Page 42 of Commander’s Mate

“Among my people there is a bond called solmatu. Soulmate is the closest translation. It is biological, emotional, and spiritual, though none of those words alone are adequate. When an Uatu recognizes solmatu, he knows. The scent. The response. The certainty.”

“The certainty that I’m yours?”

His eyes flashed.

There it was: the possessive instinct he was trying to leash.

“Yes,” he said, voice lower. “Every instinct I possess says you are mine.”

My stomach flipped.

Not entirely from fear.

“And what do your laws say?”

“That instinct is not permission.”

I held myself still.

“My honor says you must choose. My laws say you cannot be forced. Solmatu rejected is a grief to be endured, not a right to be seized.”

“And if I say no?”

“You remain under our protection. You will be fed, clothed, given medical care, and taken wherever we can safely take you. You will not be punished. You will not owe me your body because I opened a slave pen door.”

I looked away.

“That is a very specific denial.”

“It needed to be.”

“Yes. It did.”

Silence stretched.

I looked toward the shelf. “What are those?”

For an instant grief moved openly across his face.

“The blade was my father’s. The carved figure belonged to one of my sister’s children. The ceramic is from my mother’s kitchen.”

“From Farseek.”

“Yes.”

“You lost them?”

“I do not know.”

That was worse.

“I’m sorry.”

“As I am sorry for what was done to you.”

There was too much between us. Too much grief. Too much attraction. Too little knowledge.

“I want to go home,” I said.