Chapter 1 #2
The man—no, the alien—that filled the doorway was massive.
He had to be seven feet tall, his shoulders so broad he had to turn slightly to enter the room.
He was clad in black leather that looked battle-worn, hugging muscles that seemed carved from granite.
Long, pale blond hair was pulled back in intricate braids, revealing a face of harsh, predatory angles.
But it was his eyes that froze her blood. They were violet. Vivid, beautiful purple with vertical, slit pupils like a cat.
He stepped into the room, and the air felt too thin.
She felt a yank in her chest, a physical sensation like a hook snagging behind her ribs. It pulled her toward him, a terrifying, magnetic drag. Her knees weakened, almost dropping her to a puddle on the floor.
What the hell?
The warrior ignored Haynes completely. His gaze locked onto her, intense and unblinking.
He looked at her not like a woman, but like an object.
Something to be transported. He stalked forward, the heavy thud of his boots echoing in the small room.
Stopping three feet away, he towered over her, radiating heat against her skin.
"I am Raaevik K'Vass," he said. His voice was gravel and steel, a low sound that sent shivers down her spine. "I am from the Emperor's Guard. And you are coming with me."
She looked up, craning her neck to meet those alien, purple eyes. Blood pounded in her throat. She thought of her mother. She thought of the shelter. She thought of running.
But looking at him, yeah… running was pointless.
"Go to hell," she whispered.
He didn't smile. But the corner of his eye twitched, just once.
"The shuttle is waiting," he said. "Walk, little female. Or I will carry you."
* * *
Raaevik stepped into the room, and froze.
She was small. That registered first. A swirl of dark curls and a jacket too big for her frame. Then her eyes met his, and a single word rolled through his mind: Mine.
His breath snagged in his throat. He forced his face into a mask of stone, locking his muscles against the tremor that threatened to run through him.
He stared at the female. Emily Evans. The Emperor’s matched mate.
No, not his. Mine.
Panic, cold and sharp, sliced through the heat in his blood. This was treason. To even think it was treason. This female belonged to his emperor. She was sacred. Untouchable.
He walled himself off and focused on the mission. Retrieve the asset. Deliver the asset. Do not—
She shifted against his grip, and her scent hit him like a fist. His thoughts scattered…
Blinking, he shook his head and forced his mind back on track. Back on the mission.
"The shuttle is waiting," he said. "Walk, little female. Or I will carry you."
She flinched at his tone but didn't back down as she glared up at him. "My name is Emily. And I’m not going anywhere with you."
Frustration rolled through him. He really didn't have time for this. The schedule was tight, and he had two mission briefings later. He crossed the distance between them in two strides.
"Hey!" she yelped as he reached for her.
He ignored her protest, closing his hand around her upper arm. She was tiny, his fingers nearly meeting around her upper arm. But the moment he touched her, heat scorched over his skin, and every muscle in his body locked against the urge to claim her.
He gritted his teeth so hard his jaw ached, shoving the impulse down into the dark. He pushed her toward the door, careful not to use his full strength, though the urge to tuck her against his chest and snarl at anyone who came near was almost overpowering.
"Let go of me!" She dug her heels into the carpet, a futile gesture against his momentum. "You can't just kidnap people! There are laws!"
"Imperial decree supersedes local law," he grunted, scanning the hallway. Clear. Two security guards stood at the end, looking nervous. All the civilians had scattered.
The human male, Haynes, scrambled out of their way, pressing himself against the wall like he expected Raaevik to bite him.
Smart male.
"You can't do this!" she hissed, digging her heels in as he hauled her down the corridor. "I have rights! I have a job! I have a cat!"
"The Emperor will provide you with a new feline if you require one." He pushed through the heavy glass front doors and out onto the street.
"I don't want a new cat! I want my life back!" She swung her free hand, smacking his forearm. "Let me go, you giant leather-clad tree trunk!"
"No."
She shrieked, almost bursting his eardrums. Who knew human females could be so loud?
"What the fuck! Who do you think you are?"
"I am your escort," he said. "And you are talking too much."
"I'll stop talking when you stop manhandling me!"
He didn't answer. He couldn't. It took every ounce of his concentration to keep moving, to scan the perimeter for threats, while ignoring the way her body heat seared him even through his gloves.
He marched her down the block toward the private landing pad the local government had cleared for them. It was a short distance, but with her dragging her feet and arguing every step of the way, it felt like a march across the Nine Wastes.
"Are you even listening to me?" she demanded, breathless from trying to keep up with his stride. "I said I get motion sick! If you put me on a spaceship, I am so throwing up on your boots."
"The shuttle has inertial dampeners," he grunted, his eyes scanning the rooftops. "You will not vomit."
She slid him a sideways glance. "You don't know my stomach."
They turned the corner into the secured alleyway where the transport waited. It was a standard-issue Imperial shuttle, sleek and black, designed for speed and discretion.
He stopped dead. Emily slammed into his back.
"Oof! What is—"
"Quiet," he hissed.
He stared at the craft. The running lights were dark. The faint hum of the standby generator was absent. The boarding ramp was sealed, but the access panel near the airlock had been pried open, wires hanging loose like spilled guts.
He froze, every instinct on alert.
"What's wrong?" she asked, her voice losing some of its fire. She looked at the dark ship, then up at him. "Why aren't the lights on?"
"Keep quiet," he growled. "Something's wrong."
He swept his gaze around the alley. High walls on three sides and one exit: the way they’d come. The landing pad was in a kill box.
"Wrong?" Her voice squeaked. "Like… ?"
"I don't know, yet." He grabbed her, harder this time. "Move."
Not waiting for her to argue, he hauled her back the way they'd come. Instead of returning to the street, he dragged her into the narrow recess between two brick buildings. It was a service entrance for waste disposal, filled with metal bins and the stench of refuse.
"Ew! What are you doing?"
"Taking cover," he growled, shoving her into the corner where the brick met concrete and positioning himself in front of her. He was a wall of muscle and leather between her and the threat.
He tapped the comms unit on his wrist bracer. "K'Vass to Devan Control. Priority One."
Static hissed in his ear.
"K'Vass to Control. Do you copy?"
Nothing but white noise. Jammed.
"Draanth."
"What's going on?" Emily whispered. She was pressed against the brick, her eyes wide, the earlier defiance dimmed now.
"Stay down."
He switched frequencies, bypassing the standard channels and keying in the emergency extraction code reserved for the Emperor’s personal guard. It was a short-range, high-frequency burst designed to punch through standard jamming.
His comm pinged that the signal had sent. Beacon active. It would call in any local imperial assets to their rescue, overriding whatever mission they were on.
Now they waited.
The space was tight. Too tight. He was pressed almost against her, his boots bracketing her feet. The smell of the garbage bins was pungent, but it couldn't mask her scent. Fear spiked her pheromones, making them sharper, more potent.
He needed to protect her.
He looked down at her. She was staring up at him, her chest heaving.
Her lips were parted, breath coming in short, shallow gasps.
But as he looked down at her, the terror faded from her eyes, and he realised.
She wasn't looking at the alley entrance.
She was looking at him. Her pulse jumped in the hollow of her throat, the tiny movement catching his eye.
He smelled the salt of her sweat and the sweet, underlying scent of her skin.
He was hard. Painfully, traitorously hard, straining against the leather of his pants. He tried to look away, to focus on the alley entrance, but his gaze was dragged back to her face.
Her gaze dropped to his mouth, then back up to his eyes. There was confusion there, yes. But also something else. Awareness…
He wanted to touch her. To run his hand down the curve of her cheek, to tangle his fingers in those wild curls, to press her back against the brick and—
A roar overhead shattered the moment. The air pressure in the alley dropped as engines screamed. Dust and trash swirled into a mini-cyclone, stinging his face. He looked up. A combat dropship, bearing the Imperial crest, hovered above the buildings, its repulsor engines angling downward.
Extraction.
He didn't feel relief. Instead, anger rolled through him that the moment was broken.
He grabbed her arm. "Move!"
"Wait! Is that—"
He didn't let her finish. He hauled her out of the alley and toward the descending ramp, all his instincts screaming one word...
MINE.