This doesn't feel right....(Yandere primarch gf(?))

"Why are we guarding this room, brother?" one of the Justaerin Terminators muttered, his deep voice carrying a hint of frustration beneath his helmet.

"No idea," replied another, leaning his massive war gauntlet against the bulkhead. "Lady Hathor only said we should guard this room with our lives. Strange, isn't it?"

The entire Justaerin squad stood vigilant, their towering Terminator armor reflecting the dim crimson lights of the ship's corridor. Yet despite their unquestionable discipline, curiosity lingered.

"I heard Lady Sanguinia is aboard the ship," a third marine added, his voice quieter, as if hesitant to mention the Primarch.

"Maybe what we're guarding here is tied to her," another chimed in. His words hung in the air, fueling silent speculation.

Then—movement. A flicker of shadow, too fast and too deliberate to be natural.

"Who's there? Show yourself!" Falius barked, his bolter snapping to position, its targeting reticle flashing red.

The squad froze, their centuries-honed instincts on edge. All helmets turned toward the spot Falius had gestured to—a darkened corner near a bulkhead junction.

"What's wrong, Falius?" one marine asked, shifting slightly to keep his weapon ready.

"I saw something," Falius insisted, his voice low but steady. "There, in the corner. I swear it."

Silence descended on the squad, broken only by the hum of power armor servos and distant groans of the ship's hull.

"Looks like boredom has finally gotten to your nerves, brother," another Terminator said with a dry chuckle.

The tension broke. Laughter rippled through the Justaerin squad—deep, metallic, and short-lived.

But the shadows around them shifted again, unseen and silent, like a predator closing in.

"What the—" One of the marines gasped, his combi-bolter snapping up as his sensors flared red. He aimed at the spot where his visor had briefly captured something, but the target was gone—vanished into thin air.

The squad froze, every marine tense. For warriors of their caliber—seasoned, unshakable—this feeling was alien. Fear. The realization sent a ripple of unease through their ranks.

"Looks like Falius wasn't kidding," Luphilim chimed in over the squad's private vox, his voice an uneasy attempt at humor.

"Shut it, Luphilim," Falius shot back, his words edged with irritation.

"You both shut it," Boris growled, his voice a quiet snarl. "Focus on the invader."

The Justaerin scanned their surroundings with mechanical precision, armor servos humming softly as they turned their weapons from corner to corner. Shadows danced along the walls, flickering with the low light, but nothing moved. Nothing could be seen.

Then it happened.

The shadows pooled and twisted near the far wall, and from their depths, it emerged. A figure. It stepped forward with an unnatural grace, its face hidden in a shroud of darkness that seemed to shift and writhe.

"W-Who are you!?" Falius barked, his voice faltering as he raised his combi-bolter. His finger hovered over the trigger, ready to unleash death.

"Calm down, Marines," came the reply.

The voice was quiet yet commanding, calm yet cold. It cut through the tension like a blade, silencing every weapon that had begun to whir into readiness.

For the first time in years, the warriors of the Justaerin hesitated.

From the swirling shadows, a figure stepped forward. Her pale features caught the dim light of the chamber, ethereal and ghostly against the gloom. Shoulder-length black hair framed her face, unnaturally still, as though untouched by the faint shipboard draft. But it was her eyes that drew their attention—black as midnight, swirling with an almost mist-like quality that seemed to pull at the edges of their souls.

"L-Lady Cora!" Falius stammered, lowering his combi-bolter slightly. The realization of who stood before them turned the tension into something even deeper.

"What are you doing here?" Boris added, his voice a mixture of confusion and reverence.

The Justaerin had been told that Lady Sanguinia of the Blood Angels was aboard their vessel—a monumental enough occasion in its own right. But no word had been given that another Primarch also here, the Primarch of the Raven Guard.

Cora tilted her head slightly, her black-mist eyes narrowing as if she could see through the marines' hesitation. She lifted an elegant, pale hand and pointed toward the blast door they guarded.

"I am here," she said softly, her voice chilling yet measured, "to visit the person in that room."

Boris shifted uncomfortably, his armored boots scraping the deck. "Apologies, Lady Cora, but Lady Hathor gave us strict orders. No one is to pass." His voice held firm, though a hint of hesitation betrayed his unease. Refusing a Primarch—even politely—was not something any Astartes did lightly.

Cora's gaze sharpened. The shadows in the room seemed to stretch unnaturally as though responding to her displeasure. "Are you certain of that, marine?" Her tone, still quiet, now carried the faint edge of a threat, like a knife slipping free of its sheath. "What if I told you I was here on behalf of your gene-sire?"

Boris opened his mouth to speak, but words failed him. The others looked to Falius, who hesitated before hurriedly opening a private vox channel. His armored gauntlet clunked softly as he keyed in the transmission. "Command, this is Justaerin Squad Three. Confirmation needed. Lady Cora claims she is here on behalf of the Primarch—"

Static crackled briefly before a response came through. Falius stiffened at what he heard.

He deactivated his vox and turned to face Cora, his demeanor shifting from defiance to reverence. "Y-yes, Lady Cora. It seems we have… had a communication error. Please, come through."

The squad immediately moved into formation, stepping aside to clear the path to the blast door.

"Shut the door."

The Justaerin complied without question. The sound of heavy boots shuffled faintly as they moved back into position.

The room plunged into silence. The darkness was absolute—impenetrable to mortal eyes—but Cora was no mere human. Her near-black irises glimmered faintly as they cut through the veil of shadow with unnatural clarity.

The chamber was sparse. Functional. A bare bed sat against the far wall, its only occupant a sleeping figure. She strode forward without hesitation, her movements deliberate and silent, like a specter gliding through the gloom.

Her eyes fell upon the human male lying there, utterly still save for the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest. He was unremarkable—no distinguishing features, no great presence about him. Just a mortal man, caught deep in unconscious slumber.

Cora paused beside the bed, her gaze lingering.

"Oh, so you're still knocked out from my drug," she thought, her lips curving faintly into a smirk that held no warmth. "How defenseless you are."

She knelt slightly, her long, dark hair falling forward like strands of shadow as she examined him. The soft hum of the ship outside this chamber seemed impossibly distant, leaving only her quiet breathing and his as the sole sounds in the room.

Her pale fingers hovered just above him—uncertain, yet aching to close the gap. The Raven Guard Primarch's expression faltered, conflicted emotions dancing across her otherwise stoic features.

This is the perfect opportunity, she realized. Every rational thought screamed at her to act, to seize this moment where none would see, none would know.

And yet…

A flicker of doubt crossed her mind, like a shadow passing over the moon. If I get caught… The consequences were clear—I might end up like Alpharia.

Cora bit her lower lip, hard enough to sting. The memory of her sister's disgrace—Alpharia's action—was not something she would share. It was a line she could not allow herself to cross.

Her fingers curled back slowly, trembling as she wrestled with her own desires.

Cora stood motionless over the sleeping figure on the bed, her raven-black hair framing her pale, sharp features as she stared.

the sight before her. He was so peaceful. So still. So perfectly defenseless.

Her lips curled into a small, almost imperceptible smile, though there was nothing gentle about it. The silence was intoxicating. The steady rise and fall of his chest held her captive, and with every passing second, her heartbeat quickened.

"How dare you," she whispered softly to herself, her voice a possessive murmur. Her hand twitched at her side. "How dare you look so… innocent …while I stand here."

She couldn't stop herself. Her fingers, pale and trembling with an unfamiliar excitement, reached forward. Slowly. Reverently. When her gloved hand finally touched his cheek, she sucked in a sharp breath.

Warmth. Pure, untainted warmth.

The sensation spread through her fingertips like fire, and for a fleeting moment, she forgot herself—the circumstances, everything. There was only him.

Her fingers traced down his jawline, lingering where she could feel the faint beat of his pulse. She let out a shaky breath, her dark misted eyes wide as though entranced.

"So fragile…" she whispered, her lips curling into something between a smirk and a sigh. "But you're mine, aren't you?"

She froze at her own words, but her resolve shattered instantly when she looked at him again. Helpless. Silent. Entirely hers in this moment.

Leaning closer, she hovered over him, her breath brushing against his skin as she whispered, "You'll understand one day, Jared. I'll make you see… You don't need anyone else. Just me."

The obsession was like a poison coursing through her veins. Her hand slid back up to his hair, where she combed her fingers through it—slowly, possessively, as though marking him.

"You even smell perfect," she murmured, bringing her hand up to her face to inhale the faint trace of his scent. Her voice trembled with delight. "You drive me mad, you know that? You make me weak. And I hate you for it…"

Her expression hardened, though her dark eyes never left him. She straightened, fingers curling into a fist at her side as she fought to regain control. She was teetering on the edge, and she knew it. Another moment, another breath, and she might not leave this room at all.

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she bit down on her lower lip, hard enough to bleed. "I should go."

Her steps were slow and reluctant as she turned back toward the blast door. Yet her head turned for one last look—her gaze lingering over him like a shadow.

"Soon," she whispered darkly, a promise dripping with possession. "Soon, Jared. You'll belong to me completely."

As Cora stepped out of the darkened room, the door hissing shut behind her, she froze. Her pale eyes narrowed at the sight before her.

It wasn't just the Justaerin Terminators standing guard now—there was another figure among them, waiting just outside the blast door.

Juno Guilliman.

Cora's lips twitched ever so slightly, betraying her displeasure. Out of all her sisters, Juno was perhaps the safest one to run into. Safe, but not harmless.

"Oh, Cora," Juno said, tilting her head, her cerulean eyes sharp with curiosity. "You're here, too? Checking on him?"

'At least it's not Hathor or Sanguinia,' Cora thought bitterly, her dark gaze flickering with irritation. Hathor and Sanguinia were dangerous—far more dangerous than any of their other sisters when it came to him.

Hathor's quiet fixation unsettled her. That cold, watchful patience. The way Hathor always knew where he was. Always knew what he was doing.

And Sanguinia… Cora's jaw clenched at the memory of the Blood Angel Primarch practically swooning after catching the faintest trace of his blood.

"Ah… his blood sings," Sanguinia had whispered that day, her voice dripping with ecstasy as she licked the crimson from her lips.

The image still haunted Cora.

'Ugh. Better not let her see him bleed again,' Cora thought with a shiver. I'd sooner kill Sanguinia than let her lay hands on him.

"Cora? Are you listening?"

Juno's voice pulled her back from the edge of her spiraling thoughts. Cora blinked, then turned her attention to her sister, schooling her face into a calm, indifferent mask.

"Ah. Yes. Sorry," she replied coolly. "I must have… spaced out."

Juno frowned slightly, but her expression quickly shifted back to a polite, measured smile. "No need to apologize."

There was an edge to her words, though—an undercurrent of suspicion. Her normally calm voice carried something darker this time.

"So?" Juno pressed, her eyes narrowing just enough to make Cora tense. "What exactly were you doing in there?"

Cora's fingers twitched at her sides. She forced herself to remain calm, though the accusation in Juno's tone prickled at her pride.

Even you, Juno? Cora thought with a flicker of disdain. Juno was supposed to be the least affected by him. She was practical. Logical. If even she sounded this possessive, then things were spiraling faster than Cora had realized.

We're all slipping.

"Just ensuring my drug isn't doing… anything unexpected," Cora replied smoothly, her tone deliberately detached. "It's a precaution."

"I see," Juno replied, though her eyes lingered on Cora far too long for comfort.

"And what about you?" Cora shot back quickly, flipping the conversation before Juno could press further. "Why are you here?"

For a brief moment, Juno looked taken aback. She hesitated, just slightly—an admission of guilt hidden behind her outward calm.

"I came to check on him, too," she replied finally, her voice softening. "Making sure he's… safe."

Cora raised a brow, smirking faintly. "Safe? From what?"

Juno's face hardened, her mask cracking for just a heartbeat.

"From you, maybe," she muttered darkly.

Cora's smile dropped, her dark eyes glinting with something dangerous. For a moment, the tension between them was thick enough to choke on.

"Careful, sister," Cora said softly, her voice dripping with venomous calm. "You wouldn't want to make me think you're overstepping."

Juno glared back at her, unyielding. "I'll overstep if it means keeping him out of your clutches."

The Justaerin guards shifted uncomfortably at the exchange, but neither sister paid them any mind.

Finally, Cora turned sharply on her heel, her black hair whipping behind her as she strode past Juno.

"Watch your tongue, Juno," Cora said over her shoulder, her voice like a blade wrapped in silk. "You're starting to sound jealous."

With that, she walked away, her steps echoing down the corridor.

Juno stood motionless, glaring after her, her fists clenched at her sides.

"I am watching," Juno muttered under her breath, more to herself than anyone else. "And I'll be watching you, too, Cora. Don't think I won't."

Far away, standing in the shadow of a corridor, Petra, Primarch of the Iron Warriors, observed the scene unfolding before her with an unreadable expression. Her armored form was nearly indistinguishable from the ship's cold, metallic walls, but her piercing gaze cut through the darkness as she focused on the distant figures.

"How long has this been going on without me noticing?" Petra's thoughts simmered, a cold fire creeping into her mind. She could feel the weight of the question pressing on her chest, as though something—something very wrong—had slipped under her radar.

Her eyes narrowed as she recalled the unspoken agreement, the silent rule that had been established among them all. A rule that none of them, not even the most powerful among their ranks, were to make any advances while Jared lay unconscious and vulnerable.

"We all agreed," she mused darkly. "None of us were supposed to make a move on him until he wakes. And yet... it seems that some have chosen to ignore that."

'But will you miss the chance if you had?' The voice whispered in the corners of her mind, haunting, persistent.

Petra clenched her fists, her breath coming in shallow bursts as the war inside her raged. 'But that's not on the pact we agreed on,' she replied to the voice, her words sharp, an attempt to hold onto her discipline.

'Who cares about that? Do you really want to watch him slip away to your sisters? To see him choose them over you?' The voice was like a predator, slithering into her thoughts, stoking the fire of jealousy and desire that simmered within her.

'N…NO,' Petra's heart screamed in protest, the tension in her chest growing unbearable. She couldn't stand the idea, couldn't bear the thought of him choosing anyone else.

'Then go for it, Petra. Don't let the rules bind you. Don't let the pact stop you from taking what you truly want. He is yours, and you will make him yours. No one else will have him.'

A shiver ran down her spine, the dark promise of the voice sinking deeper into her thoughts.

'MAKE HIM YOUR.'

The words were like a command, a final, irreversible decision. Petra's resolve began to crack, the walls she had so carefully built crumbling. Her breath hitched as the truth of it settled in.

She couldn't deny it anymore. She couldn't fight it.

"Yes... I will make him mine," Petra murmured to herself, her voice low and steady, a dangerous determination taking root in her chest. "I will... I will make sure of it."