SERA
Our eyes meet and the world explodes.
Heat blasts across my collarbone like someone pressed fire against my skin. I gasp and stumble backward, hitting the wall hard enough to knock the breath from my lungs. My hands fly to my chest and I feel something wrong. Something burning beneath my uniform.
Light blazes through the fabric. Silver. Bright enough to make me squint. Spreading across my skin in patterns that move like living things.
What is this. What's happening to me.
Pain and power surge through my body in waves. It doesn't hurt exactly. More like every nerve ending just woke up at once. Like I've been asleep for years and something just shocked me awake.
The warlord makes a sound. Something between a gasp and a growl. I look up and see his entire left arm glowing. Same silver light. Same impossible patterns spreading from his shoulder down to his fingertips.
The marks pulse. His rhythm matches mine perfectly.
Around us the waste processing room goes silent. Every worker stops what they're doing and stares. Someone drops a tool that clangs on the metal floor. The sound echoes like a gunshot.
"Blessed ancestors," one of the maintenance crew whispers. "It's the bond."
No. That's impossible.
Life bonds are legends. Stories from before the war. Things that happen in romantic tales about destined mates and cosmic connections.
They don't happen to maintenance workers covered in grease.
They definitely don't happen between humans and the aliens who failed to save Earth.
But the marks keep glowing. Keep pulsing. Keep connecting me to this massive warlord whose amber eyes are locked on mine like I'm the only thing in the universe.
He takes a step toward me.
Every survival instinct I possess kicks in at once.
I run.
I bolt toward the maintenance door before conscious thought catches up. Behind me I hear shouting. Director Marr's voice sharp with shock. The warlord's deep rumble saying something in a language I don't understand.
I don't stop. I crash through the door into the service tunnel beyond and run like my life depends on it.
Because maybe it does.
The tunnels are my territory. Five years of maintenance work means I know every corridor, every shortcut, every dead end. I can navigate them in the dark if I have to.
I take a sharp left into a passage barely wide enough for my shoulders. Too small for someone his size. He'll have to find another route. I'll lose him in the maze of tunnels and then I'll figure out what to do about the marks burning on my skin.
Except I can feel him following.
Not hear. Feel. Like there's an invisible rope tied between us that pulls tighter with every step I take away from him. The bond, some part of my brain supplies. You're connected now.
I push the thought away and run faster.
Right turn. Down a maintenance ladder. Through a crawlspace that opens into the lower level service area. My lungs burn. My legs ache. The marks on my collarbone pulse hot and cold at the same time.
Behind me I hear heavy footsteps. Impossibly he's keeping up. These passages were designed for human-sized workers. He shouldn't fit. He definitely shouldn't be gaining on me.
But he is.
I can feel him getting closer through the bond. Feel his determination. His absolute certainty that he's going to catch me.
Not if I can help it.
I duck into a side corridor that leads to the old storage sections. Abandoned areas nobody uses anymore because the equipment is outdated. There's a bay at the end with broken supply crates and old machinery parts.
I sprint toward it. Almost there. Just need to reach the far exit and I can circle back toward residential sections where there are people and witnesses and safety.
I turn the corner into the storage bay.
And slam face-first into a dead end.
No. This corridor used to connect to the main service tunnel. I've used this route a dozen times.
Except apparently at some point maintenance sealed it off. A solid metal wall blocks what should be an exit. Fresh welds gleam in the dim light. This barrier is new. Maybe installed last month when they were doing repairs.
I spin around looking for another way out.
The warlord appears in the entrance.
He fills the entire doorway. Has to duck his head to fit through. The silver marks on his arm glow bright in the shadows of the storage bay. His amber eyes lock onto mine.
I'm trapped.
My back hits the sealed wall. Nowhere left to run. He steps into the bay slowly like he's trying not to spook a wild animal.
We stare at each other. Him blocking the only exit. Me cornered with a glowing brand on my collarbone that matches his perfectly.
The bond pulses between us. I can feel his emotions bleeding through the connection. Shock. Recognition. Something that feels like awe mixed with possession.
It makes my skin crawl and my traitorous heart race at the same time.
"Stay away from me," I gasp out. My voice shakes. I hate that it shakes.
He raises both hands slowly. Palms out. Non-threatening. Except everything about him is a threat. He's massive and armed and covered in warrior scars that say he's killed before.
"I won't hurt you," he says. His voice is deep. Rougher than before. Like the bond is affecting him too. "The marks don't lie. You're my destined mate."
The words hit like bullets. Mate. Destined. All the things I've spent five years running from.
Connection. Vulnerability. Needing someone who could be ripped away at any moment.
"I'm nothing to you," I say. But my voice cracks on the last word.
"You're everything." He takes another step closer. Close enough that I smell ozone and something else. Something that makes my body want to lean toward him even as my brain screams to get away. "What's your name."
I shouldn't tell him. Should lie. Make something up. Protect the secret I've guarded for five years.
Instead the truth falls from my lips like I have no control over my own mouth.
"Sera."
His eyes narrow. Intelligence working behind that brutal face. I watch him put the pieces together. Watch realization dawn.
"Sera," he repeats slowly. "Short for Seraphina."
No. Please no.
"You're her." His voice drops to something almost gentle. Almost deadly. "The lost princess."
My secret. The one thing I've hidden from everyone except the colonial council. Destroyed in seconds because I couldn't keep my mouth shut.
"I'm a maintenance worker," I try weakly.
"You're the last heir of Earth's royal bloodline." He takes another step and now he's close enough to touch. Close enough that I see the silver patterns on his arm in detail. Intricate designs that match the ones burning on my collarbone. "And you're mine."
The possessive claim ignites something in my chest. Not fear this time. Rage.
Pure burning rage that someone thinks they can own me because of marks that appeared without permission.
"I belong to no one." The words come out sharp. Hard. "Especially not some alien warlord who let my world burn."
I see the hit land. Pain flashes across his face before his expression hardens into something cold.
"We tried to save Earth."
"You were too late." My voice rises. Five years of buried grief and anger flooding out. "My parents died screaming. Billions died. I watched my world turn to ash while you were somewhere else fighting someone else's war. You were too late."
"I know."
The simple admission shouldn't affect me. Shouldn't make the rage falter. But something in his voice cracks through my anger. Guilt. Deep and old and infected like a wound that never healed.
He carries Earth's death too.
The realization throws me off balance. I don't want to see him as anything except the enemy. Don't want to acknowledge that maybe he's suffered too.
"So take your bond and your marks and leave." I shove at his chest. It's like pushing a mountain. Solid muscle that doesn't budge. "I don't want this."
"The bond doesn't ask what we want."
"Then I'll find a way to break it."
I duck under his arm and run. Again. Back through the storage bay entrance into the corridor beyond. My survival instincts scream at me to get away. Put distance between us. Figure out what's happening before I make any decisions.
Behind me I feel his emotions through the bond. Frustration. Longing. Determination.
He's not giving up.
But neither am I.
I navigate the tunnels on pure instinct. Taking turns I know. Avoiding dead ends this time. Heading toward residential sections where my quarters are. Where I can lock a door and have a few minutes to think.
The marks burn against my skin the entire way. Reminding me with every step that running might not matter anymore.
I'm connected to a warlord whether I want to be or not.
And somehow I have to figure out what that means before it destroys everything I've built to survive.