Chapter2 Please... save me
Silas Voss
The headache had started three hours ago, a familiar warning that another neural storm was building behind my eyes.
I had already pressed the emergency call button for my medical team twice, but the relief from the suppression injections was growing shorter each time, the side effects more vicious.
Thirty years of this hell, and the best neurologists in the world could only offer borrowed time and chemicals that made me want to claw my own skull open.
I had been heading back to the penthouse level when a raw, desperate scream cut through the corridor. On The Elysium, screams were common, but something about this one made me pause.
The mounting neural pressure made me irritable enough to investigate why my security staff was manhandling a woman in a public corridor at four in the morning.
"Stop," I said. The single word carried enough weight that all three guards froze, their hands still gripping the woman in black athletic wear. They dropped to their knees instantly, heads bowed.
I walked closer, each step measured despite the pain lancing through my temples, and got my first clear look at her.
Even drenched in sweat and trembling from whatever drug was tearing through her veins, she was strikingly beautiful.
Dark hair clung to sharp cheekbones and full, soft lips. Her skin, pale and fever-flushed, had a smooth, almost luminous quality under the harsh lights.
But it was her eyes that held me—wide, intelligent, burning with defiance even as her body betrayed her. There was a quiet strength in the set of her jaw, an elegant line to her neck and shoulders that spoke of discipline and resilience.
In all my years, I had rarely seen a woman who looked both so vulnerably beautiful and so unbreakable at the same time.
"Mr. Voss," she managed, voice hoarse with an American accent. "I need your help. Please... save me."
The plea should have meant nothing. I had heard hundreds like it. But then I caught her scent.
The crushing pressure in my skull eased instantly. The hypersensitive nerves that made every sound feel like knives went quiet.
For the first time in three hours, I could think clearly. I inhaled deeper, and the scent hit me like a drug—clean, sharp mint, like the first breath of winter air mixed with something medicinal and intoxicating.
It flooded my senses, wrapped around every frayed nerve ending, and dissolved thirty years of constant agony in seconds.
My God. This woman smelled like salvation.
No pain. No pressure. Just peace. I had forgotten what peace felt like.
I wanted to bury my face in her neck and drown in it. I wanted to keep her locked in my rooms forever so this feeling never left me again.
But I was Silas Voss. Men in my position did not reveal weaknesses to strangers. I could not simply tell her she was the cure I had been searching for my entire life.
She would run. She would bargain. She would try to use it against me. I needed her willing. I needed her to stay because she had no other choice.
I needed to make her believe that belonging to me was her only path to survival.
"Who is she?" I asked, forcing my voice to remain cold.
One of the guards answered without lifting his head. "Dr. Maeve Thorne, sir. Ship's physician. She's been accused of murdering the guest in Suite 347. We were taking her for questioning."
I studied her again. Even drugged and trembling, her eyes held sharp intelligence and fight. She watched me with wary calculation, assessing whether I was savior or new threat.
The closer I moved, the stronger her scent became. My nervous system purred with relief. The pain that had haunted me for three decades simply vanished.
She made a small sound of distress as her legs gave out. I caught her, steadying her against my side so I could keep breathing in that miraculous scent.
She was taller than expected, lean and strong beneath the wet clothes. Her cold-pale skin, the sharp line of her jaw, and the stubborn way she tried to hold onto dignity made her far more compelling than she had any right to be.
"Leave us," I said to the guards. They scattered at once. My private quarters were only a short distance down the same corridor, so I half-carried, half-supported her the rest of the way.
Maeve Thorne swayed against me, fingers clutching my jacket lapels. I could feel her body temperature spiking through the fabric. The scent pouring off her skin was growing stronger, more potent, and it was driving me insane.
I had not felt my brain this relaxed in decades. The absence of pain was almost euphoric. It made me want to press her against the nearest wall and lose myself in her completely.
I took her straight to the bedroom and into the bathroom.
"Cold water will help metabolize the drug faster," I said, turning on the shower and adjusting it to just above freezing. "But you need to get out of those clothes first. They're soaked through and making it worse."
Her eyes flew open, pupils blown wide and dark. The rational physician was gone, replaced by pure chemical instinct.
"Please," she whispered, hands finding my chest, fingers curling desperately into my wet jacket. "I can't... I need..."
She rose on her toes, hands sliding up to my shoulders, and then her mouth was on mine—desperate, graceless, driven by nothing but the drug’s relentless demand.
I froze, every muscle rigid as she kissed me with frantic urgency. Her lips were soft, warm, trembling. They tasted of mint and salt from her sweat.
The helpless hunger in the way she moved against me made something dark and possessive uncoil low in my gut.
This wasn’t consent. This was chemistry and desperation. I knew I should pull away.
But her lips were too damn good to kiss.
My hand slid to the back of her neck, fingers threading through her wet hair as I deepened the kiss.
Fuck. This woman was too fucking tempting.
Her scent wasn’t just relieving my pain — it was intoxicating me, crawling into my lungs and rewriting every nerve in my body.
One woman shouldn’t have this kind of power over me. She made me feel out of control, restless, almost irritated at how easily she could unravel me. I hated it.
And I wanted more. So much more.
