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His gaze drifted down her body and landed on a particularly deep bite mark on her hip. “You are not angry?”

“No.”

“You do not wish…to leave me?”

“Absolutely not,” she said firmly. “Where would you get an idea like that?”

Honestly. He was so stubborn sometimes, so blind to the way she felt about him. Fear had done that to him. One day, maybe, her love would rid him of it forever.

She stroked a finger down his arm over one of the bruises she’d given him. “Besides, I marked you, too. Do you want to leave me now over a few love marks?”

“It is not the same,” he grumbled. “I am a warlord, born and bred for pain. You are soft and feminine and lovely.”

She snorted. “Tasty, too, apparently.”

“This as well, yes.” He lifted the cloth and rubbed it gently over another bruise, one above her breast. “You are truly not angry?”

“I wanted this,” she reminded him gently. “How could I not? I love you.”

“Love.” He groaned and dropped his head again. “If my cock could rise to the occasion, I would bury myself within you again. Perhaps this time, I would not allow even one space along your skin to go unmarked.”

Amazingly, warmth flooded through her, as softly as the breeze sliding through the jungle around them. “That sounds like a plan to me.”

“Ah, Mia, my love. You captured my heart with your first smile. Surely no other male could love his mate as much as I love you.”

He stood and lifted her into his arms, carried her into the shower, and together, they tended each other with tender kisses and the love blooming so newly between them.

Chapter Eighteen

A few days later, Mia watched as warrior after warrior was presented to her and the other humans. It was the Day of Remembrance, a festival of the Fates to mourn those who had passed into the beyond and to celebrate the life they had all been given. It seemed to Mia as if every Xeruvian on the planet was there. She’d certainly met enough of them in the past few hours.

The humans had been given their own space, though Mia had argued against it. “We’re not cattle, to be bought and sold among you for breeding,” she’d said.

Zoran had soothed her with a gentle hug. “We do not see you as cattle,pjora-la, as you well know. If it were possible, I would allow the women to wander freely so long as they were accompanied by trusted warriors. Yet must we remain cautious, as too many unknown warriors are in attendance. I will not allow harm to befall your friends any more than I would allow harm to befall you.”

She hated that he’d been so reasonable about it, and so right. The open-sided pavilion had been set up in a central location, where the women could watch the festivities and remembrances. Merchants hawked wares, albeit quietly out of respect for those who had lost loved ones in the terrible disasters whose aftermath had ultimately carried humanity to Zephyria. A stage had been set up across the way, offering a series of plays and musical groups. Mia watched these with interest, wondering if any of the plays had been recorded for posterity, then made a note to ask Sonja about bringing a film crew here so that Earth could get a taste of Xeruvian culture.

Zoran stood beside her, his dispassionate gaze a warning to every male who entered the pavilion in hopes of finding a mate. Some had, to the delight and, sometimes, dismay of the women. Mia had come to know many of them quite well since their mass abduction and could nearly predict which ones were open to Xeruvian traditions and which ones would balk. They’d shared their stories with her, after all, and prodded her and the other mated humans for details of the process, satisfying their innate curiosity in this as they did in their work.

Zoran had set up a way for the males who found mates among the humans to court them. No one was allowed to carry their prospective mate away, as would normally happen. For those claiming a mate, Zoran first examined the warriors privately, then questioned the chosen females. If he was satisfied with their suitability, he allowed the couple to leave accompanied by one of his mated warriors as a chaperone, so that the women could enjoy the festival and remember their own dead. The women were to be returned to Mother Alara’s care by the day’s end. Anyone who violated the curfew risked forfeiting the right to court their mate, a punishment so severe a few of the warriors protested.

Until Zoran pulled them aside and offered to meet them in challenge. Even the prickliest warrior subsided after that.

Still, Zoran seemed pleased with the way things were progressing.

“It is my hope,” Zoran confided to her, “that every human will be claimed today, so that we may move forward together as one people united in a common cause.”

He’d moved off to examine a warrior in private when Mia felt a presence at her side. She looked up and up at the warrior towering over her, noting the sheer bulk of him and the scar running from the corner of his eye down his cheek. He had to be as tall as Zoran. Certainly, this warlord—for she was sure, by the arrogance stamped into his harsh features, that this male was a warlord and maybe even a clan leader—out massed her mate. Hisshinsek’ukwas a shimmery ice blue in color, reminiscent of glaciers and the frozen tundra, a close match for his hooded eyes.

The warlord bowed respectfully. “Kii-la,novala, Lady Kerus.”

“Hello,” Mia said. “No disrespect intended, but who are you?”

“Kaelen of Clan Drexus, milady.”

“Lord Drexus?”

One corner of his mouth curved into a smirk. “Indeed.”