Page 77 of Kidnapped By the Beast
Lexi froze, her breath caught in her throat.
His wife. Oh God—how could I forget about his wife?
Brandt stared straight ahead, his voice steady but hollow.
“I knew I was doing wrong. Allowing the two of us to be so intimate… allowing my emotions for you to grow. All I can do is beg your forgiveness. You’re right. I am—as you humans say—an asshole. But I cannot break my vow. Not even for you, little Lexi.”
The nickname, spoken so softly, so tenderly, shattered her.
Tears blurred her vision as she turned away, pressing her forehead against the cool tempered glass of the viewport to her side. Stars streamed past in brilliant lines of light, racing endlessly through the darkness, all blurred by her tears.
She wished she could go back in time—back to that stupid day she’d answered Natalie’s message and gone on this job interview. She wished she could tell herself not to go, not to meet him, not to fall for him.
Because now her heart felt like it was being ripped into pieces, and she didn’t know how she was supposed to survive it.
I love him, she thought as despair filled her.
I love him…but he’ll never be mine.
42
BRANDT
Brandt hated himself.
The shuttle’s cabin hummed steadily, the low vibration thrumming through the deck plates beneath his booted feet. The air smelled faintly of recycled oxygen and cold metal—a sterile scent that reminded him too much of his laboratory.
Across the small cabin, Alexandra sat in silence, turned toward the viewport at her side, her face pale reflected in the stars. Her cheeks were streaked with drying tears, and every time her shoulders hitched, something twisted painfully inside his chest.
Brandt forced his gaze forward again, tightening his grip on the steering yoke. He couldn’t look at her—if he did, he might break entirely.
For the first time since taking his vow, he resented his wife. Not her—not truly. She had been his heart, his light, his center. Losing her had hollowed him out—left him nothing but a shell. The grief had been unbearable, and in that bottomless well of pain, swearing an oath to the Goddess had seemed the right thing to do. His heart had been dead—he was sure of it. He had promised never again to call a Bride, never again to Bond.
And then Alexandra had come along.
Now she was all he could think about—her stubborn little chin lifted in defiance, her lush curves, the way her lips parted when she gasped under his touch. The taste of her nectar lingered on his tongue even now, sweet and addictive. He wanted her more than he had ever thought he could want a woman.
Gods, she’s so perfect—meant to be mine. I would swear the Goddess herself placed her in my path.
But the Goddess was merciful—benevolent. She would never be so cruel as to dangle the one woman who could heal him before his eyes, knowing he could never truly have her.
Would she?
He cursed himself silently. For touching Lexi when he should have kept his distance. For letting her fall in love with him as he fell in love with her. For whispering her name like it belonged to him and making her body respond to his when he had no right to do so.
He wanted to speak—wanted to comfort her. He wanted to tell her that none of this was her fault, that it was his own weakness that had led them to this pain. He wanted to beg her to forgive him.
But when he risked a glance at her profile, her tear-streaked cheeks shining faintly in the glow of the viewport, the words died in his throat.
It was too late. He had hurt her too deeply for any words to matter.
The shuttle engines thrummed louder, a subtle shift signaling their approach. Outside the viewscreen, the stars shivered. Streaks of light bent and curved, as though space itself were warping.
And then it appeared—the Fold.
A vast horizontal gash ripped open in the fabric of the universe, blackness edged in pulsing crimson light. It yawned wide before them like the wound of some cosmic beast, and the stars around it seemed to stretch and scream as they were drawn toward its mouth.
The Mother Ship had made it for them—an instant passage back across impossible distances. It shimmered with power, faint vibrations rattling through the shuttle’s hull, a low throb that made the very air taste sharp with ozone.
