Page 6

She’d woken an hour ago, seeming refreshed despite the circumstances.

Now she moved through the small space of the outpost like she owned it, examining everything with those curious fingers and asking questions I answered in clipped sentences while my inner voice composed elaborate sonnets about the curve of her neck.

“These are toast,” she muttered, tossing her ruined boots aside. “Any chance you’ve got human footwear in that magic storage unit of yours?”

“Negative.” What I didn’t say: I could carry you everywhere. You wouldn’t need to touch the ground again. Just wrap your legs around my waist and?—

“Guess I’m going barefoot then.” She wiggled her toes, oblivious to the effect her simple movements had on me. “These floors are cold.”

I adjusted a control panel without looking at it. “Temperature increase initiated.”

She glanced up, surprise flitting across her features. “Thanks.”

I inclined my head, not trusting myself to speak. Did she remember our shared Unity dream? Where I’d tasted every inch of her skin, heard her cry my name in pleasure? Did her subconscious remember me?

Perhaps no. Fate mates were so rare; rarer still to have humans familiar with Rodinian culture to even know what was considered normal. Yet, for me, every molecule in my body strained toward her like she was gravity itself.

She stirred from her inspection of the room and blinked up at me with those wide, dark eyes that were currently ruining my ability to remain sane.

“Why are you standing like a gargoyle over there?” she asked, yawning.

“I am meditating,” I said, voice calm, unbothered.

Lie.

I was imagining biting her neck and claiming her in seven different positions.

“Oh. Okay. You do that. I’m going to find a snack. Again.”

She wandered off toward the ration packs like she hadn’t just detonated a nuclear-level mating urge in me by saying the word “snack.” My mind immediately supplied the image of her sprawled across the monitoring console, her legs spread, my head between her thighs, feasting?—

I turned to face the far wall, inhaling sharply.

Meditation. Breathe. Focus.

I was a Reaper. I had been trained to resist pain, deprivation, and psychological manipulation. Surely I could resist one tiny, sassy human woman who smelled like warm sunlight and tasted like salted sweat and promise in dreams that felt more real than any mission I’d ever undertaken.

I lowered myself to the cold floor, crossing my legs in the traditional Rodinian meditation pose. The coolness against my heated skin helped ground me slightly. I closed my eyes, seeking the mental discipline that had carried me through countless battles and hostile environments.

My claws retracted slowly, though my cock remained inconveniently firm beneath my armor. I shifted, trying to find a position that didn’t remind me of my body’s betrayal.

Unity dreams don’t lie.

She was kassari. Mine. Fate-mate. She didn’t know it yet, and I refused to pressure her into anything she didn’t choose for herself. That wasn’t the bond. That wasn’t us.

Still…

The soft sound of her rummaging through the storage compartments penetrated my attempted meditation. I heard the crinkle of packaging, the tiny sound of satisfaction she made when she found something appealing. Such mundane activities shouldn’t hold my attention so completely.

And yet.

Her laugh carried across the bunker as she discovered a particularly colorful nutrient pack. My heart did something deeply embarrassing in my chest—a flutter that belonged to adolescent cubs, not battle-hardened Reapers.

Stars help me.

I was going to die.

Either from mating fever or sheer humiliation when she eventually realized that the big bad Rodinian Reaper was having nightly wet dreams about her and mentally writing her name into the sand like a lovesick cub.

“Is this supposed to be fruit?” Her voice broke through my spiraling thoughts. “It tastes like someone described strawberries to a computer that’s never seen one.”

I opened my eyes to find her standing a few feet away, holding a red nutrient packet. The sight of her lips, slightly stained from whatever she’d been eating, nearly undid my carefully constructed calm.

“Synthetic compounds,” I managed. “Designed to approximate familiar flavors.”

“They missed the mark.” She shrugged, then added, “But I’m not complaining. Better than dying of starvation on alien death world.”

“The Burn,” I corrected automatically.

“Yeah, that’s what I said. Alien death world.” Her smile flashed, quick and bright. “Though I guess it’s less deadly with you around.”

Something warm and dangerous unfurled in my chest at her words. Pride. Pleasure at the acknowledgment of protection provided. Ancient Rodinian instincts responding to the subtle praise from a potential mate.

She dropped onto the mat again, sighing contentedly, seemingly at ease despite her circumstances.

Her adaptability was remarkable. I’d heard stories of the softer races.

How most would be panicking, demanding answers, attempting escape.

She had done all that initially, yes, but now she seemed to be taking the situation in stride, assessing, observing.

“Still meditating?” she teased.

“Yes.”

Also: imagining your thighs wrapped around my waist, your body arched beneath mine, your voice breaking as you scream my name the way you did in our shared dream.

“Cool. Have fun with that.”

I didn’t respond. If I opened my mouth now, the words “Let me claim you, little flame, let me ruin you gently” might escape—and then I’d really be in trouble. For wanting her.

So I stayed quiet. Still. Breathing in the scent of my fate.

She stretched out on the mat, her limbs extending gracefully. “How much longer until this storm passes, anyway? Not that I’m not enjoying our stimulating conversations.”

“Eight hours, seventeen minutes.” I could tell her the seconds as well, but that might reveal too much about how acutely aware I was of every moment spent in her presence.

“Guess we’re stuck with each other a while longer then.” She yawned again, the release of tension suggesting she felt safe enough to relax. Safe with me. The thought sent another surge of pride through my system.

I watched her through slightly narrowed eyes as she adjusted her position, getting comfortable.

Her scent had changed again—still that intoxicating blend of citrus and spice, but mellowed now with contentment and drowsiness.

She was drifting back toward sleep, her body still recovering from its ordeal.

Good. Sleep would give me time to regain control. To plan. To figure out how to explain to Legion Command that I could not—would not—allow them to erase her memories. That she was kassari, and therefore under my protection by laws older than the Legion itself.

That I would tear apart anyone who tried to harm her.

The violence of that thought should have alarmed me. Instead, it settled into my bones with comfortable certainty. This was what it meant to find one’s fate-mate. This fierce, uncompromising need to protect, to claim, to cherish.

She mumbled something unintelligible as she curled onto her side, her breathing deepening into sleep.

I remained in my meditation pose, watching over her, gathering my strength.

And hoping the stars would give me strength. Or a cold shower.

Preferably both.