Her pussy grew tighter. Hotter. The ATD grew to what felt like half the size of my cock, filled her ass, put pressure on my hard length. The vibration increased in speed and strength.
Rowan arched her neck, her lips parted, her breathing too fast. Her heart fluttered inside her chest like a frightened bird’s. But I was connected to her now. Her needs. Her desires. Her emotions. She wanted this. Me. Us. Both of us. Gods help her if she did not because I knew neither of us would ever let her go. Not after this.
The vibration inside her reached its peak. Stimulated her sensitive nerve endings. Pushed her over the edge.
She was not afraid. She was fucking needy. Half mad with lust. Overwhelmed by sensation.
Out of control.
A scream tore from her throat. A sharp contraction pulsed deep within her core. Her shout faded to a sob as her orgasm rocked her body. She took me with her.
My seed exploded from my body with a brutality that bordered on pain. My beautiful, fucking perfect, soft, sweet mate took it all. I filled her up. Marked her.
I fucked her as I came. Faster. Harder. Pounding into her depths without mercy or hesitation. Stars burst behind my closed eyelids as I gave her everything.
All the while, Marz’s need to possess, to dominate, to command, came through the collars and consumed us all.
Marz,Mission Control Room, Three Days Later
The windoutside the dome picked up again, a haunting howl that pierced the steady hum of Base 3’s air purifiers. The noise seeped into the reinforced walls, vibrating through the metal framework like a low, threatening growl. As we gathered in the main operations room, the stale air was heavy with the metallic tang of machinery and fear. The strange weather had been growing worse by the day, battering The Colony with erratic storms, sudden heat spikes, and electromagnetic disturbances that sent static crawling over my skin. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a full night’s sleep, and judging by the tense, bleary eyes around the table, I wasn’t the only one.
For three nights Vance and I pleasured our mate. She slept in our arms, exhausted. Sated. Cared for. Each night I remainedawake, vigilant as the storms raged, threatening the only thing I lived for.
Her. Rowan. My mate. The fucking miracle I didn’t deserve but could not give up. I had to convince her to choose me, choose us. In the depths of my black fucking soul I knew that when her thirty days was up, I would die before allowing another to touch her.
She was mine.
“Are you sure about this?” Governor Rone sat at the head of the table, his gaze shifting between us with the sharpness of a blade. His dark brown eyes flickered in the overhead lights, reflecting the weight of decades of command. He, too, bore the remnants of torture at the hands of the Hive, his entire left arm silver hued with Hive implants, his body unnaturally strong. His coloring—dark copper colored skin, dark hair and eyes—could fool one into believing he was similar to Vance. The truth was, where Maxim Rone was analytical and controlled, Vance’s rage simmered just below the surface, ready to explode at the slightest threat to our female.
“Yes, Governor. We are running out of time.” Warlord Tazo stomped the length of the table, pacing with barely leashed impatience. He was newly mated and, like me, clearly worried about protecting his female. “If we must evacuate, I would take Lavender now. I will not risk her life.”
“The moment our mates are in danger, we will leave. Do you forget, Tazo, I have a mate and children to protect as well?” The governor looked older now than I remembered from when I’d first arrived on The Colony, his cheeks more hollow, his jaw set tighter than ever. The governor had been a fierce warrior on the battlefield, but now he bore the weight of The Colony’s survival.
“Apologies, Governor. The storm has me on edge.” Tazo’s uniform smelled faintly of smoke—probably from the damaged walls in the southern sector.
“We all fight the same battle. No apology necessary.” The governor sat at one end of the long table, his mate, Rachel, at his side. To their left sat the repair team—two unmated Atlan Warlords, an Elite Hunter from Everis, and three fellow Prillon warriors. Their integrated limbs strained and flexed beneath our newly created, glistening, exoskeletal armor. The light gleamed off the translucent armor, casting scattered reflections across the table like fragments of a shattered mirror.
Our researchers, led by the Governor’s mate, Rachel, had worked with the Coalition Fleet Intelligence Core to design the new armor. With it, we should be able to enter the storms without fear of electrocution or, worse, being pulled apart by the staggering strength of the plasma strikes shooting through the air like lightning. A direct hit could atomize one of us, turn us into dust, subatomic particles too small to trace.
Theoretically, the armor would protect us. However, it had yet to be tested.
So far, the energy field protecting Base 3 had held. So far, we’d been lucky.
Like Warlord Tazo, and every other mated male on The Colony, I would not risk my mate by keeping her here when it was not safe. The problem had to be solved, the storms controlled. Soon.
Vance sat across from me, his fingers drumming rhythmically against the metal surface. I could hear the metallictap-tap-tapin time with the flickering lights overhead. His eyes had a hard, focused look, the kind that came with too many hours awake and too many stims in his system. The faint scent of our mate clung to him, mingling with the ever-present chemical sting of the air purifiers. We shared an unspoken understanding… Rowan was the only thing that mattered.
Neither of us would hesitate to die to protect her. Ideally, we would never both be at risk at the same time. One of us wouldremain behind to care for her. That was the Prillon way. Under normal circumstances, the only way.
These were not normal circumstances.
I could almost feel the tension pulling at his shoulders like a taut wire. I imagined my own posture mirrored his—a rigid, coiled stance, ready for a fight. For the first time in years, we had something, someone, to lose. To protect.
To live for.
I had no right to that happiness. Not after what happened with Perro. Id’ watched the security footage hundreds of times. The memory surfaced, unbidden—Perro fighting the Hive’s hold on his mind long enough to give Tyran a weapon. The desperation in his voice as he’d begged his fellow warrior to kill him. The brief, unrealized hope that maybe Tyran and Hunt could pull off a miracle and save my best friend. The choking rage as I watched the Hive unit activate implants in Perro’s mind, take him over, force him to betray us all.
The look on Tyran’s face when he’d lifted the blaster and taken Perro’s life. Perro’s labored breaths mixing with the static of the comms as life faded from his eyes and all I could do was watch, over, and over, and over again. Watch and question everything. How had I not known Perro was fighting—and losing—his mental battle to remain free? How could I fail him so completely? Would I make the same mistake again?
