“Why, isn’t that nice,” says Fiona. She backs up so she can face both of us. “I should say mine, I suppose?” She pulls out a very archaic communicator and taps it a few times. “A-hem. Well. I applied to the program to find my forever person.” She glances between us. “And I believe that can be you if we work together, if we put our hearts into this journey and see where it takes us.”
My new human mate is as lovely inside as she is outside, with her short, light yellow hair and bright eyes.
“I’m here for the long haul. I want to share my life and everything in it with you… both. I can’t wait to learn all about you, and show you the deepest parts of my soul. Please be kind with it.”
She sighs after she finishes, like that took a lot out of her. I wonder if she has been hurt before.
“That was lovely,” I say.
“A wonder with words,” Khesan adds, and I flash him a glare.
“Yes, yes indeed,” interrupts Gazargo. “Now, please sign here, and then the three of you can get on your way.”
He holds out a tablet to Fiona, which she signs. Then he offers it to Khesan next, who signs his name, too.
“Oh, one moment,” Gazargo says, tapping the screen. “I need to add another line.”
I grumble as he fiddles around with it, then eventually hands it over so I can sign my name. I curl my claw over the screen with a flourish, and then we’re finished.
“If for any reason things aren’t working out, you can call.” He directs this at Fiona. “We will send assistance if needed.”
“Assistance?” She glances sideways at each of us. “I don’t think that will be necessary. Right, Khesan? Shathar?”
We each nod rapidly in unison. I will give Fiona no reason to make such a call. I will be as understanding as I can be of this imposter in our midst, but it won’t take long for Fiona to realize the truth: that she is my fated mate, and she is meant to be mine.
Chapter Three
Khesan
His commitments were, admittedly, better than mine. It itches painfully to acknowledge this, but it means that I will have to try harder to succeed and win Fiona to my side. Though Shathar is intimidating, and certainly an attractive Arshurian himself, I will prove my worth.
That Shathar, who watched me the whole time like I was a youngling about to make a fool of myself. But there is one thing that I am certain about: this human woman is meant for me. The smell of her is like nothing else. It is bright and airy, but distinctly feminine. When she held my hand, I could feel energy flowing between us.
I wonder if Fiona could sense it, too. She seems overwhelmed, and I wish I could ease that burden on her. But having two full-grown Arshurians thrust upon you when you only signed up for one… that would be overwhelming to a small, soft female like her.
Small and soft and pretty as a flower, with eyes like jewels and hair the color of a cloud. Such a lovely creature as this was given to me?
But no—I still have to fight for her. Somehow I will have to convince her that Shathar is telling a lie about the mate bond, and I am telling the truth. I believe in the will of the gods, of destiny, and I know they will not lead me astray. At the end of this, I will have my mate all to myself and Shathar will slink home to his rustic little business “with his tail between his legs,” as humans would say. Which is ironic, as humans don’t have tails.
Now that the ceremony is concluded, the little Frahma is eager to get us out of his sight—probably afraid we will come to blows. But I will not give Shathar the satisfaction. My temper may be simmering under the surface at the idea that I’ll have to share my mate for the next thirty days, but I won’t act on it.
Fiona leads the way out the door into the spaceport. She makes an uncertain humming noise as she glances back at the two of us, and she looks disturbed.
“What bothers you?” I ask, coming up to walk beside her so she can hear me over the rumbling noise of ship engines.
“My car. You both are, um, a little big. I’m not sure if everyone is going to fit, and one of you will have to sit in the back seat.”
She is already anxious about our presence, which is not good.
“We will be fine with whatever accommodations you have to offer,” I say in my smoothest voice, then glance at Shathar, who has come up on her other side.
“I will, however, sit in the front seat,” he says firmly, as if there’s no room for argument.
I gape at him. “You cannot simply decree this.”
He crosses his arms. Fiona glances between us, that worried crease between her brows returning.
“There are no dibs in my car,” she says crossly.
