Chapter 76: The Decontamination Cell

Vykhor didn’t reply.

He simply walked to decontamination cell #1 in silence, jaw tight, amber eyes burning with glacial resolve.

Evelyn turned toward cell #2, a smirk on her lips. Just before entering, she said softly:

“I’ll join you in two minutes.”

Zeynn frowned, still frozen in front of his assigned door.

“Wait—why do I have to be alone?”

“Because I like you, Zeynn,” Kryna replied calmly. “And I’d rather keep you alive.”

The doors slid shut.

**Decontamination Cell #1**

The steam rose slowly, enveloping Vykhor in warm tendrils. He had already removed the top half of his armor, revealing cobalt skin etched with glowing energy lines. His muscles were tense, vibrating.

Then… the door opened.

Evelyn stepped in.

Hair damp. Her silhouette wrapped in a towel—thin, almost see-through in the mist.

She said nothing.

She simply approached.

And when her fingers brushed Vykhor’s prosthetic, then slid across his natural skin, the warrior took one step back… only to move forward again.

She was here. His My’Lari. The one who anchored him. The one some idiot client had dared to touch.

The one who, once again, had looked at him like he was her whole universe.

And tonight, he would remind her why.

**Cell #1 – Manual Decontamination Disabled. Access Secured.**

The steam danced around them, like a veil suspended between two realities. The scent of wet grass and warm stone lingered, mingled with something more primal. More them.

Evelyn stopped just in front of him, looking up at the Kael’tarian who hadn’t moved. Who was staring at her. Who was burning.

She whispered, playful:

“You don’t look very… relaxed.”

Vykhor’s jaw clenched. A shiver ran up his spine. He answered, low and rough:

“You think?”

Evelyn chuckled softly and ran a hand down his chest. Slowly. Very slowly. She traced the energy lines pulsing beneath his skin like liquid veins, fascinated by their rhythm. He wasn’t tense. He was chained.

But not by anger. Not by control.

By her.

“You nearly killed that collector for looking at me like he wanted a taste.”

“I showed restraint,” he growled, voice even lower, nearly a rumble. “You didn’t see what I imagined.”

Evelyn’s heart leapt. She moved even closer, skin pressed to his—hot, damp, panting. Vykhor wrapped an arm around her waist, then the other.

And in one motion, he pulled her against him. Rough and tender. Absolute.

She tilted her chin up, eyes locked on the blazing amber of his.

“I’ve seen you fight. I’ve seen you protect. But just now, Vykhor… I saw something else.”

“What?”

She rose on her toes, whispered in his ear:

“Jealousy.”

Silence. Then a murmur, barely restrained, breathed against her skin:

“I don’t share what’s mine.”

His hands slid down her hips, then along her thighs. Every movement a claim, every touch a vow made flesh.

“And you are mine, My’Lari. No matter where, no matter when. You are… my star.”

Evelyn closed her eyes for a moment. It was the first time he’d said that translation aloud. And in the warm mist, with the muffled beat of their hearts as the only music, she felt herself shine.

She leaned into him, murmuring back:

“And you… you are my Tav’Ren.”

The world stopped for a moment. Or maybe it was just Vykhor, who for the first time in years stopped thinking, stopped calculating, and let himself feel.

He cupped her face in his hands. His My’Lari. The one he’d never dared hope for—and would never let go.

And he kissed her.

Not a rushed kiss. Not a wild burst of passion.

A seal. A promise. A return to the center of their world.

The kiss deepened.

It was no longer a mere promise—it was a claim. A reminder that beneath Vykhor’s blue-metallic skin beat a Kael’tarian heart.

A heart that belonged only to her.

Evelyn clung to him like to a sacred truth. Arms wrapped around his neck, she let her chest press to his, her lips parting beneath his. Her tongue met his, and the contact was an electric shock.

He growled. Low. A guttural sound that vibrated between them, against her, within her.

And he lifted her.

In one smooth, precise, almost feline motion, he carried her to the smooth wall, pressed her against the warm surface of the cell and held her there—suspended between the floor and his arms. One hand around her waist, the other gripping her thigh.

His eyes blazed, and still—he didn’t look away. He watched her like he was rediscovering her. Like he wanted to imprint her into every heartbeat.

“You know,” she breathed against his lips, panting, “we’re supposed to be decontaminating.”

“I’m purging every last mental contaminant,” he murmured. “That damn collector. That damn river. That damn biometrically-locked suitcase…”

He kissed her neck. Then again. And again, lower each time.

“…and especially the memory of you in that dress. Too short. In front of too many eyes.”

Evelyn giggled—then moaned softly when he nipped that one sensitive spot.

“So this is a Kael’tarian purification ritual?”

He looked up, a feral grin on his lips.

“Exactly, My’Lari.”

Her fingers tangled in his hair, eyes burning with new fire. She leaned into his ear:

“Then purify me.”

The growl that rumbled from his throat was anything but human. Nothing soft. Nothing rational. It was raw, primal.

And he took her. There. Against the wall. Not rushed—but without hesitation.

Their bodies moved in unison. Burning. Their skin glistening in the mist. And in that steamy heat, the Alpha of the Kael’seth Pack claimed his star.

It wasn’t violent. It wasn’t slow.

It was them.

Him, the beast in chains.

Her, the only key able to free him without making him fear it.

And when they reached the peak together, it was in a shared sigh, in an embrace stronger than words.

Moments later, still pressed against him, Evelyn gently stroked the back of his neck, a tender smile on her lips.

“So I guess I’m officially purified now.”

He nodded, forehead resting against hers, breath still ragged.

“Until the next contamination.”

She laughed, then added:

“Kryna’s going to mock us, you know.”

“She wouldn’t dare,” Vykhor replied, gaze heavy with promises.

Then, a beat later:

“…she absolutely will.”

They laughed together, and for a while, nothing else existed but this bubble. This sanctuary. This cell.

Their cocoon.

The silence settled again in the decontamination chamber—humid and warm, like the calm after a storm. Vykhor slowly let Evelyn slide down, his hands still resting on her hips. His forehead stayed against hers in that rare, intimate gesture he reserved only for her.

Evelyn, still catching her breath, skin gleaming with mist, raised a hand to brush along the Kael’tarian’s jaw.

“You know… if this is what decontamination looks like on this ship, I think I’ll start going outside more often.”

He growled—a low, rough sound she had come to know well. Not anger. Not amusement.

Just… possession.

“Very funny. But next time, I’m locking this cell. You’re mine, My’Lari. And that privilege—I share with no one.”

She smiled. She loved when he got like this. When he gave in to his truest self.

“Not even with a snarky AI?”

“Especially not with her.”

The end-of-cycle light pulsed softly on the wall. The air began to cool. The steam dissipated. They dressed quickly, in the kind of familiar, silent choreography that had become second nature—movements brushing past each other, with no urgency, and no restraint either.

When the door finally slid open with a gentle hiss, revealing the Narak’Tharr’s corridor—

Zeynn was there. Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, a small pouch of dried fruit in one hand, with the air of someone who’d been waiting a long time.