Page 41 of Return to Sender
“Creating controlled chaos for optimal outcomes,” he explains, pressing a kiss to my temple. “It appears some protocols benefit from... creative interpretation.”
I snort with exhausted laughter. “You turned teasing me into a mission parameter.”
“I am highly adaptable to changing operational requirements,” he says with dignity, then ruins it by nuzzling into my neck like a contented cat.
He tightens his arms around me, and I feel his reluctance to think about the challenges waiting beyond these walls. For now, there is only this: Wi’kar’s heartbeat steady beneath my ear, his unique scent surrounding me, and the knowledge that I’ve just experienced something no human woman ever has before.
“What comes next can wait,” he decides, and I smile at his willingness to postpone duty for personal desire. “For now, I am exactly where I need to be.”
“With your feral princess?”
“With my mate,” he corrects, and I feel the rightness of the word settle into my bones.
For the first time in my adult life, I’ve made a choice purely for myself. And lying here in Wi’kar’s arms, thoroughly claimed and completely satisfied by his alien perfection, I know it’s the best decision I’ve ever made.
Even if he did nearly kill me with precision in the process.
13
Morning Negotiations
Dominique
IwakewrappedinWi’kar’s arms, his chest rising and falling beneath my cheek in the steady rhythm of deep sleep. The luminescent patterns across his skin have faded to barely visible silver lines, but when I shift slightly, they pulse with renewed light—apparently even unconscious, his body responds to my proximity.
The thought makes me smile against his chest, a satisfied warmth spreading through me that has nothing to do with the thermal regulation of his alien physiology. After last night, I understand exactly why those patterns exist. They’re not just biological markers—they’re a conversation in light, telling me everything his controlled voice never would. When he claimed me, when he whispered “mine” against my throat with desperate possession, those patterns had blazed like captured starlight.
And they’d been answering the truth my own body was screaming: yours, always yours.
I trace one of the patterns with my fingertip, marveling at how the silver line brightens at my touch. My body is deliciously sore in all the right places, evidence of Wi’kar’s thorough attention to my pleasure. The man who can’t handle a wrinkle in his bedsheets had systematically dismantled every defense I had, using that alien precision to drive me to the edge of sanity before finally letting me fall.
Wi’kar stirs, his arms tightening around me instinctively before his eyes open. When he sees me watching him, the patterns at his temples flare with unmistakable warmth.
“Good morning, Agent Flexible,” I murmur, rising up to press a soft kiss to his jaw, enjoying the way his breathing catches at the contact.
The corner of his mouth curves—not quite a smile, but closer than I’ve ever seen from him. “Good morning... mate.”
The word sends warmth flooding through me that has nothing to do with the way his naked body feels against mine. He’s nothiding behind protocol or formal language anymore. He’s just... Wi’kar. Mine.
“How long until we reach Umbra-7?” I ask, settling more comfortably against his chest, deliberately letting my hand trail across the defined muscles of his abdomen. His breathing pattern changes, and I feel rather than see his pupils dilate in response.
“You’re doing that on purpose,” he observes, his voice carrying a roughness that wasn’t there before our night together.
“Doing what?” I ask innocently, letting my fingers trace the edge of where the sheets rest low on his hips.
“Testing your newfound knowledge of my... responsive areas,” he says, but his hand moves to cup the back of my neck, thumb stroking along my pulse point in a way that makes me shiver.
“AXIS?” Wi’kar calls softly, though his eyes never leave mine and his thumb continues its maddening caress.
“Good morning, lovebirds,” the AI responds with unmistakable satisfaction. “I trust the comprehensive stress management was... thorough? You’ve been offline for 8.3 hours, which is considerably longer than my previous 47-minute estimate.”
Heat rises in my cheeks, but Wi’kar just strokes my hair with calm acceptance. “Status report, AXIS.”
“We will reach Umbra-7 in approximately six hours. However, I must report a concern: our current fuel reserves are at 12%, insufficient for extended operations or emergency maneuvers. We will need to make an unscheduled stop for refueling before reaching our destination.”
I feel Wi’kar tense beneath me, his peaceful mood shifting to tactical alertness. Even in crisis mode, though, his hand continues its gentle stroking through my hair—a unconscious claim that makes something warm unfurl in my chest.
“Options?” he asks, but his free hand finds mine beneath the sheets, fingers intertwining.
