“The pheromones,” I say, my voice coming out rougher than intended. “They are... affecting you. This should not... humans usually do not...”
“Usually do not what?”
“Usually do not respond so... so favorably to Velogian courtship chemicals.”
The recycler above us explodes in a shower of sparks and twisted metal, and I don’t think. I just react, wrapping myself around her to shield her from the debris, my body curving protectively over hers as burning fragments rain down around us.
The impact drives us both to the platform decking, with me covering her body with mine in a position that puts us in intimate contact from chest to hip. I can feel every breath she takes, every flutter of her pulse, every small sound she makes as she recovers from the shock. Her hands grip my shoulders for stability, her fingers digging into my scales in a way that sends heat racing through my system like liquid lightning.
And my biology, already pushed beyond all reasonable limits by protective instincts and prolonged exposure to her intoxicating scent, finally snaps.
The combat secretions I’ve been producing to enhance my reflexes and healing mix with the mate-recognition pheromonesthat have been flooding my system since the moment I first saw her. The combination creates a biochemical reaction I’ve never experienced before—heat racing through my veins like molten gold, followed by a need so intense it makes my hands shake where they’re braced against the platform.
“Zola,” I breathe, and her name comes out like a prayer, like a claim, like everything I’ve ever wanted wrapped up in two syllables. “I am... this is not... I cannot control...”
She looks up at me, her brown eyes wide and dark with something that mirrors what I’m feeling, and I can see the moment she realizes what’s happening to both of us. Her pupils are dilated, her breathing quick and shallow, her scent shifting from fear and determination into something warmer, deeper, that makes my enhanced senses catalog every detail about her with desperate precision.
“The secretions are mixing,” she whispers, and her voice carries a breathless quality that suggests she’s fighting the same losing battle against biology that I am.
“Yes. This should not... I do not understand how...” But I do understand, on some primitive level that has nothing to do with rational thought and everything to do with the way she fits beneath me like she was made for this exact purpose. “A mate-bond. We are... I have accidentally...”
I can feel it happening—the connection settling into place between us like something that was always meant to exist. Her heartbeat synchronizing with mine. Her breathing matching my rhythm. The boundaries between her biochemistry and mine blurring until I can’t tell where my awareness ends and hers begins.
“Crash,” she says quietly, and there’s wonder in her voice, fear and acceptance and something deeper that makes my heart ache with emotions I don’t have names for. “What happens now?”
Before I can answer—before I can explain the magnitude of what I’ve accidentally done to both of us—her body goes rigid beneath mine as the bond settles into place with an intensity that overwhelms her nervous system completely.
Her eyes roll back, her grip on my shoulders loosens, and she goes limp in my arms while I stare down at her in complete horror.
She’s unconscious. Actually unconscious from the biochemical shock of a bonding I had no right to create, no permission to impose, no ability to control or reverse.
I have just accidentally biochemically bonded myself to the female I was supposed to protect—without her consent, without her awareness, during a crisis she didn’t choose. The wrongness of it sits like acid in my throat. This isn’t how bonding should happen. This is violation wrapped in biology, and the fact that my body celebrates it makes the guilt worse. I have damned her.
“How... inefficient,” Thek-Ka calls out, his voice flat with clinical disappointment. “The Golden Viper, reduced to accidental biological malfunctions while his world burns.”
I gather Zola against my chest, feeling her steady breathing, and something inside me crystallizes into deadly focus.
She’s mine now. Bonded. And anyone who threatens her threatens everything I care about.
“Thek-Ka,” I call back, rising to my feet with Zola in my arms. “The hunt can wait. First, I kill anyone who threatens my mate.”
But even as I make the declaration, I realize the tactical impossibility. I cannot fight Thek-Ka while carrying an unconscious female. I cannot leave her undefended while I engage in combat. I cannot protect her and fulfill my honor obligations simultaneously.
I am trapped between biological imperatives and warrior codes, and both are going to get us killed.
That’s when Jitters, still shaped like a tiny purple Exoscarab and apparently committed to his role as tactical disaster, bounces directly into Thek-Ka’s lower legs with all the enthusiasm of a blob creature who has never encountered physics.
Thek-Ka doesn’t stumble. He doesn’t fall. He doesn’t even seem particularly bothered by the impact.
He just looks down at Jitters with mechanical interest and makes that sound that might be laughter.
“Your pet,” he says with obvious amusement, “has finally achieved physical contact with his target. I believe this constitutes victory by his standards.”
Jitters, apparently agreeing with this assessment, stops bouncing and begins vibrating with what looks like pride. He’s still purple. He’s still shaped like a tiny Exoscarab. But he’s achieved his tactical objective of... touching Thek-Ka’s leg.
“This is not,” I call out, “a conventional military strategy.”
“No,” Thek-Ka agrees. “It is not. But it is... refreshing. Most of my opponents rely on weapons and tactics. None have ever deployed anxiety-based confusion methods.”
