Chapter 13
Rainse
Fionn’s voice was calm, which was somehow worse than if he’d shouted. “You hid a human mate on an island. You didn't tell anyone.”
“I didn’t hide her,” I said through gritted teeth. “I kept her safe.”
He folded his arms. “From what? Her human colleagues and proper medical care?”
Before I could answer, the holo projector on his desk flickered, and Pam’s image resolved mid-air — silver hair, immaculate suit, and the expression of a woman who’d long since stopped being impressed by excuses.
Pam’s holographic image flickered in the air above Fionn’s desk, crisp and businesslike — not angry, but the kind of polite that meant someone’s about to be scolded diplomatically.
"Rainse." It was more sigh than greeting.
"Why did I ever agree to working with you finmen?
I've never had this kind of trouble with other aliens.
True, the Vikingar have no table manners and the Albyans have no sense of personal space, but you boys.
.. Do you think I have nothing better to do than deal with yet another rule breaker? "
I tried to look guilty and demure. I wasn't sure I succeeded.
I could feel my mate moving further away from me, and it took all my navy-trained self-discipline not to run out of the room and find her.
Tell her just what I felt for her. That it wasn't just the bond that brought us together.
That it was so much more. I would want her to be mine even without the bond.
I had never been more certain about anything.
I loved the way she looked at the world, with the mind of a scientist. I loved her laugh, that little giggle sound when she smiled.
I loved her resilience, her strength. I loved her bravery, how she hadn't hesitated diving into a crowd of stinging creatures that had disabled me. I loved...her.
"Are you listening to me?" Pam asked sternly.
"Yes. No. Pam, I'm sorry, but there is nothing much to say. She is my mate. I know she is. She feels it as well. And once she’s done a DNA test and has been added to your database, the whole world will know it.
Why do we have to wait? Why do you have to separate us when it is obvious that we are meant to be together? "
Fionn put a calming hand on my shoulder. "Rainse..."
"Who said anything about separating you?" Pam asked, one immaculately shaped eyebrow pulled up.
"I assumed... Cerban..."
"We have learned much from how we handled Cerban and Maelis.
Hot Tatties is a dating agency, not the police.
Yes, we work with the permission of the Intergalactic Authority, but as long as we keep them informed and don't allow random aliens to join the database, we pretty much have free rein on how we operate.
Keeping Cerban and Maelis separate was..
. not the best decision. I see that now, with hindsight.
But back then, it was done in order to protect Maelis and other women.
Now that we have realised that Kelon was an isolated case, that the majority of finmen are honourable, kind males who would never think to hurt a female, we can change our policies somewhat. "
"So you'll let us be together? Now?"
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. After they'd forced my brother and his mate to stay apart for many sunpasses, they were offering me the opposite? It didn't make sense. Not that I was about to complain.
"It is the woman's decision. If - what is her name?"
"Verity," I said quickly.
"If Verity explicitly says that this is her choice, that she was not coerced or forced in any way, then we can house the two of you in the same building.
Maybe not the same room quite yet, however.
Baby steps. And if she wants to submit a sample, I'll fast-track it through the lab.
Trust me, I'm as curious as you are to find out if you accidentally found your mate.
I mean, what are the chances? It is fascinating. Almost makes you believe in fate..."
As soon as the call ended, I was out of the room, leaving Fionn to deal with the practicalities. I had to see her. Fionn shouted after me, but I ignored him.
The moment I stepped outside, the bond flared — clear, strong, alive. She was close. Not afraid, not angry. Just restless. Like the ocean before a change in tide.
I followed the pull through the palm-lined paths, past the soft hum of the resort. The air was heavy with heat and the scent of salt and sweet alien flowers, the kind of afternoon that promised rain but hadn’t decided when.
And then I saw her.
Verity stood at the water’s edge, the sunlight catching her hair, turning it to copper fire. She turned before I spoke, as though she’d felt me coming — maybe she had. I hoped so. It meant she felt the bond the same way I did.
“I thought you’d be in trouble,” she said, shading her eyes against the glare. "I expected someone to come and tell me that I couldn't see you for a while."
“I was suitably admonished,” I admitted. “Pam said I’m officially on her list.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“She has many lists.” I smiled. “I think this one’s called ‘Finmen Who Give Me Grey Hairs.’”
That made her laugh — soft, real, the kind of sound I’d been chasing since I first pulled her from the sea.
I stopped a few paces away. “She said something else, though. Something I didn’t expect.”
“Oh?”
“She’s willing to let us stay near each other. As long as you agree to it. Your choice.”
Verity blinked, clearly taken aback. “She… actually said that?”
“She did.”
Her gaze flicked over my face, as if looking for the trick. Finding none, her shoulders eased. “That’s… surprisingly reasonable.”
I took a step closer, careful not to crowd her. The sun was warm on our skin, the sea whispering against the sand. “I told her what I know. That you’re my mate.”
Her lips parted slightly. “You’re very sure of that.”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
A pause — long enough for a gull to cry overhead, long enough for the air between us to shift.
“When I’m near you,” she said quietly, “everything feels… quieter. Easier.”
“That’s what the bond does,” I said. “But it’s also what you do.”
Her laugh came out breathless. “That’s either the most romantic or most confusing thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
“Then let me try something simpler.”
I reached out, brushed my fingers along her cheek. Her skin was warm, her breath catching just once — and the bond surged, bright and electric, as if the sea itself was holding its breath.
“Do you feel it?” I whispered.
“Yes,” she breathed. “I don’t understand it, but yes.”
“Then stop trying to understand.”
The pull between us snapped taut, invisible but unbreakable, humming with the same low power that lives in the sea before a storm. She shivered, though the sun was still warm, her lips parting on a breath that trembled somewhere between disbelief and invitation.
I cupped her face, my thumb tracing the line of her jaw. Her pulse beat fast against my palm — quick, human, alive. When our eyes met, I saw the question there, the choice. She didn’t move away.
So I closed the distance.
The first touch was light, a test. A whisper of contact that sent electricity racing through me.
Her breath hitched. Mine stopped altogether.
For a heartbeat, it was just that — shared air, shared silence.
Then she made a sound, small and uncertain, and tilted her head the slightest fraction closer.
That was all it took.
I deepened the kiss, letting instinct guide me.
She tasted of salt and sun, of the ocean that had given her to me.
The world tilted — the sand beneath us, the endless horizon, the rush of waves that rose and fell in time with the pounding of our hearts.
She gripped my shoulders, pulling me down to her level, and I went willingly.
The bond roared to life. Not the faint hum I’d felt before, but a surge — light and heat flooding through every part of me.
It was too much and not enough, both wild and inevitable, the ocean itself surging through our veins.
She gasped against my mouth, but she didn’t pull away.
Her fingers slid up my neck, tangling in my hair, holding me there as though afraid I’d vanish if she let go.
I kissed her again, slower this time, savouring the way she sighed into it, the way her lips softened against mine.
Every sound — the seabirds, the waves, the whisper of palms — faded into nothing.
There was only her. The taste of her, the rhythm of her breath, the heat that bloomed between us like sunlight through water.
When I finally drew back, the world was shimmering. Her eyes were still closed, her lips still parted. She looked dazed — no, alive.
“That was…” she began, voice catching.
I brushed my thumb over her lower lip, barely breathing. “Yes,” I said quietly. “It was.”
Her eyes opened, and what I saw there stole whatever composure I’d managed to hold on to. Wonder. Fear. Want.
“Pam’s going to hate this,” she whispered, and that tiny, breathless laugh of hers broke the spell just enough for me to smile.
“She’ll live.”
And then I kissed her again — because stopping felt impossible, and because for the first time since I’d left Finfolkaheem, I knew exactly where I belonged.