Odessen
Landing Bay 7

Nervous eels writhed in Fynta's stomach as she waited for the doors to open. Arcann stood behind Torian and Felix. His raspy breath made the hair on the back of Fynta's neck stand on end, but she refused to surrender to the urge to check behind her. Though the man could probably sense her unease, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of acting on it.

The decycling whine of the engines sounded muffled compared to the beating of Fynta's heart. She shouldn't be doing this, bringing the man who caused so much pain across the galaxy into the heart of the alliance. Everything about it sat wrong with her, but Garza scoffed in the back of Fynta's mind, asking if she'd learned nothing from her time in SpecForce. Even after all these years, the old woman still influenced her choices.

Fynta jumped when the hydraulics clanged to life, then cursed herself for it. If anyone noticed, they were good enough to keep it to themselves. Heaving a breath, Fynta started forward when the ramp began to lower. Her eyes were on the beveled surface, stealing a moment to balance herself before walking headlong into what was bound to be a shit show. She'd need to hold a conference to explain Arcann's presence at the base, and probably set up a guard for the first week or two in case of any ill-advised attempts at justice. Fynta hoped that the former emperor would hold up his end of the bargain and keep the retribution at a minimum.

The murmur of voices warned Fynta of the gathered masses, and she looked up in time to see Aric mounting the walkway. The tightness in Fynta's chest that built every time they were apart vanished until she saw the look on her husband's face. A hatred like Fynta had never seen radiated off the Cathar. Her steps faltered while the phrase fierfek built in the back of her mind. She'd misjudged this homecoming badly, and realized that she wasn't prepared to see this side of her normally patient lifemate.

For the space of a heartbeat, Fynta thought that Aric's raised fist was aimed at her. By the time Fynta's backstep landed, Aric had surged past her and into the man she'd brought home. Arcann slammed into the boarding ramp, ringing like a gong when his prosthetics struck the metal. One of Aric's knees slid over the former emperor's chest to pin the man's waist to the ground while he rained a flurry of blows. The steady rumble emanating from Aric warned others to stay back, Fynta included.

Arcann, for his part, offered no more resistance than to shield his face from the onslaught. In the chaos of the moment, Fynta managed to be pleased that the man had accepted her conditions until Theron jerked on her arm. His mouth moved, but the words were muted by the shouts of the crowd. Theron leaned closer, flailing one arm at the grappling men. "He's going to kill your new ally!"

"Fine." Fynta had no desire to rob Aric of his vengeance, but she couldn't let it devolve into a mobbing. Judging by the expressions surrounding them, it wouldn't take much. Gesturing to stop the soldiers who had moved to subdue Aric, Fynta placed a hand on her husband's shoulder

Aric spun with a snarl, but his fury evaporated when he focused on Fynta's face. Her fingers tightened around the fabric of his shirt. "That's enough, Riduur."

Aric blinked, then looked at what he'd done. A trickle of blood leaked from Arcann's nose down his chin, and deep red mottling that would turn black by morning bloomed under the man's eye. With a curse, the Aric staggered to his feet. Chest heaving, he shook Fynta's hand off and stalked out of the hangar. She gave him space, turning her attention to her fallen ally. "You didn't fight back."

Arcann accepted the hand that Fynta held out, grunting as she pulled him upright. "I saw the validity of your point." Fynta snorted and released the younger man once he was steady. Arcann's scarred face ventured to where Aric hunched against the railing. "Who is he?"

Fynta joined the emperor, watching the speed with which Aric's shoulders moved while he composed himself. "My husband."

"I see." Arcann flexed his shoulder, the timber of his voice betraying nothing. "I'll make a point of avoiding that one in the future."

Fynta took a step toward her husband, then paused to look back at Arcann. "Don't make me regret this. You might be strong in the Force, but that Cathar is a hell of a shot and a lot more patient than you."

Arcann tipped his chin, thin brows furrowing under the weight of Fynta's threat. He'd walked into hell, too. No courtiers or servants awaited him in the Alliance, only angry glares and the potential for violence. A piece of Fynta felt bad for the man—a small piece.

When Fynta finally joined Aric at the railing, he wouldn't look at her. She propped her elbows against the cool metal and bumped his shoulder the way she had back before all of this, back when they'd toed the life between professionalism and flirting. "Feel better?"

"Hand hurts like hell," Aric grunted, working his fingers. His gaze slid sideways. "Did I create an intergalactic incident?"

"Would you care if you did?" Fynta grinned at the gnarled fingers that flexed over the abyss beyond their mountain sanctuary. The last few years had not been kind to Aric, and it showed in the swollen joints and early morning winces. He'd probably regret those strained tendons and scabbed knuckles tomorrow.

Pulling her attention away from the consequences of her husband's temper, Fynta turned one hand over, palm up in invitation. Or, maybe it was an offer of peace.

Aric forced a chuckle, then slid his fingers through Fynta's until they were interlocked. She felt another weight lift from her chest. Whatever happened, at least her husband still had her back. "No." Aric's hold twitched tighter. "Felt good to finally put hands on the man who keeps trying to kill my wife." His voice rattled at the end, leaving the rest unsaid. Still, the words whispered in the back of her mind. The man who made me a widower.

Fynta laughed to ease the tension and pulled Aric away from the railing. By now, someone would have escorted Arcann to his room. Senya should be there to keep him on a leash, and she'd do her job well. The woman knew how much relied on this tenuous truce.

"Tell you what," Fynta began as they crossed under the hangar door. She waited until Aric's eyes met hers so that he saw the truth in them. "If he steps out of line, I'll let you take the first shot."

Aric's smile turned genuine and he threw an arm over Fynta's shoulders. Pulling her closer, the Cathar pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "I knew there was a reason I married you."

Odessen
War Room
30 Minutes after Arcann's Arrival

Zolah checked the list of items that needed to be covered in this meeting, then changed it to show what was realistic. "Is everyone here who needs to be here?" Fynta asked from the end of the table. She was still covered in smoke stains from Vaylin's assault, a habit that Zolah had noted the commander used when she wanted to hurry any briefing along. While it did little to sway her schedule, the bleeding hearts of the Republic often obliged.

Notiac answered, nodding around the table. "We are here, shall I signal Felix to bring in our guests?" Somehow, the Jedi said the word without a hint of irony. At Fynta's nod, Notiac tipped her head, and the door opened not two seconds later. Zolah had always been fascinated by the bond between Felix and Notiac, and had wondered on more than one occasion if the holocron in the man's head had bridged the gap between their minds, forming the fabled Force Bond of legend.

Felix turned to the right, revealing Senya behind him, then Arcann. Torian brought up the rear, filing in like an honor guard and closing the door behind him. With so many Force wielders on the base, Zolah thought the barrier was more of a formality than protection, but it gave the illusion of privacy. Torian and Felix took up positions to either side, sanding in parade rest and looking like statues.

"Have a seat." Fynta gestured at a couple of empty chairs in front of the guards. Her voice wasn't unkind, but it held the authority of her position.

Senya accommodated Fynta without complaint, then Arcann followed his mother's lead after the briefest hesitation. Both perched on the edge of the cushion as if ready to dart from the room at any hint of an attack. No one spoke, then Koth broke the silence. "So, this is...awkward."

"Indeed," Arcann deadpanned, and Zolah found herself charmed against her will. She stamped down her inclination towards peevish bastards and settled for the ice that kept her safe from the manipulations of Sith. Leaning forward, Arcann placed his hands on the table, and Zolah noted the discoloration around his left eye and jaw. She'd heard about Jorgan's welcome, but that looked like more than a single fight. Zolah wondered who else had the balls to attack the former emperor, then remembered the sort of people they employed.

"We are here to aid in the termination of my sister," Arcann began. Senya winced at the harsh wording, but didn't protest when he continued. "She will destroy everything in this galaxy. Make no mistake that we share a common enemy."

Fynta leaned back in her chair, and Zolah waited for the inevitable boot to plant itself on the table. She almost laughed when it didn't. The commander stared at the duo in front of her, then sighed. "Alright, we need to set up boundaries and safe zones. People are used to seeing Senya around, but Arcann—" Koth snorted, but held up his hands when Fynta's glare shifted to him. She continued. "But, Arcann is behind a lot of bad osik. The people are going to want retribution, and while I'm not above letting him take a punch, I don't want any assassination attempts."

"Those, I can handle," Arcann assured, mouth opening to make his point further.

Fynta ignored the comment and gestured at Quinn. "Thoughts, Major?" Arcann's jaw tightened, but he let the slight go. Zolah wondered how far the man would let Fynta push him before he reached the limits of his patience.

Sitting taller, Quinn displayed the poise that Zolah expected from any Imperial officer, with a stiff spine and sharp eyes. "It depends on the direction you wish to move. If you want to keep them out of the public eye, I suggest a comfortable room in the brig. No locked doors, as they are our guests, but it is off the beaten path."

Arcann's scowl deepened, but Senya put a hand on her son's arm before he could speak. Quinn lifted his eyes to meet Fynta's, carefully ignoring the topics of their discussion even though they were close enough to touch. "If, however, you would rather the alliance see that we are aligned in the same goal, I suggest quarters close to yours. It is an untraveled hallway by the common worker, but equally public. That would be my personal recommendation, sir."

"You want to put them down the hall from the commander's family?" Lana asked, then looked at Senya. "No offense, but your son has a nasty habit of attempted murder. What is your take on this?"

Senya's gaze cut to Arcann, then back to Fynta. "I'll remain with him. We will share quarters until the people of the Alliance have become comfortable with, or have at least accepted his presence."

Again, a muscle in Arcann's jaw twitched. He clearly had opinions on sharing a room with his mother; Zolah wondered how much coaching he'd received from the woman before attending this meeting. Senya was smart enough to have surmised the inevitable path it would lead to. She was a mother, protecting her son from people who would happily remove his head from his shoulders given half a chance.

"Fine," Fynta answered before anyone could offer another solution. Zolah saw the woman shutting down, anxious to get back to her husband. Fynta folded her arms and nodded towards Arcann. "Around the clock guard by trusted members of the alliance. Any of them turn up dead, and the hunt is back on. Now, on to more important things. What do we do about Vaylin?"

"My sister is a cornered predator," Arcann answered with a sigh. The young ruler snatched back the conversation with practiced ease. "Now that you've demonstrated her weakness, she will strike back."

Fynta nodded. "That's what I'm afraid of. We need to fortify our atmospheric defenses and find out more about this mystery man that Indo overheard Vaylin speaking with." A chill settled over the room, preceding the words that had to be spoken. "If she's found a way to break her conditioning, this galaxy is fucked."

Odessen
Commander's Quarters
0300 Hours

When Jorgan opened his eyes, he knew the bed was empty before his fingers touched cool sheets. Fynta was gone again, likely in the gym or at the range, blowing off steam from the nightmares that she wouldn't admit to having. Jorgan ran a hand down his face to clear the last of the sleep from his eyes, then reached for his comm.

CONSTRUCTION WING.

Aric sighed, typed a thanks to Cormac, and rolled out of bed. They'd been back on Odessen for two weeks, and Fynta hadn't spent a full night in their quarters. She was on edge, fidgeting and restless. When Jorgan pushed for the cause, he received only vague quips and flirty gestures meant to distract him. They worked because he respected her privacy, but something would have to be done soon. Not even Fynta could carry on like this forever.

"She on a walkabout again?" Shillet yawned from the couch. Jorgan paused, looking toward his daughter with one shoe halfway on. Despite the room they'd created for her, Shillet preferred to sleep on the sofa more often than not. Black eyes blinked in the darkness. "That woman is going to run herself into the ground."

"Probably," Jorgan agreed. He tugged on the other shoe, then bent over his daughter to pull the blanket higher. "Don't follow her example. Go back to sleep and don't be late for school."

Shillet huffed and flopped over to present her back. Jorgan smiled at the comforting defiance of a teenager and ruffled her head tresses. "Love you, kid." He'd never been good at saying the words, but since Fynta's miraculous return from the dead, Aric made the effort.

Though not empty, the silence of the early morning pressed against Jorgan as he walked down the hall. He stepped lightly to keep his passage from echoing through the residential wing and used the time to work out what Fynta could be doing in the new construction zone. Only a few rooms had been hollowed out of the rock, smaller than the older ones due to the increased demand of new arrivals. While Jedi, Sith, and engineers worked nearly around the clock, recruits crowded into temporary barracks or lived on ships.

"Looking for the commander, sir?" Aric paused at a bend, surprised to find Lieutenant Lo walking towards him. The Twi'lek wore maintenance coveralls, coated in a thick layer of dust. Jorgan bit down the instinctive snarl and reminded himself that this man was not to blame for misunderstandings of the past.

As if sensing Jorgan's mood, Lo stopped a safe distance away and hooked a thumb over his shoulder. "I saw her examining the scaffolding. We didn't speak, sir."

"Thanks," Jorgan managed in a gruff response. He wanted to sound more appreciative, but looking at the man who'd almost slept with his wife still stung. Almost, a weak voice reminded him, and it sounded a lot like Cormac. Swallowing his growl, Aric tipped his head. "I appreciate it." That was the best that he could do.

Lo gave a sharp nod and continued in the direction Jorgan had come from. Sighing, Aric set a quicker pace and took the next right into a room that had been designated as a play area for children. Or would be, one day. He remembered the meeting about its placement, deep enough in the mountain that they'd be protected from an aerial strike. Jorgan's stomach tightened, and he had the sudden urge to prioritize this room above the rest.

"You should be in bed." Fynta's voice bounced off the rough walls when Jorgan stepped into the room.

"So should you," Jorgan replied, stopping in the middle of the cavernous space. He rested his hands on his hips while scanning the shadows for his wife.

One of the dark figures tore free of the others, and Cormac lumbered into the harsh beams from the work lights. "Too right, boss." The big man clapped Jorgan on the shoulder with a yawn. "She's all yours. Night, Fynta."

"There was a day when you called me boss," the woman complained from somewhere above them. Jorgan only needed a few more words to pinpoint her position.

Cormac released a dry chuckle, followed by another yawn. "Only during business hours. I'm off the clock."

The creak of metal finally revealed Fynta's hiding spot, and Jorgan leveled her with a disapproving scowl. Laughing, Fynta leaned into the light. "That never ceases to impress me." She winked, and Aric felt better knowing that she was aiming for playful instead of obstinate tonight. "Sexy as hell, too."

"Don't try to flatter me." When it became clear that Fynta had no intention of descending, Jorgan sighed and searched for the best route to her. He settled on a ladder leaned against the far wall. Most likely, Fynta had scrambled up some complex lattice of durasteel waiting to be assembled into supports for the new room. He was old and tired.

By the time Jorgan drew level with his wife, Fynta wore a grin that made his heart skip a beat. "That's cheating."

Grunting, Aric pulled himself onto the scaffolding Fynta was seated on, then dusted his hands. "Someone once told me that it's not cheating if it accomplishes the goal."

"That sounds like lazy advice. Whatever happened to that person?" Fynta's voice eased into mischief, but her eyes were fixed on the floor below.

Jorgan bumped Fynta's shoulder. "I married her." She snorted, then sneezed and waved a hand in front of her face to clear the dust they'd stirred up. Aric felt the mood turn when Fynta sighed, so he asked the question that had plagued him for weeks. "What's going on?"

"The dreams are back." Fynta's brow furrowed. "I think. They feel different this time. I know they are there, even if I can't remember them."

Jorgan remained silent, surprised that Fynta had broken so easily after a lifetime prying answers from her. It was equally terrifying that she was so willing to talk, and for a moment he wished that she'd brushed him off. At least that was normal. This confession felt desperate.

"Something feels off in here." Fynta tapped against her chest twice. "I can't explain it. It's like, I'm tired, but not exactly. The world feels dull and cold. Kind of like the beginning of an illness without the relief of symptoms."

"Have you talked to anyone else about this? Lana or Kaeto?" Aric leaned his forearms on his thighs, legs swinging over the emptiness below them.

Fynta shook her head. "I think Kaeto senses it, but she hasn't said anything. Lana is distracted by the hunt for Vaylin. Vector commented on my aura at our last spar, but he said that it had changed, not dimmed." Fynta lurched forward, digging her fingers deep into her hair and squeezing until several locks slipped free of her braid. "I think I'm going insane, Aric."

Tentatively, Jorgan slipped an arm around his wife's shoulders. She relented, sagging against his side. He wanted to make a joke about being too stubborn to go crazy, or say something supportive that would remind her to keep fighting, but nothing came to mind. Instead, he pressed a kiss to Fynta's disheveled hair. "I'll be with you every step of the way."

Fynta's hand rested on Jorgan's thigh and she squeezed. "You remember what we talked about?"

Jorgan closed his eyes and nodded, unable to speak the words. No one truly believed that Valkorion had given up his hold on Fynta's mind. Each member of the war council had their part to play should he wrench control from her, though it was never spoken of. Fynta hadn't asked Aric to be a part of it, only to take Shillet and leave if he saw her slipping. While he appreciated that she'd spared him the agony of agreeing to kill her, the thought of abandoning her wasn't any easier. He'd done that once already, and it had nearly destroyed him.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, then Fynta sighed. "What time do you have to meet Aygo?"

"I don't." Jorgan let Fynta pull away, but took her hand in his. Anything to maintain that link with her. "Storms are rolling in around ten, so we postponed maneuvers for later this week."

"Good." Fynta retrieved her datapad and tapped out a message to Theron and Lana. She nodded at the device before slipping it back into the pocket on her thigh. "I'm taking the day off. I think you should too."

Jorgan leaned back on one hand and quirked a smile. "The whole day?" He saw the moment when Fynta remembered the briefing slotted for tomorrow afternoon about Vaylin's plans to leave Zakuul.

Cursing, Fynta amended her message to Theron and Lana, receiving a reply fast enough that Jorgan wondered if those two ever slept either. Tucking it away again, Fynta shoved to her feet, pulling Jorgan up behind her. "Correction, I'm taking half the day off, and so are you."

Odessen
War Council
1700 Hours

"Everyone looks like shit," Theron observed, noting bags under eyes, frayed or greasy hair, and the overall mood of the room.

"Is that your professional opinion?" Zolah saw the same thing, but she was too polite to say it. Theron reconsidered. Maybe polite wasn't the right word, but he knew it had something to do with Imperial breeding. They tended to cut with backhanded compliments instead of just calling it for what it was.

Theron nodded and folded his arms. "Yeah, I think it is." The meeting had gone as expected, with arguments over tactics and whether to let Vaylin leave the safety of her lair or hit her before she could start her pilgrimage. They knew where she was going, but not where she was coming from, not exactly.

In the end, a strike team had been assembled to camp out around the moon that Vaylin was rumored to be hiding on. Hirani would fly the mission, and Fynta, Torian, Felix, Rusk, and Verin would accompany Lana to Nathama. After that, Fynta said they would figure it out. Theron sighed at the memory of the shit storm that had stirred up. He really hated that woman sometimes.

While Zolah finished her conversation with Quinn, Theron stepped into the War Room to check his data. His implants registered Fynta's proximity, but he didn't realize who stood with her until their hushed conversation pinged one of the many programs constantly running in the back of Theron's mind. Any spy worth his weight in Republic credits would have eavesdropped too. At least, that's what Theron told himself.

"I don't care." Jorgan's almost subsonic growl hurt Theron's ears, and he adjusted the volume.

Fynta sighed. "And what about Shillet?" Theron understood then. It was another argument about who should go and who should stay. No doubt they had one before every mission.

Theron would have dismissed the rest of the conversation, if not for Jorgan's rumbled reply. "That won't work this time. I'm going with you. Change the roster or sneak me aboard. I don't give a damn, but this is different. This is—"

"I know," Fynta snapped. Theron unconsciously took a step closer, then reminded himself that he was supposed to be a professional. Clearly, his skills were getting rusty.

Long silence followed, and Theron imagined the two hot headed commanders glaring at one another, sharing one of those silent conversations that Zolah and Vector had sometimes. Finally, Fynta sighed. "Alright. I'll let Theron know. You can have Rusk's spot, he's taken an interest in organizing the newest recruits anyway."

Aric didn't reply in any sense that Theron could hear, but Fynta let out a weak chuckle. The Cathar's footsteps started away, leaving Fynta where she stood. After a few moments of staring at the screen in his hands, Fynta's voice thundered in Theron's ear. "I take it you got all of that?"

Wincing, Theron lowered the volume more and turned to find Fynta's raised eyebrow not two feet behind him. The corner of her mouth twitched up despite the accusation on her face. Theron shrugged. "Habit."

Fynta waved a hand. "Whatever. It saves me the time of relaying the message. Just make the adjustments and let whoever needs to know in on it. I've got to pack."

Theron watched the woman walk away and wondered when she'd started looking so tired again. After Jorgan joined the alliance, life had flooded back into Fynta. Now, she carried herself like everyone else on the War Council. He supposed that meant that the honeymoon period was over, or maybe it was becoming a mother. Theron tried to put himself in Fynta's position and shivered.

"Ready to go home?" Zolah appeared by Theron's side, making him jump. He'd never get used to a partner who knew how to exploit the gaps in his sensors. The smile threatening at the edges of her lips was proof enough that she knew that too.

Sighing, Theron looped an arm around his lover and steered her towards the exit. "Where is Vector?" The man had been absent more times than not, lately. Theron assumed it had to do with an influx of new arrivals, but he hadn't put forth the effort of checking their rosters. There were too many other items vying for his attention to start peeking into elements that didn't concern him.

"He commed earlier that he'd be out tonight." Zolah patted Theron's stomach, smirking when he tightened his abs in preparation of a blow. "We've got the place to ourselves."

"Out?" A familiar dread clawed up Theron's spine. "All night?" Fynta's teasing about Vector and Quinn rattled around in the back of his skull, and Theron couldn't stop himself from looking back the way they'd come, knowing that the killik warrior wouldn't be there.

This time, the blow landed harder. "I'm trying to proposition you." Zolah blinked at Theron when he grunted. She lifted both eyebrows, waiting for him to catch on.

"Ah," Theron managed, then tucked one arm across his middle in case of another strike when her expression turned dark. "I mean, of course I knew that. I just—" He didn't know how to finish that sentence. Vector had been out three nights in the last week, returning with enough time to shower before hurrying out the door to complete his duties.

Zolah palmed open the door to their quarters. It was closer to the War Room than other residences, and was set up to accommodate three adults. The perks of being the first members of something that none of them dreamed would grow to the numbers the Alliance boasted now.

"Theron," Zolah purred when the door closed behind him. Her hands were cool against his skin, red eyes gleaming in the dim light of the many computer terminals in their sitting room. "Vector is not here, and I am. We have the apartment to ourselves. Now, are you going to fuck me or not?"

When put so eloquently, how could he resist?

The chrono flashed 2100 hours when Theron collapsed with a satisfied sigh. Sweat coated his body, and he hadn't mustered the strength to kick the tangled sheets from his legs. They sprawled on Zolah's bed, his head on her stomach while she toyed absently with his hair. As pleasantly fluid as Theron's muscles felt, Vector's absence still lingered in the back of his mind.

"Something wrong, lover?" Zolah's voice sounded breathy the way it always did after Theron had done his job well. He shook his head, unsure how to put the things he was thinking into words. Zolah's fingers tightened in his hair, tugging enough to make him look at her. "You used to be a better liar."

Pushing her hand away, Theron rolled onto his back with one arm behind his head. Zolah waited, watching him with the kind of patience reserved for Jedi and Imperial spies. "It's nothing." He winced the moment the words left his lips, knowing full well what her response would be.

As expected, Zolah shifted onto her knees to face Theron. To his surprise, her expression softened. It was then that Theron knew that she already suspected the source of his distraction. Blowing out a breath, he conceded. "Do you think Vector's happy with—" he waved a hand around the room "—you know."

Though Zolah's complexion hid any form of flush well, Theorn's implants picked up on the increased blood flow. He hoped his responding blush wasn't as evident, but knew otherwise when she bit the inside of her cheek. After controlling her amusement, Zolah answered. "Is this about Malavai?"

Theron wilted under the weight of Zolah's scrutiny and found a spot across the room to study. Not to be deterred, Zolah gripped his chin and pulled until he was looking into her eyes again. "We've discussed this, remember? None of us are bound to this union only."

It was probably meant to reassure Theron, but only made his stomach twist tighter. "So, you're not worried," Theron asked, his words jumbled by the way Zolah's fingers squeezed his lips. He didn't try to pull away. "I mean, that he's gotten bored with us?"

Theron saw the fatigue in Zolah's face, the frustration that he still didn't trust them. He couldn't help it. Theron grew up in a world where if one was no longer useful, they were discarded. It had been nearly five years since Zolah and Theron began their strange relationship, only one since he'd let Vector in. That culminated in the longest commitment that he'd ever have. Not counting Fynta, of course, but then he rarely did. While Theron had dragged his feet in accepting Zolah and Vector's request for him to stay with them, the thought of losing what they had terrified him.

Taking his hand, Zolah smiled. "Vector loves us." Her tone was softer than Theron had ever heard it, and her cool fingers in his steadied the panic threatening to consume him. Blue lips pulled into the sort of smile reserved only for him and Vector. "I've never met a man with so much room in his heart. He isn't seeking a replacement, Darling. Malavai is handsome, wickedly clever, and terribly alone."

Theron sighed, finally breaking eye contact with his lover. Zolah didn't pull him back, but she continued speaking. "He wants you to stay with us, Theron. As do I. Vector and I are fully committed to what we've built here, and Malavai Quinn doesn't change that. You will never be replaceable."

Those words shouldn't have hit Theron like a hammer blow. He shouldn't still need that validation, but he did. Scrubbing a hand through his hair, Theron offered a crooked smile. "I've still got a lot to learn about how this all works." Zolah chuckled and curled against his side.

Theron resolved to let the matter go, for now. He hugged Zolah closer and blew out a breath as if it could take the insecurity with it. "Yeah, okay. I trust you. And, I trust Vector."

Zolah scraped her nails across Theron's torso while she wrapped him in her arms. "If you have any doubts, greet Vector with a kiss when he comes home and see if he thinks you're boring. I guarantee you won't be disappointed."

Despite being spent from his tussle with Zolah, a pleasant chill ran down Theron's spine to settle in his belly. "You know what, I might just do that."