This surprises me. “You never—?”
“Never found someone worth binding to.” His eyes hold mine without wavering. One of his hands traces the curve of my face, his thumb brushing over my lower lip with a gentleness that makes my breath catch. “Until you.”
The sweetness of his words washes through me, and through our bond, I feel the truth of them. We talk quietly, sharing the small things new mates share. Discoveries. Confessions. The texture of the wooden bench beneath us creaks softly as we shift positions, unwilling to break contact.
“I’m terrified about tomorrow,” Luke admits, his finger tracing patterns on my bare skin, leaving shivers in their wake.
“So am I,” I say, watching the play of light across his face, how the shadows accentuate the strong line of his jaw, the slight furrow between his brows. “But I won’t back down.”
He nods, understanding. Neither of us would.
Eventually, reluctantly, we separate. Reality can only be held at bay for so long. The cool air of the armory raises prickles on my skin as we start gathering our scattered clothes; his shirt flung across the room, my vest somehow hanging from a rifle rack. The leather straps of my vest are cool against my fingertips as I retrieve it.
I burst into laughter. “We just bonded in an armory.”
Luke tries to look dignified as he pulls on his pants, but a grin breaks through. His hair is tousled in a way that makes him look younger, more carefree than I’ve ever seen him.
“Not my finest moment of romance.” His grin is wry.
“I don’t know.” I arch an eyebrow at him. “Had a certain… warrior appeal.”
We help each other dress, fingers lingering on buckles and zippers. There’s intimacy in this, too. Different from what we just shared, but no less meaningful. The fabric of his shirt is soft beneath my hands as I help him button it, the muscles of his chest firm and warm against my knuckles. Luke’s hands pause at my waist, and I can’t resist stealing another kiss, tasting the faint sweetness of myself on his lips. The playfulness between us feels like something precious, a fragile gift I never expected to receive.
“Haven’t felt like a guilty teenager in about two hundred years,” Luke murmurs against my hair. His breath is warm, stirring the strands at my temple.
“Guilty?” I pull back, teasing. The bond between us pulses with shared amusement.
“We just desecrated Aurora’s armory.” He gestures around us. “Viktor’s going to notice the scorch marks.”
I follow his gaze and spot the faint burn patterns on the wall. Evidence of where my power flared during climax. We both dissolve into laughter, and the sound of it—our shared mirth echoing in this place of weapons—strikes me as perfectly, beautifully us.
The laughter dies in my throat when I hear it—running footsteps outside the door. Multiple sets, urgent, the rapid thumps growing louder with each second. Luke and I freeze, exchanging glances. We’re fully dressed now, but it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out what we’ve been doing.
The door bursts open, the heavy metal hinges protesting with a high-pitched whine.
Nadia Frost stands there, breathing hard, her eyes wild with urgency. A few strands of her usually perfect black hair have escaped her ponytail, and there’s a flush of exertion on her high cheekbones.
“There you are! We’ve been searching everywhere—” She stops, taking in the scene: our rumpled clothes, flushed faces, the lingering scent of sex and magic in the air.
Her nostrils flare slightly, her enhanced senses picking up far more than a human’s would. Her expression shifts; understanding, then carefully neutral. Professional to the core, she doesn’t comment, though I swear I see the ghost of a smile cross her lips before she suppresses it.
“Viktor needs you both. Now. It’s—” She pauses, and something in her hesitation makes my stomach clench. Her fingers tighten on the doorframe, the knuckles tightening. “It’s Mara.”
The bottom drops out of my world. My pulse, which had been steady and content moments before, now thunders in my ears.
“What about Mara?”
Nadia’s face gives nothing away, but I notice the slight tension in her jaw, the too-careful control of her expression.
“Just come. You need to see this.” She turns and leaves.
We race behind her through the corridors of Aurora. The polished floors gleam under the harsh fluorescent lights, our footsteps echoing off the concrete walls. Luke’s hand finds mine, our fingers intertwining instinctively. The bond makes separation uncomfortable, a subtle pull drawing us together even as we run.
My heart hammers in my chest, each beat pounding out a single name: Mara. They found her body. Or worse.
Through our connection, I feel Luke’s dread matching my own, grief anticipated but still devastating. The emotion has a taste, harsh and metallic at the back of my throat.
Viktor’s office is already crowded when we arrive. The air feels thick with tension, charged like the atmosphere before a storm. Caleb stands with his back unnaturally straight, commander to the core, even in crisis, the overhead lights gleaming on his dark hair. Dorian leans against the wall, his usual languid pose betrayed by the tightness in his shoulders and the rapid tapping of his fingers against his thigh.
