Page 48 of Enslak

The gurney groaned under the force of his movement, metal scraping against metal as he pushed himself up.

I stumbled backward, my spine hitting the bulkhead. There was nowhere to go. The cargo hold was small, designed for efficiency, not escape routes. Enslak stood between me and the only door.

He rose to his full height, towering over me, his chest heaving with each breath. The torn restraints hung from his wrists like broken chains.

His eyes swept the room—wild, unfocused, searching for threats. For enemies.

Then they locked on me.

"Enslak!" I held up my hands, forcing my voice to stay calm even as adrenaline flooded my system. My heart hammered against my ribs. Every nerve ending screamed danger, the primal need to flee. My body went into full fight-or-flight mode, trembling under the weight of his rage, the sheer lethal potential radiating from him.

But I wasn't afraid of him.

That was the paradox cutting through the panic. My body registered the danger—the feral snarl, the extended claws, the raw power coiled in his massive frame. But somewhere bone-deep, soul-deep, I knew. The same way I'd known in that cell on Merisalle that he'd protect me. The same way I'd known in the sewers that his gentleness was real, not a mask. That connection we'd forged—through blood and fear and desperate escape—had carved something into me that transcended logic.

He'd never hurt me. Not like this. Not ever.

"It's me. It's Niki. You're safe. You're not in the cell anymore. You're not on Merisalle."

A growl rumbled from his chest, feral and dangerous.

"Look at me," I said, keeping my voice calm and soft. "Please, Enslak. Look at me. You know me. You saved me. Remember?"

His eyes found mine. For a heartbeat, there was nothing there but animal instinct. Fight or flight. Kill or be killed.

Then something shifted.

Recognition flickered across his face. His growl faltered. His body remained tense, coiled, ready to strike—but he didn't lunge.

"That's it." I took a small step closer. "It's me. Niki. The one you carried through the sewers. The one you protected from the guards."

His breathing was still rapid, his chest heaving, but the wildness in his eyes was fading. Confusion replaced it. Then awareness.

"You're safe," I repeated. "I promise. You're safe with me."

He straightened slowly, his claws retracting, his posture shifting from aggressive to uncertain. He looked around the cargo area, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings, then back at me.

"Niki." My name on his tongue was little more than a growl, uncertain but unmistakable.

Relief hit me so hard my knees nearly buckled. "Yes. Niki. I'm here. You're okay."

He took a step toward me, then stopped, staring down at his hands as if seeing them for the first time. Taking in the lack of augments, the healed skin where blaster wounds had been, the absence of the collar that had bound him for so long.

"We're safe now," I said softly. "Both of us."

He looked at me, and I saw the question in his eyes even if he couldn't form the words.

"Come on." I moved toward the ship's hatch. "Let me show you."

I opened the hatch and the smell hit me first.

Not the recycled air of the ship or the sterile scent of the Bardaga's medi-bay. This was alive. Rich and green and growing, with undertones of flowers and earth and something sweet I couldn't quite place.

I stepped onto the ramp, and Avalon stole my breath.

The clearing was maybe fifty yards across, ringed by massive trees with bark that looked almost metallic in the orange sunlight. The grass—if it was grass—came up to my knees and rippled in waves despite the barely-there breeze, each blade tipped with something that caught the light like dew.

Flowers grew in clusters throughout the clearing. Not Earth flowers. These were larger, more complex, with petals that shifted colors as I watched—blues bleeding into purples bleeding into golds. Some stood taller than me, their blooms the size of dinner plates.