"Where do you think you're going, kelarris?"
15
"How did you find me?" Harper's voice was barely audible. Her face was pale. She backed up until her heels hit the edge of the ramp's metal grating, her expression confused. "I was careful. I used the service corridors. I stole an ID. How did you find me?"
Kirr occupied the center of the ramp, planting his boots wide to block any path around him. "You think you can hide from me? On my station? While you’re under my protection?"
The noise of the bay faded—hydraulics, shouting loaders—drowned out by his own pulse. He'd run all the way from the medical bay, tearing through corridors and unauthorized shortcuts, driven by the terror of losing her.
He'd almost been too late. A few minutes more and the transport's engines would have fired. Five minutes more and she would have been gone.
"You thought I wouldn't notice you were gone?" He took a step forward. The metal groaned under his weight.
"How?" she repeated, a frantic edge creeping into her tone. Her gaze darted around, looking for an escape route, but there was nowhere to go. Just the airlock he’d ordered locked behind her and him in front.
"The bracelet." He didn't bother softening the blow as he tapped his wrist.
She froze, her hand flying to her wrist. Her fingers brushed the delicate silver vines, her eyes wide as they met his.
"It has a tracker embedded in it." His voice was flat. "I always knew where you were."
Betrayal flashed across her face, sharp and gutting. She clawed at the clasp, trying to undo it, but her hands were shaking too badly. "You tracked me?" Her voice cracked. "You said it was a gift."
"It is a gift. It keeps you safe." He closed the distance between them, needing to be close enough to grab her if she tried to bolt. If she jumped from the ramp at this height… His voice was hard as he looked down at her.
"The moment you left the medical bay, I got an alert. When you entered the service corridor, I was already running. When you entered this bay, I was already here."
"You didn't trust me," she whispered, giving up on the clasp and letting her hand drop. "You acted like you cared, like you trusted me, but you were just... tagging me. Like an animal."
"I trusted you." The words tore out of his throat, rougher than he intended. "I didn't trust what's out there." His jaw tightened. "Other females have been taken."
He reached for her. He had to touch her. He had to know she was real and not just a ghost he was chasing. Had to know that he’d gotten here in time. But as he moved, the tingling that had plagued his wrists for days flared into a sudden, searing heat.
Hissing, he stumbled back a step. It wasn't just heat. It was fire, molten and consuming, racing beneath his skin. His gaze dropped to his wrists.
Dark lines were surfacing on his skin, rising like ink through water. They wrapped around his wrists like twisted vines interlocking in a pattern every Latharian knew.
His heart leapt.
Mating marks.
He had mating marks.
The pain vanished. In its place, rightness hummed through his bones. Through his very soul.
He looked up to find her staring at him, her eyes wide, and her breath coming in short, panicked gasps.
He held up his wrists. "Look."
She stared at the dark marks standing out against his skin. She shook her head, a jerky, denial-filled motion. "No. They’re not for me. They can’t be for me."
"They are mate marks," he said, his voice firmer, more commanding as he crowded her. "The gods chose, Harper. Your soul calls to mine, to my skin. You are chosen, bonded… You are mine. You can run, but you’ll always be mine."
"No," she said again, backing away until she hit the railing. "That's... that's a mistake. It's stress. It's a rash. It's not real."
"They don't appear for nothing." He took another step, following her. "The gods chose us for each other."
"I can't be yours." Her expression crumbled, her voice breaking into a sob. "I'm poison, Kirr. Don't you get it? I'm cursed. The gods made a mistake."
