Page 14

Chapter fourteen

Bitter Pill

R owen woke the next morning to a pounding headache and a lighter heart.

Fila and Zera had left in the early hours, after extracting a promise that she'd actually rest today instead of diving back into work. The remains of their impromptu therapy session littered her small living space—empty wine bottles, takeout containers, and the lingering warmth.

She stretched, cataloging the lingering aches and the ways her body was healing. The Healers had done their work well; only the faintest twinges remained. But her head...that was entirely her own fault. She should have known better than to match Zera drink for drink.

Her HUD chimed with an incoming message. Without looking, she knew who it would be. Petre's concern practically radiated through the brief message: How are you feeling this morning?

She smiled despite her headache, typing back: Better. Though I may have overdone it with Fila and Zera last night.

Another chime. May I come check on you?

Her heart gave a ridiculous little flutter. Door's open.

She had barely finished making coffee when the door alert sounded. Petre entered, carrying a small package that emanated a mouthwatering scent.

"I brought breakfast," he said, crossing to her kitchen.

She moved toward him, drawn by the twin lures of food and his presence. "You're spoiling me."

He set the package down and turned to her, eyes conducting a clinical assessment. "You look better. More color in your cheeks." His hand came up to brush a strand of hair from her face, the touch lingering. "But you didn't sleep well."

"I slept fine," she protested. "It's just a wine headache."

His eyebrow arched. "Wine with Fila and Zera?"

"Mmm." She leaned into his touch. "They wanted to check on me. I may have...told them about us." At his alarmed expression, she quickly added, "Not everything! Just that there's something between us that we need to keep private for now. They're empaths, Petre. They would have figured it out anyway."

To her surprise, he relaxed. "I trust them. And you need people you can talk to." His thumb traced the line of her jaw. "I don't like the thought of you carrying this burden alone."

She smiled, then remembered what else she'd done last night. "I also...accepted Varian's invitation."

Petre went still, his hand dropping away. "What?"

"For tonight," she clarified, stepping back to give him space. "He's taking me to Rok’s.”

"Tonight?" His voice had dropped an octave. "That's...very soon."

She blinked, suddenly uncertain. "I thought that was the plan? To throw Bylelle off the scent?"

"It was," he agreed, though his jaw had tightened. "I just didn't expect it to happen so quickly."

"Doesn't it need to be quick?" she countered. "You said everyone noticed how you reacted when I was hurt. The sooner we establish that there's nothing between us, the better, right?"

He paced the small space, muscles tense beneath his uniform. "Logically, yes."

"But?"

"But nothing about this feels logical." He turned to face her, his expression nakedly possessive. "The thought of you with him, even for show..."

She crossed to him, placing her hands on his chest. "Hey. Remember what I said yesterday? It's you I'm coming home to."

His hands settled at her waist, drawing her closer. "Promise?"

"I promise." She rose on tiptoes to brush her lips against his. "I'll come straight to your quarters afterward."

The kiss shifted, deepened, as his control frayed. He backed her against the kitchen counter, lifting her to sit on its edge as his mouth claimed hers with fierce intent. Her legs parted instinctively, allowing him to press closer, his hands sliding beneath her sleep shirt to map the warm skin of her back.

"Mine," he murmured against her throat, the word more plea than command.

"Yours," she agreed, gasping as his teeth found her pulse point. "Only yours."

His hands tightened on her hips, not quite bruising but edging toward it. "Say it again."

"I'm yours, Petre." Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him back to meet her gaze. "And after this ridiculous date, I'll come to you. I promise."

Something within him seemed to settle at her words. His forehead dropped to rest against hers, their breath mingling in the scant space between them.

"I'm going to hold you to that," he said, voice rough.

"I'm counting on it." She smiled, tracing his lower lip with her thumb. "Now, about that breakfast you brought..."

He laughed, the sound breaking the tension. "So practical."

"Healing takes energy," she reminded him, stealing one more kiss before gently pushing him back. "And if I'm going out tonight, I need to conserve my strength."

His expression darkened briefly at the reminder, but he nodded, helping her down from the counter with careful hands. As they settled to eat, his leg pressed against hers beneath the small table, maintaining contact as if reassuring himself of her presence.

"What time will you be at the restaurant?" he said finally, voice carefully neutral.

"Eighteen hundred." She studied him over her coffee. "Why? Planning to spy on us?"

His smile was slightly feral. "Would that bother you?"

"Not at all." She grinned. "Though you might want to wear something less distinctive than that uniform. You're pretty recognizable, you know."

"I'll keep that in mind." He hesitated, then added more seriously, "Be careful with him, Rowen. There's something...not right about Varian. The way he follows Bylelle..."

"I know," she assured him. "Believe me, I'll be on guard. And we'll be in public the whole time."

He nodded, though the tension hadn't fully left his shoulders.

"The restaurant's in the main hub, so there'll be plenty of people around."

"And afterward?"

"I'll come straight to you," she promised again. "Though I may need to make it look like I'm going home first, in case he tries to walk me back."

Petre nodded in understanding.

She smiled. "See? We can make this work."

He caught her hand, bringing it to his lips, biting her fingertips gently. "Just remember who you belong to."

The possessive declaration should have offended her independent nature. Instead, it sent a delicious shiver down her spine. "As if I could forget."

His eyes darkened at her tone, and she knew that if not for her healing injuries and his duty shift, breakfast would have been quickly abandoned for more urgent appetites. The knowledge was as thrilling as any touch.

"Tonight," he promised, the word heavy with anticipation. "After your...engagement."

"Tonight," she agreed. "Try not to glare too much if you see us, hmm?"

His reluctant laugh was the sweetest sound she'd heard all morning. "I make no promises about that."

***

Ten hours later, she ran her hands through her hair and examined her reflection a final time. She would never be a model, but even she had to admit, she'd polished up well. You'd never know that she nearly died a few days ago—or that this entire evening was an elaborate ruse.

The navy dress swirled in layers of delicate silk around her calves, the deep neckline plunging but not scandalous. The short sleeves took it back into casual territory, kept it from being overdressed.

"For him, I'm doing this for him," she reminded herself, steeling her resolve. One dinner with Varian was a small price to pay if it kept Bylelle's attention diverted.

A quick check of the time showed that she had less than fifteen minutes. Rowen hurried out the door, mentally reviewing her role for the evening: interested but not overeager, friendly but with appropriate boundaries. She could do this.

When she arrived, the host directed her to a table near the window, where Varian was already waiting. His pilot's uniform had been exchanged for civilian clothes that highlighted his tall, athletic build. Like some of his Verit brothers, he also had subtle pale striations on his skin, like the slightest hint of stripes. He stood as she approached, offering the smile that had charmed half the colony.

She did a quick scan around the room, heart secretly hoping to glimpse silver hair and ice-blue eyes somewhere in the shadows. Nothing. She tried and failed to convince herself that it was a good thing. The last thing they needed was Petre losing his composure again if Varian touched her.

"I was starting to worry you'd changed your mind," he said as she sat down. "I suppose the genius engineer that saved the bio domes is in pretty hot demand right now."

"Oh, I suppose everyone's talking about it." Rowen cleared her throat, a remembered echo of panic shivering through her. "It wasn't that big of a deal."

"I heard you saved the day."

"Oh?" She took a sip of water, reminding herself to seem interested in his response even as her empathic senses remained vigilant for any hint of Bylelle's presence.

Varian smiled gallantly. "I'm just glad you're ok. Shall we order some food?"

Rowen nodded and smiled, picking up the menu. "What's good here?"

Varian smiled broadly. "Everything. Shall I order for us? Something to share?"

Rowen kept a bright smile plastered on her face. She really hated sharing food with people. "Sure, why not?" The things I do for you, Petre , she thought, maintaining her pleasant expression with effort.

"So that's when the power wavered," Varian said, gesturing with his fork, "and suddenly I'm watching these patterns dance right across my viewport, the entire navigation system going haywire."

As he launched into the story, she nodded along politely, occasionally leaning forward with practiced interest. He was nice enough, she reflected. Handsome, charming, even if he talked a bit too much about himself. Under different circumstances, in another life perhaps, she might have genuinely enjoyed his company.

Instead, she found her mind constantly circling back to Petre—wondering where he was, if he was watching, how much this charade must be costing him. She made sure to laugh at appropriate moments, to ask follow-up questions that kept Varian talking about himself. The less she had to manufacture enthusiasm, the better.

"You seem distracted," Varian observed suddenly, breaking her from her thoughts.

She flushed, caught in her wandering attention. "Sorry. Still recovering, I think. But please, go on with your story. Those atmospheric anomalies sound fascinating."

She found her mind wandering again as he resumed, her eyes drifting around the restaurant. It really was nice. Couples and small groups of friends clustered around tables. They'd done a lovely job with the décor—

The evening's pleasant rhythm shattered at the click of heels against the restaurant's polished floor. Rowen felt Bylelle's abrasive emotional signature before she saw her, that familiar empathic sense making her skin crawl. It amazed her how someone could be so outwardly beautiful but have such an essential wrongness within them.

Right on cue , she thought grimly. As if we summoned her with our little performance.

"What a charming scene." Bylelle's voice carried just the right note of warmth, though her eyes remained cold as she surveyed their table. "The colony's newest couple, I presume?"

Varian immediately stood and bowed. "Maman. You honor us with your attention."

"Please, don't let me interrupt," Bylelle said. "I simply wanted to express my appreciation for such a suitable match. A talented pilot and a promising engineer—exactly the kind of partnership the colony needs."

The words were flawlessly pleasant. But it was the current of satisfaction in her empathic signature that made Rowen's empathic senses prickle. The sheer smugness of it confirmed what she and Petre had suspected—this was exactly what Bylelle wanted to see.

Well, then, Rowen thought with grim satisfaction, enjoy the show.

"You're too kind." Varian offered another deep, respectful bow, and Rowen fought to keep her expression neutral as she sensed the puppyish adoration pouring from him. She had underestimated just how deeply Bylelle's hooks were sunk into him.

Bylelle's laugh was like glass cracking. "Of course. Though I must say, it does my heart good to see young people making appropriate choices." Her gaze fixed on Rowen. "Some females can be so… ambitious in their aspirations. It's refreshing to see someone who understands their proper place."

Young people? Rowen resisted the urge to snort in laughter. Beneath all that finery, she was fairly certain that she had a good five years on the Maman. The implied warning about "ambitious aspirations" wasn't subtle either. She means Petre , Rowen realized. She's warning me off.

Varian gave a polite head bob. "We live to serve, Lady."

"Indeed." Bylelle's smile thinned slightly. "Well, I won't keep you from your evening. Do enjoy yourselves." She touched Varian's arm as she passed. "You are a credit to your clan, pilot."

After she left, Rowen released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. The encounter had left a sour taste in her mouth, despite the knowledge that their plan was apparently working.

She looked at Varian, his charming smile back on his face, and her stomach lurched. Her empathic senses were crawling. She extended the slightest empathic tendril towards him, tasting the surface of his emotions, and recoiled. Pride, satisfaction, a hint of fear. He practically glowed in the Maman's approval.

Oh, Varian , she thought with a pang of unexpected pity, what has she done to you?

Suddenly, the charming décor and atmosphere that she'd just admired felt oppressive. "My apologies, Varian, but I'm not feeling well. I think I'd like to head home," she said, pushing her barely touched dessert away. "I think I might have been a bit ambitious about my stamina after the accident."

"Of course," he said solicitously. If Varian was disappointed about missing their planned flight, he hid it well. "Let me walk you back."

The walk home was quiet, the colony's evening sounds providing a buffer against conversation. All she could think about was getting to Petre, washing away the feeling of this deception with the truth of what they shared.

When they reached her door, Varian leaned in to kiss her, and Rowen stepped back quickly, her promise to Petre ringing in her ears. "Let's get to know each other a bit first?"

He laughed. "Of course, sorry. My mistake."

They parted, her chest hollow with the weight of the charade. "Thank you for the pleasant night."

"Thank you." Varian's smile was genuine, warm. Another female might have bought it hook, line, and sinker. Goddess, sometimes she hated being an empath. "We should do this again sometime."

"Sure," she replied, and felt the lie stick in her throat.

She opened her door and went inside, shutting it firmly behind her, blinking back tears that were as much frustration as sorrow. What was wrong with the Maman on Verit? What drove a female to such manipulative depths that she would do this, set another female up?

She waited ten minutes, watching through the security feed until Varian had truly left, then slipped out.

Her chest felt lighter with each step that took her closer to him. It worked , she thought, a grim satisfaction mixing with her distaste for the deception. Bylelle took the bait.

Now she just needed to report back to her warrior, who was undoubtedly pacing his quarters like a caged predator, waiting for her return.

When she reached Petre's door, she paused, drawing a steadying breath. Before she could press the panel, the door slid open.

Petre stood in the entrance, filling the frame with tightly leashed energy. His hair was loose around his shoulders, silver in the low light. His eyes—usually so carefully controlled—blazed with a feral intensity that made her breath catch.

"You're late," he said, voice low and rough.

"Varian walked me home. I had to wait until he was gone." She stepped inside, the door sliding shut behind her. "Were you watching the whole time?"

"Yes." The single word carried volumes.

The moment the door locked, something in him broke. He moved with liquid speed, backing her against the wall, caging her with his arms, his face inches from hers. His scent surrounded her.

"Do you have any idea," he breathed, "what it was like to watch his hands on you? His eyes on you? To see her standing over you both like she'd won some victory?"

"Petre—"

"When he leaned in to kiss you..." His voice dropped to a growl that she felt more than heard. "If you hadn't stepped back, I don't know what I would have done."

She reached up to touch his face, feeling the tension in his jaw. "But I did step back. Because I'm yours." She held his gaze steadily. "It worked, Petre. She believed it."

Some of the wildness in his eyes receded. "Tell me everything."

"She appeared exactly when we expected," Rowen said, still caught between his arms. "Made some pointed comments about 'appropriate choices' and females with 'ambitious aspirations.'"

Petre's lips twitched, a flicker of grim humor breaking through his possessiveness. "Subtle."

"About as subtle as a plasma rifle." She sighed, letting her head fall back against the wall. "She's playing Varian like an instrument. You should have felt his emotions when she praised him—like a starving pet finally thrown a scrap. I’m sure she put him up to asking me out."

Something dark flickered across Petre's expression. "And how did he treat you?"

"Perfectly pleasant," she admitted. "If I couldn't sense what was underneath, I might have been charmed. He's good at the performance."

A muscle jumped in Petre's jaw. "He was watching you. All night. Like he was memorizing every detail."

"You sound jealous," she observed softly.

"I am." The raw honesty surprised her. "I hate this game. Hate pretending you aren't mine. We’ve never been out on a date for dinner. I hate that he can do that." His hands finally moved from the wall to her waist, fingers splaying possessively.

Rowen reached up, threading her fingers into his hair, tugging him down until their foreheads touched. "I'm here now. With you. This—" She pressed herself closer. "This is real. That was just smoke and mirrors."

His control seemed to fray further at her touch. His hands tightened on her waist, lifting her slightly so they were eye-to-eye. "Did you think of me? While you were with him?"

"Every second," she whispered. "When he talked endlessly about himself, when he ordered food for both of us without asking what I wanted, when he leaned in too close..." She smiled faintly. "I kept thinking, 'Petre would never.'"

Something in him softened at that, though the possessive grip on her waist didn't ease. "And when Bylelle appeared?"

"I wanted to laugh," Rowen admitted. "She was so transparent, so smug about her little scheme. She has no idea she's walking into our trap."

His laugh was low and slightly dark. "My clever mate." His eyes dropped to her lips, hunger replacing some of the fury.

“Mate, is it?” she murmured.

He met her gaze. “Mine, whatever you want to call it.”

She chuckled and leaned towards him for a kiss, but he didn't close the distance. Instead, he studied her face as if searching for something.

"What?" she asked, suddenly self-conscious under his intense scrutiny.

"I need to know this isn't harming you," he said quietly. "That pretending with him, enduring Bylelle's games...that it's not leaving marks I can't see."

The concern in his voice touched something deep inside her. She framed his face with her hands, making sure he saw the truth in her eyes. "Petre. I’m alright. Really. I’m not harmed from tonight." She pressed her lips together, praying silently in her mind that she wasn’t lying to him. “But I don’t know how long I can pretend. What I felt tonight…It made my skin crawl. There’s something deeply wrong between them.” She shuddered. “Still, I’m stronger than you think. I can survive an uncomfortable dinner or two.”

"Uncomfortable dinners," he repeated with a soft snort. "You make it sound so mundane."

"Compared to nearly dying in a bio-dome collapse? Or being blackmailed to commit espionage? It is mundane." She traced the line of his jaw with her fingertips.

His eyes darkened. “Promise me, if you ever feel uncomfortable, you’ll call. No matter when. If he appears, I want to know about it.”

“I promise.” She pressed a light kiss to him. "If it helps, I hated every minute away from you."

She felt the last of his restraint snap at her words. His mouth claimed hers with fierce hunger, his hands around her butt lifting her higher against the wall. She wrapped her legs around his waist instinctively, the silk of her dress bunching around her thighs.

"Mine," he growled against her mouth. "Say it again."

"Yours," she gasped as his lips found the sensitive spot below her ear. "Always yours."

He carried her away from the wall, their bodies still pressed together, his mouth never leaving hers. "I need to erase him," he murmured against her skin. "Need to reclaim every place his eyes touched you."

His words ignited something primal within her, a need to be claimed as thoroughly as she was claiming.

"Please," she whispered, and felt him shudder against her in response.

He carried her toward the sofa, pushing her back onto it, trapping her under him, his mouth trailing fire down her neck, nipping sensitive places that made her fingers curl into his shoulders in silent demand.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered. “If this isn’t what you want, tell me to stop.”

“I don’t want to stop.” She gasped as his hands slid up the inside of her dress.

His touches grew bolder, slipping her dress off her shoulders, hands mapping the curve of her spine, the sensitive spot beneath her ribs that made her arch against him.

She pulled him back down to her, pouring months of suppressed want into the kiss. He responded with a groan that vibrated through her, lifting her onto the edge of the sofa. She wrapped her legs around his waist, drawing him closer, needing to eliminate any space between them.

“Make me yours,” she murmured against his mouth, hands exploring the planes of his chest, pulling the zip of his own shirt open. “I want you. I need…”

“I know,” he rasped, pressing open-mouthed kisses along her collarbone and down into the vee of her cleavage. “Rowen, I need you too. Now.”

He bent her backwards to lean on her elbows, allowing him to feast, using his teeth to graze her nipples, teasing them to raspberry redness.

She writhed and gasped, gripping his hair to hold him close as he continued down, stripping her pants off her, revealing her to him. He delved into her center, flicking with his tongue and teasing with his teeth, drawing a scream that she muffled biting down on her hand. He drove her up again and again, until she lay gasping, exhausted.

He kissed his way back up to her throat. “Still with me?”

She laughed. “I think so. Just give me a minute.”

“Don’t tell me you are tired of me already.” He chuckled darkly and delivered another rasping lick at her nipple, sending shockwaves through her. “I’m just getting started.”

In answer, she reached her hand into his pants and gripped him firmly, slowly pumping. “Not at all.”

He grinned wickedly and trailed his hands over her exposed torso. “What about this?”

She shivered as she felt something sharp prick her skin gently, trailing tiny lines of fire across her pebbled skin. Her pulse skyrocketed, and Petre smiled as he bent over and kissed her. “You like that, huh?”

“Nice trick.” Before she could say anything else, he trailed a single clawed finger down between them, teasing at her entrance, and she saw stars. “Answer me,” he ordered.

“I like it,” she gasped, biting his lip. “Do it again!”

He laughed, “As the lady commands.”

He lifted her up and spun her around, until her front was pressed against the back of the sofa, the rough fabric scratching her nipples. He bent her over, lifting her hips ever so slightly to position her, and she felt him nudging between her legs. “Ready?” he asked, and in response, she braced herself on the back and thrust herself back onto him.

They groaned in unison, and he collapsed forward onto her, pinning her beneath him. He reached around with a hand, circling her throat, turning her head to him so that he could deliver long, drugging kisses. “That was mean,” he murmured against her, and with his other hand pinched her clit, eliciting another scream.

She laughed as she panted, “If that’s my punishment, you aren’t encouraging me to be nice.” She pushed back again into him, and he delivered a sharp slap to her ass cheek, then massaged tenderly to take the sting out of it. He felt her shudder and pulled back slightly. “You like this!” he accused, delighted.

She smiled, and he pressed her down into the sofa again, gripping her hips firmly, setting up a punishing rhythm that had them moaning in unison. He felt her muscles twitch around him and bent forward a last time to place his teeth against the nape of her neck, biting down when he felt her squeeze against him. Only when she shouted her release did he let himself go, pouring himself into her.

They lay there after, slumped against the sofa. His hand trembled as he smoothed her hair down her neck, pausing over her racing pulse and down the lean length of her spine as he pulled back.

“You're so beautiful,” he said, voice rough with emotion. “I've wanted this… wanted you… for so long.”

Rowen's entire body felt electrified, every nerve ending alive to his touch. She arched into him as his lips found that sensitive spot below her ear.

“How long?” she asked.

“Since that first day,” he murmured against her skin. “When you first saw Casti. You were brilliant and fierce and like a ray of sunlight—”

She huffed in indignation. “I was not—”

He silenced her with another kiss, this one deep and consuming, until she melted against him. “You were pure joy and fun,” he said when they parted, “But watching you fight for what you believed in… that's when I knew I was in trouble. It took me a while to admit it to myself, and then it terrified me. What she might do to you.”

The confession hit her like a physical blow, as did the shudder she felt run through him.

She disentangled herself, turned in his arms, and peppered his face with kisses until he laughed in delight. “I’m here, love. I’m safe in your arms. Stay here with me, just for tonight. She can’t come between us, not here.”