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Day Three of being trapped in the bunker with Rhaekar, and I’d progressed from “terrified of the alien predator” to “annoyed by his stoic silence” to my current state: dangerously curious about everything he wasn’t telling me.

The confrontation about the Swarm data I’d found had yielded just enough information to keep me from completely losing it, but not nearly enough to satisfy my journalist’s instincts.

Or my increasingly inconvenient fascination with the golden-eyed Rodinian who saved my life and then proceeded to drive me crazy with his selective communication skills.

After discovering the footage on his system, I’d stormed into the equipment bay, tablet in hand, ready for war.

What I got instead was a reluctant admission that yes, ancient tech called the Swarm was active beneath the surface.

Yes, it might be drawn to my “unique biosignature.” And yes, we were in danger, which was why he’d sent a distress signal.

What he wouldn’t explain was why he’d kept hiding it from me, or why he kept watching me with that intense golden stare when he thought I wasn’t looking. Or why I kept dreaming about him calling me his “kassari.”

I’d pieced together enough from the Legion files to know that Rodinians were a feline-adjacent species with complex social structures and some interesting biological quirks.

The files mentioned something called “Unity dreams” shared between potential mates, but the details were frustratingly vague.

And every time I edged toward that topic, Rhaekar suddenly remembered urgent maintenance that needed his immediate attention.

But the worst thing about being stuck in a desert bunker with a grumpy alien warlord wasn’t the heat. Or the ration bars. Or even the sand that got into places sand should never go.

It was boredom.

The kind of boredom that made you do reckless things. Like poke a six-foot-plus predator with a stick. Or in my case, start asking too many questions about the swirling nightmare storm of alien tech buried outside.

“So... What’s the deal with the creepy alien signal you keep scowling about?” I asked, leaning against the monitoring station where Rhaekar had been standing motionless for at least twenty minutes.

He looked up from the console like I’d just asked if I could lick the sand. His ears—slightly pointed and adorned with those distinctive gold markings—flattened briefly against his head.

“It is not safe.”

“That’s not a deal. That’s a PSA.”

He gave me a look. The Rodinian equivalent of I’m warning you but also vaguely impressed. I was learning the nuances.

“The Swarm is not a foe you take lightly,” he said, his deep voice rumbling through the small space between us. “This planet was once lush. Fertile. Until they came.”

Ah, the capital-S Swarm. That ominous proper noun he refused to elaborate on.

He’d said just enough to terrify me and then clammed up.

From what I’d gathered from my late-night data diving, the Swarm was some kind of semi-sentient tech that had decimated this planet before the Legion contained it.

What remained were fragments—dormant until recently.

“Well, someone should’ve left a Yelp review,” I muttered. “’Zero stars. Swarm turned my jungle into a wasteland.’”

“I am serious, Jas.”

The way he said my name, with that slight growl on the ‘J’, sent an entirely inappropriate shiver down my spine.

I crossed my arms. “Yeah? So am I. If I’m stuck here, I need to know what I’m dealing with. Not just cryptic threats and the ‘don’t touch the glowy thing’ warning.”

His jaw flexed. Probably weighing whether to knock me unconscious for my safety or just carry me to the sleeping mat like a misbehaving kitten.

Which, honestly? Not the worst idea I’d ever had.

“I need to be able to defend myself,” I added, trying to sound serious and not like I was imagining him shirtless again.

Because I definitely wasn’t thinking about the way his copper skin had gleamed with sweat after he’d returned from the perimeter check.

Or how the Legion-issue undershirt had clung to every ripple of muscle across his broad back.

Nope. Completely professional thoughts here.

His ears flicked. “You would spar?”

The question caught me off guard. “What?”

“Combat training. You wish to defend yourself. I can teach you.” He tilted his head slightly, golden eyes narrowing. “Unless you are not physically capable.”

Oh, he did not just go there.

“Unless you’re afraid of losing,” I shot back.

That got his attention. He straightened, tail flicking once behind him in challenge. “You are small.”

“I’m scrappy.”

“Prove it.”

The two words hung in the air between us, charged with something that definitely wasn’t just competitive spirit. His pupils had dilated slightly, those vertical slits expanding in a way that made him look more predatory. More dangerous.

More enticing.

“Outside,” he said, already moving toward the equipment locker. “The radiation levels are acceptable for short duration.”

I blinked, momentarily thrown by his sudden shift from Mr. Mysterious to Combat Instructor. “Wait, what about the Swarm? Won’t it, I don’t know, eat us or something?”

“The perimeter is secured. Temporarily.” He extracted what looked like two lightweight staffs from the locker. “Motion sensors will alert us to any approach.”

“Comforting.”

He tossed one of the staffs to me. I caught it reflexively, surprised by its balance and unusual weight. It wasn’t metal or wood, but some composite material that felt warm to the touch.

“What is this made of?”

“Hardened ceracane. Legion training material.”

“And what am I supposed to do with it? Besides, you know, not get my ass kicked.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. Not quite a smile, but close enough to make my heart do something stupid in my chest.

“You will attempt to strike me. I will show you how to defend yourself.”

“That’s it? No ‘wax on, wax off’? No deep philosophical lessons about the warrior’s spirit?”

He blinked slowly. “I do not understand that reference.”

“Of course you don’t.” I sighed, twirling the staff experimentally. “Lead the way, Sensei.”

The twin suns hit me like a physical blow as we stepped outside.

Even with the storm passed, the heat was oppressive, the air so dry it hurt to breathe.

Rhaekar moved ahead of me, his tall frame casting a long shadow across the scorched sand.

He’d changed into what looked like training gear—a sleeveless tunic that revealed more of those golden markings spiraling down his muscular arms, and loose pants that somehow still managed to emphasize the powerful lines of his thighs.

I was staring. I knew I was staring. But come on. The alien was built like a god with just enough cat DNA to make his movements liquid grace. Sue me.

He led me to a cleared area near the bunker—a rough circle about twenty feet in diameter where the sand had been packed down into a relatively firm surface. The perimeter was marked with small devices that pulsed with a faint blue light.

“Motion sensors,” he explained, noting my gaze. “They will warn us of approach.”

“From the Swarm?”

“From anything.”

Not exactly reassuring, but I’d take it. I stepped into the circle, testing the footing. Solid enough, though the sand would make quick movements challenging.

“How do we—” I began, turning back toward him.

But he was already moving.

One moment he was standing at the edge of the circle, the next he was beside me, staff sweeping toward my legs in a controlled arc. I reacted on instinct, jumping back and bringing my own staff up in a clumsy block.

The impact jarred my arms, but I managed to deflect his strike.

“Good,” he rumbled, already circling for another approach. “Your reflexes are acceptable.”

“Gee, thanks.”

What he didn’t know was that I hadn’t spent my twenties just chasing stories.

When you’re a five-foot-six woman who regularly puts herself in dangerous situations for the truth, you learn how to handle yourself.

Ten years of judo, krav maga, and whatever other self-defense classes I could fit between assignments had left me with decent skills and a healthy respect for bigger opponents.

Which Rhaekar definitely was.

He came at me again, faster this time. I sidestepped, using his momentum against him, and managed to tap his side lightly with my staff.

He froze, golden eyes widening in surprise.

“You did not mention you were trained.”

I couldn’t help the smirk that spread across my face. “You didn’t ask.”

Something shifted in his expression—a new assessment, a recalculation. The next attack was more serious, more focused. He moved like liquid, each strike flowing into the next with precision that spoke of years of disciplined training.

But I wasn’t a complete novice. I blocked, dodged, and occasionally landed glancing blows that seemed to both irritate and impress him. Sweat poured down my face, my breath coming in harsh pants as we circled each other under the merciless suns.

“Your form is unusual,” he noted during a brief pause. “Not Legion-trained.”

“Earth martial arts,” I gasped, trying to catch my breath. “With some street fighting thrown in.”

“Effective. Unpredictable.”

“Was that a compliment? From the stoic Legion Reaper himself?”

His eyes narrowed. “Observation. Not compliment.”

“Right.” I twirled my staff, feeling more confident. “Ready for round two?”

The slight incline of his head was the only warning I got before he launched into a new series of attacks, each more challenging than the last. I held my own, barely, relying more on speed and unpredictability than strength.

And then I made a critical error.

After successfully ducking under a sweeping strike and landing a clean hit to his ribs, I allowed myself a moment of satisfaction. A small, self-congratulatory smirk.

The next thing I knew, I was flat on my back in the sand, the wind knocked out of me, with six-plus feet of muscular alien predator straddling my hips. His hands planted on either side of my head, not quite pinning me down—yet. But I wasn’t exactly struggling to get away.

Our faces were too close. His scent engulfed me—sun-warmed spice and something darkly male that made my insides clench with want. His pupils dilated, those predatory slits expanding until his eyes were more black than gold.

My breath hitched. My heart hammered against my ribs, and not just from exertion.

And then his tail—that expressive, traitorous appendage—curled loosely around my thigh in what felt suspiciously like a possessive gesture.

“I win,” he rumbled, his voice deeper than usual, almost a purr.

“On a technicality,” I whispered back, hyper-aware of every point where our bodies connected.

His gaze dropped to my mouth, lingering there with an intensity that made heat pool low in my belly. I could feel his breath on my face, taste the spice of him on the air between us.

I could have kissed him. Could have fisted my hands in that strange, mane-like hair and pulled him down until his mouth met mine. Could have rolled my hips up into his until he made that growling sound I’d heard in our shared dream.

The thought of the dream—of his hands on my body, his teeth at my neck, his voice calling me kassari—sent a jolt of both desire and uncertainty through me.

No. Too much. Too fast. Too confusing.

I turned my head, breaking the moment like a snapped tension wire.

He eased back immediately, his weight lifting from me without a word, but his breathing matched mine—rough and a little too eager. The loss of his heat felt like a physical ache.

We stood. Dusted off. Said nothing.

But the air between us? Crackling like a live wire dipped in gasoline.

“Your skills are... adequate,” he finally said, his voice still rough around the edges.

“High praise,” I managed, trying to sound normal and not like I was contemplating tackling him back into the sand. “Same time tomorrow?”

His eyes met mine, that golden gaze holding secrets I was increasingly desperate to unravel. “If you wish.”

“I do.”

The simple affirmation hung between us, weighted with meaning neither of us was ready to acknowledge.

We walked back to the bunker in silence, the heat of the twin suns nothing compared to the heat building between us. And I had a feeling the next round wouldn’t just be about combat training.

It would be about the truth we were both circling—about Unity dreams, about fate mates, about why I couldn’t stop thinking about his hands on my body and his teeth at my throat.

About why, despite all logic and reason, despite the danger surrounding us, despite everything... I wanted him.

And I was increasingly certain he wanted me too.