Instinct to protect.
Her.
He glanced away, staring off into the distance. This was a complication he had not expected. An unwelcome one. By the galaxies! He couldn’t afford to have anything or anyone prevent him from his mission. Too many people were counting on him.
The image of his father’s face rose unbidden in his mind.
A great warrior. A fair leader. And far too proud.
His father had believed his judgment superior to all others, his instincts beyond question. He had refused to turn back, refused to reconsider, convinced that his way was the only way. The pirates should have been avoided. The losses should never have happened. Yet his father had chosen action over restraint—desire over duty—and his people had paid for it in blood.
Vaelor had learned then that strength, when paired with pride, could destroy everything it was meant to protect.
He would not repeat that failure.
Whatever pull he felt toward the female—however quiet, however persistent—it was irrelevant. Attachment dulled judgment. Temptation was a luxury leaders could not afford. His father had chosen what he wanted.
Vaelor would choose what was necessary.
Her voice broke through his thoughts.
“Mara Sinclair,” she said. “From Earth.”
The name struck harder than it should have. Mara. Soft, but edged with strength. It lingered in his mind in a way no designation or identifier ever had. Sinclair carried a weight he could not place, and Earth—that fragile, distant world—made her seem suddenly more real. More singular.
For a brief, dangerous moment, she was more than a bothersome female.
She was someone.
Vaelor forced his focus forward, jaw tightening. The vow still stood. It had to. Yet as he turned away, he knew with unsettling certainty that his resolve now carried a flaw—small, invisible, and already spreading.
“Mara Sinclair,” she said. “From Earth.”
She held out a hand, but he ignored it.
The name settled into him before he could stop it. It was softer than he expected, yet it carried a quiet strength, a steadiness that felt… right. He tested it once, silently, then let it pass his lips before caution could intervene.
“Mara.”
The sound of it—rounded, warm—lingered in the air far too long.
Regret followed instantly. Sharp and unwelcome.
Names were anchors. Acknowledgments. He should not have claimed it, even briefly. The moment passed, but the damage was done; the pull he had been fighting tightened, subtle and insidious.
She looked up at him then, curiosity bright in those pale blue eyes. “And you?”
He did not hesitate this time. No titles. No lineage. No invitation.
“Vaelor.”
Nothing more.
Turning his back to her, started walking toward the encampment. She followed but said nothing else. The distance between them was necessary. He had a mission that did not involve a small, blue eyed, alien from a different world. No matter how fascinating he found her.
Chapter 7
Mara
