Page 27 of Snared (The Legion: Savage Lands Sector #8)

Twenty-three days without Miri, and every fiber of my being protested the separation.

The new outpost gleamed with Legion efficiency—polished metal walls, advanced security systems, perfect climate control—yet felt hollow without her scent filling its spaces.

I paced the perimeter for the seventh time that morning, my claws clicking against the composite flooring as I fought the primal urge to tear through the rift gate and reclaim what was mine.

“She didn’t reject you,” I reminded myself again, the words a mantra that had worn thin with repetition. “We agreed to part and return to each other.”

My tail lashed behind me, betraying the emotions I worked to contain.

The bond between us had strengthened despite the distance—or perhaps because of it.

At night, I dreamt of her laugh, the way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she teased me, the soft warmth of her skin against mine.

I woke each morning with phantom sensations of her body pressed against me, only to find my arms empty.

Phil slithered through the open door, his vine-body undulating with what I recognized as disapproval.

He’d insisted on accompanying me from the heart of his jungle to this new outpost, appointed himself my personal conscience in Miri’s absence.

The vine coiled around a support beam, leaves rustling in what sounded suspiciously like a sigh.

“I am not being dramatic,” I growled, answering the unspoken criticism.

Phil extended a tendril toward the wall, where my claws had left four perfect grooves in the metal during yesterday’s bout of restlessness.

“That was an accident.” I flexed my hands, forcing the claws to retract fully. “The separation is more difficult than anticipated.”

The vine curled tighter around the beam, leaves shivering in a pattern that translated roughly to:

You’re being ridiculous. She’s safe. She’s waiting. She’s yours.

“I am aware,” I muttered, resuming my pacing.

My den still carried traces of her—a faint molecule here, a lingering essence there—though she’d never actually visited this new structure.

The jungle had worked its own strange magic, incorporating elements from our shared shelter into the walls of this Legion-built outpost, carrying her essence with it.

Sometimes, when the wind shifted just right, I caught a ghost of her scent that made my chest ache with longing.

Phil uncoiled himself and slithered across the floor to wrap around my ankle, an anchoring gesture that felt uncomfortably like restraint. He squeezed, just once, communicating in that wordless way I’d grown to understand:

Stay. Center yourself. Remember your training.

“I am not succumbing to deliria amoranta,” I said, more sharply than intended.

The madness that overtook Rodinian males when rejected by their fated mates was legendary—warriors reduced to feral beasts, until all they were good for was berserkers in the front line of war.

Modern Rodinians should be beyond such primitive urges. We had neural stabilizers, meditation techniques, pharmacological interventions if necessary. And yet, the madness always won out.

Some things were not easily answered by science.

Though, I needn’t worry. Miri did not reject me.

If I repeated that enough, my heart will be convinced.

Phil hissed softly, vine-body undulating in the particular pattern that indicated he was transmitting my emotional state to the greater jungle consciousness. Tattling on me, essentially.

“Traitor,” I growled, but there was no heat in it.

The console in the corner chimed, a welcome distraction. I crossed to it in three long strides, activating the holographic display with a swipe of my claw. Strategos Veren’s face materialized in glowing blue light, his striped features set in their usual stern expression.

“Reaper Pardus,” he greeted me with a curt nod. “Final security protocols for the GL-7 outpost have been approved ahead of schedule. The rift gate has been stabilized and permanent coordinates established for Terra Prime.”

My heart rate accelerated. “Ahead of schedule by how much?”

Veren’s expression didn’t change, but I detected a subtle flick of his ear—the Rodinian equivalent of raised eyebrows. “Seven standard days. The connection is secure and permanent. Your mission report has been processed and commendations noted in your file.”

“And my request for Terra Prime transport?” I asked, working to keep my voice neutral.

“Approved, of course. We did not wish to prolong your separation from your mate. In fact, if it would have been longer, I would have approved another rift gate opening as of today.” Veren allowed himself a small smile.

“Of course, your mate’s neural compatibility with the jungle ecosystem has expedited certain diplomatic and scientific considerations.

Legion Command believes maintaining your connection to her serves Legion interests. ”

Translation: They were fascinated by Miri’s bond with the jungle and wanted to study it further. Fine by me, if it meant official sanction for what I was going to do anyway.

“When can I depart?” I asked, not bothering to hide my eagerness now.

“Whenever you wish,” Veren replied. “The gate is operational and more importantly, stable. Your clearance codes have been updated as well as your mate’s biological markers.”

The communication ended, leaving me standing in sudden silence, my pulse thundering in my ears. I could go to her. Now. Today.

Phil unwound from my ankle and stretched upward, forming a question mark shape with his vine-body.

“Yes,” I confirmed, already moving toward my equipment locker. “I’m leaving. Immediately.”

The vine rustled with approval, then slithered toward a small collection of objects I’d been gathering—items from the jungle that Miri had admired, crystals that captured bioluminescence, a vial of the fruit nectar she’d enjoyed.

Phil added a small, perfectly formed blossom from his own vine-structure, a rare gift from the jungle itself.

“She will appreciate that,” I told him, carefully securing the items in a protective case. “Though she might appreciate you more. You’re certain you won’t come? Send a small sapling along?”

Phil’s response was immediate—a series of undulations that translated to firm refusal and noting we would need privacy.

I packed quickly, efficiently, taking only what I needed—weapons (concealed, adaptable to Terran environments), communication devices, identification markers that would register me as a sanctioned presence on Earth in keeping with the Intergalactic Republic’s desires to keep Terra Prime a neutral zone.

And the gifts, of course. I hesitated over civilian clothing, then packed a single set. Miri would likely have opinions about what I should wear among her people.

The thought made my lips curve in a smile. She would have opinions about everything, delivered with that sharp wit that had first caught my attention beyond the mere biological imperative of our bond.

“She likes surprises,” I told Phil as I sealed my pack. “And funny plot twists in her stories. She’ll appreciate this one.”

Phil’s leaves rustled with what might have been skepticism.

“She will,” I insisted. “Eventually.”

The vine gave one final squeeze to my ankle before retreating, a silent farewell and good luck all in one gesture. I shouldered my pack, checked my weapons one last time, and headed toward the rift gate chamber.

It was time to reclaim my mate. Not because of deliria amoranta or primitive instinct—though those played their part—but because twenty-three days was simply too long to be apart from the one person in the universe who made even a Rodinian Legion Reaper smile.

Terra Prime’s atmosphere felt heavier than I remembered—dense with moisture and the metallic tang of human civilization.

The rift gate had deposited me three blocks from Miri’s apartment, exactly as planned, though the alley location left much to be desired.

I activated my camo-tech, adjusting my appearance to blend with the local population—duller skin, no visible claws, concealed tail.

The transformation felt restrictive, like wearing armor several sizes too small, but necessary.

Humans tended to react poorly to seven-foot feline-looking warriors walking their streets.

I followed the route from memory, cataloging changes in the neighborhood since my departure. New security cameras on the corner market. Different scents from the food vendor beneath her building. A stray feline that hissed at me despite my human disguise—animals were never fooled by camo-tech.

Her apartment building looked exactly the same—weathered brick, narrow windows, the entrance secured by a lock system primitive enough that I could have bypassed it with my eyes closed.

Instead, I waited for a resident to exit, then caught the door before it closed.

Proper protocols could wait; the need to see her overrode Legion security training.

I took the stairs two at a time, my enhanced hearing already picking up the soft movements from inside her apartment—the pad of bare feet across wooden floors, the gentle clink of what sounded like ceramic against metal. She was home. Alive. Safe.

The relief nearly buckled my knees.

I stood before her door, running through various greeting scenarios, all of which suddenly seemed inadequate. Twenty-three days of separation deserved more than a casual “hello,” but Legion training hadn’t covered romantic reunions. I settled for the traditional approach: I knocked. Twice.

No answer.

I frowned. Her heartbeat had accelerated at the sound—she had definitely heard me. I knocked again, harder this time.

Still nothing, though I could smell her fear response activating, the subtle chemical shift in her scent that indicated heightened alertness. Something was wrong.