"For what?"
"For always being here."
She smiles, sharp and warm. "That's what best friends are for. Now I’ll go edit the layout before your ring tells your alien husband you're emotionally vulnerable and he sends a rescue shuttle."
“Not a husband. He’s just my mate,” I call after her.
“Same thing, Mrs. Layn.”
I throw a pen at her. She catches it with the reflexes of someone whose parents were professional basketball players and tucks it behind her ear like a fashion statement.
"Also," she says at the door, "if that ring has a setting for orgasm notifications, you should probably turn that off before the next staff meeting."
"Loora."
"I'm just saying. Alpha possessiveness plus public arousal data sounds like a sexual harassment violation. But, hmm, is it still harassment if you’re the one begging for it?"
She leaves before I can throw anything else.
I sit with the ring on my finger, the bond quiet in my chest, and the strange, terrifying knowledge that I am mated to a male who wants to know my heart rate because he thinks it's his. It is, I realize. Not because he took it. Because I gave it.
Chapter 6
Sky
Letting my mate leave the residence may be the most civilized thing I have ever done. I hate it. Every part of me hates it. The elevator doors close behind Beatrice, taking her scent, and the bond stretches after her like something inside my chest has been hooked and dragged through steel. She is going to Athena. Athena is mine. The building is mine. The security systems, guards, locks, cameras, and staff. All of it sits under my authority.
The bond insists she does, too.
Our acceptance isn’t required for this truth. It’s also true that she is safer at Athena than anywhere else on this planet outside my arms. This fact does not soothe. It takes months for the mate bond to allow for casual separation without discomfort. Sometimes years. The pang I feel makes me question if it ever will.
The elevator descends, carrying her away, and my instincts riot. Follow. Bring her back.Keep. I stand in the center of the private foyer with my hands at my sides and do not move. Noone applauds. They should. My ring warms against my finger, answering hers, feeding me small pieces of information I do not need and yet must have. Elevated pulse. Mild discomfort. Arousal not fully subsided. My cock hardens. Arousal should be handled. By me. Immediately.
“Your Highness?” Halem says from near the door.
I open my eyes. My senior security officer stands in perfect stillness, slate-gray uniform smooth over broad shoulders, expression as blank as any Layn soldier trained to ignore royal irrationality. Unfortunately, Halem has served my family for twelve years. He’s become a friend as well as an advisor. I trust him with my life. I want to take him apart in small pieces. My alpha rages that he stands in the midst of her scent trail.
“What?” I can’t help the snarl.
He ignores my tone. He’s dealt with separated mates before. “Do you wish her transport monitored?”
“Yes.”
The answer comes too fast. Halem inclines his head, and I drag in a slow breath before he can carry out an order born from poor judgment. “No visible escort. No interference. No approach unless she is in danger.”
“Danger?” he asks with a cock of his head. Earth, with all of its violence, is still one of the safest planets we’ve visited. The odds of her coming under attack are low. That is the problem with competent officers. It’s so much harder to act irrationally. “Physical threat. Medical distress. Direct harassment. Building collapse.”
His ears flick. “Collapse, Sir?” If he’s laughing at me, even on the inside, he’s banished.
“This city is old.”
“Of course, Your Highness.”
Definitely laughing. I let him live because he is excellent at his job. The ring warms again. Beatrice reached her floor. Still fine. I turn away before I cause an interplanetary incident.
The residence is too quiet without her. Three days ago, quiet was efficient. Useful. A clean environment in which to think, plan, calculate the risks surrounding Layn’s Brazilian holdings, Athena’s relaunch, Zymlor’s cure research, and Bryklor’s shipments. Now the quiet is an insult. Her laugh belongs in this room. Her coffee cup belongs on my desk. Her shoes belong by the staircase, even the dark boots with scuffed heels I briefly considered replacing until she informed me, very solemnly, that if I touched them without permission, she would “turn my royal balls into earrings.” I did not know humans wore earrings there. Apparently not. She said I was missing the point.
I walk into the bedroom and stop at the nest. It is not my best work. I know that. The left side lacks support, and one of the thermal blankets is folded incorrectly near the center. Beatrice called it “a glorified laundry basket,” then burrowed into it naked and fell asleep wearing my shirt. Which means the nest was successful, no matter what she claims. Her scent still saturates the fabrics. Sweet omega heat, vanilla, slick, sleep, skin, and that bright note that belongs only to her. My body responds instantly, predictably, inconveniently.
