"I'm sorry," I whispered, though I didn't know if I was apologizing to her or to myself.
I pushed inside her in one slow thrust, and we both groaned. She was impossibly tight, impossibly hot, her body gripping me like a vise. For a moment, I couldn't move, couldn't breathe, could only feel the overwhelming sensation of being inside her.
Then she wrapped her legs around my waist and pulled me deeper, and I lost whatever control I'd been clinging to.
I moved inside her, driven by the drug osmosed into my system and the desperate sounds she made and the way her body responded to every thrust. She met me stroke for stroke, her nails raking down my back, her teeth finding my shoulder. The pain only heightened the pleasure, made everything sharper, more intense.
She came again, and then again, her body convulsing around me, but the drug demanded more. I flipped her onto her stomach, pulled her hips up, and took her from behind. The new angle made her scream, made her fist the blanket and push back against me with wild abandon.
It was primal. Animalistic. And despite the circumstances—despite everything—my body responded with an intensity that terrified me. This wasn't real, I reminded myself. This wasn't her choice. This was a drug forcing her body to respond, forcing her to beg for something she might not want if she were in her right mind.
But goddess, she felt incredible. The sounds she made, the way she moved, the way her body took me so perfectly. It was almost enough to make me forget. Almost.
I came with a roar, spilling inside her, and she came with me, her whole body shaking. I collapsed beside her, pulling her against my chest, and for a few moments we just lay there, panting, our bodies slick with sweat.
The drug's hold on her seemed to ease. Her breathing slowed. Her trembling subsided. Her eyes, which had been wild and unfocused, cleared for just a moment, the green flecks in them sparkling. She looked at me—really looked at me—and I saw hints of the person beneath the drugs.
She smiled, soft and heartbreakingly genuine, as her hand came up to cradle my cheek.
"Hi," she whispered.
The word was barely audible, but it hit me like the sharp end of a blade. My tail erupted in sensations so intense it bordered on pain—tingling, burning, demanding. The feeling shot up my back and exploded through my entire nervous system.
No. No, no, no.
I threw my head back and roared, the sound tearing from my throat with a fury born of desperation and denial.
Not this. Not like this.
But my body knew what my mind refused to accept. The tingling in my tail was unmistakable, undeniable.
This human female—drugged, traumatized, stolen from whatever life she'd had before—was my mate.
My fated mate.
The one female in all the universe whose genetic signature called to mine, whose pheromones triggered the biological imperative coded into my very DNA. The one I was meant to bond with, to protect, to cherish for the rest of my life.
And I'd just taken her while she was drugged out of her mind.
The roar died in my throat, replaced by a sound that was almost a whimper. I looked down at her, this fragile human who had no idea what she meant to me, what she would always mean to me.
She was still smiling, that soft, sweet smile, her hand still on my cheek. Then her eyes rolled back, and she collapsed against my chest, unconscious once more.
I held her longer than necessary, my heart pounding in an irregular rhythm that made my chest ache. Then, with shaking hands, I reached for the medi-kit.
The sedative vial felt heavy as I loaded it into the injector. I pressed it against her neck, feeling the soft warmth of herskin, and administered the dose. Her breathing deepened almost immediately, her body going slack in my arms.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, though I knew she couldn't hear me. "I'm so sorry."
I settled back against the cave wall, cradling her against my chest. My tail was still tingling, still singing with the knowledge of what she was to me. I wrapped it around her, an instinctive gesture of protection I couldn't suppress even if I wanted to.
The minutes crawled by. I monitored her vitals, tried to keep my mind occupied. But my gaze kept returning to her face, peaceful now in true sleep rather than drug-induced delirium.
She had freckles across her nose. I hadn't noticed those before. And a small scar through her left eyebrow, barely visible.
I wanted to know everything. How did she get that scar? What made her laugh? What did her voice sound like when she wasn't begging or drugged or terrified?
I wanted a lifetime I had no right to ask for.
