And Tove would go with it.
"No," I growled, the sound raw and metallic in the empty room.
I had to get her out. I had to secure her safety before the fire in my blood tore me apart.
I carefully slipped my arms beneath her knees and back, lifting her off the hard floor. The moment I stood, my body protested. A wave of intense, blistering heat surged through my chest, and a thin trail of gray smoke began to drift upward from the scales along my collarbone. The physical strain of holding back my thermal output—of forcing my own burning skin to keep from scorching her—was pure, unadulterated agony. It felt like trying to hold a handful of liquid magma inside a paper cup.
Tove sighed in her sleep, her fingers curling subconsciously to grasp the ridged curve of my collarbone, anchoring herself to me even in her exhaustion. Her cool fingers brushed against my bare skin, and I flinched, my muscles locking as I desperately pulled my internal fire away from that spot, funneling the heat downward into my legs. My bare feet groaned, the tough, heat-resistant scales of my soles softening against the hot metal floor.
I kicked the crumpled durasteel door open and stepped out into the corridor.
The sub-levels were a nightmare of smoke and failing systems. Steam hissed violently from ruptured conduits overhead, forming dense, scalding clouds that condensed on the walls. The concrete floor plates beneath my feet were beginning to warp, buckling from the heat rising from the geothermal vents below. Every step sent a fresh shock of agonizing heat radiating through my bare soles, the tough scales sticking and tacking against the superheated floor.
The air was thick with the bitter, sharp scent of scorched wiring, burning insulation, and pulverized drywall. The emergency sirens screamed in a continuous, deafening loop,their amber strobes painting the crumbling concrete walls in rhythmic pulses of orange.
Every step was a battle against my own biology. The mate bond, now fully formed and screaming in my chest, demanded that I stay close to her, that I wrap myself around her and never let go. But my mind—the cold, logical part of me that had spent decades monitoring the dangers of this planet—knew that my proximity was the greatest threat she faced.
I navigated the twisting, collapsing corridors, stepping over fallen metal beams and piles of shattered duraglass. A sudden tremor shook a section of the ceiling loose, sending a shower of burning ceiling tiles and heavy drywall dust down upon us. I snapped my wings forward, wrapping them tightly, defensively around Tove, creating a thick, insulated canopy of feathers that blocked the falling debris and hot sparks from touching her. My feathers, normally a sleek, glossy charcoal black, felt dry and brittle, showing the advanced strain of the final cycle. The tips of the pinions were already dusted with tinges of powdery white—like the ash capping the hottest embers of a dying fire—and they curled and blackened further under the extreme thermal output radiating from my own back, the scent of singed down rising into the smoke.
Just a little further,I told myself, my teeth grinding together so hard my jaw joints cracked.Just keep her safe.
I reached the heavy, reinforced blast doors of the Warden sub-level's automated emergency rescue pod bay. This was a high-security bunker facility, built deep into the basalt rock and designed to withstand a total resort collapse. It was a sector reserved exclusively for native Warden staff—those of us who stayed behind during disasters when the corporate executives fled.
I slammed my palm against the manual override panel. The heavy durasteel doors groaned, sliding back slowly to reveal a clean, circular bay.
Unlike the chaotic corridors outside, the pod bay was eerily silent. The automated systems were still functioning on independent backup power, the circular launch tracks glowing with a steady, pulsing amber light. In the center of the bay sat three heavily armored, temperature-shielded evacuation pods. They were deep-space survival units, built with thick titanium-alloy hulls and heavy thermal shielding designed to survive atmospheric reentry or a direct volcanic blast.
I carried Tove to the nearest pod, my legs trembling under the immense, growing weight of the tectonic charge building in my chest. My vision was beginning to blur, fringed with a persistent, flickering halo of white fire.
I carefully laid Tove down on the padded interior seat of the pod. The cool, pristine fabric of the seat seemed to soothe her, and she settled back with a soft sigh.
I reached down and grabbed a heavy, insulated emergency thermal blanket from the open survival gear locker near the entrance—one made of multi-layered thermal fabric designed to withstand extreme volcanic radiation. I folded it gently over her chest and shoulders, tucking the thick, heavy material around her bare body like a protective wrap. It would shield her from the initial, brutal forces of the launch acceleration.
I stood there for a single, agonizing second, looking down at her. Her body lay completely limp, a heavy, trusting weight in my arms. Her chest rose and fell in a slow, peaceful rhythm, utterly motionless despite the sirens screaming through the bulkheads and the concrete dust settling over the pod. I was about to lock her in a tomb to save her from myself.
"Live, Tove," I whispered, my voice cracking, thick with a grief that felt far heavier than the tectonic energy in my veins. "You have to live."
The mate bond in my chest sheared, a raw, physical pain that felt like a blade slicing through my lungs as I stepped backward, out of the pod.
I reached out and slammed my hand onto the pod’s exterior control panel. The heavy, armored hatch slid shut with a deep, hydraulic hiss, sealing her inside the quiet, protected cocoon. The small, reinforced viewport on the door showed her sleeping face, safe behind three inches of tempered lead-glass.
I turned to the main system console, my hands shaking, my fingers slick with a glowing, golden sweat that sizzled and vaporized the moment it dripped onto the metal deck.
"Automated launch sequence," I muttered, my voice tight. "Target: Orbital rescue station."
I raised my hand and pressed my palm flat against the primary launch interface screen.
The moment my skin made contact with the terminal, everything went wrong.
The surging thermal and electromagnetic charge radiating from my superheated core was no longer containable. The moment my hand touched the glass sensor, the raw energy surged out of my palm. A violent, crackling arc of white-hot current leaped from my skin, snapping up my arm in a blinding blue flash that made every muscle in my shoulder spasm. The electricity surged straight into the terminal's wiring.
Bang!
The console erupted in a violent shower of blue sparks, popping capacitors, and thick black smoke. The digital interface shattered, the screen going completely dark as the delicate circuitry vaporized instantly.
Throughout the bay, the amber guide lights flickered once and died, plunged into a terrifying, suffocating darkness. The heavy, resonant hum of the automated launch rails instantly cut out, replaced by the high-pitched, dying whine of a short-circuited power grid.
Then, a heavy, deafening mechanical clank echoed through the dark bay. The industrial durasteel launch clamps on the rails snapped shut, locking the pod securely to the launch pad in a fail-secure state. The mechanical clamps were frozen, completely jammed in the darkness. Tove was completely safe, sealed inside an armored vault that could withstand a nuclear blast, but she was trapped. She could not launch.
