The claiming instinct had overridden everything. Now, looking at her limp form, guilt threatened to choke me. Not because I'd claimed her. But because of how I'd done it, taking her in a moment of passion instead of calm certainty.
I carried her to the bathroom, washed the blood from her skin. Then back to the bed with fresh sheets. The traceries started within the hour. Thin lines of emerald green spreading from the bite mark down her shoulder, across her clavicle, following her veins before branching into their own patterns.
Her breathing changed. Deeper, slower. Pulse dropping from human-normal toward Vinduthi rates. The transformation was proceeding fast. Maybe because she'd been so willing. Maybe because we were simply compatible.
Hour six brought fever. Her skin burned. Sweat soaked the sheets. She thrashed, muttering broken words: “No... don't... please...”
Old trauma bleeding through.
“You're safe,” I told her. “You're with me.”
Hour twelve brought a crisis. Her heart rate spiked impossibly fast. Then stopped.
“No.” I pressed my hand over her heart. Nothing. Her presence faded from my mind.
I'd killed her. My claiming had killed the one person who'd chosen me for myself.
Then, a heartbeat. Faint. Another. Stronger.
Her heart rhythm stabilized. Not human, not quite Vinduthi, but something between. Something unique.
The relief nearly broke me.
By hour fifteen, the traceries were complete. Shoulder to wrist in intricate emerald patterns. Her temperature had stabilized. The bond thrummed between us, steady and permanent.
Hour twenty. She stirred. Fingers flexing, testing. Then her eyes opened. Hazel shot through with red flecks.
“Varrick?”
“I'm here.”
She sat up too fast. Her palm hit the metal wall, leaving a hand-shaped dent.
We both stared at it.
“That's new,” she said.
“You'll learn to control it.”
“I can hear someone arguing four rooms away. She thinks he's skimming.”
“Enhanced hearing. You'll learn to filter it.”
She traced the traceries on her arm. “They're beautiful.”
“They're permanent.”
“I know.” She looked at me, and through the bond came waves that weren't mine. Crushing weight that could only be guilt, heat that burned without source, something warm that lifted me. “I chose this. Chose you.”
“Even now?”
“Especially now. I was property before. Now I'm yours, which means I'm protected. Strong. Free.”
“You're mine,” I agreed.
“And you're mine.” She leaned forward, pressing her forehead to mine. “The bond goes both ways.”
EPILOGUE: VARRICK
