Page 26 of Snared (The Legion: Savage Lands Sector #8)

The second Alpha, slightly shorter but broader through the shoulders, with copper-colored hair pulled back in elaborate braids, circled us slowly. His eyes—violet and luminous—assessed me with unsettling thoroughness.

“Unmated,” he observed, ignoring my question. “But not unclaimed.” His gaze flicked to Lor. “Your scent is on her, Rodinian, but no bond mark. Unusual for your kind.”

Lor’s hand tightened at my waist, his claws pressing against my shirt without breaking through. “Our customs are not your concern, Eridani.”

The first Alpha smiled, revealing teeth that were just a bit too sharp to be human. “The Terran worlds are neutral territory. Unclaimed females, especially those with compatibility markers, are of interest to many houses.”

“I’m standing right here,” I said, crossing my arms. “And I’m not an ‘omega’ or whatever you think I am. I’m a human. A person. With agency and a name.”

Both Alphas raised their eyebrows in identical expressions of surprise, then amusement.

“She has spirit,” the copper-haired one said to Lor. “Admirable. But dangerous without proper bonding protection. The neural link you’ve formed is preliminary at best.”

Lor’s tail lashed once, sharply. “We do not require your assessment.”

“Merely an observation,” the first Alpha replied smoothly. “The Rodinian fate-mate bond is legendary for its strength. Yet you’ve left her vulnerable by not completing it.”

I felt Lor tense beside me, his body coiling with barely restrained aggression. I placed my hand on his arm, feeling the corded muscles beneath his skin.

“We’re fine, thanks for your concern,” I said, infusing my voice with a sweetness that wouldn’t fool anyone. “Just passing through on our way home.”

The copper-haired Alpha’s companion leaned closer, dropping his voice to a rumble meant for Lor alone, but I caught it anyway.

“It’s not worth getting between a Rodinian and his mate,” he murmured. “They’re notoriously lethal concerning their mates, bond mark or no.”

The first one grinned, teeth flashing. “If you tire of your Rodinian?—”

I didn’t let him finish. I grabbed Lor’s hand and dragged him straight toward the gate, my cheeks burning with a mixture of embarrassment and indignation.

“Thanks but no thanks, cologne models,” I called over my shoulder. “I’m perfectly happy with my big cat.”

The rift gate pulsed before us, its silvery surface rippling like mercury. I could see Earth—actually see it—through the translucent barrier, as if looking through a rain-streaked window. My apartment building, my street, my home.

Just before we stepped through, I caught Lor looking back at the Eridani Alphas, his eyes narrowed in a warning that required no translation. Mine. The message was clear even across species.

“Possessive much?” I teased, squeezing his hand.

“Yes,” he replied simply, without apology or elaboration.

I laughed, the sound swallowed by the humming energy of the gate as we stepped through together. The sensation was disorienting—like being turned inside out and reassembled, all in the space of a heartbeat. Colors stretched and compressed, sound distorted, and then?—

We were standing on my street. The late afternoon sun slanted between buildings, painting everything in golden light. Cars passed by, drivers oblivious to the fact that we’d just stepped through a hole in reality. A dog walker with three pugs gave us a curious glance before continuing on.

“Home,” I said, my voice catching slightly.

Lor stood perfectly still beside me, his senses clearly overwhelmed by the sudden immersion in Earth’s environment. I watched as he processed the assault of new stimuli—the exhaust fumes, the distant sirens, the babel of human voices and technology.

“It smells...” he began, searching for the word.

“Terrible?” I offered.

“Complex,” he decided diplomatically.

I tugged his hand, leading him toward my apartment building. “Come on, big guy. Let me show you where this Terran omega-compatible female nests.”

His growl of protest made me laugh again, lighter than I had in days. Maybe it was the relief of being home, or maybe it was the absurdity of bringing an alien warrior to my one-bedroom walk-up. Either way, it felt good. Right.

The Eridani Alphas’ words lingered in the back of my mind—the talk of bonding, of vulnerability, of completion. But those were questions for later. For now, I just wanted to show Lor my world, my home, my life.

Before he had to leave and return to his.

My apartment was exactly as I’d left it.

Dusty. A little sad. But mine. The familiar scent of my lavender candles and forgotten coffee mugs hit me like a wave of nostalgia.

After days in the living jungle with its symphony of sensory experiences, my small urban space felt simultaneously too quiet and too loud.

Lor prowled each room, inspecting the space as if it might sprout an ambush at any moment, his powerful frame making my furniture look oddly delicate and undersized.

“You’ve been here only twenty minutes and already I can see you judging my housekeeping skills,” I said, watching him run a claw gently over the layer of dust on my bookshelf.

His lips quirked in that almost-smile I’d grown to treasure. “I am securing the perimeter.”

“From dust bunnies? Very dangerous. They travel in packs, you know.”

He turned to me, golden eyes serious despite my teasing. “Habit,” he admitted. “I cannot help but assess.”

I crossed to him, placing my hand on his arm. The muscles beneath my fingers were tense, coiled with the alertness of a predator in unfamiliar territory. “I know. It’s who you are.”

We stood there in my living room—him a warrior from beyond the stars, me a podcaster who chased stories about things that weren’t supposed to exist—and the absurdity of it all suddenly hit me. I started laughing, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep and genuine.

“What amuses you?” he asked, head tilted in that feline way that made my heart squeeze.

“This,” I gestured between us. “You. Here. In my apartment. With my sad plants and takeout menus and...everything. It’s just so...”

“Unexpected,” he supplied.

“I was going to say surreal.” I sighed, my laughter fading to a smile. “A week ago, I was recording episodes about Bigfoot sightings in national parks. Now I’m what? Dating an alien? Fate-mated to a Rodinian warrior? What do I even call this?”

His expression softened. “Mine,” he said simply. “As I am yours.”

The word sent warmth spreading through me, settling low in my belly. Mine. It should have felt possessive, primitive. Instead, it felt like coming home in a way my actual apartment couldn’t match.

He moved to the window, looking out at the city skyline as the sun began to set. His silhouette against the amber light was striking—broad shoulders, the subtle movement of his tail, the proud line of his spine. I could see the tension in his posture, the reluctance that mirrored my own feelings.

“When do you have to leave?” I asked, the question barely above a whisper.

“Dawn,” he replied, not turning. “The extraction team will establish a temporary gate point three blocks from here.”

I nodded, though he couldn’t see it. Six hours. Not nearly enough time.

He turned then, his eyes finding mine across the room. “I will return,” he said with that quiet certainty that brooked no argument. “As soon as my report is filed and new security protocols are established for the GL-7 outpost.”

“How long?” My voice sounded small even to my own ears.

“Thirty days. Perhaps less.”

A month. After everything we’d been through, after the bond we’d formed, a month felt like eternity. But it was also nothing—a blip in what could be a lifetime together.

“I will return,” he repeated, crossing the room to stand before me. One clawed hand gently tilted my chin up. “Legion command has provided you with communication equipment. We will not be completely separated.”

I managed a smile. “Video calls with my alien boyfriend. My podcast listeners would lose their minds.”

“Your listeners will know nothing of me,” he growled, but there was no real heat in it. “For now.”

“For now,” I agreed, rising on tiptoe and pressing my lips to his. “But someday, this is going to make one hell of a story.”

His arms came around me, pulling me against the solid wall of his chest. The kiss deepened, his tongue sliding against mine in a way that made my knees weaken. I clutched at his shoulders, steadying myself as desire pooled hot and insistent between my thighs.

“I want to see you,” he murmured against my lips. “Here. In your space. In your bed.”

I nodded, not trusting my voice, and took his hand. I led him to my bedroom—the unmade bed, the clothes I’d left draped over a chair, the string lights I’d hung around the window that cast everything in a soft, golden glow when I switched them on.

“It’s not much,” I said, suddenly self-conscious. “Not like the jungle.”

“It is yours,” he replied, as if that made it perfect. “It smells of you.”

His hands found my waist, drawing me closer again. This time when he kissed me, it was with deliberate slowness—a savoring, as if he were memorizing the taste of me. I melted into him, letting my hands explore the ridges of muscle beneath his tactical gear.

“I will return,” he said against my throat, the words becoming a mantra, a promise. “I will return to you.”

“I know,” I whispered, working at the fastenings of his armor. “I believe you.”

We undressed each other with reverent care, so different from our urgent couplings in the jungle.

There, we had been driven by discovery, by primal need.

Here, we were guided by something deeper—the knowledge of imminent separation, the desire to create a memory that would sustain us through the coming weeks apart.

When we were both naked, he laid me on my bed with infinite gentleness. His golden eyes traveled over my body as if committing every curve, every freckle to memory.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, lowering himself beside me. “My kassari.”

His hands explored me with exquisite patience—tracing the line of my collarbone, cupping the weight of my breast, following the curve of my hip.

Each touch kindled heat beneath my skin, each caress a wordless promise.

I reached for him in turn, marveling at the contrast between us—his tawny, spotted skin against my bronzed tone, his powerful frame dwarfing mine.

When he finally moved over me, positioning himself between my thighs, I was already trembling with need.

He entered me slowly, his eyes never leaving mine, the sensation of fullness making me gasp.

In this position, face to face, I could watch every flicker of emotion cross his usually stoic features—the pleasure, the tenderness, the fierce protectiveness.

“I am yours,” he said, beginning to move within me with deliberate, measured strokes. “As you are mine.”

“Yes,” I breathed, wrapping my legs around his waist, drawing him deeper. “Always.”

Our bodies found a rhythm as natural as breathing, as inevitable as gravity. His tail curled around my thigh, adding another point of connection between us. I ran my hands over the powerful muscles of his back, feeling them flex and release with each thrust.

The pleasure built slowly, inexorably, like a wave gathering strength. But it wasn’t just physical—there was something else happening, something deeper. Each time our eyes met, each shared breath, each whispered endearment wove another strand in the bond between us.

When I finally crested, it was with his name on my lips—not a shout of ecstatic release, but a whisper of profound connection. He followed moments later, his face buried in the curve of my neck, his body shuddering against mine.

We lay entangled afterward, his weight partially supported on his forearms, his breath warm against my skin. Neither of us spoke. Neither of us needed to.

Eventually, reluctantly, he rolled to his side, drawing me against his chest. I traced patterns on his skin, memorizing the feel of him, storing away these sensations for the lonely nights ahead.

“I will miss you,” I said finally, the words inadequate but necessary.

“And I you.” His hand stroked my hair, gentle despite the deadly claws that tipped each finger. “But this separation is temporary. What we have built is not.”

I nodded against his chest, letting his heartbeat soothe me. We stayed that way for hours, sometimes talking softly about what would come next, sometimes simply being together in comfortable silence. But dawn approached with cruel inevitability, and eventually, he rose to dress.

I watched him don his armor piece by piece, transforming from my lover back into a Legion Reaper—powerful, dangerous, duty-bound. With one last look, he came to stand in front of me.

“I will return,” he said simply. As if repeating this phrase was a mantra he needed to speak.

“I know. I have all the comms equipment and other things.” I rose on tiptoe and kissed him. “Just try not to bring jungle vines with you next time.”

“Phil will miss you.”

I laughed, blinking fast against the sudden sting of tears. “Yeah...I’ll miss him too.”

He pulled me into one last embrace, his cheek brushing against my hair. I memorized the weight of him, the warmth, the way his purr rumbled right through my chest.

Then he was gone.

And all I could do was wait—and believe that this was real.