Page 10

Over the next two days, Zoran sent Aklan near hourly updates on their progress.

Aklan spent his time gently nudging the diplomats into, as Nicholson put it, quietly showing their hands. What he discovered disquieted him. The humans he’d interacted with did not seem to be disingenuous by nature. Yet, their leaders, the ones negotiating with him for Xeruvian technology, were each attempting to subvert the original terms.

All wanted the proffered technology. None wished to bow to Xeruvian needs to gain it.

He had anticipated such a reaction, but placed it at such a low likelihood prior to meeting the humans that he hadn’t given it serious thought. Primarily, he mused, because their rejection of this one demand ensured the worst outcome for future negotiations.

On this, the Warlord Council had agreed: if humans would not bow to their demands, then the warlord team would take what they needed.

Aklan walked away from the final meeting with the lowest status country-clan, pondering closed doors and lost opportunities. He longed to discuss these outcomes with his mate, to gain her perspective on the situation.

Sonja, however, had withdrawn behind the same politely neutral facade she’d worn at their first meeting. Since their passionate embrace, in fact. Had he overwhelmed her with his explanations, with the strength of his need? Or was she merely being human?

His need for her remained a tight, dangerous coil in his gut, stirring restlessly as the days passed and she remained unclaimed. He had spoken truly when he’d told her that a warrior must always place the needs of his mate above his own. Yet, perhaps he had not emphasized the dangers of an uncemented mating enough.

It mattered little. Now that he knew the human diplomats would not accede to his request, now that they had made it clear, in their own obfuscating ways, that they would not allow Xeruvians to meet and court human women…

Now that this had come to pass, his time on Earth had come to an end. He would not share further Xeruvian technology with humans. When Nicholson and the other diplomats learned of this, they would, at the very least, attempt to detain him, despite Xeruvian might. Aklan snapped his teeth. Foolish humans. They thwarted him at their own peril.

And if they dared stand between him and his mate?

His snarl morphed into a fang-baring smile. Then he would gladly unleash the mating instinct and claim Sonja as he should have done from the first.

Sonja fidgeted on the sofa between Aklan and Missy. It had been a long week. Mike had developed a worried furrow between his brows and bags under his eyes. Missy’s friendliness held a thread of quiet tension each time they spoke, and Aklan…

Sonja swallowed nervously. Aklan had begun turning his predatory smile on her.

He held her hand now, seemingly intent on the movie they watched.

Men in Black . Missy had won that argument through a Ky’Lota challenge.

After the evening session of the Xeruvian martial art, Aklan had followed Sonja to her room and waited outside while she cleaned up and threw on jeans and her lone sweatshirt over her workout clothes. He seemed more protective now, his gaze hungry and possessive. Something had changed after that morning in her office two days back. Not what had happened there—dear heavens, he could kiss —but something else. He hadn’t said a word about it to her, which only intensified her own doubts.

If he didn’t trust her enough to talk to her…

She shook the thought away. No, she couldn’t apply human relationship standards here. It wasn’t fair to Aklan. How could she push him to trust her when she knew they could never have a real relationship?

Which begged the question as to why she continued to play along.

A wave of guilt hit her, and she shifted against him, drawing his gaze. He leaned toward her and placed his mouth close to her ear. “We do not have to linger here, pjora-la .”

He’d cut off the speakerphone aspect of his wrist device, so that only she heard his words.

“The movie’s fine,” she whispered.

“You seem restless.”

“I have a lot on my mind.”

He cupped her face with one massive palm, his touch so gentle, she nearly wept. “As do I.”

I don’t know what to do .

The desperate thought nearly burst out of her. Mike was right. She’d fallen for Aklan, knowing she couldn’t keep him. Knowing it wouldn’t work.

Aklan brushed his thumb across her cheek, his teal-blue eyes nearly glowing. “Tonight, you will come to me and we shall speak of these things, yes?”

She pulled back, startled. “What, come to your room?”

“Indeed,” he agreed solemnly. “We have much to discuss, mate. Bring the bag Missy gave you.”

“How do you…?”

The slow smile he gave her was answer enough.

Sonja faced forward, not really seeing the movie playing out on the wall in front of her. Aklan and Missy were in cahoots, was that it? And he wanted to see her alone in his room later.

He’d called her his mate, as if it were a foregone conclusion.

A frighteningly delicious shudder rippled through her. From what she knew of him and his culture, it was. He’d known the moment they met. If only she shared his certainty.

Later, when the movie neared its conclusion, Sonja slipped away, pleading a headache as an excuse. The hallways were quiet as she wound through them. Eerily empty.

She yanked off her sweatshirt as she entered her quarters, then stopped at the foot of the bed. The robe Aklan had given her lay draped across the back of the room’s lone chair, butted up against the desk. She’d made the bed before she left, tidied her toiletries in the adjacent bathroom. Neat as a pin, just like her office.

Nothing like the turmoil consuming her from the inside out.

She tossed the sweatshirt aside, toed off her shoes, and finished stripping as she walked toward the shower. Ten minutes later, she yanked clean clothes on over her freshly washed skin. Unlocked her suitcase and tugged out the backpack, jerked clothes off hangers and stuffed them into the backpack with her casual clothes.

A dim voice in her mind wondered what she was doing, packing this way.

The rest of her moved on automatic. No, on instinct. Aklan had told her to bring the backpack. He hadn’t told her to pack it first.

But she knew what he’d needed from her, just knew , as if when he’d told her about his mating instinct he’d also shared a small thread of it with her. It burned in her gut, urging her to comply, to run toward him instead of away, as the rest of her, the human in her, demanded.

And it confused her to be torn that way, to have the need for self-preservation pitted against the, the…

Pissed off now, she snapped, “Just say it, Sonja. Just admit that you love him.”

She sucked in a harsh breath and slammed the closet open. Damn those snooping spies and their bugs. And damn Aklan, too. He’d probably heard every word of that confession.

Three minutes later, she stared at the zipped backpack resting innocuously on her bed, breathing as if she’d just finished a timed sprint. She’d left her heels and most of her business clothes in the closet, jammed the robe he’d given her into the last few inches of space. Heels she could do without. That robe she could never leave behind.

Slowly, she wrapped herself in the composure she’d worked so hard to build. No one could suspect her true thoughts when she walked to Aklan’s quarters. No one could doubt her motives, lest they suspect her true purpose.

What that purpose was, she hadn’t quite figured out yet. Not just talk, as Aklan had said. Probably not what she’d instinctively prepared for by packing most of her clothes in that backpack, clean and dirty alike.

God, everything was so impossible right now.

She blew out a final breath and scrubbed her hands down her jean-clad thighs. No time like the present. She tucked the necklace he’d given her under her t-shirt, slung the tightly packed backpack over one shoulder, and left her quarters, wondering if she’d ever see it again.

Sonja passed a few people on her way to Aklan’s quarters. When anyone raised an eyebrow at the backpack, she smiled serenely and said, “Laundry.”

She had to ask Aklan for directions twice, once when she got turned around, and then when she neared his quarters. She’d expected his security detail to be stationed outside his room, but the hallway was empty and unnervingly quiet.

The door opened as she approached. Aklan drew her inside and closed it behind her, took the backpack from her and dropped it beside a large black duffel on the far side of the room, beyond a small sitting area containing two upholstered chairs and a round coffee table. His quarters were three times the size of her own, but just as sparsely furnished. A queen-sized bed, a nightstand, and an armoire rounded out the room. Nothing of his was scattered around the room, except for the duffel. It looked like he hadn’t been in the room five minutes, let alone more than a week.

He stood, drawing her attention. Since she’d last seen him not half an hour before, he’d stripped down to loose, off white pants slung low on his hips, baring the taut, rippling lines of muscle stretched across his torso. Jagged scars interrupted the smooth skin over his ribs. Four scars, each running roughly parallel to the other across his side

A chill shivered down her spine. Those looked like claw marks. Judging by the distance between each scar, whatever had given them to him had to’ve been huge .

“You are well, pjora-la ?” he said with his back still to her.

His voice held a rough growl. She stilled abruptly, her eyes wide as he turned toward her. His own eyes held a bright wildness, almost glowing like fireflies against the night. When he’d opened the door, she’d had a brief impression of sculpted muscle, a narrow waist, and the flash of a tattoo along one pectoral. Now, her breath caught on the heavy perfection of his form. His bare body was like a rock hewn away until it revealed its core strength, a strength that could easily crush her with the slightest movement.

In that moment, he was a predator contemplating his prey. She fought the urge to shrink into herself, to run from him or hide. Useless , she thought. She could never hide from him.

“I’m here,” she said, surprised when her voice came out sounding almost normal. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Many things,” he purred. “How long have you known that the human diplomats intend to deny Xeruvians access to fertile females?”

A startled breath whistled out of her. “Long enough.”

“You did not think to tell me?”

“And betray my own people?”

“What of me, your mate?”

Well. Didn’t that put a fine point on it.

She lifted her chin and stared him down. “Don’t make me choose sides, Aklan. That’s not fair.”

His teeth snapped shut in a savage snarl. “Is it fair to deny a dying people their salvation? Is it fair to trick and connive when met with an honorable proposition?”

“I argued against that,” she said.

“Yet did your words find no purchase.” His balance shifted, then he stalked slowly toward her, each step measured and calculated. Predatory. “And what of us, mate? Think you that I would allow you to retreat from me?”

His third step placed him within easy arm’s reach of her. Instinctively, she skittered back, one hand up as if she had any hope of fending him off. “You said I could have time.”

“What time is left to us, mate?”

He leapt toward her with the shocking grace and speed he’d demonstrated so effectively during that first beautiful display of his strength. Startled, she yelped and swung around, trying to run, to reach the door and whatever brief escape it offered. His hands latched onto her waist, one arm snaked around her chest, and he lifted her easily, his rough laugh a dark prickle in her blood. She kicked back at him, twisting in his hold, her breaths coming in short, sharp gasps as wet heat pooled between her thighs.

No! She couldn’t give in. If she did, he’d devour her one sensual bite at a time, consuming every doubt, every hesitation. Bending her to his will.

Let him win , that insidious instinct whispered, and she was tempted. God, was she tempted.

“Good mate,” he purred. “If we had time, I would give chase. Ah, little klika , how beautiful it would be.”

“Aklan!” she gasped.

“Mate,” he corrected. “Do you wish to challenge me now? Shall we play that game?”

“Please, Aklan. We can’t do this.”

“It is already done.”

His words held a flat finality. Abruptly, he twisted around and dropped her face down onto his bed, crushing her beneath his weight. She struggled to break free, infuriated when he laughed again.

“Good mate,” he rumbled in her ear. “Fight me. Show me your worth.”

“Let me up, you cretin!”

In response, he wedged his face into the crook of her neck and scraped his fangs along her throat.

She stilled and became abruptly aware of the hard length of his arousal pressed against her ass. “Don’t hurt me.”

“ Pjora-la ,” he breathed. “I could never bring you harm. But this must be done. You know it as well as I.”

“Wh-what are you talking about?” she panted.

He rolled with her and sat up, his feet planted firmly against the floor, her legs draped over his thighs, one arm around her middle. “Take off your blouse.”

She shook her head frantically. “I’m not having sex with you.”

“Perhaps not tonight,” he agreed mildly. “Time is short, beloved.”

“Why do you call me that?”

“Beloved?”

“Yes.”

“Ah,” he said, amusement filtering through the simple word. “Because this is what you are to me. Fate given. Mate. Beloved . I have known from the moment we met that I could love you.”

Questions pressed against her mind, tumbling into a jumbled mess. Before she could sort them out, Aklan continued.

“Your blouse, Sonja.”

With trembling fingers, she plucked her t-shirt off, wadding it into a ball in her lap. He brushed a warm kiss along her cheek, then traced the edges of her bra with the sharp tip of one claw.

“Beautiful,” he breathed.

His claw slid into the fabric and pulled it down, baring the tight peak of her nipple. He flicked the tip of his claw gently against her nipple, sparking a rush of heat within her.

“I thought you said no sex,” she whispered.

“This is not sex, pjora-la . It is foreplay.”

Her resistance melted away on another flood of heat. “Oh, God,” she moaned.

“Give me your hand.”

Without waiting for her to comply, he lifted her fingers to his mouth, his other hand devoted to a thorough, mind-melting study of her breast. He sucked on each finger in turn, then pressed one against the sharp point of his fang. She gasped at the tight thrill of pain, soon lost under his gentle suckling. A moment later, his thumb pressed against her lips. She opened for him, tasted the spicy bitterness of his blood.

Something zinged inside her, a certainty she’d never felt before hovering just out of reach. A knowing, she thought dimly, then his mouth found hers and their blood mingled within the savage beauty of his kiss, and that knowing snapped sharply into place inside her. His hand skimmed down her stomach and delved beneath the waistband of her jeans, his fingers plucked the little nub hidden there, and one slid into her core, filling her unexpectedly. She gasped and arched into him, silently begging him to finish what he’d started, pleading with her lips and shy touches for him to make her his in every way possible.

And he did, driving her relentlessly toward ecstasy with every grind of his palm against her clitoris, with every slow slide of his finger inside her, with every flick of his tongue against hers. She raced breathlessly toward a cliff, balanced on the edge for one bright moment, then he shoved his face into her throat and said her name in that rough, beautiful growl of his, and she came apart under him, shuddering while the world burst around them and reformed.

“ Pjora-la ,” he murmured. “We are at last whole.”

She tangled her hand in his hair and tugged until he lifted his head and met her gaze. The wildness in his eyes had softened to a peaceful, satisfied glow. Amazingly enough, her doubts had faded. Most of them, anyway, and she wondered if her expression held any of the serenity so evident in his.

It wasn’t his off-hand declaration of love. He’d couched it too vaguely for her peace of mind.

It wasn’t the sex either. Or the foreplay, she thought, amused.

But something had changed between them, erasing the uncertainty that had plagued her off and on since meeting him.

Everything would be alright. How she knew that, she couldn’t say. She just knew that it would, a bone deep certainty she’d swear by. She’d wondered before how they could possibly make things work between them. The obstacles had seemed insurmountable at the time, mounting higher and higher until they threatened to demolish the relationship altogether.

Now, she wondered how she’d missed something that seemed so obvious in retrospect: love wasn’t about facing those obstacles alone; it was trusting that through the love they shared, they could conquer anything they faced.

How could she ever have doubted that? How could she ever have doubted him ?

“I changed my mind,” she said solemnly. “We should definitely have sex now.”

Aklan groaned and dropped his forehead to hers. “Sonja, pjora-la . Truly, we have little time.”

“Then let’s make the most of it.” She scooted around until she straddled his lap and cupped the rough lines of his face with her hands. “What’s the word for fate given, from a female to her mate?”

“ Pjoril . Do you truly feel this way?”

Instead of answering, she scraped her fingernails down his abdomen, reveling in the heat flaring in his bright eyes, in the way his muscles clenched tight at her touch. “I need you, pjoril . Be with me.”

“My love, my love,” he whispered. “How can I deny you?”

“Don’t even think about it,” she said, her mouth tipping into a coy smile. “Show me what you need.”

He growled and rolled her over, his hands stripped them both of their clothes, discarding them as his mouth found her nipple and suckled it. She tangled her hands in his curls, arching into the slow, drawling pleasure of his kiss. Her hands slipped as he moved. One fell to the curve of his horns, glancing off the narrow tip.

Aklan growled against her skin and let go of her nipple to probe her core with one finger. He glanced up, his gaze clashing with hers, as a second finger joined the first, twisting inside her. “Small.”

“Human,” she reminded him, and glanced her fingertips across his horn again.

Need blazed from his eyes and taughtened his face. He rose above her, more mountain than man in that moment, and replaced his fingers with his erection, sliding into her in one strong push.

She gasped as he filled her, stretching her to the point of pain. “Don’t stop!”

“I cannot,” he confessed, his voice filled with a quiet apology, then he drove into her again and again. Abruptly, a warm, heady pleasure soothed the pain, erasing it so thoroughly, Sonja forgot it had ever been. She wrapped her legs around his waist, tilted her hips into his unsteady thrusts. He rewarded her with softly spoken stream of endearments in a rough mix of languages she’d never heard before, each dutifully translated by his second gift.

He spoke of how beautiful she was to him, how when he looked into her eyes, he fell out of time into paradise. How perfectly they fit together, sweet Sonja, fate given mate, beloved heart.

And when he drove her perilously close to another orgasm and held her there on the fraught edge of release, she dug her fingernails into his back and begged him to let her come. He reached between them and strummed her clit, and she writhed beneath him, tightening her muscles around his breadth until he lost control and dug his fangs into her throat, shoving her into a sharp, trembling release, and they tumbled together into a sweet paradise of their own making.