SOLD TO THE VOID LORD

JAMSINE

My new prison smells like a luxury spa run by a serial killer.

Ozone first, then dark petals, like a bouquet left too long on a grave. Underneath it all, spiced incense curls through the recycled air, warm and seductive. For one terrifying second, my brain recognizes it.

The ramp hisses open, apparently committed to the drama.

The faceless Lugra drones in matte black box me in without laying a finger on me. I’m in the mood to bite fingers off.

I step in, relic-cuffs humming around my wrists like they’re thrilled to be there.

At the top of the ramp stands Enkor Sharru.

He’s exactly what Jack described and nothing Jack described, because apparently my brother’s coping mechanism is massive under-exaggeration. Whiskey cannot prepare you for a seven-foot-tall problem who looks at you like he’s already undressed you and is now deciding what to do about it.

White hair spills loose over his shoulders in expensive-looking waves that scream I woke up like this and it cost a fortune.

His grey skin catches the corridor lights, shimmering with an iridescence that makes him look less like a man and more like some gorgeous, deeply inappropriate piece of alien sculpture.

Unfortunately, the face matches.

Sharp. Beautiful. Smug enough to make me consider violence as a public service.

“I was waiting to play with my new toy,” he drawls, voice low and amused, like he’s commenting on the weather instead of human trafficking.

He stays perfectly still, which somehow feels worse.

Those silver-gold eyes drag over me with the leisurely confidence of a man who has never once been told keep your eyes to yourself and survived the experience.

The expression on my face is less a smile and more a warning label. “I’m not a toy, you glowing discount-store villain. I’m the headache you just bought at full price.”My voice behaves.

My pulse clearly has other plans.

His lips stretch in that stupid ear-to-ear grin that makes you want to either punch him or wonder—very briefly—what it would feel like if he stopped smiling and started biting.

He descends the ramp in three lazy strides until he’s close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off those veins. The ozone-and-ancient-petals scent becomes him, not just his ship.

I have to tilt my head back just to keep his face in frame, and doesn’t he just love that.

He leans down like a building deciding to fall on me in slow motion. Blue-gold veins crawl across his neck and collarbones, pulsing lazily, as if his heart is bored and waiting for entertainment.

“Little comet,” His voice drops, warm enough to make the word feel dangerous. “You burn brighter up close.”

“Back up, or I’ll show you how bright I burn through your retinas.”

He laughs. Warm and delighted and wrong, so wrong, because nothing should be delighted by me except trouble.

His hand lifts. Slow enough I could stop it or run.

His fingers trace air in front of my throat, close enough that the heat off his skin makes mine prickle. I refuse to swallow. I refuse to breathe. I absolutely refuse to wonder what those fingers would feel like if he closed the distance. “Small,” he murmurs. “Breakable...”

His fingers pause at the base of my throat. “Or bendable. Let’s find out.”

Heat flashes across my skin. My pride has decided to intervene.

I slap his hand away. “Touch me without permission and I’ll make sure the next thing that fits in your hands is your own severed dick.”

He laughs louder, and it scrapes against my nerves like a blade testing its edge. He backs off one step, palms up, mock surrender written in every line of that stupid beautiful face.

Then his eyes shift.

The silver of his pupil thins, gold rushing in like someone flipped a switch, and then his pupils do something pupils shouldn’t do—they narrow, reshape, and suddenly I’m staring at my own goddamn green eyes.

My breath catches. Stupid lungs. Stupid body. Stupid—

“See that?” His voice drops, curls into something that sounds almost proud. “Your fire already fits my darkness.”

I cock my head, pour every drop of boredom I can fake into my spine. “Cute trick. Do you also make balloon animals, or is stealing eye color the extent of your charisma?”

He chuckles. The sound vibrates somewhere low in my spine. “Charisma is overrated. I prefer results.”

He gestures toward the corridor—lazy grace, like the air itself should move for him. “Come. Contract time.”

I follow because the cuffs will zap me harder than sarcasm can deflect.

But I memorize the smirk on his face when he turns away.

I’ll carve it off later.

◆━━━━━━━◆

For now, I follow him into the Eclipse Crown and try not to gape at the obscenity of it all. Black marble veined with gold. Walls that curve like they want to hold you. No corners. No edges. Nowhere to hide.

Every viewport frames the Nekharu Veil—a vast curtain of fractured violet-gold light twisting like silk caught in a slow tornado. It looks alive, hungry even. Beautiful in the way forest fires are beautiful. My stomach drops like I’m standing on a ledge, looking over the edge. My pulse stutters. I don’t know why.

We reach the sanctum.

Domed ceiling of transparent alloy lets the Veil’s colors slide across every surface in lazy, obscene ribbons.

Enkor drops into a low obsidian throne, legs spread in shameless invitation, and summons a data-slate with a flick of his fingers.

“Contract,” he says. “Read it. Or don’t. Either way, it’s binding.”

The text glows in sharp Lugra script, translated below in crisp Standard.

The slate is cold enough to sting. The glass hums against my palm like it wants under my skin.

I read the contract. No termination clause until debt clearance or his discretion. I read it again because surely my brain has misfired.

Sexual service as required for morale and physiological stability during piercings.

My stomach drops hard enough to make me resent having one.

I refuse to let the shock register on my face. I look up, tapping the edge of the slate against my palm. “You actually wrote morale?”

“Polite way of saying I expect you warm and willing when the Veil tries to tear me apart.”

He leans forward, elbows on knees, grin never fading. “Any questions, little assistant?”

“Yeah. How many assistants have you chewed up and spat out?”

“Three.”

His smile doesn’t move. Something old flashes behind his eyes. “The Veil took them. None burned as bright as you.”

I toss the slate back at his face. It floats obediently into his hand.

His response is a smug exhale that fills the space between us like smoke.

He stands in one fluid motion, closing the distance until ozone and dark spice fill my lungs.

His mouth curls with fresh amusement. “Little comet indeed. Streaking across my sky, leaving fire in your wake.”

I lunge aiming for that smug face. The cuffs flare, and pleasure punches through me so hard, it folds my spine, drops me to one knee like I’m bowing.

“Easy. I like my toys unbroken... mostly.”

My cheeks flame. The pleasure is still humming under my skin, warm and unwelcome, and my thighs press together like they’ve decided to make this worse.

His eyes drop to my thighs. His grin turns satisfied.

“Crash course,” he murmurs, circling me slow.

I track him from the floor, refusing to give him the satisfaction of watching me scramble.

He completes one full circuit before I push up, and I stand on my own time, slow enough to make a point.

“Your duties are simple, little comet. You will be my hands when I cannot trust my own. My voice when the Veil steals it. And my anchor when the abyss tries to claim me. How you fulfill those roles... is entirely up to you. Resist. It will make the inevitable more... satisfying.”

Bastard.

The nod I offer is a lie. I just retreat until the viewport presses against my spine like a warning.

Through the viewport, the shimmering curtain fills half the sky, ribbons pulsing like a heartbeat. “Why the hell are we floating this close to that thing? It looks like reality had a bad acid trip.”

“Because we’re going in.”

I must be hearing things now.

I stare. Oh, he is serious. “Lunatic.”

“Perhaps.” He comes toward me like he’s giving me time to run, just so he can find out if I will. “But lunatics with power get what they want. And right now, I want you properly attired.”

A wall panel slides open.

A gown floats out—black star-silk so thin it’s practically transparent, slits to the thigh, neckline plunging to the navel. The fabric gleams black enough to look expensive and suspicious.

“Uniform,” he says. “Wear it.”

I laugh once. “You want me to parade around in lingerie? Pass. I’ll stick with what I’m wearing.”

He tilts his head. “What you’re wearing is about to become optional.”

◆━━━━━━━◆

The air starts humming around me. Magnetic fields wake, subtle at first. Then the pull begins.

My jacket tugs at my waist. My shirt creeps upward. Something pulls at my shoulders, then my waistband.

I clamp both hands over my shirt. Apparently physics has joined his side.

My jacket slips out of my grip and drifts away like it has suddenly developed survival instincts. My shirt pulls tight. One button pops. Then another.

I cross my arms hard, pinning the open placket to my chest, refusing to let it fall.

I snarl through clenched teeth. “Stop it, you magnetic pervert.”

He doesn’t answer. Just watches, pupils blown wide in mirrored emerald, that stupid grin stretching wider.

For one furious heartbeat, everything stills.

My pulse pounds in my ears as violet-gold light spills across my stomach.

Then the surge comes.

Jacket rips free. Shirt tears at the seams with a hushed, obscene rip. Bra cups slip away, nipples peaking sharp against the sudden kiss of recycled air. Pants collapse to my ankles in defeat.

Even my underwear resists. Then, apparently deciding loyalty is overrated, it slips away.

The air hits me all at once, cold and too intimate, and the Veil’s light drags over my stomach like it’s checking me out. Goosebumps prickle down my arms. My nipples go tight from cold. Apparently we’re doing humiliation now.

I fold my arms over my chest and glare at him hard enough to qualify as attempted murder.

For one heartbeat, he looks like he might devour me raw. Then the grin returns.

“Defiant,” he murmurs. “Perfect.”

I take one step forward—ready to claw that grin off his face.

He catches my wrist. Of course he catches it. His thumb does something slow on the inside, right above the cuff, and I realize I’ve stopped breathing like an idiot.

“Don’t,” I warn, voice low and lethal.

He releases me instantly. Steps back. But his eyes—silver-gold again, mine abandoned—drop to my mouth.

“Then don’t tempt me,” he says quietly.

Silence stretches. Outside the viewport, the Veil pulses once, hard, as if impatient.

He breaks it first. “First shallow piercing tomorrow. You’ll be there, little comet—right beside me when reality frays.”

My heart kicks hard. “I don’t do well in tight spaces with perverts.”

“Good.” He leans in, breath brushing my ear. “Tight spaces are where I thrive.”

I shove at his chest.

Veins flare supernova-bright under my palms, searing.

He steps back one deliberate inch, grin returning full force.

“Tomorrow we pierce the outer membrane. You’ll assist. Tonight…” He gestures—the fields drag my discarded clothes into a neat pile, then guide the black star-silk gown toward me. “Wear it. Or don’t. But know this: the Veil doesn’t care about your modesty. Neither do I.”

I snatch the gown, clutching it like a shield. “I hate you.”

“Hate keeps the fire burning.” He turns toward the door, pausing at the threshold. “And I intend to stoke it until you burn for me.”

The door seals behind him.

And I’m adding his ship’s technology to my list of things I want to destroy.

◆━━━━━━━◆

Little comet.

The bastard has somehow branded two words into my brain.

I press shaking fingers to the wrist he touched. The cuffs hum softly, almost pleased.

Tomorrow we go in.

And some furious, starving piece of me isn’t afraid.

It’s hungry.

I press my thighs together and hate myself for what I’m about to think.

I want to see what breaks first—him, the Veil, or me.

Outside the viewport, the Veil pulses once.

The rhythm lands directly beneath my ribs.

Familiar.

Like a song I’ve forgotten.

Like a heartbeat I’ve heard before.