Page 11 of Snared (The Legion: Savage Lands Sector #8)

“Temporarily. The atmospheric conditions will improve in a few rotations.” I met her eyes directly. “When they do, I can contact command. Arrange for your return.”

The words felt like acid in my mouth, but I pushed through. “You have my word, Miri. I will get you home.”

Something flickered across her face—relief, yes, but something else too. Disappointment? The bond between us was still forming, not yet strong enough for me to read her emotions with certainty. But the echo of it reached me, a faint dissonance that matched the ache in my own chest.

“A few rotations,” she repeated. “That’s...good.” She looked down at Phil, who had gone suspiciously still against her skin. “How long is a rotation exactly?”

“Approximately thirty of your Earth hours.”

She nodded, absorbing this. “So I’m stuck here for what, a few days? Maybe a week?”

I translate the impressions of her words. “At most.” I shifted, uncomfortable with the conversation but determined to see it through. “Once communications are restored, extraction should be relatively simple. The rift gate can be reactivated from Legion command.”

“And then I just...go back to my life? Pretend none of this happened?” Her voice was steady, but I caught the slight increase in her heart rate, the subtle shift in her scent that indicated emotional distress.

I wanted to reach for her, to pull her against me and promise that I would never let her go. The urge was so powerful it made my claws extend involuntarily, digging into the moss beneath me.

Instead, I said, “You have people waiting for you. People who would miss you. A ward. Your…brother, correct? Your podcast listeners.” The words felt hollow, but I pushed on. “I would not be responsible for separating you from your family.”

Her expression softened, a vulnerability showing through her usual defenses. “That’s...surprisingly considerate of you, Furball.”

I inclined my head, not trusting myself to speak. The thought of her leaving—returning to her world, her life, a life without me—carved something raw and bleeding inside my chest. But I would not be selfish. I would not be the reason she lost her connections, her purpose.

Even if it meant losing my own.

“What about you?” she asked suddenly. “When do you go home?”

“When my mission assignment is complete.” The half-truth came easily. “I am still needed here.”

“To protect the jungle.”

“Yes.”

She studied me, as if trying to read beyond my words. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

I held her gaze, unflinching. “Many things. As there should be. We have known each other for less than two planetary rotations, Miri.”

“And shared two extremely explicit Unity dreams,” she countered, a flush creeping up her neck at the mention.

The memory of those dreams—her taste, her heat, the way she had surrendered to me—sent a pulse of hunger through my body. I tamped it down, focusing on the matter at hand.

“The dreams are...significant,” I acknowledged. “But they do not erase the reality of our situation. You belong on Terra Prime. Earth. I have duties here.”

Something in my tone must have reached her, because she didn’t press further. Instead, she changed tactics.

“So what happens now? While we wait for your space radio to start working again?”

I straightened, grateful for the shift in conversation. “I need to perform my rounds. Check the perimeter sectors, monitor the jungle’s status.”

“Great. I’ll come with you.”

“No.” The word came out sharper than I intended. I moderated my tone. “It is not safe beyond this area. The jungle has many predators, many dangers you are not equipped to face.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I handled myself fine getting to the pool and back.”

“The vines guided you. Protected you. And that was a short distance, through sectors I have already secured.”

She crossed her arms, challenge written in every line of her body. “So I’m just supposed to sit here and twiddle my thumbs while you do your space cop thing?”

“Yes.” I met her challenge with firm resolve. “This shelter is safe. The defensive lattice will prevent any predators from approaching. Phil and the other vines will provide for your needs.”

“I’m not a houseplant that needs watering, Lor.” Her frustration was evident in the tight line of her mouth, the slight flare of her nostrils. “I don’t do well with being caged.”

“It is not a cage. It is protection.”

We stared at each other, locked in silent battle. I could feel her determination—the same fierce independence that had led her to chase cryptids and conspiracies across her world. She was not one to be confined, even for her own safety.

But neither was I one to bend when the stakes were this high.

“Fine,” she said finally, the word clipped. “I’ll stay put. For now.”

I studied her expression, searching for the truth behind her acquiescence. I found it in the stubborn set of her jaw, the calculation in her eyes. She had no intention of obeying.

Phil confirmed my suspicion, undulating against her wrist in a pattern that translated clearly through our shared connection:

She lies. She will explore.

I suppressed a growl of frustration. Of course she would. She was Miri—curious to a fault, fearless, rule-breaker. It was part of what drew me to her, even as it complicated my mission beyond measure.

“Miri,” I said, leaning forward to emphasize my words. “This is not your Earth jungle. The predators here do not hunt by rules you understand. The plants do not distinguish between food and threat until they have already begun digesting you. Stay. Here.”

She held my gaze for a long moment, then nodded once. “I hear you, Lor.”

Not “I’ll obey you.” Not “I promise.” Just acknowledgment that my words had reached her ears. It was the best I could hope for, given her nature.

I rose, gathering my minimal gear—a blade, water purifier, comm unit that likely wouldn’t function in this atmospheric soup. “I will return before nightfall.”

She tilted her head, looking up at me with those dark, knowing eyes. “Be careful out there, Furball.”

The nickname should have irritated me. Instead, it warmed something in my chest, a place that had been cold for longer than I cared to remember.

“Always,” I replied.

As I descended from the shelter, I caught Phil’s subtle movement—extending a tendril toward me in what I’d come to recognize as its version of private communication.

We will watch her, came the impression. But she is stubborn. Like you.

I suppressed a snort. The vine wasn’t wrong. Miri and I were well matched in our determination, our willfulness. It was part of what made us kassari—complementary forces, equally powerful, equally necessary.

I cast one last glance up at the shelter, where Miri sat watching me, her expression unreadable. The bond between us pulsed with unspoken things—desire, frustration, a growing connection neither of us had asked for but neither could deny.

I would protect her. I would return her to her world, her life.

Even if it tore me apart to do it.