Primal Bond (Warlords of Vasz #4)

2. Chapter 2

Chapter two

Z anik stood in the docking bay of his ship, arms crossed and a scowl etched deep into his features. He glanced at the human — Finn , Urlek had called him, the name thin and wispy between Urlek's sharp teeth — standing a few feet away.

The boy was a sorry sight: grimy, bruised, and hunched as if carrying the weight of worlds on his shoulders.

What a mess. Zanik had expected money from Urlek, not this pathetic prize of war. Another problem to solve.

Where had a wretch like Urlek even found a pet human, of all things? Borraq had been at war with humans for years. The frontline between human and Borraq space was heavily patrolled by both sides — only someone foolish or suicidal would dare go near it, lest they be shot to ribbons by both sides. Zanik had heard rumors now and again of some Borraq flaunting captured human prisoners, but they were just that: rumors. If the Borraq military ever caught you harboring an enemy, you'd be executed.

Knowing Urlek, he'd probably won the damn thing in a bet.

Zanik's gaze swept over Finn's form, noting the cuts and bruises that marred his skin. Marks of Urlek’s depravity. Zanik clenched his jaw, swallowing down his irritation. The boy looked fragile, like he might shatter if handled too roughly.

Pathetic.

Finn's hair was tousled, a sandy brown mop that probably hadn't seen water in days. Dirt streaked across his cheeks, mingling with dried blood from a cut above his eyebrow. His clothes — if you could call them that — hung off him in tatters.

But it was the eyes that caught Zanik's attention: warm brown pools filled with anger and fear in equal measure. Instead of being beaten down and dulled by pain, those eyes were lively — and currently searching for something as they darted around the docking bay.

Maybe the human was looking for hope, or an ally, or even just an opportunity to run. Futile.

The human finally noticed Zanik's gaze. He shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny, drawing his thin arms around himself as if trying to form a barrier against the world.

Zanik’s mind raced through the labyrinth of his responsibilities. The Borraq military pretended to run this sector, but everyone knew who really held the power here.

At the edge of the law, smugglers ran things — and Zanik was their king. He had shipments to oversee, deals to finalize, and rivals to outmaneuver. His network spanned the entire sector, a web of alliances and enmities. The smugglers under his command respected him out of fear and necessity; Zanik didn’t tolerate incompetence or betrayal.

And right now, he wasn't interested in being a babysitter.

His gaze narrowed on Finn. What to do with him? He couldn’t just leave the human here in his ship's docking bay, but when he'd commissioned the construction of the Ironclad , he hadn't exactly added a pen for humans.

"Come."

Finn didn’t move, eyes narrowing in suspicion. Could the human even understand him? As far as Zanik knew, humans and Borraq had Common as a shared language. But maybe Urlek had thrown this one around a few too many times…

With a sigh that betrayed his frustration, Zanik reached out and gripped Finn’s arm. Despite the grime and bruises covering him, the human’s skin felt warm and soft under his fingers.

Warm. Soft. Inviting. Everyone knew that humans were trouble. With their enticing pheromones, they could turn the head of any Borraq…

Any but Zanik. When he'd volunteered for the frontlines, he'd signed up for genetic modification that reduced his ability to catch the scent. He hadn't wanted to be affected by it, lusting after humans even as he hunted them down. Unlike his easily-distracted fellow warriors, he'd kept himself focused.

This close, though, he could still catch a faint trace of it. Something sweet, something inviting. Something that would curl like smoke down into the deepest depths of him, if he let it.

He wasn't going to. If the human was hoping that his scent would make Zanik kind, he was wrong.

Zanik closed his grip around the human's arm.

"Fuck off," Finn snapped, jerking his arm free with surprising strength.

Well, at least that answered that question. Zanik’s icy stare met Finn’s defiant glare, and an unexpected curiosity flickered inside him.

Beneath the grime and bruises, the boy wasn’t broken. There was still a fire there.

Interesting .

Zanik released Finn’s arm, his expression hardening to mask his intrigue. "You belong to me now," he said, voice low and firm, leaving no room for argument. "Get moving."

Finn's eyes flashed with anger, but he took a step forward. Zanik turned, leading the way into the ship. He heard Finn's hesitant footsteps behind him, the soft sound of bare feet on metal grating.

Good.

As they walked through the narrow corridors of the Ironclad, Zanik couldn’t help but glance back at Finn. The human’s defiance was palpable. Not recklessly, stupidly — this was someone who had clearly learned a lesson the hard way about directly challenging a Borraq. But there was something alive and intent in the way that Finn's gaze was pinned on Zanik, thoughts racing behind those rich brown depths.

It had been a long time since Zanik had seen such sharpness in someone so downtrodden.

Zanik's eyes narrowed as he led Finn through the ship's corridors. The boy’s defiance reminded him of someone he hadn't thought about in years: himself, when he was much younger. The same burning need to resist, to fight against the chains binding him…

He had been like that once. Before everything went to hell.

A memory surged up, unbidden and unwelcome: Airen’s laugh echoing through the training grounds, a sound that had once brought warmth to Zanik's heart. Airen had been his closest friend, his confidant. It was Airen who had coaxed him out of his shell, who had seen potential in him when no one else did.

Airen's voice still rang in his mind after all these years, clear and vibrant. The two of them sparring under the blazing sun, their laughter mingling with the clash of weapons. Airen’s encouraging words and infectious spirit had made Zanik believe in himself.

Then came the frontlines. Airen had stood beside him on that fateful day when everything shattered.

Zanik had stumbled. Airen had paused to help him up.

That had been enough time for the human aiming the gun.

Zanik squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, forcing the memories away. He had replayed that moment countless times in his mind. The pain was a familiar companion now, an old wound that would never heal.

His decision not to return home after the war was one made in agony and shame. Facing his clan without Airen by his side seemed unbearable. He couldn’t look into their eyes and see the judgment, the guilt mirrored back at him.

So he'd stayed out in space, carving out a life as a smuggler instead. It was a life of constant motion and danger — a way to keep the ghosts at bay.

As they reached the bridge door, Zanik took a deep breath, pushing down the dark emotions swirling inside him. He couldn't afford to let them surface now — not with Finn watching his every move with those surprisingly sharp brown eyes.

He straightened his shoulders, regaining his composure. This was the life he chose — the only life for him now. There was no going back to what once was.

He glanced back at Finn one last time before opening the bridge door. "Keep up," he ordered curtly.

Finn followed without a word, but Zanik could feel the tension radiating off him.

Good. There was no room for weakness here. Only strength would do.

The Ironclad was a sleek, predatory beast. Zanik had invested years molding it into the perfect vessel for his needs. Streamlined for speed, its matte black exterior blended into the surrounding darkness of space, making it nearly invisible to prying eyes.

It was lean and mean, capable of running with just two crew: Zanik, and...

Kelara appeared as if conjured by his thoughts. Her tall frame moved with a mercenary efficiency, her sharp horns catching the ship lights. "Zanik, I have the latest from Delta Station—"

She halted when she saw Finn, her sharp eyes widening in surprise. “What in the lowest hells is that ?”

Zanik ground his teeth, the memory of Urlek's smirk fresh in his mind. "Urlek paid half his debt," he said tersely. "And that half now needs feeding and shelter."

Kelara's disdain was palpable. "That gutter scum," she muttered, her lip curling. "Always finding new ways to sink lower."

Her gaze shifted to Finn, curiosity flickering in her eyes. "It's a strange looking thing, isn't it? I've never seen a human in the flesh before."

"You're lucky," Zanik replied grimly. His icy stare shifted from Finn to Kelara. "What do you have to report?"

Kelara straightened, her expression snapping back to professional. "Rival smuggling lines near Delta are crossing ours," she said. "He's encroaching further into our territory."

The thought of his rival made Zanik’s blood boil. Rivek . A ruthless and dangerous rival, more snake than Borraq. He had no sense of honor, only a voracious appetite for power and wealth.

Zanik's fingers curled into fists at his sides. The rivalry with Rivek was a festering wound, one that seemed to grow deeper with each passing day. Both of them were gunning to be the sector’s top smuggler, and the stakes were getting higher.

The winner was going to take all. And the loser…

Well. Zanik would make sure that that wasn't going to be him. "What kind of activity?" Zanik's voice was cold, controlled.

Kelara glanced at Finn, hesitating for a moment before continuing. "He’s been intercepting our shipments, bribing our contacts. It’s getting bolder, more coordinated."

Zanik gritted his teeth. Every intercepted shipment was a slap in the face, a direct challenge to his authority. Rivek wasn’t just trying to expand; he was declaring war. "He's testing our lines."

Kelara nodded. "And he's not holding back this time. There have been whispers about him aligning with other rogue factions, forming alliances. He's trying to find an angle to get leverage."

Zanik's jaw tightened. Rivek was always two steps ahead, always pushing boundaries. His methods were brutal: intimidation, coercion, and outright violence were his tools of choice.

In contrast, Zanik tried to maintain a semblance of order among his organization. Strength and authority were paramount, but he still adhered to a code of honor — a relic from his days as a warrior in his clan. It had worked. Traders, criminals, and smugglers weren't exactly honorable, but they appreciated working for an organization that wouldn't stab them in the back for a few extra credits. People respected Zanik.

But out here in the lawlessness of the sector, respect only got you so far. If Rivek flexed hard enough, Zanik's constellation of suppliers and transporters would pledge allegiance to him in a heartbeat if it meant keeping themselves safe.

Zanik's mind raced through potential strategies. They needed to tighten security around their operations, reinforce their alliances, and hit back harder than ever before.

"Double our patrols," he ordered. "Not near Delta — he'll know that we know about him by now. He'll be hoping we shift our attention there, and leave a flank exposed. Double protection on anything moving through Epsilon instead. No shipment leaves there without an armed escort."

Kelara nodded sharply and left, already mentally compiling the list of tasks.

As he stared out the viewport, the expanse of space stretching endlessly before him, Zanik felt a weariness settle deep in his bones. Always on guard. Always waiting for Rivek's next move. It never stopped.

The Ironclad hummed softly, a soothing sound that belied the tension simmering within its walls. Zanik’s thoughts drifted back to the boy — to this Finn…

Zanik turned abruptly, eyes scanning the corridor.

Finn was nowhere to be seen.