Page 27 of Deserted

“We will discuss it,” I conceded, stepping around her toward the door. “When I return.”

“Promise?”

The word hung between us, weighted with meaning beyond its simple syllables. A promise, to a Rodinian, was binding. Sacred. Especially between potential mates.

Did she know that? Could she possibly understand the significance of what she asked?

Probably not. But I answered anyway, my voice dropping to a rumble that betrayed more than I intended.

“I promise.”

She nodded, satisfied for now, and moved toward the weapons locker. I watched her for a moment longer than necessary, memorizing the lines of her body, the confident set of her shoulders, the way her dark hair caught the light.

Then I turned and escaped to the desert before I could do something foolish—like pull her against me and breathe in her scent until it was permanently etched in my memory. Or press my mouth to hers and taste the warmth I’d been dreaming of for days.

Or tell her the truth: that I was already hers, completely and irrevocably, whether she accepted it or not.

I had a duty to the Legion. A mission to complete. A human to protect—not just from the Swarm, but from myself and the overwhelming nature of a bond she hadn’t asked for and might not want.

So I would fix the communications array. I would secure our extraction. I would ignore the burning in my blood that demanded I claim what fate had given me.

And then, when we were safe, when she had choices beyond the desperate survival of two beings trapped in a hostile environment... then I would tell her everything.

And pray to the stars she didn’t walk away.

That night,I was sitting on my usual mat, cross-legged, trying to meditate the edge off my instincts when she crossed the room. No words. No preamble. She crawled into my lap like she belonged there. My heart thundered once—then went still. My body recognized what my mind was still fighting—the inevitability of us.

“Your fur is so soft,” she murmured, fingertips brushing the thick ruff on my chest where my tunic lay open.

“It’s utilitarian,” I said, voice too low, too rough. A pathetic attempt at deflection.

She smiled. “Sure, big guy. Utilitarian. That’s why I want to roll around in it like it’s a five-star mattress.”

My claws bit into the mat beneath me.

Do not pounce.

But when her hand slid up to my neck, fingers threading into the sensitive fur just below my ears, I almost growled. I let her touch, let her explore, as I gripped the mat beneath me and chanted battle mantras in my head to keep from flipping her over and worshipping every inch of her body with my mouth.

“Is this okay?” she asked, whisper-soft.

“Yes.” My voice broke around the word. “You lead, Jas.”

Her eyes glowed in the low light of the bunker, fierce and bright.

And when she kissed me—slow, sure, with heat behind it—I didn’t think. I responded, my mouth opening under hers as a rumble of pleasure built in my chest. She tasted like the desert night—warm, mysterious, intoxicating. My hands moved of their own accord, one sliding around her waist while the other cradled the back of her head, holding her to me as the kiss deepened.

Her tongue slid against mine, tentative at first, then bolder as I responded. She shifted in my lap, pressing herself closer, and the friction nearly undid me. I could feel her heartbeat, the heat of her through the thin fabric of her clothing, the trembling in her limbs that matched my own.

I broke the kiss before I could lose all control, pressing my forehead to hers as we both caught our breath.

“Wait,” I managed, though every cell in my body screamed against the word. “Jas, you don’t understand what this means.”

She leaned back just enough to meet my eyes, her hands still tangled in my mane. “Then explain it to me.”

The request was so simple, so reasonable, and yet the answer was anything but.

“For my people, this is not... casual.” I struggled to find words that would make sense to a human. “The dreams we shared. The connection between us. It’s called Unity. It’s rare. Sacred.”

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