Page 30 of Rook
Sasha hesitated, her fingers curling into fists against her shins. She studied his face for a long moment, searching for something that would tell her whether to trust him or run. Whatever she saw there must have convinced her, because she slowly uncurled and extended her hands toward him, palms up. Her fingers trembled slightly, but whether from fear or the lingering effects of their lovemaking, he couldn't tell.
Rook summoned his fire, and Sasha gasped. He held his hand out over hers, the fire hovering just an inch from her skin. The flames danced between his fingers, casting golden light across her face. "Do you feel that?" he asked.
"It tickles. But it's not hot. Why?"
He tipped his hand over and released the fire. As close as it was to her skin, it answered the call within her instead of retreating back into him.
Sasha nearly ripped her hands back in shock.
"Careful!" said Rook. "You're immune to my fire. The bed isn't."
"Jesus! Warn a girl." She cupped the fire like it was a baby animal, her movements instinctive and sure despite her startled words. The flames curled around her fingers like living silk, responding to her touch with an eagerness that made Rook's breath catch. "What is this? Why? How?"
"My fire is yours," he said. There were no formal vows, but it felt that way when he said it. The words carried weight, a solemn promise that settled deep in his bones. "When you hold it, you control it. You can summon it from my soul and wield it as your own. When I'm in my other form, you can speak to my mind. There is only one person in the universe that this is true for."
Sasha carefully pulled her hands apart and let the fire flow between them in a graceful ribbon of light. She was a natural, her movements confident as she shaped the flames into spirals and loops. The fire obeyed her every whim, eager to please its new mistress. "Why, Rook?"
"You are my mate."
The words hung in the air between them, heavy with implication. Sasha went very still, the fire frozen in her palms as if even the flames were holding their breath. Her eyes widened, pupils dilating with shock. For a heartbeat, she looked like she'd forgotten how to breathe.
She clapped her hands together, and the fire disappeared. "What? How?"
"It's fate," was his only explanation.
"We're from different planets."
"Fate doesn't care."
Sasha pushed at his shoulder with both hands, her touch burning through him even as she tried to create distance.
"Okay, you really need to put pants on now." She scrambled around him and swung her legs off the bed, looking for her own pants, which she found hanging off the armrest of the chair. She pulled them on with jerky, agitated movements, her face flushed with something that might have been panic. Once dressed, she started pacing the narrow confines of the ship like a caged animal. "I can't be your mate. I'm just … I'm— I'm just some trail guide who lives in her van. You're a fucking dragon! And a lord! And an alien." She clutched her head, fingers tangling in her disheveled hair.
Rook didn't put on his pants. Instead, he crossed the room in two strides and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her back against his chest. She fit perfectly against him, her body molding to his as if they'd been made for each other. Which, he supposed, they had. "You are wonderful. And brave. And beautiful. You know the world around you better than anyone I've ever met. I am proud to call you my mate. If you'll have?—"
It would have been a beautiful declaration.
If the monitoring sensor he'd left outside of the slaver's camp hadn't chosen that moment to shrill through the ship and shatter their peace.
17
Mate.
Rook was her mate.
She was Rook's mate.
Mates were a thing.
What the fuck?
Sasha really needed to be thinking about the mission ahead of her and not the life-altering revelations that Rook had made two hours ago. That was what a proper warrior would do.
But she was no warrior. She was just an adventure guide who had been sucked into a world she'd never imagined could exist.
And now she was …
Fuck!
