Private A Dangerous Kind of Arrival

[Kaelon Virex]

Kael's breath caught the moment she re-entered the room.

It wasn't just the way she looked—though Maker help him, the fitted pants and that top hugging her curves just right definitely threatened to short-circuit his neurons—it was the lightness in her. The bounce in her step. That stupid, radiant smile she wasn't trying to hide.

She was beautiful. Not just because of the way her body moved or the impossible color of her eyes, but because of the war behind her every breath—and the fact that she was still here. Still smiling. Still letting him in.

"And you…"

That pause.
He caught it.
Even if she buried the truth behind another kiss, he felt it.

Something deeper than desire had started to sink into his bones.
It wasn't about heat or thrill anymore. It was about how she looked at him like he was something she hadn't expected to survive meeting. And how she held him like maybe—just maybe—he was worth staying for.

Kael held her gaze as she whispered:

"You're none of those things… in all the best ways."

His hands found her hips, thumbs brushing slowly over the edge of her jacket. A half-second passed before he answered, and when he did, his voice was low, steady, honest.


"I'm grateful for that," he said. "That I'm not like them."

His forehead rested against hers, their breath mingling in the narrow space between.

"Because I don't want to be another war, or test, or trial you survive."
"I want to be the reason you don't have to."

And then he kissed her again—slow, deep, a silent thank you for every piece of herself she'd trusted him with. He didn't rush it. He savored it. Like he already knew this moment would burn into memory, something he'd carry whether or not the stars let them keep crossing.

When he pulled back, just a breath apart, he gave her that sideways Kael grin again—but softer now. Wiser. A little more exposed.

"I might not be a Jedi," he murmured, thumb tracing her cheek. "No Force tricks, no mind reading, no glowstick saber to flash around."

His other hand slipped around her waist and pulled her in, their bodies close again.

"But I've got something your enemies should fear."

A pause.

"I've got US."

A moment passed....
"And that means there's a bond in me now that nothing can break."

The air between them hummed, quiet and loaded, and for a moment, Kael didn't need anything else—not the getaway, not the day ahead, not even the words.

He had her by his side. And that was more than he ever thought he'd deserve.

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Scherezade's breath hitched again at his words, the promise of something unbreakable stirring something fierce and fragile all at once inside her. She leaned into the touch of his thumb tracing her cheek, grounding herself in the reality of him, solid, steady, here.

Us, was the word of his choice. Not him. Not her. Us.

Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, as if anchoring herself to the safety he represented. But beneath the warmth, a flicker of something else, something sharper, pricked at her heart. There were many ways to describe Scherezade's life, both the good and the bad parts of it that she had gone through. And the one thing that threaded them all together was the fact that she was never actually safe.

And if it was just her, that was fine. She knew to be both blade and shield. She didn't really worry about herself, most of the time. If anything happened to her, her sisters would grieve, but it wouldn't destroy their lives permanently.

But if Kaelon stayed with her…

He did not have the same means as her to survive. Yes, he had his own experience with smuggling and running places that operated in the night. But it wasn't the same. A vibroblade was a limited weapon when you were facing the wrath of a Sith or a Jedi. And Force knew, more than enough of both of them were especially interested in her.

She fought to push the cold knot of fear deeper down, past the surface where it tried to take hold. Because that fear of dragging him into the chaos and danger, was real. But beneath it, something stronger was growing.

Kael. So alive. So unyieldingly himself. His presence cut through the darkness she'd carried for so long, like sunlight fracturing storm clouds. He wasn't perfect. He wasn't invincible. But neither was she. And maybe that was enough. Maybe that was what mattered most.

She could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her palm, the warmth that anchored her in the moment, and it whispered a quiet truth she hadn't dared speak aloud. She wanted this. All of it.

No matter what came after.

Because for the first time in a long time, she was beginning to believe that maybe, just maybe, she could have this.

And yet, even as her mind ticked through every risk, every shadow lurking in her world, she couldn't deny the way he looked at her… The lazy smirk, the way his eyes caught the light, like he already knew every dangerous secret she carried and still wanted more. The way his words wrapped around her like a promise, warm and sharp and impossible to resist. He was wild, unpredictable, and undeniably… hot. Very symmetrical. Gorgeous. Too good with his words, too real in a galaxy full of masks.

She wanted to stay here. With him. To keep chasing the pull between them, to let the day stretch out endlessly, filled with all the quiet moments and sparks in between. Because maybe, just maybe, this, him, was worth every risk.

"Lead the way, Pretty Kael," she grinned at him, "let's go to that secret local place."

Kaelon Virex

 

[Kaelon Virex]

Destination: Luxia Rise.
A private retreat nestled in the upper terrace districts orbiting above Nar Shaddaa's skyline—technically still part of the Smuggler's Moon, but far removed from the grime and chaos of the surface below.

The speeder docked smoothly, and Kael led her through sleek hallways of quiet opulence. Polished black floors. Gold and neon accents. Windows that shimmered like liquid starfields. This wasn't some seedy back-alley hideaway. This was a sanctuary.

"Welcome to the Mirage Loft," Kael murmured as the doors hissed open.

The penthouse spread out before them—high ceilings, soft white lighting, warm wood panels and glass walls that looked out over the endless sprawl of Nar Shaddaa's higher levels. Sunlight danced through the glasteel, diffused through protective filters, giving the place a golden sheen.

A private infinity pool ran along one side of the loft, its waters glowing faint blue. A wide circular bed with silk sheets beckoned from a split-level platform above the lounge. Velvet sofas, soft rugs, and a fully-stocked bar gave the place a sensuous, lived-in vibe.

Kael looked back at her, watching the way her eyes took it all in.

"No one's ever really gotten this far with me," he said quietly, placing a hand on the small of her back. "Usually it's business. Or a way out. But this?" He motioned to the space. "This is for me. And now… it's for us."

He opened a drawer near the bar and pulled out two sleek cards.

"VIP passes to the Mirage Casino downstairs," he grinned. "Slick sabacc tables. Zeltron cabaret shows. Gourmet food. No fights. No drama. Just lights, music, and getting lost in it for a while."

He looked at her more closely now, his voice gentling.

"But only if you want that. We could stay here too. Rest. Swim. Sleep in silk and listen to slow music. I meant it, Scherezade. Whatever you need today to feel like you again… that's what I want to give you."

He stepped a little closer, holding out a card between his fingers like a dare, a flirt, a promise.

"Cards, chips and cocktails?" he asked with a crooked grin. "Or a quiet pool and warm skin?"

A beat.

"Or maybe… both."

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Her boots made no sound on the polished floor. Not with the way she moved, too quiet for someone built on blood and chaos. But her silence wasn't danger, not this time. It was wonder. It was fear.

It was something raw and unexpected blooming in her chest as she took in the Mirage Loft, seeing the gold light and smooth surfaces, the shimmer of stars pretending to be still. This place wasn't just wealth. It was curated safety. A mirage, just like he said. And the most dangerous thing?

She wanted to believe in it.

Her eyes flicked from the pool to the bed to the skyline beyond the glass. Every inch whispered indulgence. Every detail said you're allowed to rest now. No one had ever said that to her and meant it. Even when she had access to her grandmother's penthouse, this had been far from the feeling that accompanied it.

When his voice broke the hush, she didn't flinch, but her fingers curled slightly at her sides, like she was bracing for something heavier than velvet and water. And then he said it. This is for me. And now… it's for us.

That was what undid her. Not the opulence. Not the silk. Not even the gentleness in his tone.

It was the idea that someone had built a thing for themselves and still chose to share it with her. Not out of pity. Not out of manipulation. But because they wanted to. The ache hit sharp and fast behind her ribs. She didn't know what kind of face she was making, only that she didn't want him to see it.

So she turned, just a little, lips twitching upward into a grin that didn't quite reach her eyes yet.

"Oh, Force," she drawled, tilting her head and reaching for the card like she wasn't shaking on the inside. "You're trying to spoil me."

She twirled the card between her fingers, stepping close enough for her shoulder to brush his chest. "You know, you're dangerously good at making this feel like a dream I'm allowed to keep."

But when her gaze met his again, all the heat and humor softened at the edges. There was something quieter underneath now, open and a little fragile, but still very much her.

"I don't remember the last time I was allowed to want both," she said. "So maybe we start with cards. Let the world blur a little."

She knew what this was. What she was. A walking invitation to danger, wrapped in too many knives and a glitter bomb personality. He'd said he didn't mind. Said it like it was simple. Like it didn't terrify her to imagine letting someone in when the galaxy always took everything eventually.

But then she looked at him again.

And stars, he was pretty. The kind of pretty that made your brain short-circuit just long enough to agree to bad decisions with a smile. And his voice, Force, that voice, made even half-formed thoughts sound like poetry and threatened to collapse her knees beneath her.

She reached for his hand, tugging lightly, not quite ready to say what was really in her chest.

"And food," she added, grinning. "I'm ravenous. For everything."

Kaelon Virex

 

[Kaelon Virex]

Kael's lips curved into that signature grin—lazy, lopsided, and laced with just enough heat to make it criminal.

He held her gaze as she reached for his hand, and the way her fingers curled with that barely-there tug… yeah, that was enough to light every fuse in him.

"I'm ravenous. For everything."

Stars. That was a problem.

Because he was rapidly learning he wanted to give her everything.


Instead of answering with words, he gave her a wink, stepped back with a flare of flair—and blew her a kiss.

Casual. Cocky. Sincere.

Then?

With a spin, he smacked the wall panel behind him.

The loft lit up in slow, ambient tones—purples, golds, and deep reds—as soft synth-strings layered with smooth galactic jazz filled the space. The music throbbed low, sultry and confident. Like a lover that knew exactly when to pull close and when to let go.

"Activating Mirage Lounge Playlist. Setting mood: 'Wicked Soft.'" the room's AI chimed with a sassy purr.

Kael turned, eyes on her, and began dancing.

Oh yes, it wasn't polished. It wasn't trained. But it was full of soul and just the right amount of ridiculous—hips swaying, feet catching the rhythm, a mock-serious face that made the whole thing dangerously charming.

He shimmied to the bar console, slapped a button for room service with dramatic flair, and announced to no one:

"One feast for two, coming in hot. Nerf sliders, Trandoshan dumplings, fried Endorian greens, and sweetrolls with wildberry drizzle. You did say ravenous."

A menu screen hovered midair beside him and he tapped in a few cocktail options—Zeltron nectar for her, Blackfire Spritz for him—before tossing the holo menu over his shoulder like a show-off sabacc dealer.

Then he danced back toward her, every step laced with that easy, swaggering confidence that made you forget how messy the galaxy was. Arms extended, he gave her the most ridiculous exaggerated bow, then looked up with a grin that melted all the pretense.

"Come blur the world with me."

He wiggled his fingers for her to join him on the dance floor.

"Just for one song. Maybe two. Then we'll gamble. And eat. And maybe kiss in a hallway while drunk on fruit liquor and bad . One where the only fight is over the last sweetroll."

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Inside her head, she absolutely plucked that kiss from the air and mushed it against her cheek with lazy glee. Her followed his every motion, not bothering with hiding the hungry desire from her eyes. The music started. Scherezade looked around the room for a moment, taking in the changing ambiance.

His body claimed her attention again. Every movement he made set her muscles ready to jump, the follow. For a moment, she nearly forgotten she’d asked for food.

And a moment later, their bodies pressed against each other again, for the dance.

She didn’t launch into it like a warrior charging a battlefield. No. Scherezade swayed into the music like a slow drip of spice into a simmering pot. It was intentional, lingering, and wickedly aware of the heat she brought.

She her hips for, against, and with him. Shameless, hungry, deliciously unrestrained. Not because anyone was watching, but because her body wanted to move. Because the music tugged at something feral in her. Because Kael was watching.

When their bodies met again, it wasn’t with a crash. It was with a melt.

Her arms found their way around his neck, loose but certain, her fingers toying with the ends of his hair like she already had a right to them. She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. Her body did the talking by pressing just close enough to feel the warmth of him through their clothes, swaying with an ease that whispered yes, this.

Every time he moved, she followed. Every time he paused, she filled the silence with a motion of her own; rolling her shoulder, spinning lazily away just to be drawn back again. Not quite chasing. Not quite fleeing. A game without rules, a tension without a name.

When the tempo shifted, she shifted too. Slower now. More deliberate. She let her eyes close for a beat as her hands slid down his chest, fingertips grazing fabric and muscle like she was memorizing both. Her breath hitched when their hips aligned again, when the space between them narrowed to a whisper.

She opened her eyes. Met his.

Grinned.

"Still ravenous," she murmured, her voice honeyed and low, "and not just for sweetrolls."

Kaelon Virex

 

[Kaelon Virex]

Kael's breath caught.

Just caught.

Because stars above, she wasn't just beautiful—she was impossible.

Every sway, every press of her body against his… she didn't move like a woman trying to seduce. She moved like seduction was simply part of her nature. Like gravity and rhythm and heat had signed a pact and named her their favorite weapon.

He'd danced with a lot of people in his life. For pleasure, for show, for the sake of a good bluff. But none of them—none of them—made him forget the room the way Scherezade did.

Every time he thought he led, she took the next breath from his lungs with a turn, a twist, a look over her shoulder that didn't need words.

And every time she gave him space, he met her halfway with a motion that said I see you. I'm not scared of your fire.

Her hands in his hair? Yeah. That was it. That was everything. His grin grew crooked, awed. Devastated in the best way.

And then she whispered that line.

"Still ravenous. And not just for sweetrolls."

His pulse pounded like a drum. Not with lust—but with the kind of exhilaration a man felt when standing on the edge of a cliff and realizing he wanted to fall.

"You…" he exhaled, voice a husky rasp. "You're a miracle and a threat. In one beautiful, unsolvable package."

He took her hand, pressed it to his chest where his heart thundered, then kissed her knuckles. Slowly. Reverently. Like he'd been given something ancient and sacred.

"You dance like a memory I haven't had yet. And I want to keep finding new versions of you in every beat. Every breath."

A soft chime from the wall signaled their food had arrived—like the galaxy trying to remind them time still existed. But Kael didn't flinch. Didn't rush. He let the music slow with them, his arms still wrapped around her hips.

Then he leaned in again, mouth near her ear.

"But even you need fuel."

He gently took her hand and guided her toward the table now perfectly set with their shared feast:

Golden nerf sliders stacked high with melted spiced cheese, glistening dumplings piping hot and garnished with green shavings, a centerpiece plate of fried greens topped with smoked sea salt, and—front and center—six sweetrolls with wildberry drizzle glistening in the low light.

Two glasses already poured. Hers: the Zeltron nectar, glowing faintly pink and smelling of citrus and temptation. His: the darker, smoky burn of the Blackfire Spritz.

Kael pulled out her chair, hand warm against her lower back.

"tonight, I'm your miracle.” He said , heart thumping

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

A miracle, and a threat. Scherezade laughed. It was a low and pleased, like it curled up from somewhere within her ribs. Not mocking, not in disbelief. She simply melted at the sound of it coming from him, or feeling as though he genuinely meant it.

She paused when he pulled out her chair, eyeing him with unhidden appreciation. Not just for the gesture, but for the way he touched her lower back, like he knew exactly how to claim the space without stealing it. Her lips brushed his jaw as she passed, a slow, teasing thank you.

Then she turned her attention to the food.

If she had danced with hunger in her bones, now she feasted with it in her eyes.

No hesitation. No prim etiquette. She sank into the chair like a queen returning to her throne and immediately reached for the nearest of the nerf sliders. Her fingers tore into it, bypassing the bun entirely to claim the meat. It was tender, spiced, dripping. She bit into it with unabashed pleasure, eyes fluttering shut for just a heartbeat as flavor burst across her tongue.

Juices trickled down her wrist. She licked them clean without ceremony.

The dumplings came next, one snatched with a flick of fingers, popped into her mouth whole and hot. She gave a soft, satisfied sigh.

Then the sweetrolls.

Her gaze flicked to them like a predator picking her next indulgence. She didn't go for the dough. Just leaned forward, lips parting as her tongue dragged across the top of one, slowly, collecting the wildberry drizzle in a single decadent sweep.

She pulled back with a smirk.

"That," she murmured, licking her lips, "was for foreplay."

She looked at him over the rim of her glass, then drank, just enough of the nectar to let the citrus tease her mouth, let it mix with berry and salt and spice and the memory of his kiss.

"You're my miracle," she repeated his words from earlier, her voice velvet-soft and full of dark delight, "does that mean I must be your threat?"

Kaelon Virex

 

[Kaelon Virex]

Kael watched her with open hunger, the kind that had nothing to do with food.

Every movement she made—every lick of her fingers, every deliberate, sinful sweep of her tongue across the sweetroll—set fire to every nerve in his body. He didn't hide the way he leaned forward, resting his elbow on the table, chin in hand, watching her devour each bite like she was performing some sacred rite he was lucky enough to witness.

Her smirk? That slow drag of her tongue?

Yeah. Dead. He was absolutely, gloriously, dead.

And when she repeated his words, voice dipped in velvet and wickedness, he let out a laugh that rolled through his chest like warm thunder.

"You?" he grinned, leaning in, his voice low, mischievous. "You're only a threat under the covers."

He reached across the table, fingers brushing hers, eyes locked on hers with a glint that said I know exactly what I just said.

"Every other moment… you're temptation in leather and berry drizzle."

Kael lifted his glass, the smoke-kissed spritz glinting in the light, and downed a slow, savoring sip. It burned like truth, and it settled like sin.

Then, without breaking eye contact, he stood.

The heat in his eyes didn't cool. It flared. Playful. Dangerous. Alive.

"I think I'm going to rinse off," he said, pulling off his shirt in one smooth, unapologetic motion, revealing the firm lines of his torso kissed by the ambient lights of the loft. "Get the city off me."

He started walking toward the marble-lined refresher, steps slow, deliberate.

"Unless, of course," he said over his shoulder with a grin, "you're hungry enough to follow."

Then he vanished into the steam.

The invitation—silent, steaming, and absolutely sincere—hung in the air.

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

She grinned. To the best of her memory, they hadn't bothered with covers the night before.

Still licking the top of a sweetroll, her eyes tracked every inch of his body, almost entranced by the way the lines of him moved and danced beneath his skin. His words would undo her sooner or later. She already knew it. She couldn't explain the way he drew her in, how natural it felt, how easily he commanded every millimeter of her attention and want.

The heat he left behind didn't fade as the steam rose. It lingered in the air, thick and fragrant, like smoke winding through silk, beckoning her to follow.

Scherezade didn't move. Not right away.

She sat there, fingers still sticky with berry glaze, lips parted in thought. Or maybe it was restraint. Her eyes stayed focused on the area where he had disappeared. Her body was still, but inside, she thrummed with tension, vibrating like a wire stretched to the edge.

Then, slowly and deliberately, she pushed the chair back and rose to her feet.

On the floor lay Kael's shirt, right where it he had let it drop. She bent to pick it up, fingers grazing the fabric with surprising care. She didn't treat it like a souvenir or a conquest. She folded it, careful and precise. Each crease pressed with quiet intention.

She slid the folded shirt into the inner pocket of her jacket. Tucked away, close to her, unseen but not forgotten.

Only then did she walk toward the steam, her own clothes discarded along the way.

---

The water had stopped long ago. Steam still clung to the mirror, veiling their reflections in fog and suggestion. Scherezade stood with her back to the wall, a towel already wrapped around her body, Kael's warmth a breath away. Her skin hummed, not just from heat, but from something deeper. Something quieter. Something that had nothing to do with desire and everything to do with the way his fingers had lingered at her waist when there was no longer any need to touch her.

She said nothing at first.

Just breathed.

Drops of water still slid down her arms. Her curls stuck to the side of her face.

Then, finally, she turned her head, just enough to look at him.

"You don't even know what you're doing to me," she said, almost like it wasn't meant to be spoken aloud.

There was the hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth. Not playful. Not teasing. Just there. Like something fragile and real that hadn't quite decided whether it wanted to be seen.


Kaelon Virex

 

[Kaelon Virex]

Kael didn't speak right away. He didn't need to—not when her voice was still echoing softly between them, not when her body was this close, wrapped in nothing but steam and silence and the aftermath of something more than heat.

He stood just beside her, gaze tracing the mist-drenched mirror. Their outlines—blurred, indistinct—looked like dreams caught in fog. And maybe that was what this was. A fever dream. A miracle. Or maybe, finally, something real.

He drew a slow breath through his nose and let it out, steady.

Then he turned toward her, brushing a bead of water from her collarbone with his thumb. His voice, when it came, was soft—warmer than the towels, thicker than the haze.

"I can guess."
His eyes searched hers. "Maybe it's that you found something you didn't know you still wanted."

A pause. Another gentle swipe of his hand, this time tucking a curl behind her ear.

"Maybe it's peace. Or safety. Or just someone who doesn't look at you like a weapon."

He glanced toward the mirror again, their forms still ghosted in fog. A canvas of them, painted in heat and aftermath.

"I don't know if I deserve all this," he admitted. "But I'm not letting it go."

He let his hand linger on her hip one more beat. Then, with a final press of his lips to her temple, he turned and stepped out of the refresher.

Steam still spilled lazily from the threshold as he walked into the main room of the penthouse, towel slung low around his hips, droplets trailing down his back like glassy constellations.

And then he stopped.

The door to the loft—the one that had locked with a smooth, magnetic hum when they'd entered—was ajar. Just slightly. A sliver of hallway visible through the crack.

Kael's brow furrowed.

Strange. He'd set the lock himself. Not just a swipe, but with a verbal confirmation. Not exactly something one forgets when you're bringing someone special to your private world.

His head tilted, instincts from years of smuggling and underworld deals whispering warnings in his chest.

He glanced back over his shoulder toward the steam-veiled refresher.

Still calm.

But now alert.

Something had shifted.

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Kael left the refresher, leaving Scherezade alone there for a moment. She didn't even realize she was smiling stupidly as she let her head rest back against the wall, still savouring the phantom touch of him at her hip.

The two of them had not parted since they'd met the night before. It had been more than enough time for Scherezade to breathe him in, and more than enough time for her other senses to claim him as familiar. If he bled now, she would know. If he was near, she'd feel it in her marrow. If someone shared his blood, she would recognize them before a word was spoken. The blood never lied.

And sometimes, the blood gave warning.

Most of the steam had cleared from the refresher, allowing for more air Something else was moving through the space. Subtle. Wrong. Every nerve sparked to life. She rose from where she sat, slow and steady, bare feet silent on the tiled floor. One step. Another. Just a few more and she'd be out of the refresher

The next step out of the never came.

The air twitched. A metallic screech shattered the quiet; a panel from the wall, torn free. Not a weapon. The Penthouse had been invaded.

She ducked instinctively. A blade sliced past where her throat had been, burying itself in the doorway with a solid thunk. Not Kael. Not anyone who smelled like him.

Reflex took over. She pivoted hard and low, towel whipping with her motion. Her heel slammed into a shin with wet force. Something crunched. The attacker, a tall figure in matte-black armor, staggered back, but another was already airborne, vaulting over him, boot descending.

Scherezade twisted. The boot scraped her shoulder instead of caving in her chest. She grabbed the second attacker's leg mid-swing, yanked, and used their momentum to slam them headfirst into the refresher wall.

Helmet cracked.

A third assassin came from behind, reaching for her throat. She dropped to the ground, legs sweeping. Another body hit the floor with a dull thud. She kicked the blade from the doorway as she rolled, catching it mid-spin.

Now she was armed.

Someone had dared disrupt the best day of her life.

She fully intended to return that mistake with blood.

But first she was going to make sure Kael wasn't being handled by someone who had woken up with a very, very stupid plan for the day.




Kaelon Virex

 

[Kaelon Virex]

Years of smuggler instincts, shady business deals, and close calls taught him the sound of an ambush—even when dressed in steam and silk.

He turned just as the figure lunged.

The assassin was tall, clad in fitted black armor with a face-covering mask that glinted faintly in the low light. A vibroblade gleamed in their hand, aimed directly for Kael's ribs.

But Kael moved faster.


His body pivoted in a flash of instinct, the towel at his waist snapping free like a whip. The soft cotton coiled mid-air, catching the attacker's arm and twisting it off-course. The blade hissed past Kael's chest—close enough to singe skin with the vibrational hum—but it missed.

Kael didn't stop there.


He spun behind the attacker in a fluid, brutal motion, yanking the towel taut to wrench the assassin's arm back. With his free hand, he drove a sharp elbow into the base of the attacker's skull. Armor softened the blow—but not enough. The figure stumbled forward, dazed.
Kael caught the wrist holding the blade, twisted hard—a sharp crack sounded—and the weapon clattered to the floor.

"Wrong penthouse," Kael growled through clenched teeth.

He shoved the attacker face-first into the wall, a sickening thud following. The figure slumped, unconscious or worse.

Kael exhaled hard.

He bolted for the refresher, bare feet slapping against cool tile, just in time to see her in full fury—blade in hand, three attackers downed, towel barely clinging to her, blood spattering across pristine white walls like someone had vandalized a museum.

Their eyes locked.

Adrenaline. Desire. Rage. Love.

All wrapped in that single shared glance.

"You good?" he asked, chest heaving, the rush still catching in his lungs.

Behind him, another panel hissed open.

This time Kael didn't wait.

He grabbed the blade from the fallen assassin at his feet and stepped in front of her.

"I don't know who the hell these bastards are," he snarled, "but they picked the wrong lovers' loft to crash."

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Scherezade. She was good. But more importantly, Kael was good. Good enough that she wanted to rip his towel from him and not let the adrenaline die, but there was no time.

She twisted, barely avoiding a blade that aimed for her stomach and could've easily hit Kael as well, and slammed her shoulder into the attacker's chest. They hit the wall with a crunch, but didn't drop. Good. She wasn't done yet. She pivoted and drove her knee up between their legs. Clad in armor or not, the sound the assassin made was gratifying.

They fell. She followed.

"Sic gorgiamus allos subjectatos nunc!" she growled, still lying atop of the attacker she had just undone, and she let her head almost drop, licking the blood from one of his wounds, hoping it wasn't her own.

A gasp escaped her lips as she closed her eyes and saw a vision in red. The assassins, all marked. Eight in the vision. An echo instead of a warning. She needed more. She need an earlier memory, even just an hour before that… But the vision disappeared.

Scherezade opened her eyes and spat the disgusting blood out. How she loathed the taste.

She was breathing hard, lips parted, blood, both her own and the assassins' painting her from collarbone to thigh like a work of art no one survived viewing.

"Three more," she warned Kael, realizing what the vision had given her, even if it was not what she wanted.

But she probably didn't need to. This time, they were coming together. She could see them from behind Kael's shoulder, and her fury increased. She didn't need Kael to move. She just needed to maintain them in the vision.

And call their blood.

The three stopped in their track. To any onlooker, it would seem like they just randomly began to shake. Scherezade knew better. Her anger came in crashing in and roared as it demanded their blood, as it boiled them within their veins. Boiling blood was easier for what she wanted.

Another beat, and their armor began to wobble. Something was moving underneath it. Scherezade had done it to them, called the blood to exit their bodies, to pop their veins and arteries. It had gathered beneath the skin they could not see, turning it into a deep and violent bruise, before each pore became a spray of blood.

It was almost a shame that their armor pretended the blood fountain from appearing.

And then they just fell to the floor.

Dead.

No last words. No cries. Just meat.



Kaelon Virex

 

[Kaelon Virex]

Kael stood there, muscles tight, heart a hammer in his chest, towel barely holding to his hips, watching her.

Her.

Blood-slicked. Painted in violence and fury. Beautiful like the eye of a storm. A goddess of chaos who could summon death with a whisper and kiss it away in the same breath. Her body arched over the felled assassin like a warning carved into flesh. Her words—dark, archaic, venom-laced—rattled something deep in his chest.

Then he saw what she did.

The trio behind him—rigid, trembling—like puppets on a broken string. The shift beneath their armor wasn't normal. He felt the temperature shift in the room, the air warping like it had no say anymore. He turned in time to see the convulsions, the implosions, blood boiling beneath skin, spewing from seams and cracks in armor.

And then—

Silence.

Kael exhaled like it was his first breath in minutes.

"Holy stars…" he whispered, reverent. "That was…"

He turned to her fully, stepping over a limp body like it was just a rug in his way, towel be damned. His hand lifted, unsure for a moment whether to touch her—painted as she was in rage and aftermath—but his fingers found her waist anyway.

"…beautiful." His voice cracked on the word.

Not because of the violence. But because of what it meant.

She had peeled the galaxy open in front of him and let him see what she was capable of—and she still chose to stand beside him.

"You are… something the universe doesn't get twice," he breathed, voice hoarse and deep, eyes locked on hers with a hunger that was more than lust. "I'll never have the words for this. For you. All I can do is try not to die of awe every time you look at me like I matter."

He leaned in, forehead pressed to hers for a beat, grounding them.

Then—Kael growled down at the nearest body.

"Sloppy suits, all this tech, and still couldn't make it past bath time." He spat on the floor beside the corpse, shaking his head.

A beat passed.

Then he pulled back to look at her again, scanning her from top to bottom—not in desire this time, but deep concern.

"You okay, Fire—uh… Scherezade?" he asked, the nickname dying respectfully before it could finish. His hand cupped her face now, gentler. "I mean really okay. You need to breathe, between moments like this. You gave everything. I saw it. That kind of power takes something from you too."

His thumb brushed a bit of blood from her temple, and he didn't flinch when it stained his skin.

"We'll find out who sent them. I promise. But first, tell me—what do you need?

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

"Holy stars… That was…"

Scherezade didn't breathe. That was it. Her… abilities, with the blood, had never been an issue before. In certain ways, they were sometimes revered. But she had never used them like that around someone who was not attuned to the Force and that was somehow still on her side. The man from yesterday and that morning, the one who had boasted beautiful words and soft promises… He'd been enchanted by the fantasy. And now he had seen a fragment of the actual truth. Of the inhuman abilities that swam just beneath the surface, looking human, waiting to strike at a single command. He would ask her to leave. If he did, she would go, and leave his shirt behind.

"… beautiful."

Scherezade blinked.

Her breath caught when he touched her, still trying to process what he had said. That he had mattered. Part of her wanted to scream that he had it backwards.The surprise wasn't that he mattered, but that she had. She stared up at him, and her chin gave a slight, involuntary wobble.

Then his fingers brushed blood from her temple. Still she said nothing. Her mouth had gone dry. He was taking the blood remains away. The gesture was small, just a smear wiped away, but it meant something. No one had ever cleaned her up after a fight. Not even like this. Not even a fingertip's worth of care.

"I need their blood," the words cracked, barely above a whisper. Too many thoughts. Too many scenarios running through her head, "I need… I need to see."

She didn't know if he understood. She'd never explained it to anyone before. Not fully.

Her body moved differently now, slow and heavy. She wasn't a predator anymore, but something older. A lion past its prime. She sank to the floor, not minding the wetness that soaked her skin, the blood pooling around her knees.

Most of it had gone cold. Useless.

She scanned the floor for a blade and found one, then carved a chunk of flesh from the nearest corpse. Her hand didn't tremble. The piece came away warm, thick with fresh blood.

She closed her eyes and licked the blood once, twice, thrice. Disgusting.

Back came the red washed vision. Again the eight that were marked. No, she screamed inside her head, earlier!

There.

A dark office. A man behind a desk. Kael's holo hovering above it.

Scherezade opened her eyes and looked at him from her spot on the ground.

"They were here for you," she said quietly. It wasn't her. She had not been the one to put him in danger. But if she had not met him the previous night… Would he have survived today?


Kaelon Virex

 

[Kaelon Virex]

Kael didn't blink. Didn't flinch when she carved the flesh. Didn't retreat when she licked it clean. There was something ancient and holy in her now, crouched like a cathedral made of bone and fury. And still—she was his.


He watched, silent and reverent, as she performed her ritual?

Then her voice broke the silence.

"They were here for you."

His jaw tightened, breath catching in the base of his throat. She hadn't said it with panic. Or rage. But there was something far worse layered under her tone—regret. As though even being near him had made her feel like she'd failed.

He stepped forward and crouched beside her slowly, placing one hand over her knee—not to restrain, not to stop, just… to touch. To remind her he was still here. Still real.

"Tell me what you saw," he said gently. "The vision. What else was there? A face, a place—anything."

His eyes weren't wide with fear. Just focused. Kael wasn't wired to fall apart under pressure. Not when people he loved were involved. And—stars help him—that was what this was starting to feel like. Love. The dangerous, irreversible kind.

He touched her cheek again, thumbing away another streak of blood, and let his breath slow with hers.

"You didn't scare me," he said plainly. "You didn't break some image in my head. You expanded it. You're not just some breathtaking woman I lucked into at a bar—you're more. You're… goddamn legendary."

Then came the part that slipped from him before he could stop it.

"I just wish I was more than human sometimes. I mean—I can fight. I've survived cartels, heists, syndicates… but next to you?" He chuckled softly, eyes flicking down. "Sometimes I feel like I'm just bones and hope. Like I'd give anything for one sliver of what you have."

He said it with no bitterness. Just truth. And maybe a little awe.

But he didn't linger in that vulnerability long. His head turned to glance around the wreckage.

"Still—" he stood up again, reluctantly pulling his hand from her, "—I think we've got a cleanup problem before we unravel any larger conspiracies."

Kael walked to one of the bodies and nudged it with his bare foot, towel still miraculously clinging to his waist. "You think your ship's got space in the incinerator?" he asked over his shoulder, with just enough sarcasm to keep the weight from cracking the moment. "Otherwise I gotta call in favors and those don't come cheap when there's this much mess."

Then, a beat.

He looked back at her, still kneeling in blood and aftermath, still her, and something in his chest swelled too large to hold in.

"…But whatever's coming, whatever this is? We face it together, Scherezade. You and me. Us. I'm not going anywhere."

He held out his hand again—same way he had the night before.

"I'll follow your lead."

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

She didn't take his hand. Not right away. Her eyes stayed down, locked on the ruined floor. Blood pooled in the grout lines, expanding slowly. The battle replayed in her mind. Three for her, one for, one more for her, and then she three. The count had been right.

She took his hand.

"Small office," the words came from her, every word heavy, "Your holo on top of it. The walls were… I don't know if it was blue or green or gray, but it was dark. No windows. Low cabinets."

A moment later they were both standing.

And Kael hadn't bled. Not a single drop of blood of his was among the growing pools in the Penthouse. She was sure of that.

What clung to her skin wasn't fear. Not for herself. He hadn't bled. But he'd fought them in a towel.

She blinked, hard, trying to focus. "They shouldn't have gotten this close."

She wasn't just holding Kael's hand now. She was almost clinging to it, as though letting go would mean he would drop into there what ifs that ended with him among the dead. Scherezade was powerful, but she didn't really know how to bring the dead back.

But she was also a warrior. A combatant. The one who struck fear in the knees of enemies. And other body parts too.

"We can take them to my ship," she said, her voice suddenly sounding like her old self as focus and clarity regathered at the surface of her mind, "no incinerator. We can just throw them out of the airlock once we're out of orbit."

He would still need to have the penthouse cleaned though. And she most definitely did not want him to be owing anyone any favors right now. She reached for her jacked, fumbling thought the smaller pockets with a free hand before finding what she was after; a small chip.

"You don't owe me any favors," she assured him, "and I don't want you to owe any to others. Use this to cover the bill for the clean up here. Use the pass Obscura. It will work three times, and then the chip will self-destruct."

Okay. Okay. That was the basics. They knew what to do with the bodies, they could pay as many credits as it took to get the place properly cleaned up. It was Nar Shaddaa, Scherezade had no doubt that at least one of the three payments would be used to pay the bribes off to the local police force to look the other way. She was completely fine with that.

She still didn't let go of his hand, not yet. Her fingers flexed slightly, as though trying to memorize the shape of his. The quiet between them wasn't empty, it was loaded, thick with adrenaline's aftermath and the lingering buzz of almost. She didn't need to say it, didn't want to say it, but it hung in the air between them anyway: they'd come for him. Not for her. Not for a random hit. For Kael. And she needed to understand why.

Her eyes finally lifted, meeting his. "They knew where to find you," she said softly. "That wasn't an accident."

 

[Kaelon Virex]

Kael stood with her hand in his, his thumb brushing along her knuckles as if that would smooth the tension from her bones. It didn't. And he didn't expect it to.

Her words landed hard.

"They knew where to find you. That wasn't an accident."

His mind had already started peeling the layers back, memory by memory, name by name. He'd made enemies. Of course he had. You didn't survive in the Nar Shaddaa underworld—let alone climb it—without stepping on egos and dodging vendettas. But this wasn't someone tossing a pipe bomb into a club. This was precision. Planning. Intel that only someone close to him, or with deep access, could have gotten.

And it wasn't just him they had to go through.

They came through her.

Scherezade—the woman who had literally made blood boil, turned assassins into leaking statues of meat, who had danced and fed and kissed him like he was her new favorite danger—had been caught off guard. That made this personal.

His jaw tensed, but he kept his voice steady. Grounded. "Dark office. No windows. Cabinets. Blue-gray walls. You saw a holo of me on his desk?" He ran a hand through his hair, damp strands clinging to his wrist as he started pacing slow and deliberate steps over the ruined floor.

"That could be Baird Throne. Used to be one of the elite surveillance heads on the Holonet syndicate payroll. I crossed him on a Denon data run a few years ago—spliced into one of his private relay chains and rerouted the payment streams to fund a refugee transfer off Mustafar. Never forgave me." He smirked, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"Or it could be one of the others who were mad I walked away. Left the game, went legit. Or tried to." His voice dropped lower, and he looked at her. "People don't like it when you disappear with secrets. Especially ones that make them look small."

Kael paused.

Looked down at her hand in his. Still there. Still warm. Her grip still tight enough that he could feel the intention in her fingers: You're still alive.

"I'm glad you saw it," he said after a long beat, voice softening. "Because if this was a message, we just sent one back louder. You—" he touched her chin gently, guiding her gaze to meet his, "—you're not a shield. You're not backup. You're with me. We find out who's behind it. Together."

Then, without ceremony, he took the chip from her fingers. Turned it between his thumb and forefinger, eyeing it with mild amusement. "Obscura, huh? You really do have something for drama."

But the humor faded as he looked over the wreckage again. The towel around his waist was practically ceremonial at this point. He stepped over a corpse and walked to the wall panel, accessing the comms with a quick swipe.

"Cleanup. Quiet. No chatter. Use the name Starthorn," he said into the private channel, invoking a codename he hadn't used in three years. "Elevator locked. Three hours. Bring burn gel, ion scrubs, and a lie for the security cam."

Click.

He turned back to Scherezade and exhaled.


"We've got the ship, we've got the time, and now we've got a name to trace. But I'm not letting them get a second shot." He stepped close again, lifting her bloodied hand and pressing his lips gently to her knuckles.

"And next time they try to catch us in a towel? I'm answering the door with a blaster."

A beat.

Then, he smirked.

"But I still say I took the first one down with style."

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Her grin now was finally, finally real. Not the kind she weaponized or wore like armor, but the rare one that curled slow at the edges and promised mayhem to come. "Style," she echoed, dragging the word out like a dare. Her fingers, still warm from where he kissed them, flexed, reminded her that they were still there, that she was still there. She wasn't certain why she needed to make sure of it. It was hardly her first fight, and it wasn't even that bloody by her personal standard.

"Braid, uh?" she repeated the name. What a silly name. Still, she needed more information. It wasn't a name from fourty years ago, so she was essentially in the dark about anything Kael didn't tell her, "What can you tell me about him?" she asked, "Species, anything Force related, bloodline." If she had those three on her list, the rest would be a lot easier.

Still, they were bloody. Another shower was needed, and though the steam had remained hot, Scherezade's willingness to crank it up was momentarily on hold. Yes, she'd heard before about the dangers that people faced in the underworld. Knew about black deals under tables, various organizations… It wasn't new.

But now she had Kael.

At least, she had him in the moment. She didn't know what tomorrow, or even an hour from now, would bring. And now, because she had him, and because of his involvement in all those things, it meant that they had all just stepped up to become her personal problem. Kael said she was not a shield, that she was not backup. He spoke of us again.

But there were things that Scherezade thought in that moment that hadn't fully sunk in for him. Because he was right. She wasn't either of those things. What she was though… She was a weapon. She was a bomb with a clock that ticked in an nonlinear fashion. What few other people she still had in her life, they understood it. But they also had their own tricks.

In that regard, she knew close to nothing about Kael. How did those who did not have the Force even survive in this galaxy?

But now was not the time to think about it. Within a short amount of them, the both of them were properly showed now, without sticky blood or remains on them, and dressed.

"If Baird is the one who sent the idiots after you, he'll know soon enough that something went wrong," she said, brushing damp hair from her face with a casual gesture, "We probably have a limited amount of time to find him before he realizes a Sith has gotten involved. And then the next group of idiots are going to be much better prepared."

She paused then, and closed the distance between once more, taking his hand in hers. The tips of her fingers ran over his skin, almost as though she was searching for something. By now, she knew what she wanted. She wanted… Insurance.

Her glowing eyes looked up to see his face again. The smile that spread wasn't playful or devious this time. It was… Almost like satisfaction.

"If they manage to get you," she almost whispered, "find a way to get injured. Find a way to bleed. Even just a few drops will be enough for me to be able to come and find you."

It was part of her blood hound powers. Finding people by droplets left behind, or sometime even a tongue injury. It was a powerful tool that her enemies rarely knew about.

"Now point me in this Baird's direction," Scherezade grinned. "I'm not just going to chase him down and break bones," she clarified, voice low and deliberate, "I want to know why. Who he answers to. Who else is involved. This kind of mess doesn't happen in a vacuum, and I have no patience for puppets. If Baird's just a middle link in a longer chain, I want to rip out the whole line."

And the words that she hadn't added. Not out loud.

I want you to be safe.

Kaelon Virex