Page 5

A whisper of movement catches my eye—there, in the shadows where the maintenance shaft curves. At first it's nothing, just a shift in the recycled air, but then—

The scent hits me like a plasma blast to the chest.

Sweet. Wild. Dangerous. My senses explode into overdrive, every molecule of that intoxicating fragrance searing through my bloodstream like liquid fire. The world around me crystallizes, shadows peeling back as my pupils blow wide, revealing details I shouldn't be able to see. That scent... it's impossibly complex, layers of information my brain can barely process, each breath drawing me deeper into a predatory focus I've never experienced before.

"Bay 15 clear. They're deploying scan drones now."

Tactical awareness shatters like glass in my mind. Think. Focus. Analyze. The words scatter like debris in a solar wind. This is older than thought, deeper than strategy—this is pure instinct crackling through my nervous system like lightning. My fangs extend with an audible click, filling my mouth with the taste of metal and need. The hollow ache that's been carved into my chest for so long suddenly blazes with terrible purpose.

Hunt. Chase. Claim.

The commands pulse through my blood like a war drum, each beat driving rational thought further into darkness. My muscles coil tight enough to snap, every fiber of my being oriented toward that scent like a compass finding true north.

"Captain," Zara's urgent whisper barely registers through the roaring in my ears. "They're entering Bay 14. Three minutes at most."

The scent slams into me again—a lethal cocktail of danger and sweetness that sets every enhanced nerve ending on fire. Female. Hunter. Each breath tells a story of predatory grace and deadly competence. But there's something else, something that makes my wings snap wide with a crack that echoes through the corridor, shredding years of careful control like paper.

The truth hits harder than a gravitational surge.

Mate.

The word detonates in my mind like a thermal charge, reducing decades of discipline to ash. My muscles lock, combat training warring with an instinct older than stars. This isn't happening. Can't be happening. Not when the Brotherhood balances on a knife's edge. Not when one wrong move means death.

But biology doesn't care about timing or tactics. The burning in my veins transforms into a supernova of completion, threatening to bring me to my knees. I grab the nearest support beam, talons carving trenches in metal as if it were flesh. Themate-bond pulses with each heartbeat, each breath, a siren song I can't silence.

Focus. The tactician in me still functions, barely, cataloging threats through the haze of need. Unknown intruder. Potential hostile. Security breach. The facts line up like targets, but each one dissolves under the assault of primal recognition. Deal with the danger first. Process the cosmic joke later.

If I survive that long.

"Bay 13 clear! Captain, they're bringing in bio-scanners!"

My hands shake as I holster my blaster. A soft scrape of metal, followed by an intake of breath that bypasses all reason and strikes straight at my core. Mine. The thought should terrify me. Instead, it feels like the first true thing I've ever known.

"Captain!" Zara's whisper turns desperate. "They're starting Bay 12. Orders?"

The imperatives clash like warships: The Brotherhood's survival. Our luminore cargo—medicine for thousands. Security forces closing in. And her presence, pulling at me with the force of a collapsing star.

The scent of her threatens to override strategy, but centuries of discipline hold—barely. She moves like a predator, even in hiding. The security response is too aggressive for a simple trespasser—bio-scanners, doubled sweep teams. They're hunting someone valuable, someone with information worth killing for.

With the Black Eclipse making power plays across the sector... this could be the advantage we need. Protection for her, intelligence for us. The thought helps cage the raging instincts, barely.

"Grig, maintain standard approach. Zara, prepare for inspection protocols." My wings flex as I force myself to think. "Have the Driftspire backup route ready."

"But Captain, the security teams—"

"NOW!" The word emerges as pure growl. "Vent atmosphere in cargo bay three and seal it. Anyone down there stays trapped until we land."

I sprint for the bridge as engines roar to life. Warning klaxons mean nothing compared to the pull toward cargo bay. My mystery passenger—my mate—isn't going anywhere. Not now. Not ever.

"Break dock! Get us out of here!"

The Void Reaver lurches free, warning lights flooding every console. Let them try to stop us. I've claimed countless prizes from space over the years, but this... this transcends possession. The bond pulses between us like a living thing, even through sealed bulkheads.

For now, I have a ship to command, a crew to protect, and a mate to claim—whether she knows she's mine yet or not.

Chapter 3

Neon Valkyrie