My den still carried traces of her—a faint molecule here, a lingering essence there—though she’d never actually visited this new structure. The jungle had worked its own strange magic, incorporating elements from our shared shelter into the walls of this Legion-built outpost, carrying her essence with it. Sometimes, when the wind shifted just right, I caught a ghost of her scent that made my chest ache with longing.
Phil uncoiled himself and slithered across the floor to wrap around my ankle, an anchoring gesture that felt uncomfortably like restraint. He squeezed, just once, communicating in that wordless way I’d grown to understand:
Stay. Center yourself. Remember your training.
“I am not succumbing to deliria amoranta,” I said, more sharply than intended.
The madness that overtook Rodinian males when rejected by their fated mates was legendary—warriors reduced to feralbeasts, until all they were good for was berserkers in the front line of war.
Modern Rodinians should be beyond such primitive urges. We had neural stabilizers, meditation techniques, pharmacological interventions if necessary. And yet, the madness always won out.
Some things were not easily answered by science.
Though, I needn’t worry. Miri did not reject me.
If I repeated that enough, my heart will be convinced.
Phil hissed softly, vine-body undulating in the particular pattern that indicated he was transmitting my emotional state to the greater jungle consciousness. Tattling on me, essentially.
“Traitor,” I growled, but there was no heat in it.
The console in the corner chimed, a welcome distraction. I crossed to it in three long strides, activating the holographic display with a swipe of my claw. Strategos Veren’s face materialized in glowing blue light, his striped features set in their usual stern expression.
“Reaper Pardus,” he greeted me with a curt nod. “Final security protocols for the GL-7 outpost have been approved ahead of schedule. The rift gate has been stabilized and permanent coordinates established for Terra Prime.”
My heart rate accelerated. “Ahead of schedule by how much?”
Veren’s expression didn’t change, but I detected a subtle flick of his ear—the Rodinian equivalent of raised eyebrows. “Seven standard days. The connection is secure and permanent. Your mission report has been processed and commendations noted in your file.”
“And my request for Terra Prime transport?” I asked, working to keep my voice neutral.
“Approved, of course. We did not wish to prolong your separation from your mate. In fact, if it would have beenlonger, I would have approved another rift gate opening as of today.” Veren allowed himself a small smile. “Of course, your mate’s neural compatibility with the jungle ecosystem has expedited certain diplomatic and scientific considerations. Legion Command believes maintaining your connection to her serves Legion interests.”
Translation: They were fascinated by Miri’s bond with the jungle and wanted to study it further. Fine by me, if it meant official sanction for what I was going to do anyway.
“When can I depart?” I asked, not bothering to hide my eagerness now.
“Whenever you wish,” Veren replied. “The gate is operational and more importantly, stable. Your clearance codes have been updated as well as your mate’s biological markers.”
The communication ended, leaving me standing in sudden silence, my pulse thundering in my ears. I could go to her. Now. Today.
Phil unwound from my ankle and stretched upward, forming a question mark shape with his vine-body.
“Yes,” I confirmed, already moving toward my equipment locker. “I’m leaving. Immediately.”
The vine rustled with approval, then slithered toward a small collection of objects I’d been gathering—items from the jungle that Miri had admired, crystals that captured bioluminescence, a vial of the fruit nectar she’d enjoyed. Phil added a small, perfectly formed blossom from his own vine-structure, a rare gift from the jungle itself.
“She will appreciate that,” I told him, carefully securing the items in a protective case. “Though she might appreciate you more. You’re certain you won’t come? Send a small sapling along?”
Phil’s response was immediate—a series of undulations that translated to firm refusal and noting we would need privacy.
I packed quickly, efficiently, taking only what I needed—weapons (concealed, adaptable to Terran environments), communication devices, identification markers that would register me as a sanctioned presence on Earth in keeping with the Intergalactic Republic’s desires to keep Terra Prime a neutral zone.
And the gifts, of course. I hesitated over civilian clothing, then packed a single set. Miri would likely have opinions about what I should wear among her people.
The thought made my lips curve in a smile. She would have opinions about everything, delivered with that sharp wit that had first caught my attention beyond the mere biological imperative of our bond.
“She likes surprises,” I told Phil as I sealed my pack. “And funny plot twists in her stories. She’ll appreciate this one.”
