I deepened the kiss, my hand sliding into her hair, fingers threading through the dark strands and pulling her closer. She responded immediately, her free hand coming up to grip my shirt, nails digging in hard enough that I felt it through the fabric. Her mouth opened under mine, and I slid my tongueagainst hers, tasting her—salt and something sweet and entirely Serna—and the sensation was like touching live electricity.
The kiss turned hungry, desperate, all the months of restraint and longing and carefully maintained distance pouring into it. I felt her pulse racing against my palm where I held her face, felt the tremor that ran through her body as I deepened the kiss further, my tongue tangling with hers in a way that made her gasp my name.
She tasted like salt and something sweet, and the feel of her against me—solid and real andhere—made my head spin. My heart was hammering so hard I thought it might break through my ribs. I could feel hers racing too, the rhythm wild and uneven, matching the chaos of my own.
This wasn't comfort. This wasn't desperation born of survival. This waschoice. This was both of us deciding, in this moment, that we wanted this. Wanted each other. Needed each other with a ferocity that terrified and exhilarated me in equal measure.
I pulled back just enough to breathe, my forehead pressed against hers, both of us gasping. Her eyes were dark, blown wide with desire, her lips swollen from the kiss. My hand was still tangled in her hair, hers still fisted in my shirt, neither of us willing to let go.
"Cullen," she whispered, and my name on her lips sounded like a prayer and a plea all at once.
I leaned back in, unable to resist, and kissed her again—harder this time, more demanding. She met me with equal intensity, her free hand sliding up my chest to grip my shoulder, pulling me closer until there was barely any space between us. I could feel the heat radiating from her body, could feel the rapid rise and fall of her breathing, could feel the way she trembled when I traced my thumb along her jawline.
When we finally broke apart, breathing hard with foreheads still touching, Serna's eyes were dark, her pupils blown wide. My hand was still tangled in her hair, hers still fisted in my shirt, neither of us willing to let go just yet.
I leaned my forehead against hers, trying to catch my breath and think through the haze of desire clouding my mind. "We should—"
The words died in my throat as a sound cut through the jungle air. A deep, rumbling roar that seemed to shake the very air around us.
Serna's head snapped up, her body going rigid. "That's not—"
Another sound. Closer. Mechanical. The unmistakable whine of engines cutting through atmosphere.
We both looked up at the same time, our kiss forgotten, our moment shattered. Through the canopy above, through the gaps in the alien leaves, I could see it—a massive shape descending through the clouds, backlit by the planet's twin moons. The outline was unmistakable even from this distance.
A frigate.
"No," Serna breathed, her hand tightening painfully around mine. "No, no, no."
The ship hung there in the sky like a predator, its running lights creating a constellation of red and white against the darkness. And even from here, even without being able to see the markings, I knew.
It was the same ship that had shot us down.
They'd come back to finish the job.
Chapter 7
Serna
My first kiss.
Vaktaire didn't kiss. Most species in the Alliance didn't. The Threnodi touched foreheads in greeting and affection. The Kess'tar intertwined their secondary arms. The Vorath pressed their palms together, sharing body heat and pulse. Some species liked licking—the Kwado came to mind, their long tongues tasting pheromones. Others bit gently, marking and claiming.
But humans kissed. Pressed their mouths together in an act that many species found bewildering, even distasteful. The exchange of saliva, the vulnerability of it, the sheer intimacy of sharing breath.
I'd learned about it from Duke Ako and his human mate, Helene. Watched them steal moments in corridors, saw the way Ako—a warrior who'd commanded fleets—would soften completely when Helene's lips touched his. I'd seen my son Charick kiss his mate Willa, watched him learn the custom, adapt to it, crave it. The way his hand would cup the back of her head, the way he'd smile against her mouth.
Many thought it nasty. Unhygienic. Strange.
But to me, it had always seemed... special. Intimate in a way that went beyond the physical. A choice to be vulnerable, to share something so personal, so soft.
And now I understood why.
Cullen's kiss had been everything I'd imagined and nothing I could have prepared for. The warmth of his mouth, the taste of him, the way his hands had cradled my face like I was something precious. The gentleness that gave way to hunger, the way our breaths had mingled, the small sound he'd made when he'd deepened the kiss.
My first kiss. And it had been perfect.
And now it was over, torn away by the sound of engines descending from the sky.
