Page 23

The Legion extraction vessel descended through the thick atmosphere like an angry predator, its engines howling against the desert winds as it touched down beside the wreckage we’d left behind.

Sand and debris swirled in violent eddies, stinging my eyes, but I didn’t look away.

Didn’t dare blink. After everything we’d survived to reach this extraction point—the teleportation grid that had nearly fried us both, the three-mile trek through Swarm-infested terrain, the final desperate dash as the twin suns set behind us—I half-expected the ship to be an illusion that would vanish if I took my eyes off it.

Jas stood at my side, her small hand gripping mine with surprising strength.

The teleportation had worked—mostly. It had deposited us five miles from our target rather than the promised two, and the landing had knocked us both unconscious for ten precious minutes.

But she’d gotten us out. My fierce, brilliant little human had rewired ancient Legion tech with nothing but determination and those clever fingers that now clung to mine like I might float away if she let go.

She looked like she’d wrestled a sand devil and lost—hair wild with static electricity from the jump, face streaked with dirt and dried sweat, makeshift bandage wrapped around her forearm where she’d caught it on a jagged piece of equipment.

But her eyes—those dark, fierce eyes that had captivated me from the first—were bright with triumph. Alive. Radiant.

And despite my own injuries—the drone’s blast had left a nasty scar along my ribs that the med station had only partially healed—I felt invincible with her beside me.

My kassari. My fate-mate. Mine to protect, yes, but also mine to be protected by, as she’d proven when she’d dragged my unconscious body through the desert like a stubborn pack animal.

The ship’s ramp extended with a pneumatic hiss, and three Legion officers disembarked in perfect formation.

I recognized the insignia of Technical Division on their uniforms—research specialists, not combat personnel.

They approached cautiously, their attention darting between us and the smoldering remains of the Swarm drone that lay half-buried in the sand twenty paces away.

The lead officer—tall and lean with the distinctive metal implants of a senior tech specialist gleaming beneath his jawline—stopped short when he saw the drone, his composure slipping momentarily.

“That’s a D-7 Alpha sentry unit,” he said, voice hushed with something between awe and horror. “Fully intact design. We’ve only ever recovered fragments.”

“Well, it’s in fragments now,” Jas quipped, her thumb tracing idle circles on the back of my hand. “You’re welcome.”

The tech specialist’s eyes snapped to her, finally registering the small human female who was very definitely not Legion personnel. His implants pulsed with a soft blue light as he scanned her—a biosignature reading, most likely, categorizing and analyzing the alien presence in their midst.

“You’re not from this sector,” he said finally, stating the obvious with the confident authority that only Legion bureaucracy could instill.

“Nope,” Jas replied, popping the ‘p’ with deliberate irreverence.

The specialist blinked, clearly not accustomed to having his observations met with such casual dismissal.

The two officers behind him exchanged glances that spoke volumes about their uncertainty regarding protocol.

I felt a surge of pride through our bond—my mate, disarming hardened Legion officers with nothing but attitude and consonant manipulation.

“You’re Terran,” the specialist continued, regaining his footing. “Earth origin. Your genetic signature is unmistakable.” He glanced at his data pad, frowning slightly. “There’s no record of authorized personnel transfers to The Burn. How did you?—”

“Fell through a portal in the Sahara,” Jas interrupted with a shrug, as if dimensional displacement was a minor inconvenience rather than a galaxy-altering event. “Ended up here. Got chased by murder drones. Made friends with your grumpy cat warrior. You know, Tuesday stuff.”

I couldn’t help the rumble of amusement that escaped my chest. The specialist’s expression cycled through confusion, disbelief, and finally a resigned acceptance that he was dealing with something well beyond standard protocol.

“There’s a jump window to Earth opening from Aeron Alpha in two days,” he said, adopting the measured tone of someone navigating a potentially explosive situation. “We can transport you there. I’m sure your family will want word?—”

“Unless you’re going to Earth, I’m not going.”

Her words fell like stones into still water, creating ripples I felt through our bond. Absolute certainty. No hesitation. No doubt.

I turned to look at her, heart thundering against my ribs like it was trying to break free. “You would stay,” I said slowly, each word carefully measured, “in The Burn. With me.”

She rolled her eyes with such magnificent disdain that I nearly laughed despite the gravity of the moment. “Wherever you are, that’s home. Get it through your thick skull, furball.”

The simplicity of her declaration struck me with the force of a plasma blast. She would stay.

Here, in this hostile world of sand and death and buried horrors.

With me. Not because she had no choice, not because she was trapped, but because she wanted to.

Because she had chosen me as completely as I had chosen her.

I barely managed a growl of agreement before drawing her against my chest, uncaring of the Legion officers’ stares or the protocol violations I was committing.

My tail curled around her hip in a gesture of possession and protection that spoke what words could not—that she was mine, claimed and marked, bound by something older and stronger than Legion regulations.

“My home,” I murmured, pressing my forehead to hers in the traditional Rodinian gesture of devotion. “My mate.”

The specialist cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the display of emotion. “Reaper Onca, I must remind you that bringing unauthorized personnel into Legion space requires?—”

“She stays with me,” I said, not bothering to look at him. My eyes remained fixed on Jas, on the stubborn set of her jaw and the fierce light in her eyes that had first called to something primal within me. “She’s my fate-mate. Bound by blood and choice. The old laws protect such bonds.”

I felt rather than saw the specialist’s recognition of what I was invoking—ancient Rodinian mating laws that predated the Legion itself, recognized and honored in the founding charter. He might not like it, but even Legion bureaucracy knew better than to challenge a blood bond.

“We’ll need to document this,” he said stiffly. “And run full diagnostics on both of you. The Swarm tech?—”

“Later,” I interrupted, finally turning to fix him with a stare that had made hardened warriors step back. “She needs medical attention. As do I.”

To his credit, the specialist merely nodded and gestured toward the ship. “The medical frigate is in orbit. We’ll transport you directly to their facility.”

They took us both aboard, the ramp sealing behind us with a finality that should have felt like the closing of a chapter. Instead, it felt like the opening of a new one—one where Jas remained at my side, her hand in mine, her future tangled with my own by choice rather than circumstance.

The ship ascended through the atmosphere, leaving The Burn behind.

Through the viewing portal, I watched the desert shrink beneath us, its deadly beauty reduced to abstract patterns of gold and amber.

The place where I’d found her. Where she’d saved me.

Where we’d become something neither of us had expected to find.

Even bruised and half-delirious from blood loss, I didn’t let go of her.

The medics aboard the frigate raised an eyebrow at our constant contact, at the way she refused to leave my side even during treatment.

I growled until they stopped looking, until they learned to work around us rather than try to separate what fate had joined.

She slept at my side that night in the sterile medical bay, curled against my chest as if she’d always belonged there, her breath warm against my skin, her heartbeat a steady rhythm that grounded me more surely than any planet’s gravity.

And me?

I lay awake long into the cycle, counting the beats of her heart against mine.

Not because I feared losing her.

Because I finally believed I never would.

Three days in Legion medical care had erased most of our physical wounds.

The advanced healing chambers had sealed my side where the drone’s blast had torn through flesh and muscle, leaving only a pale line of new skin in its wake.

Jas’s scratches and burns had vanished, her body restored to its full, vibrant strength.

But neither medical science nor Legion protocols could sever the bond between us.

If anything, it had grown stronger in the sterile confines of the medical frigate, our connection deepening with each shared glance, each brush of fingers, each night spent curled together despite the medics’ disapproval.

Now, finally released from observation, we’d been assigned private quarters—a concession to my rank and the ancient laws I’d invoked that protected fate-bonds.

The suite was standard Legion issue: minimalist, functional, but with actual privacy and a bed large enough to accommodate my frame without Jas having to sleep half on top of me.

Not that I minded her using me as a mattress.

In fact, I’d grown to crave her weight against my chest, her scent surrounding me in the night.

The door sealed behind us with a soft hiss, and for the first time since The Burn, we were truly alone. No drones hunting us. No medics monitoring our vitals. No Legion officers cataloging our every interaction for their endless reports.