Because of you. Because of your family.
Our family now.
His laugh is quiet, pained, absolutely perfect. “Our family. I like the sound of that.”
“Get used to it, Lord Chaos.” I manage a weak grin. “You’re stuck with us.”
Mother’s ship docks twelve minutes later.
I know because I’ve been counting. Rynn is semiconscious in my lap, his bio-flare having drained everything he had left. Henrok’s warriors are clearing debris and treating the wounded. Suki’s voice has been a constant presence over comms, coordinating medical teams and defensive positions and somehow still finding time to make inappropriate comments about the mating bond’s timing.
When the generator chamber doors open, I expect a medical team.
I get Mother.
She stands in the doorway—Madge “Mother” Morrison, Senior OOPS Dispatcher, terror of courier cadets everywhere—and surveys the scene with the expression of a woman who’s seen too much and is done with all of it.
Bodies. Scorch marks. Her wounded couriers.
One long-suffering sigh.
“Let me guess.” She picks her way through the debris, Luzrak a steady presence behind her. “‘Simple delivery’?”
I laugh. It comes out more like a sob. “Itwassimple when I started.”
“They’re always simple when you start, kid.” Mother crouches beside me, and her hand—rough, capable, familiar—brushes hair from my face. “It’s the middle that gets complicated.”
Her eyes shift to Rynn, collapsed and barely conscious and glowing faintly against my legs.
“And this would be the ‘diplomatic package’?”
“Mother—”
She holds up a hand. Her gaze has landed on my neck.
On the mark. The mating bite that’s still faintly luminescent, pulsing in time with Rynn’s heartbeat.
“Polly West.” Her voice is flat. “Is that amating bond?”
“In my defense—”
“Ispecificallywarned you about attractive, emotionally complicated passengers.”
“You did.”
“I gave you the lecture. I made you watch the training video.”
“The training video was very informative.”
“I literally told you about the three courierslast monthwho—” She stops. Takes a breath. Rubs the bridge of her nose in a gesture I’ve seen a thousand times. “How far along is the bond?”
I swallow. “...Permanent?”
Another sigh. This one sounds like it comes from her soul.
“Of course it is.”
But then—and this is the thing about Mother, the thing that made her who she is—she crouches down and checks Rynn’s wounds with practiced efficiency. Her hands are gentle despite her exasperated expression. Professional despite her frustration.
