A soft moan escaped my lips as his body pressed into mine. I braced against him, hands splayed across those impossible abs. His slate-gray eyes burned with desire as he looked down at me. His breath warmed my neck. His lips parted.
I tilted my chin up.
My eyes fluttered closed.
He pulled me closer—
Then stopped.
We stayed suspended in that moment, breath mingling, hearts racing.
"I must not move too quickly," he whispered. "Our bond—the Zorathi bond—begins with the mind. To move past it alone is forbidden."
"You're not alone," I whispered. "I'm here. See? Two of us. It's okay."
He gently released my waist and stepped back.
"There is much for you to learn," he said quietly. "I am sorry. But in my culture, this is forbidden."
I narrowed my eyes. The sting hit fast and hard—not because I believed him, but because part of me desperately wanted to.
"Your culture," I repeated, and hated how small my voice sounded. "Right. Of course."
I stepped back, arms crossing over my chest like armor I didn't know I needed. The rejection shouldn't have hurt this much. I barely knew him. But something about that almost-kiss had cracked open a door I'd welded shut years ago, and now all the old feelings were rushing through—inadequacy, longing, the familiar certainty that I'd misread everything.
"I have offended you," he said quietly. "That was not my intention."
"You haven't offended me." The lie tasted bitter. "I just—I misread the situation. It happens. I'm a scientist; I can handle being wrong about a hypothesis."
His expression softened into something worse than pity—understanding.
"This is not rejection, Doctor Vale. Among my people, what we just experienced would be considered... significant. Sacred, even. To proceed without the proper ceremonies would dishonor us both."
"Sure," I said, already retreating toward the door. "Ceremonies. Got it. Very sacred. I'll just—I need some air. Do spaceships have air? Doesn't matter. I'm going."
I didn't storm out—I made a strategic retreat. There's a difference. Storming implies emotion. I was simply... relocating. With purpose. And speed.
The ship's corridors twisted in ways that didn't quite make sense to my human brain, all smooth curves and bioluminescent panels that pulsed gently, as if the whole vessel were breathing. I walked until my legs ached, then slumped down at a small viewport and watched the stars drift by.
Were these not-pirates actually into me? Or was this some elaborate game where they took turns making the human feel stupid?
I pressed my forehead against the cool glass. For a wild second, I almost wished I were back on the habitat—at least there, I understood the rules. Director Voss was a creep, but a predictable creep. These aliens and their sacred bonds and their abs and their eyes...
I didn't know what I was supposed to want anymore.
The viewport fogged with my breath. I drew a frowny face in it, then felt stupid, then drew a spaceship next to it because I was already committed.
That's when I noticed the reflection behind me—four arms, perfectly still, watching.
I spun around.
Kaedren stood at parade rest, his green eyes calm and unreadable. He moved like someone who'd learned to make his massive frame disappear when he wanted to—which, given that he had four arms and shoulders like a freight train, was genuinely impressive.
"How long have you been standing there?" I demanded.
"Long enough to observe your artwork," he said, nodding toward the viewport.
My face went hot. "That's—it's abstract. You wouldn't understand."
