And the worst part? The terrifying, infuriating worst part was that some traitorous piece of her soul whispered that it felt right. That the humming beneath her skin, feeling this connected to someone, the strange sense of belonging, was exactly what she'd been searching for.
Fated mates. Supernatural bonds. What's next—prophecies and destiny?
She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, trying to block out the cascade of implications flooding her mind. This changed everything. Absolutely everything.
An hour later, the guest room had become a prison of sensory overload. Every breath Jade drew carried Raikar's wild, masculine scent that made her stomach flutter despite her best efforts to remain detached. The sheets beneath her still held the evidence of their joining. And the partial mate bond hummed beneath her skin like a live wire.
She'd been lying there motionless, staring at the ceiling while foreign emotions bled through her consciousness like watercolors on wet paper. Guilt—his guilt, heavy and suffocating. Desire that wasn't entirely her own, threading through her bloodstream. A fierce protectiveness that felt alien yet oddly comforting. And underneath it all, a bone-deep worry that made her chest tight with anxiety she couldn't claim as her own.
"This is insane," she muttered. "I can feel what he's feeling so strongly, and I'll probably never be able to shut it off ever again."
The intimacy of it terrified her more than facing down that rogue panther had.
He says I can walk away. Choose not to complete the bond fully.
But even as the thought formed, that persistent ache in her chest—the one that had started when he'd left for his meeting—pulsed harder. It was ten times worse than what she'd experienced last night, a hollow yearning that felt like missing a limb. If distance only amplified this sensation, how could walking away be a real option?
Her traitorous heart whispered seductive possibilities.Stay on Nova Aurora. Stay with him. You've never felt this alive, this connected to another place or person.
"No." She sat up abruptly, rejecting the thought with vehemence that surprised her. "I can't. I won't."
The last time she'd allowed herself to depend on someone, to need them, they'd been ripped away. Her parents' deaths had left her utterly alone, drowning in a grief so profound she'd sworn never to open herself to that kind of devastation again.
But you aren't alone anymore,her heart countered.
"Stop it." She swung her legs over the side of the bed, needing to move, to do something other than lie there drowning in emotions that weren't entirely her own.
The guest room felt suffocating, so she padded barefoot into the hallway, her curiosity overriding her better judgment. She shouldn't be exploring his private space, but sitting in that bed with her spiraling thoughts wasn't an option either.
Raikar's house reflected the man himself—controlled, orderly, every surface clean and uncluttered. But as she wandered through the spacious rooms, she caught glimpses of something deeper beneath the military precision. A hand-carved chess set sat on a side table, the pieces worn smooth by frequent use. A telescope was positioned by a window that faced the twin moons. These weren't the belongings of a man who lived purely for duty.
Her feet carried her to what was obviously his bedroom, and she hesitated at the threshold. Crossing into his most private space without him felt wrong, but the mate bond tugged at her, making her crave any connection to him, even through his possessions.
The room was as immaculate as the rest of the house—military corners on the massive four-poster bed, clothes hung with precision in an open wardrobe. But her attention caught ona dresser where several framed photographs were arranged with careful symmetry.
The images showed a younger version of Raikar—still serious, even as a child, but with parents and grandparents who gazed at him with obvious love and pride. They all shared the same strong jawline, the same intense blue eyes. In one photo, a boy who couldn't be more than ten stood between a man and woman in military dress, his small shoulders squared as if already bearing the weight of expectation.
"What happened to them?" she whispered to the empty room, studying those frozen moments.
A bookshelf along the far wall drew her attention next, and she expected to find tactical manuals and military strategy guides. Those were there, certainly, but tucked between them were surprises that made her chest tighten with unexpected emotion. Books of poetry, their spines worn from frequent reading. Field guides to Nova Aurora's flora and fauna. A leather-bound journal with pages that looked well-used.
There's so much more to him than he shows anyone.
The thought came unbidden, followed immediately by another that made her stomach flutter with dangerous possibility.
Would he ever open up to me? Be vulnerable with me?
She caught herself before the fantasy could take root. "Only if you're willing to do the same with him," she said aloud, her voice sharp with self-reproach.
Her hand reached for a leather-bound volume of poetry, its cover soft with age and handling. She crossed the room and settled onto his bed—his scent immediately enveloping her like a warm embrace—and opened to a page marked with a worn ribbon.
The poem spoke of destined love, of souls recognizing each other across impossible distances. Another marked pagedescribed the fierce joy of finding one's perfect match, of two becoming whole. The words were beautiful, achingly romantic, and completely at odds with the controlled General she'd been trying to categorize in her mind.
He believes in this,she realized, her fingers tracing the elegant script.Fated mates, destined love—it's not just biology to him. It's something he's dreamed of.
The revelation should have terrified her. Instead, it sent warmth spreading through her chest, a dangerous softening toward the man who'd turned her carefully ordered world upside down in the span of two days.
TWELVE
