Chapter 16
The heavy door to their quarters slid shut, sealing out the sirens, the security teams, and the chaos that had been ringing in Harper’s ears since they’d left the transport bay. The silence that followed was absolute.
Kirr didn't put her down. He hadn't since he'd lifted her off the metal decking of the bay. He carried her through the living area, his stride steady and his breathing even. He was warm and solid, a massive wall of muscle and heat that shielded her from everything she’d been trying to fight alone.
Her head dropped to his shoulder. Her body felt like wet paper, limp and fragile. Only held together by his arms and the way he held her tight. The adrenaline that had driven her to steal that ID, to navigate the corridors, and try to board a ship all drained away.
But for the first time in her life, she didn't ache. She felt… light. Free.
Kirr moved into the bathroom and sat her down on the closed toilet lid. He didn't step away. Instead, he knelt, his large hands resting on her knees, and his golden eyes searching her face.
"I'm okay," she whispered. Her voice sounded scraped raw.
He nodded once, then stood. "I know."
Turning to the tub, he started the taps.
All the technology in the world, she mused, and taps still worked the same.
Water began to flow, the steam rising invitingly from the surface of the water.
Reaching across, he picked up an ornate bottle and added something to the water…
a second later, the scent of rain and cedarwood filled the air, grounding her.
She watched him. He moved with a deliberate slowness that contrasted with the violence of his arrival at the transport bay. There, he had been a War-Commander ready to level the station. Here, he was just Kirr.
He turned back to her and reached for the hem of her shirt. "Arms up."
She lifted her arms, letting him strip away what she was wearing without a word.
He tossed the stolen ID she'd shoved in her pocket onto the counter without a glance.
Then he peeled everything off her … her clothes, her socks, her underwear with the same careful, reverent movements.
He was gentle, like she was something precious and delicate, his rough palms skimming her shins, her hips, her ribs.
When she was naked, he started stripping his own clothes. His boots thudded against the mat, his uniform jacket and pants discarded in a pile.
The sight of him stole the little breath she had left. Damn. He was magnificent. Seven feet of hardened warrior, scarred and powerful. The dark marks on his wrists stood out against his skin… his mating marks. The marks that said she was his. No, that he was hers.
“In you go, kelarris,” he murmured, scooping her up against his muscled chest and stepping into the tub with her.
She sighed as he sat down with her cradled against him. The water was hot, soothing, easing the ache in her bones. He settled her between his strong thighs, pulling her back until her spine rested against his chest.
She fit. She fit perfectly. As though she’d been made to be there.
Picking up a washcloth, he foamed up the soap and began to wash her.
Starting at her shoulders, he worked the tension out of the muscles with firm, circular motions. Her arms came next, and he traced the old scars on her forearms gently, as if to wash away the memory. He moved up to her chest, the touch not lingering as he cleaned the sweat and fear from her skin.
Tears pricked at her eyes. She hadn't cried during the confrontation. She hadn't cried when the security team leveled weapons at her. But this—this quiet, undemanding care—broke her.
"I'm sorry," she choked out.
The cloth paused on her stomach. "For what?"
"The ID. Trying to run. I was just... I thought I was saving you." She tipped her head back, looking up at him. "I didn't want you to lose your rank. I didn't want you to end up like everyone else who gets close to me."
"Hush." He dropped the cloth and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tighter against him. The water lapped at her collarbones. "You were protecting your mate. You were misguided, stubborn, and foolish, but you were acting out of love."
His voice dropped, edged with command. "But you will not run from me again."
“No, never,” she breathed as his forgiveness settled over her. He wasn't angry. He wasn't holding it against her. He saw the intent, not just the action.
She didn't want to be passive anymore. She didn't want to just be held. She wanted to show him how she felt.
She shifted in the water. It sloshed over the sides as she turned, maneuvering until she was straddling his lap. Her knees pressed against the porcelain, her thighs bracketing his hips. She sat back, sinking down until the water covered them both to the waist.
He went still, hands coming up to rest on her hips. His gaze locked onto hers, burning gold.
She braced her palms on his shoulders—steadying herself more than him. "No more running. I'm here." Her fingers wrapped around the mate marks on his wrist as far as she could.
"Say it again." His thumbs swept her hipbones; his gaze didn't soften. "Look at me when you promise."
"I'm not leaving." She held his eyes. "Not because I can't—because I won't."
"Good." His grip tightened. "Because I am not letting you go."
Leaning forward, she kissed him.
It started slow. Soft. A tasting of lips, a mingling of breath. But the heat flared in a heartbeat. It wasn't the frantic, tearing need from when he’d claimed her, or the desperate comfort of their first time. This was deep. It was real, and it felt like coming home.
She slid her hands into his wet hair, gripping the short strands. He groaned low in his throat, his hands sliding up her back to press her closer. The friction of skin on wet skin sent shivers racing down her spine.
Shifting her hips, she adjusted herself until she felt him right… there. Right where she needed him.
Their gazes locked as he entered her slowly.
The water made everything slick and easy, but he took his time. Filling her inch by inch, stretching her, claiming her with deliberate, agonizing slowness. She gasped, burying her face in the crook of his neck. He was huge. Thick and wide…
He stopped when he was seated to the hilt inside her, his balls pressed against her ass. Holding still, he let her adjust and get used to the feeling of him inside her again.
"You are mine," he murmured against her temple. "My heart. My kelarris. My mate."
"Yours," she breathed.
They moved together in the warm water. He did most of the work, lifting her hips, guiding her, his strength effortless. She clung to him, wrapping her legs around his waist. Every thrust filled her completely, making her gasp.
She watched his face. His expression was one of pure, unguarded worship. Open and honest. He wasn't looking at her like a possession to be guarded. He was looking at her like a miracle he couldn't believe he got to keep.
Pleasure built, a slow, steady climb. Not jagged or sharp, but a swell that rose and rose until it broke over her. When the crest came, she didn't scream. Instead, she cried out his name, shuddering in his arms, holding him as tight as she could as she shattered apart around him.
He followed her moments later, his body rigid, and his breathing harsh in her ear. He held her through the aftershocks, stroking her wet hair, murmuring soft words of endearment.
They stayed like that for a long time, the water cooling around them as their pulses slowed.
Eventually, he stirred. "Come. You need sleep."
He stood, lifting her with him, water cascading off their bodies. He dried her with a thick towel, patting her skin dry with the same patience he'd used to wash her. He carried her to the bed—his bed, their bed—and pulled back the covers.
She crawled in. The sheets were cool and smelled like him. She curled on her side, heavy with exhaustion.
Kirr lay down behind her, curling his massive frame around hers and pulling her back until she was flush against him.
"Kirr?" she whispered into the dark.
"Yes, kelarris?"
"I love you."
He pressed a kiss to her shoulder. "I love you, too, my beloved. Sleep now. I have you."
She closed her eyes, her hand coming up to rest on the arm draped over her waist. Even in the dark, she felt the marks around his wrist and traced them.
They weren't ink, even though they looked like it. They weren't biology either. They were a promise.
He wasn't going anywhere and neither was she.
She let out a long breath and just… slept, safe and content in the arms of her handsome alien mate.
The other half of her soul.
* * *
The air in the medical bay smelled different today.
It was the same crisp, recycled antiseptic scent that had greeted Harper every time she walked through the sliding doors, but for the first time since the crash, she headed toward Delilah's room without the crushing weight of impending doom sitting on her shoulders.
Kirr's hand was warm and heavy on the small of her back. He hadn't stopped touching her since they'd left the LMP offices twenty minutes ago. His thumb swept back and forth over the fabric of her blouse in a silent reassurance she didn't need but craved anyway.
"I still can't believe they just... dropped it," Harper said, her voice low in the quiet corridor. "After all that bullshit… and they just dropped it!”
"They did not have a choice." Kirr's tone was matter-of-fact as he looked down at her, a fond expression in his eyes. "You are my mate. To charge you after everything you did would be to challenge the M'Aab clan, and Duke Kaarigan values his position too much for that."
He sounded so calm about it. Like threatening to go to war with the rest of the Latharian empire was just another Tuesday.
She looked down at her wrist. The silver vines of her bracelet caught the overhead lights. It was still a tracker, but she didn't hate it. It was a lifeline. A silver thread connecting her to the massive warrior walking beside her.