“I’m not going to kill anyone,” I said.
Lorkin studied me for another moment. Then he grunted. “That’s almost convincing.”
Remmen came the rest of the way down and put a hand on my shoulder. “Go to your woman,” he said. “Then we’ll come in behind you.”
I left them on the steps and went inside.
I found Maisie in the corridor outside the courtroom.
She was sitting on a bench built for someone four times her size. Her boots didn’t reach the floor.
She looked too small against the stone wall. Too pale. There were shadows under her eyes, and her hair had come loose from its clip. But her spine was straight, and the violet scarf was looped around her throat.
My gift to her.
She saw me, and the careful set of her face broke.
She was up and moving before I could say her name. I crossed the space between us in three strides and caught her against me.
I lifted her off her feet. I had to.
Her arms went around my neck, and her face pressed into the side of my throat. She was cold. Too cold. I held her tighter and breathed her in, needing the scent of her under the soap and the courthouse air.
“You came,” she whispered.
“Always.”
I set her down only because I needed to see her face. Her eyes were wet, but there was fire under it. My fierce little human. My clever, stubborn, impossible female.
I wanted to take her home.
I wanted to put her on my kitchen counter and get my mouth on every inch of her until she forgot this place existed.
I wanted to lock every door between her and the rest of the galaxy.
Instead, I kissed her.
It was too hard. Too hungry. Too much for a courthouse corridor.
She kissed me back like she’d been waiting all night to get her hands on me, and the sound she made into my mouth went straight through every bit of control I had left.
“Not here.” Nezara’s voice cut through the heat.
Maisie startled, but I didn’t let her go.
Nezara came down the corridor in her formal robe, tablet tucked under one arm. Her horns were decorated with Agency silver, and her mouth was drawn tight with irritation. Or concern.
It was sometimes hard to tell with her.
“You cannot do that in the courthouse,” she said.
Maisie’s fingers curled in my shirt.
Nezara lowered her voice. “There’s an auditor in that room whose entire purpose is to record whether this bond is being coerced, influenced, or improperly witnessed. You kissing her against a wall before the hearing gives him something to write.”
“This is my mate.” The words came out before I could stop them.
Maisie froze.
