Chapter One
Briette had spent the past three hours pouring drinks, listening to customers’ tales of joy and sorrow, and pretending not to care about the world beyond Vine & Bean. It was easy, most nights. The way the familiar aroma of freshly ground coffee clung to the air, mingling with the deep, velvety undertone of aged wine and the soft clink of glass against polished wood—each note part of a rhythm she knew by heart.
She wiped down the counter with practiced ease, half-listening to a group of off-duty medics discussing a recent trauma case at the far end of the bar. It was a slow evening, the kind that invited exhaustion to settle into her bones if she let it. The kind that left space for thoughts she shouldn’t be thinking. And then, as if on cue, the air changed—just enough. The hum of the room stretched taut, like a string quivering before the first note. Even before the chime of the door sounded, she felt it.
She didn’t have to look up. She always knew. The measured shuffle of tired footsteps. The hush in the room, as if holding its breath. Then the slow exhale of the universe itself, adjusting to his presence.
Eryndor.
Briette told herself she hadn’t been waiting for him. That the quickening of her pulse was just her imagination. That the fire licking through her core was an illusion. And yet…
He moved to his usual spot—the one he’d claimed, wordless, night after night for six months. He was a fixture now, something reliable in the unpredictable ebb and flow of customers. But tonight, the tightness to his jaw, the stiffness in his posture—it was different. It was worse than she’d ever seen him before.
A really bad day, then.
She straightened her spine and reached for the good bottle before he asked. Yvrendine red. The strongest thing they carried—unless espresso was your vice.
But that was the thing about Eryndor: his drink of choice told her more about his day than words ever could. Many might not pick up on those telling clues, but she did. Because she watched him. Because she cared. Because after all this time, she’d learned that when he ordered Yvrendine red, it wasn’t just about a long day—it was about a day he wanted to forget but couldn’t. A day too often marred by death—death he routinely shouldered far too much blame for.
Briette slid the stemless Aekosian crystal glass in front of him, her fingers barely grazing his as she pulled away. As always, his small smile of thanks made her stomach flip.
Without hesitation, he tossed back the entire pour in one gulp, his hand trembling, almost imperceptibly, before setting the empty glass down with a thud.
Yeah. A bad one. A really, really bad one.
Wordlessly, she uncorked the bottle she hadn’t even put away yet and refilled his glass. This time, he sipped instead of swallowing it whole, his denim-blue stare lingering on hers a little too long—yet never truly long enough.
Luma preserve her.
Pain glistened behind his eyes like a second heartbeat before he dropped his gaze to the bar. He ran a wavering hand through his tousled, dirty blond hair as he sucked in a steadying breath. Then, he finally spoke.
“Thank you, Bree. As always, you’re a welcome sight after a long day.” His lips quirked into a half-smile; a touch of dry humor laced in his voice. “Armed with that liquid numbing agent or not.”
In Eryndor’s place, so many others would lash out or crumble. But not him. His strength and compassion knew no bounds.
Well aware that he would only choose to share the cause behind his pain if he deemed Briette to be in a state fit to bear it, she pushed aside the burning desire to coddle and comfort. Instead, she smirked, feigning ease while her heart pounded against her ribs. “I aim to please.”
He raised a single brow. “And that you do.”
Huffing out a breath, Briette spun on her heel to hide the rush of heat rising up her cheeks. If he had any idea how those words affected her, would he still have said them?
She busied herself with tidying the back of the bar while the flush took its sweet time dissipating. When she finally turned around, Eryndor’s glass was empty again and those piercing blue eyes burned once more into her own.
“Another?”
He nodded, scrubbing a hand over his face before watching in exhausted silence as Briette topped him off. Then, he unleashed the soulflare she’d been bracing for. “Lost a couple of kids today.”
Her lids fell as pain lanced through her. For the kids. For their families. For the physician who had fought with everything he had to keep them here when the Great Luminance demanded their return.
Because of that, there was no question. Eryndor wasn’t just one of the top trauma surgeons on Zeyvaris—he was among the best in the Galactic Commons. And bias had nothing to do with it, not if there was truth to what the other healthcare providers who trickled into Vine & Bean had to say.
Despite countless offers from Sovereign medical centers, Eryndor stayed. Here. He chose the understaffed, underequipped hospital in the heart of the poorest Gritfolk territory on the planet. He chose to fight for the people others had given up on. The people deemed unfit by most of the Civica class—and all of the Sovereigns.
People like her.
Straightening her shoulders, she tried to push the unwelcome reminder of just why someone like Dr. Eryndor Vaelric—a Civica Zeyvari in a highly respected profession—could never be more than a customer to her. Mating outside one’s class was rare—and when it did happen, it never involved Gritfolk. Only the Sovereigns and Civica crossed class boundaries.
She’d seen firsthand what happened if a Civica lowered themselves to be with a Gritfolk. Their societal class shunned them. Hateful bigots would threaten them—from both sides. Gritfolk didn’t appreciate their kind mixing with the “elite” any more than Civica wanted theirs “slumming” with the underbelly of society. It was a recipe for disaster—and, often, death.
Shaking her head to free it of dark memories best left in the past, Briette lowered her voice. So only Eryndor could hear. “I’m so sorry, Eryn. There are no words for how cruel the universe can be sometimes, but I know you did everything you could to save them. Don’t doubt that. Don’t doubt yourself.”
His head hung between slumped shoulders, his hands gripping the glass of fiery red liquid so tight his already pale skin nearly turned translucent. “You have too much faith in me.”
She had reached halfway across the bar to lay a comforting hand on his arm before she realized her mistake and pulled back with a jerk. Tucking a lock of hair behind the pointed shell of her ear, she sought words in place of touch. “I’m not the only one who feels that way, Doctor. You save far more lives than you lose, and that’s just a fact.”
Eryndor’s grip loosened, and his head lifted. A wry smile tugged at his lips. “You’re good for a man’s ego.”
Briette let out a soft laugh before she could stop herself, but it wasn’t the words that did it—it was the way he said them. The rasp of exhaustion in his voice, the slight tilt of his lips, like he was inviting her into the joke.
Again, even suffering under the weight of such a heavy burden, Eryndor managed to find levity and light in the world. His inner beauty never failed to outshine even the magnificent splendor of his physical good looks.
A heavy hand landed on Briette’s shoulder. She flinched, then glanced back at her grinning co-worker, Jaxstyn. The bioluminescent veins beneath his skin lit his gorgeous, dark Korrithar coloring from within, matching the glow of his smile pound for pound.
“It’s dead tonight, Bree. I can handle the closing crowd just fine on my own. Why don’t you head on home?”
She cast a glance at Eryndor, who had returned to his tight-gripped slouch. His gaze no longer met her own.
With an inward sigh, she mustered a smile and gave Jaxstyn a hug. “Thanks, Jax. I’ll return the favor next time it’s slow and I’m closing. Promise.”
He returned her hug with a squeeze so tight she nearly lost her breath, laughing all the while. “I know you will, kid. Now scoot. I’ve got this.”
Briette shot another look at Eryndor, hoping to catch one more glimpse at those deep blue eyes before taking her leave. But to her dismay, he appeared lost in his grief again. Their brief banter but a momentary reprieve—a thin veil stretched over something raw and bleeding beneath. She knew the way he worked, the way he carried wounds that never truly healed. Luma, she wanted to reach across the expanse between them and say something that would help. But there were no words that could.
She gathered her belongings and headed for the door. Somehow, she managed to stop herself before she stole yet another look at the man whose very presence never failed to send her careening off course.
As she pushed through the door and into the humid night air, she welcomed the suffocating heat for the distraction it was. Digging into her pocket, she produced a hair tie and swept her long, dark tresses into a bun atop her head before setting off for the nearest airbus stop over three quors away.
The Zeyvaren night air pressed against her skin, thick and balmy as always, yet something felt… off. The usual hum of the city—the distant sound of engines, the low chatter of late-night pedestrians—had faded into something too quiet. Too still. As if the universe itself had drawn a breath and refused to let go.
Her senses went on high alert as a whisper of static brushed against her skin. Then, pain. Blinding. White-hot. All consuming. A sharp, merciless pierce of agony lancing through her skull.
She stumbled, moaning as her head swam. The hard stone rushed up to meet her.
And darkness followed.
Chapter Two
Eryndor tipped his glass back, draining the last of the potent Yvrendine wine in a single swallow. The burn did nothing to numb the ache in his chest. Then again, he wasn’t here for the alcohol, anyway.
His gaze flicked to the empty bar. Briette was gone. He’d been too wrapped up in his own pity to notice. She was the only reason he came to this godforsaken place so deep in Gritfolk territory, yet he’d been too lost in his own head to pay her the attention she deserved. Or to really pause and soak up the effortless sunlight she gave off with every smile.
Despite doing everything in his power as a well-educated, infinitely experienced trauma surgeon, he’d lost three kids in the OR following a tragic air collision involving two self-piloted skyva. Neither had updated patch logs.
That didn’t matter, though. There was more he could’ve done. Ways he could’ve prevented those unnecessary deaths. Dangerous ways—actions that would put himself and all those he loved at grave risk—but the simple fact they existed would forever haunt him every time traditional medicine failed.
His fingers curled around the thick, intricate cut of the glass. A familiar feeling, and not just because he’d been drinking from one like it damn near nightly for half a year. It was Aekosian crystal. A relic from his now destroyed homeland. How the Vine & Bean could afford the high-end glassware when their establishment was deep in the heart of Gritfolk territory was beyond him. It hinted at a shadow economy involvement he’d rather not associate with the place Briette worked. Not because he’d judge her if she sought a better life outside the bounds of her class—who could?—but because of the risk it would pose to her safety.
He exhaled, setting down the revered object with careful precision before flagging down Briette’s sorry replacement to pay for his bill. Jaxstyn scooped the scanner out from beneath the bar and waited for Eryndor to tug the neck of his scrub top down, exposing the hexagon of green pixels tattooed just above his collarbone. Green, because he belonged to the Civica class.
Or so his black-market ICICLE chip and forged tattoo claimed.
When the scanner beeped, indicating successful transfer of the necessary GalCreds, Jaxstyn offered a smile and his thanks. Eryndor just gave a curt nod and made for the exit.
Outside, the tropical night air wrapped around him like a damp second skin. The streets were quiet, save for the occasional distant hum of an airbus overhead and the neon flicker of outdated holo-signs casting a rainbow of eerie light onto the cracked pavement.
One ad flickered brighter than the rest, its pristine blue glow out of place in the grime of this poorly funded zone.
Aether Prime.
Eryndor’s gut twisted as the image shifted from the product’s logo to a Nolvarii Sovereign lounging in a floating bath of bioluminescent liquid set against one of the many brilliant neon jungles of Zeyvaris. A soft smile played over his lips, skin glowing from stolen vitality. He held a fluted glass delicately between two fingers, its contents the stomach-churning silvery pink of Aekosi blood, concentrated, and mixed with the preservatives that prevented coagulation during the bottling and shipping process. Text flashed at the bottom of the screen. Eternal life, at your fingertips.
He clenched his jaw and forced his gaze away, turning toward the hover deck where he’d left his skyva.
Then—a sound. Barely audible even in the calm of the night. Soft. Strained. Muffled. A whimper.
His instincts sharpened in an instant, the exhaustion of the day burned away by something cold and primal. His head snapped toward the alley wedged between Vine & Bean and a dingy laundromat. There.
The pungent mixture of rotting garbage, verrak grease, and wet cardboard mingled with the scents wafting from the nearby restaurants. The putrid combination all but oozed out of the blackness.
Another noise. A weak, pained cry.
He surged forward, his boots slamming against pavement as he rounded the corner. His eyes adjusted to the darkness as they scanned the damp and derelict space. His desperate gaze caught on the greasy puddles, the plasma etched graffiti covering the crumbling synth-stone walls on either side, and finally landed on a pair of rusted refuse vaults, an unidentifiable fluid leaking from the one closest to where he stood.
Eryndor stalked closer to the shadowed alcove created by the hulking metal garbage bins. A muffled moan escaped from the darkness, and he charged into the opening—then froze.
Briette.
She lay half-obscured beneath the weight of a man who held a laser blade, its tip pressed into the delicate column of her throat. Blood—Luma, so much. It soaked her hair, streaked her skin, and pooled like ink spreading through water.
Too fast. Too much. No one survived that much blood loss.
Eryndor’s roar split the night open.
Before the man could react, Eryndor was on him. Driven by pure instinct, pure fury, pure need to destroy.
He tackled him bodily off Briette, the force sending them both crashing into the alley wall. The impact was sharp, jarring—but he didn’t care. Didn’t think. His fist connected with flesh, again and again, every fiber of his being vibrating with the unrelenting need to annihilate.
The man snarled, twisting, lashing out with the knife. There was a hiss of heat as the blade ignited, followed by a sharp burn that seared across Eryndor’s forearm. He barely felt it. Catching the attacker’s wrist, he slammed it against the brick until bone cracked and the weapon clattered to the ground.
The bastard’s panicked eyes flicked from the knife to Eryndor’s face. He recognized the loss for what it was. Guaranteed defeat.
With a gasping, gurgled curse, the man shoved hard against Eryndor’s chest and stumbled back, staggering toward the mouth of the alley. He turned—just for a second, just long enough for Eryndor to catch the rough edges of the scarified, ink-black tattoo peeking out from beneath his blood-soaked flextee.
A gasp escaped Briette then—a soft, wet, strangled sound—and his world narrowed to only her.
Falling to his knees, Eryndor’s pulse thundered as his mind cataloged her injuries with brutal, surgical efficiency—massive cranial trauma, severe lacerations, extensive blood loss. Too much blood loss. She wouldn’t make it. Even if he called for med-tech support, even if a medi-lift arrived in seconds—it wouldn’t be fast enough.
He swallowed hard, his hands helplessly hovering over her broken body. She wasn’t just a stranger. She wasn’t just a casualty of the cruel, uncaring universe. She was Briette. The first woman in his four hundred and fifty-some-odd years on this plane of existence who had gotten past the walls he’d built around his heart. It didn’t matter that he was forbidden to be with her. All that mattered was how he felt, fruitless though those feelings may be.
He clenched his jaw, his decision already made.
Luma help him. He shouldn’t. But the alternative—the thought of Briette slipping away, of her pulse fading into silence while he sat back and watched—
No. Not when there was something he could do.
He grabbed the discarded blade from the ground, his grip steady as the blue laser flickered, then bit into his wrist. The skin split. A sharp sting—then warmth. Silver-pink blood welled to the surface, luminous even in the dim alley glow.
