eventually I'll get a chapter done on schedule. Probably.

Up next: Chapter 35: Blackmail and White Lies.