A human who could channel Moon Tear energy, even accidentally, was either the most valuable asset he’d ever claimed or the most dangerous liability.
“When she wakes—” he began.
“Ifshe wakes without permanent damage.” Yarx’s correction landed like a blade between his ribs. “I’ve stabilized her vitals, but human neurology...” He trailed off, ears drooping. “I’m a healer, my king. Not a xenobiologist. I don’t know enough about their brain chemistry to guarantee recovery.”
Sylas’s claws scraped stone hard enough to leave gouges.
Unacceptable.
He moved closer to the dome, studying her through the barrier. Her golden hair had darkened with sweat, plastered to her skull. Someone—Yarx, probably—had removed the heavy cloak and boots, leaving her in the tunic and leggings that were still damp from snow.
Her feet were small. Delicate. Pale skin showing the network of veins beneath.
Vulnerable in ways that made his chest tighten with something he refused to name.
The door hissed open. Sylas’s head snapped toward the sound, hackles rising on instinct.
The Lux Priest entered, his white fur stark against the dark corridor behind him. He carried his datapad, his expression grave as he took in the scene—the unconscious human, the Alpha King who hadn’t left her side, the tension thick enough to choke on.
“My king.” He bowed his head, exposing his throat. “I came as soon as I heard about the retrieval. The core—” His gaze found the containment unit in the corner, and his ears shot forward. “You have it.”
“Secured and waiting.” Sylas’s voice carried warning. “What do you need?”
“To examine it. Verify its integrity before we proceed with installation.” The priest’s paws trembled slightly around his datapad—excitement or fear, impossible to tell. “The grid destabilizes further by the hour. Three more nodes failed in the western quadrant during your absence. If this core is what the initial readings suggested—”
“Then examine it,” Sylas cut him off, returning his attention to the dome. To Elsa. “But quietly.”
The priest moved to the containment unit with reverent care, extracting specialized tools from his robes. He worked in silence, broken only by soft beeps from his scanner and the occasional sharp intake of breath.
Sylas barely registered the activity. His focus remained locked on the shallow rise and fall of Elsa’s chest, the flutter of her pulse visible in her throat, the way her fingers twitched occasionally as if reaching for something in whatever void claimed her consciousness.
She’d bargained with him. Demanded information in exchange for cooperation. Challenged him with questions and defiance and a sharp mind that refused to simply break under pressure.
Asset maintenance. That’s what this should be. Practical concern for valuable property.
His beast knew better. It prowled beneath his skin, snarling warnings about mates and bonds and claims that went deeper than territorial law.
“Lux’s mercy.” The priest’s whisper drew Sylas’s attention despite himself.
The old male stood frozen before the containment unit, his scanner forgotten in one trembling paw. His white fur seemed to glow in the blue light emanating from within the shielded container.
“What?” Sylas’s patience frayed to nothing.
“The purity.” The priest looked up, amber eyes wide with something between awe and desperation. “My king, this exceeds anything in our records. Anything our ancestors mined before the veins ran thin.” He gestured to the scanner’s display. “No contamination. No structural flaws. It’sperfect.”
“I’m aware.” Sylas had seen the initial readings before they’d left for the retrieval. Had known what they were risking the Fallen for. “How many nodes will it stabilize?”
“All of them.” The priest’s voice cracked. “The entire eastern quadrant. Possibly portions of the western grid as well. Maybe even reinforce the central nexus enough to—” He stopped, collecting himself with visible effort. “This isn’t just a patch, my king. This is asolution. Temporary, yes, but it could buy us years instead of months.”
Years. The word hung in the recycled air, heavy with implications.
Years to find alternative power sources. Years to train new engineers. Years to reverse the slow decline that had plagued their civilization since the purest Moon Tear veins had run dry.
Years where he didn’t have to watch strong males descend into Fallen madness because contaminated crystals poisoned them faster than they could be replaced.
“Then we install it immediately.” Sylas’s claws flexed against his thigh. “Prep the integration chamber. Assemble your best engineers—”
“My king.” The priest’s interruption was unprecedented. His ears flattened in immediate apology, but he pressed forward. “Please. The grid won’t last another day without this core. The western nodes—when they failed, two villages lost defensive coverage. The Fallen attacked within hours.” His voice dropped. “Fourteen dead. Twenty-three wounded. Children among them.”