Page 31 of Signed, Sealed, Seduced
“An accord,” I echo, my voice breathless.
He releases my hands slowly, reluctantly. “We begin immediately. The beacon must be analyzed, its origins traced. And we must discover who had the resources to orchestrate such a complex operation.”
“Where do we start?”
His expression turns grim as he picks up the beacon again. “We spring the trap,” he says. “But on our terms.”
And despite everything—the danger, the deception, the fact that I’m way out of my depth here—I find myself smiling. Not the practiced, professional smile I use with clients, but something sharper. Something real.
“Now you’re speaking my language.”
The way he looks at me then, with something like pride and possessiveness and heat all tangled together, makes me think that maybe being used as a pawn was worth it after all.
If it led me to him.
9
Chains and Choices
Henrok
Thescentofbattleclings to me like a second skin. Bitter, metallic, familiar. I stand before the strategy table in my private war chamber, surrounded by holographic projections of the fortress’s defenses. The beacon sits at the center, its black surface absorbing light like a miniature void. Three cycles have passed since Suki brought it to me, three cycles of preparations and calculations.
Three cycles of her presence disrupting the ordered rhythm of my existence.
Even now, as I focus on tactical assessments and defensive protocols, part of my awareness remains fixed on the small blinking light of her tracking bracelet. She is currently in the repair bay, likely examining the final modifications to her ship. The thought of her running those competent hands over upgraded systems, her expression focused with professional satisfaction, sends an unwelcome heat through my chest.
I force my attention back to the matter at hand.
My warriors await my command, their crystalline markings pulsing with anticipation. Vex’ra stands to my right, her diplomatic facade stripped away to reveal the tactical mind beneath. To my left stands Krev, my second-in-command, his scarred face impassive but his eyes watchful.
“The trap is set,” Krev reports, his voice a low rumble that resonates through the chamber. “All non-essential personnel evacuated to the lower levels. Defense grid recalibrated to the secondary protocols. The beacon’s signal will trigger our countermeasures the moment it activates.”
I nod, satisfaction a cold weight in my chest. Whoever sent this device intended to cripple us. Instead, they will reveal themselves, and in doing so, seal their fate.
“And the courier?” Vex’ra asks, her tone carefully neutral.
The question sends a ripple of tension through me that I work to suppress. “What of her?”
“She has access to sensitive areas,” Vex’ra points out, her crystalline markings pulsing with subtle emphasis. “If she is involved—”
“She is not.” The words emerge with more force than intended, revealing more than I care to admit. I moderate my tone, aware of how my warriors’ attention sharpens at my reaction. “The courier was a tool, nothing more. Unwitting, but useful nonetheless.”
Even as I speak the words, they taste false on my tongue. Suki Vega has never been merely a tool. From the moment she stood before me and refused to be cowed, she has been something far more dangerous—a variable in an equation I thought I had mastered.
Vex’ra’s crystalline markings pulse with skepticism. “You seem... certain of this assessment.”
I turn to face her fully, allowing a fraction of my displeasure to show. “I am First Blade. Certainty is expected of me.”
She inclines her head, accepting the rebuke, but her eyes hold a knowledge I find unsettling. “Of course, First Blade. I merely suggest caution. The human has proven... unpredictable.”
An understatement that borders on the comical. In her brief time here, Suki has breached our security, repaired an ancient droid no one bothered to fix for decades, and discovered a plot that my own security forces missed. She has also, I realize with growing awareness, begun to occupy my thoughts in ways that have nothing to do with tactical concerns.
The memory of her on the observation platform during the ion storm surfaces unbidden—the wonder in her expression, the way she’d leaned toward me during our conversation, the warmth of her presence beside me in that cocoon of light and energy. I had felt more myself in those moments than I had in cycles, as if her presence had somehow reminded me of who I was before duty and command consumed everything else.
“The courier will be contained during the operation,” I assure them, though the words feel hollow. Suki has proven remarkably difficult to contain in any meaningful way. “Her ship is nearly repaired. Once our trap is sprung, she will depart.”
Something shifts in my chest at these words—a discomfort I cannot name and refuse to examine. The tracking bracelet shows her still in the repair bay, likely making final preparations for departure. The thought should bring relief. Instead, it creates a hollow sensation that resembles loss.
