Primal Bond (Warlords of Vasz #4)

8. Chapter 8

Chapter eight

F inn lay in the dim light of Zanik’s quarters, eyes fixed on the plate beside him. The crumbs of the pastry Zanik bought earlier in the day dotted the surface, remnants of a rare moment of indulgence.

The Borraq treat had had a rich, buttery flavor, with a hint of sweetness that lingered on his tongue. It was easily the best thing he’d eaten since being taken as a slave.

His stomach twisted at the memory of Kelara snatching most of it for herself, her eyebrow cocked at Zanik, as if questioning his sanity for buying it in the first place. He almost laughed, remembering her unapologetic delight as she devoured it.

But laughter didn't come easily tonight. His mind was stuck on the image of Zanik, cold and efficient, stabbing Drezak without hesitation. Finn had watched it all on the monitor, feeling a mix of awe and fear. Zanik’s blade had plunged into Drezak’s throat with deadly precision, a testament to his strength and ruthlessness.

Why couldn’t he be that strong? That dangerous?

Finn’s fingers curled into fists, nails digging into his palms. If he'd been stronger, maybe he wouldn’t have ended up here. Maybe he could’ve fought Rivek off, escaped the chains, avoided the torment…

A wave of self-loathing washed over him, mingling with the ever-present fear that gnawed at his insides. He hated how weak he felt, how vulnerable. How had it come to this? He'd just been a kid who wanted to see the stars, to have adventures.

Now he was a thing to own, a pet, his fate constantly out of his hands.

If he had been stronger, smarter, more resilient...

But he wasn’t. He was just Finn, a guy with no family, no one to rely on but himself.

So this is what it’s come to, huh? Lying in a Borraq’s bed, eating scraps, and dreaming of a strength I’ll never have. Pathetic, Finn.

Yet, beneath the bitterness of his thoughts, there was a flicker of something else.

Maybe it was the pastry, or the strange, confusing kindness Zanik had shown by buying it. Maybe it was the grudging respect he felt for his new ally, despite everything.

Or maybe it was the stubborn ember of hope that refused to be snuffed out, no matter how dark things got.

Finn closed his eyes, trying to hold onto that ember. Tomorrow would be another day, another chance to prove he wasn’t as weak as he felt.

All he had to do was get to tomorrow… But that was a long night away.

Trying to sleep was going to be a waste of time, he could already tell that. Finn slipped out of his quarters, moving quietly through the dim corridors of the ship.

After their pact, Zanik had unlocked the door to his quarters. Finn could now move through some of the Ironclad — though the bridge and docking bay were still strictly off limits. He could go to the shower block or the mess, but not steal a gun or hijack the ship. Pfft, where was the fun in that?

The soft hum of the engines was a constant companion, a backdrop to Finn's restless thoughts. His bare feet padded silently on the cold metal floor as he made his way to the mess. A glass of water might calm his mind.

But when he got there, it was occupied.

Zanik sat at one of the tables, bathed in the soft, ambient light of the ship’s night lighting. He was dressed casually, a stark contrast to his usual black leather armor. The sight caught Finn off guard; he had never seen Zanik so... relaxed.

Zanik’s muscular form was outlined by the dim light, every contour of his body seeming more pronounced in the shadows. His horns cast long shadows on the walls. The intensity in Zanik’s eyes was still there, though softened by an uncharacteristic weariness.

Finn cleared his throat, stepping into the room. “Didn’t expect to see you here,” he said, his voice light, masking the vulnerability that gnawed at him. “Thought you’d be in the bridge.”

Zanik’s gaze lifted, locking onto Finn. “Couldn’t sleep,” he replied, his voice carrying a tiredness that surprised Finn. There was a hint of frustration there, a rare crack in Zanik’s usual stoic demeanor.

Finn moved to the dispenser, pouring himself a glass of water. “Join the club,” he muttered, taking a sip. “Seems like it's hard to get much rest these days.”

Zanik’s eyes followed Finn’s movements. Finn could feel the tension in the air, the silent challenge that always seemed to accompany their interactions. He set his glass down and leaned against the counter, crossing his arms.

“Not used to seeing you out of your armor,” Finn remarked, trying to keep the banter light. “Almost didn’t recognize you.”

Zanik’s lips twitched, almost forming a smile. “Armor’s not exactly comfortable for sleeping in,” he said, a trace of amusement in his voice.

Finn nodded, feeling an unexpected warmth at the sight of Zanik’s almost-smile. “Yeah, well, I suppose even smugglers need to relax sometimes,” he said lightly, though his heart was pounding.

There was something disarming about seeing Zanik like this, stripped of his usual defenses. Like he was just another guy, instead of a terrifying monster alien.

Zanik leaned back in his chair, studying Finn. “You’re talkative tonight.”

Finn shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Just trying to pass the time,” he said, though the truth was he felt an odd compulsion to keep talking, to bridge the gap between them. “Besides, it’s not like I have many other options for conversation around here.”

Finn took another sip of water, the cool liquid doing little to settle his nerves. The air between him and Zanik felt charged, like a storm waiting to break. He studied the Borraq across from him, noticing the way Zanik’s shoulders slumped slightly, a rare sign of vulnerability.

“So, what’s keeping you up?” Finn asked, trying to sound casual but genuinely curious. “Bad dreams? Or just too much on your mind?”

Zanik’s gaze shifted to the table, his fingers drumming a soft rhythm against the metal surface. For a moment, Finn thought he wouldn’t answer, but then Zanik’s voice cut through the silence.

“Memories,” he said, his tone heavy. “Things I’d rather forget but can’t seem to escape.”

The weight of his words hung heavy in the air. Memories, huh? Finn understood them all too well. He nodded, feeling a pang of empathy. “Yeah, I get that. Memories can be relentless. They sneak up on you, especially in the night.”

Zanik’s gaze shifted, a flicker of curiosity in his icy stare. “You have them too?”

Finn’s laugh was humorless. “More than I’d like to admit. Being a slave... you see things. You endure things. It changes you.”

He felt Zanik’s eyes on him, probing, but he couldn’t stop now. The words tumbled out, raw and unfiltered. “I was just a kid, you know? Thought I could take on the galaxy. But then Rivek happened. And suddenly, I was nothing. Just another piece of merchandise.”

Zanik’s expression softened, a subtle shift that didn’t go unnoticed by Finn. “You survived. That takes strength.”

Finn scoffed, bitterness coating his tongue. “Survived, yeah. But at what cost? I lost everything. My freedom, my dignity...”

My sense of self. The words stuck in his throat.

The silence stretched between them, heavy and charged. Finn’s heart raced, the vulnerability of his confession leaving him exposed. He waited for Zanik to dismiss him, to reinforce the walls Finn had spent so long building.

Instead, Zanik’s voice was low, almost a murmur. “I know what it’s like to lose yourself. The war took everything from me. Friends, honor. My purpose.”

Finn blinked, surprised by the admission. He had always seen Zanik as this unyielding force, but now he glimpsed the cracks beneath the surface. “What happened?” he asked, his curiosity genuine.

Zanik’s jaw tightened. “I lost someone. Someone who was supposed to protect me. His death... It was my fault.”

There was guilt in his voice. Finn felt a pang of empathy. “It’s not your fault,” he said quietly. “Sometimes things… just happen.”

Zanik’s gaze snapped back to Finn, a storm of emotions swirling in his eyes. “It doesn’t make it easier.”

Finn nodded, understanding all too well. “Yeah, I know."

A heavy silence settled over the mess room, thick with unspoken thoughts and emotions. Zanik's muscles tensed, his broad shoulders tightening as if bracing for an unseen impact. A deep furrow appeared between his brows, etching worry lines across his forehead.

Finn couldn't help but study Zanik's form, his eyes tracing the contours of the alien's muscular body. The proximity to a Borraq stirred something within him – a potent mixture of fear and shame.

The familiar scent of Zanik's species filled his nostrils, triggering a flood of memories from his time as a pleasure slave. His cheeks grew hot as unwanted images flashed through his mind.

The things he'd been forced to do, the humiliation he'd endured...

Yet now, looking at Zanik, those memories took on a different hue. Finn's breath caught in his throat as he imagined what it might be like to touch Zanik, to feel those strong hands on his skin.

What would it be like to help Zanik relax? To ease the tension from those broad shoulders? The thought sent a shiver down Finn's spine, a mix of excitement and shame coursing through him.

God, what am I thinking? Finn berated himself, his face flushing an even deeper shade of red. This is Zanik. He's a Borraq, just like all the others. He's dangerous.

The air in the room suddenly felt too thick, too heavy. "I'm done," Finn stammered, pushing himself away from the counter. "See you tomorrow."

Finn practically bolted from the mess, his heart pounding against his ribcage. Zanik's piercing gaze burned into his back, but he didn’t dare turn around.