Chapter 6
SIX
RAIKAR
Raikar's office felt like a cage. For two solid hours, he'd tried to focus on the stack of reports littering his desk—supply inventories, patrol logs, border assessments.
None of it registered. His panther prowled just beneath his skin, a relentless, heated pressure against his bones, furious at the distance he'd placed between them and their mate.
Each breath pulled her scent from the fabric of the chair across from his desk where she sat just mere hours ago, the lingering trace of lavender and citrus unraveling him thread by thread.
A sharp rap on his door was a welcome distraction. "Enter."
Veynor stepped inside, his posture military-straight and his eyes missing nothing. "Sir. Jade has started her training with Talia and Brenn on the southern grounds."
"And?"
"There are… murmurs. Questions about why a human is here, receiving instruction from two of our best."
Raikar's jaw tightened. The situation was spiraling faster than a jungle vine snake.
He couldn't command his people to silence their curiosity without looking like he had something to hide, which he did.
He couldn't announce Jade was his fated mate because the woman herself didn't know.
The truth of the situation would make him look weak and compromise his authority.
A general who brought his fated mate here on false pretenses? The council would feast on that.
He leaned back in his chair, the leather groaning under his weight. "Tell them she's here because I'm recruiting warriors for special missions. It's a new initiative."
Veynor's jaw twitched. "That story seems pretty thin. They will wonder why you recruited a human female from Earth and not any other capable shifter warrior from Nova Aurora."
"Well, then tell them she's an asset that I personally selected." Raikar's voice dropped, a low growl of warning. "It's not exactly a lie."
"They'll question why an 'asset' is housed with two of your warriors and not housed in a more secure location."
"Then they can question my judgment to my face." Raikar stood, the movement abrupt, forcing Veynor to look up at him. "The point is, nothing leaves your lips about mates. Not a whisper. Understood?"
Veynor gave a single, sharp nod. "Understood." He turned to leave, pausing at the door. "For what it's worth, the early reports from Talia are that Jade is… capable."
The door clicked shut, leaving Raikar alone with the beast roaring inside him.
Capable.
The word was fuel on a fire.
He crossed to the wide window that overlooked the training grounds carved into the jungle's edge.
The twin suns cast long, dappled shadows across the hard-packed earth below.
Talia moved with aggressive, explosive energy, demonstrating a disarming technique—one of his own drills.
Brenn stood to the side. And in the center, Jade moved.
And his breath caught.
It wasn't the fluid, instinctual grace of a shifter.
It was something else. Something calculated.
She had watched Talia's demonstration with total focus, her brown eyes clearly tracking every micro-shift of weight and every angle.
When she mimicked the move, she didn't just copy it.
She absorbed it. Her body, lean and tightly muscled, executed the technique with a precision that was almost clinical.
No wasted motion and pure, distilled efficiency.
Watching his mate perform his drills, the combat forms he'd honed through blood and war, did something dangerous to him. A possessive, primal heat flooded his veins.
Mine.
His panther pushed hard against his skin, demanding to be down there, beside her, feeling the heat of her body through the humid air. But he'd told her he was busy. To show up now would signal that she was a distraction he couldn't ignore.
He watched as Talia advanced, shifting to a sparring stance.
Jade mirrored her, settling into a ready position that was purely her own—lower center of gravity, hands up in a guarded, open-palmed guard he'd seen in Earth martial arts.
Talia lunged but Jade didn't meet it with force.
She deflected it, using Talia's own momentum to unbalance her, following up with a sharp, controlled tap to the ribs that would have been a debilitating strike if she'd put power behind it.
A fierce pride burst in Raikar's chest.
She's not just capable. She's exceptional.
The justification to go down to the training grounds formed in his mind, sleek and convenient. His schedule had freed up. He was the General after all—his time was his to allocate.
The panther purred its approval, a vibrating rumble deep in his chest.
Closer. Touch. Claim.
He was already moving away from the window, his decision made. He didn't bother with the door to the main corridor. He headed for the private exit that led directly to the back of the command center and the path down to the training grounds.
Each step down the stone stairs hammered the truth home. This wasn't about oversight. This was need, raw and imperative.
The scent of turned earth, sweat, and her grew stronger with every downward stride. His blood heated and his senses sharpened until he could almost hear the rhythm of her heartbeat over the din of the jungle.
The packed earth felt like a hot plate under Raikar's boots as he stepped onto the perimeter of the training grounds.
Every muscle in his body was a coiled spring as he fought the urge to step closer to his mate.
Instead, he stood in the dappled shade of a massive purple-fronded tree, a silent sentinel.
Brenn was walking Jade through a standard close-quarters disarm—a quick grab of an attacker's wrist, a sharp twist, a wrenching turn to lock the opponent's arm behind their back. Raikar watched intently, his panther's senses dissecting every motion.
Brenn's movements were fluid, panther-graceful, but she was soft in the execution. The initial grab lacked the decisive snap to break a stronger opponent's focus. The twist was a hair too slow. The final lock was more of a suggestion than a command.
Sloppy.
The word was a flare in Raikar's mind. His own technique, one he'd forged in a hundred skirmishes, was being diluted. Taught to Jade with less than perfect precision. His mate deserved nothing less than the raw, efficient truth of it.
He was moving before the thought fully formed, his long strides eating up the distance between them. The low murmur of other warriors cooling down or watching from the sidelines faded into a hush. All eyes tracked the General as he invaded the training circle.
"You're teaching it like a dance," Raikar said, his voice cutting through the humid air.
Brenn and Talia froze, their postures snapping to respectful attention.
Jade simply turned, those deep brown eyes finding his.
A bead of sweat traced a path from her temple down the strong line of her jaw.
She didn't flinch, but her focus sharpened, zeroing in on him with a piercing intensity that sent a jolt of pure heat straight to his core.
"Sir?" Brenn's voice was careful.
"The wrist grab." Raikar stepped into the space, the world narrowing to the three women, the dusty ground, and the magnetic pull of the woman at the center. "It's not a suggestion. It's a declaration. You don't just take the wrist. You shatter their intent."
He turned to Jade, his pulse hammering a frantic drumbeat. "Show me your guard."
She lifted her hands instantly, falling into a ready stance. The mate bond was a live wire of anticipation between them, a heady, dangerous thing.
He didn't give a warning. He lunged, his hand shooting for her leading wrist with the speed of a striking viper.
She moved with him. Not against him.
Her own hand came up to meet his, not to block, but to guide his trajectory a fraction, her body already flowing into the counter-move Brenn had demonstrated.
But Raikar didn't follow the script. He let her initial deflection happen, then his other hand grabbed her other wrist and twisted it, not hard, forcing her into the lock with an inescapable, controlled pressure that drew her back flush against the solid wall of his chest.
The contact was a lightning strike inside him .
Her scent flooded him—lavender, citrus, clean sweat, and the unique, intoxicating essence that was purely her.
His panther roared in triumph. Her body was a perfect, compact line of muscle against him, her breath catching in a soft, audible gasp.
Heat radiated from her, seeping through his clothes and branding his skin.
"The lock isn't in the wrist," Raikar said, his voice a rough scrape near her ear.
He could feel the rapid flutter of her heartbeat against him.
"It's here." He applied gentle, undeniable pressure to the center of her back, demonstrating how the hold controlled the entire spine, how a true master could dictate movement with a touch.
"You control the core, you control the fight. "
He was hyperaware of every point of contact: the curve of her shoulder against his chest, the silk of her hair brushing his jaw, the way her entire body had stilled, not in fear, but in a deep, resonant recognition that mirrored his own.
The chemistry between them wasn't just palpable; it was a living thing, thick in the air, and sizzling along their connected skin.
A low whistle from somewhere in the gathered crowd snapped him back to reality.
He'd drawn an audience. Warriors had stopped their own drills, their expressions a mix of curiosity, speculation, and open skepticism.
Why is the General this close to the human? Why is he touching her like that? What's so special about her?
The questions hung in the humid air, unspoken but deafening. This was a disaster. He was broadcasting his claim with every possessive second he held her. He had to shut it down, and fast.
With a reluctance that was a physical ache, he released her, stepping back as if the space between them was a chasm. The jungle air rushed in where her warmth had been, a bitter replacement.
He turned his gaze to Talia and Brenn, forcing his voice into its usual, impersonal command. "Finish the session. Ensure the technique is demonstrated with precision. I won't have our standards slip."
Brenn's cheeks flushed. "Of course, General. My apologies. It won't happen again."
"See that it doesn't."
He needed to leave. Every instinct screamed to put distance between himself and the curious, judging eyes. But his feet were rooted to the spot, his gaze dragged back to Jade.
She was watching him, her expression a mask of composed professionalism, but her eyes… her eyes were dark pools of confused awareness. She'd felt it too. The bond. The rightness. And she was grappling with it just as fiercely as he was.
He couldn't just walk away again. The beast inside him wouldn't allow it. He needed more. A reason to see her again.
"Jade." Her name was a command and a plea on his lips. "You'll attend dinner at my residence tonight. 1900 hours. We have formal protocols to discuss regarding your integration and duties."
It was a flimsy excuse, a threadbare veil over a desperate need to get her alone. Discussing protocols could have been a five-minute meeting in his office tomorrow. She had to know that.
Her eyebrows lifted a fraction, but she gave a single, sharp nod. "1900 hours. Understood."
Of course she accepted. She saw it as part of the job, another step in her training. Jade had no idea she'd just agreed to walk into his den—into the private space of a male whose control was fraying by the second.
"Good." The word was final, a dismissal for the watching crowd as much as for her.
He turned on his heel and walked away, every step feeling like a retreat from the only thing that had felt right in a decade.
The path back to the command center blurred.
His mind was already in his home, imagining her there, surrounded by his things, her scent mixing with his in the quiet space. Dinner. Conversation. Alone.
How in the hell am I going to manage myself tonight?
The reality, cold and exhilarating, settled in his gut. He probably wouldn't.
The game of distance was over.