Page 50

Rann’s eyes drifted half-closed, his body heavy with a satisfaction he hadn’t felt in decades. Maybe ever.

The padded plank B had described as her bed was actually more comfortable than that. A lot more comfortable. The mattress might have been thin and the blankets thinner, but the bunk itself was solid, and that was all a warrior really needed. He’d slept on drop ship decks waiting for the green light, and propped against rubble in the middle of a battlefield with weapons fire screaming overhead. Once he’d even dozed off standing up in full kit, stuck on a boarding ramp for six hours while command argued about whether the target was worth the fuel.

But lying here with his female using him as a mattress, her slight weight sprawled across his chest, and one of her legs hooked over his thigh… this was the closest thing to perfection he could imagine.

He smoothed her hair back from her face, the dark strands slipping like water through his fingers. She was so beautiful. Even in sleep, he could see the force of her personality in her features: the slight furrow between her brows, like she was still arguing with someone even in her dreams. The set of her jaw didn’t quite relax—stubborn even unconscious.

She snored. Soft, snuffling little sounds that made his chest tighten.

He hadn’t slept. Not one wink. He’d been too consumed with claiming her, with learning every inch of her body and every sound she made, and committing them to memory.

He’d taken her three more times after that first, frantic coupling against the locker. Twice in the bunk, once on the floor when they’d rolled off the edge and neither of them had wanted to stop long enough to climb back up. Each time she’d been as eager as he was, her hands all over him and her mouth hot against his skin.

His female was insatiable. The thought made him smile in the darkness. Which meant he was one lucky draanthic.

He’d only let her sleep an hour ago, when he’d noticed her movements slowing and her eyes taking longer to focus. She was running on empty, riding the keen edge of exhaustion. This eighteen-hour leave was supposed to be for her to rest, and she was only human. She couldn’t go for four days without sleep the way a M’Suun warrior could.

The way he could.

Not for the first time, he was grateful for his clan’s genetic adaptations…enhanced stamina, increased combat effectiveness, and the ability to function on minimal rest when the situation demanded it.

It meant he didn’t need to close his eyes, didn’t need to risk the nightmares that waited for him in the dark. Didn’t need to face the sight of B tumbling away from him through the blackness, her tether whipping loose, her body limp and unresponsive.

And him reaching out for her. Reaching, but never fast enough.

His arms tightened around her, and she stirred against his chest. Her lips parted in a small, wordless sound of protest. He forced himself to relax, smoothing his hand down her back in long, slow strokes until she settled again.

She was his. His female. His to protect. It was a sacred duty, one he would honor until there was no breath left in his body.

Lifting his free arm, he turned his wrist this way and that in the faint glow of the status lights above the door.

The skin was bare. Unmarked.

No mating marks.

His jaw tightened as he let his arm drop back to the bed, and he stared at the ceiling.

The movement woke her and B shifted against him, her brow furrowing as she came up out of sleep. For half a second she was warm and boneless, her cheek on his chest, and her hand spread over his heart.

Then, between one breath and the next, she went rigid, tension running through her lean frame.

Her eyes snapped open and her gaze found his face, dark blue and wary in the low light.

Then she smiled.

Just a small thing, soft around the edges, but it hit him harder than a punch. Her body loosened again, and she pressed closer, tucking herself into his side.

“Morning,” he murmured, his voice as rough as trench rotgut.

Not that he cared. She was looking at him with sleep still clouding her eyes, and gods, he could get used to that. He could get used to waking with her in his arms. Could get used to that first sleepy little smile being for him.

He loved that all her defenses had fallen away the instant she’d seen him. Which made her little speech about last night not meaning anything, about it being nothing more than a survivor’s reaction, utter trall.

He might not have known B long, but he knew enough. She wasn’t one of those hard-faced, jaded females who took males to bed because they were bored or lonely, then walked away without looking back.

No, she felt things deeply. She wouldn’t sleep with a male if she didn’t feel something for him. She felt something for him.

And she was his, even if the gods hadn’t yet seen fit to etch confirmation of their union into the skin of his wrists.