Page 10 of Snared (The Legion: Savage Lands Sector #8)

I woke with her scent on my tongue, so vivid I could taste her still.

The Unity dream clung to me like a fever, hot and insistent against my skin.

My body thrummed with the echo of her pleasure, the memory of her cries reverberating through my bones.

Miri. The name beat inside my chest, a second heartbeat I couldn’t silence.

The primal part of me—the part that was more beast than Reaper—paced beneath my skin, hungry and claiming.

Mine. She was mine. And I was dangerously close to forgetting why that couldn’t happen yet.

The vines had curled around us both during the night, weaving a living cocoon that joined us even as we slept separately.

They knew what we were to each other before we’d even spoken.

The jungle had sensed the bond forming between us—had felt it ripple through the ecosystem like a stone dropped in still water.

I sat up slowly, careful not to disturb the delicate network of connections that had formed. A thick vine—the one Miri had dubbed “Phil”—was draped lazily across my chest, pulsing with information it wanted to share. I placed my palm against it, extending my consciousness into the living network.

The impression came immediately: Miri was not in the perch.

Not panicked—not yet—I expanded my awareness, letting my senses flow outward through the jungle’s neural pathways. East. The mineral pool. I caught impressions of warm water, steam rising, her body submerged to the neck.

She’d gone to wash away the evidence of our shared dream.

I could feel the jungle’s fascination with her—the way the vines gently guided her path, how the dangerous flora receded at her approach, the way even the carnivorous species regarded her with curious respect rather than hunger.

“She isn’t prey,” I murmured, more to myself than to Phil, who was still trying to feed me information.

The vine gave an undulating pulse that translated clearly through our connection:

The Other watches her too.

I went rigid, my claws extending instinctively. The fugitive. Of course he would be drawn to her—new, different, a disruption in the jungle’s carefully balanced ecosystem. A potential weakness in my defenses.

“Show me,” I commanded, pressing deeper into the connection.

The response came as a series of fragmented impressions—movement to the north, a faint energy signature that didn’t belong, the acrid scent of fear and desperation.

But the signal was weak, indistinct. The jungle’s attention was divided now, focused primarily on Miri rather than tracking the Cydarian.

I stood, my muscles bunching with suppressed urgency. Since her arrival, the jungle had been…distracted. Its vast consciousness, once a precision tool I’d wielded in my hunt, had become unfocused, splitting its attention between protecting the newcomer and maintaining surveillance on the fugitive.

I couldn’t blame it. I’d been equally distracted.

The dream played again behind my eyes—her body beneath mine, her taste flooding my mouth, the way she’d surrendered so completely, as if we’d been lovers for lifetimes instead of strangers thrown together by cosmic chance.

A low growl rumbled in my chest at the memory. My tail lashed behind me, betraying the hunger that clawed at my insides. I paced the perimeter of our shelter, checking the defensive lattice I’d woven the night before.

No breaches. No signs of the fugitive’s presence within range of our camp. But he was out there, watching, waiting. I could feel it in the subtle shifts of the ecosystem, in the way certain sectors had gone quiet, in the defensive posture of the apex predators that ruled the upper canopy.

Phil slid across the platform to twine around my ankle, offering another impression:

She belongs here now. The jungle has claimed her too.

I shook my head, trying to clear it. “She doesn’t belong to the jungle. She doesn’t belong to me. Not yet. Not until she chooses.”

But even as I said it, I knew it wasn’t entirely true.

The jungle had already marked her as important—had already woven her into its consciousness, just as it had done with me over the long months of my isolation here.

And I...I had been marked by her in ways that went beyond physical.

The Unity dream had sealed something between us, something primal and unbreakable.

If I claimed her—truly claimed her with bite and bond—it would be irreversible. She would be tethered to me by fate and blood and instinct. The jungle would never release her. Neither would I.

I couldn’t take that choice from her. Not unless she understood exactly what it meant. And not while the fugitive still posed a threat.

I moved to the edge of the shelter, scanning the dense foliage below.

The jungle floor pulsed with its normal morning rhythms—bioluminescent fungi dimming as sunlight filtered through the canopy, ground-dwelling scavengers retreating to their burrows, carnivorous vines unfurling to catch the unwary.

Beautiful. Deadly. Mine to protect.

And now, hers too.

The thought should have unsettled me. Instead, it felt right. As if her presence had filled a gap in the ecosystem that I hadn’t known existed.

I inhaled deeply, testing the air. Her scent still lingered in the shelter—that unique blend of human female and something distinctly Miri. Warm spice and wild determination. But it was fresher now, closer.

She was returning.

I stilled, focusing my senses on the approach path.

The vines were guiding her, clearing obstacles, protecting her bare feet from the thorns and toxins that littered the jungle floor.

Phil’s companion vines—the ones that had accompanied her to the pool—were relaying status updates through the network. Safe. Clean. Coming home.

Home. When had I started thinking of this temporary shelter as home?

When she arrived, whispered the part of me I couldn’t silence.

I heard her before I saw her—the soft pad of her feet against moss, the quiet hum of a melody I didn’t recognize, the gentle rustle of vines parting to clear her path. Then she emerged from the dense foliage, and something in my chest clenched tight.

She was...radiant. Water droplets still clung to her skin, catching the dappled sunlight and transforming it into fractured rainbows. Her long, dark hair swept up into a top knot, the damp wisps of curls clinging to her cheeks and neck in ways that made my fingers itch to trace their path.

She walked with no fear, as if she belonged here. As if she’d been born to this wild place rather than the concrete world she’d described.

My tail thumped once against the branch in approval before I caught it. Traitorous thing.

She caught the movement, her gaze sharpening as she looked up at me. Her lips curved into that half-smile that managed to be both challenging and disarming.

“Morning, Furball,” she called, her voice carrying easily through the humid air.

I grunted and looked away before I said something I couldn’t take back. Something like “mine” or “stay” or “let me taste you again.”

Because the bond was forming, strengthening with each shared breath, each shared dream. The need was building, a pressure inside me that threatened to crack my hard-won control. And that control?

It was hanging by a vine.

I watched as Miri climbed up to the shelter, her movements growing more confident with each passing day.

She’d adapted to the jungle with surprising speed, as if some part of her had been waiting for this wild place.

For me. The thought was dangerous, a temptation I couldn’t afford.

I’d promised myself I would send her home, back to her world, her life, her family.

But as she settled across from me, cross-legged and expectant, I felt the words sticking in my throat like thorns.

“So,” she said, breaking the silence between us.

“I think it’s time for some answers, Lor.

Real ones.” She reached out to stroke Phil, who had immediately slithered over to curl around her wrist like an affectionate pet.

“What exactly is your mission here? And don’t give me that ‘I hunt’ nonsense again. I want details.”

I studied her face—the determined set of her jaw, the intelligence in her dark eyes, the way she didn’t flinch from my gaze the way most humans would. My kassari was no coward. She deserved truth. Just...not all of it. Not yet.

“I am stationed here as a Legion Reaper,” I began, choosing my words with care. “This planet—GL-7—houses technology that must be protected. The jungle itself is valuable. Sentient ecosystems are rare in the charted universe. Many would exploit it.”

“And Legion is...what exactly? Space military?”

I nodded. “The Legion is a coalition of allied worlds that protects the outer spiral of the galaxy, led by Eridani alphas. We maintain order, defend borders, secure dangerous technology.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “So you’re basically space cops.”

“We are warriors,” I corrected. “Reapers are...specialized. We work alone, for extended periods, in hostile environments. Where others cannot survive. Most if not all of the Legion Reapers are Rodinian for that reason.”

“Like this charming death jungle.”

I found myself almost smiling at her description. “Yes. Like this.”

Phil undulated against her skin, and she tilted her head as if listening. The neural connection between her and the jungle was strengthening by the hour—another complication I hadn’t anticipated.

“And the portal I came through?” she asked. “The one in the abandoned military bunker?”

“A rift gate. Old Legion technology, supposedly deactivated after the Helixian incursion.” I leaned back against the trunk, letting my tail curl comfortably beside me.

“Communication with Legion command is...inconsistent during this part of the solar cycle. Signal degradation in the upper atmosphere makes transmission difficult.”

“So we’re cut off?” She didn’t sound frightened, merely calculating.