His body recognized me as his mate. He wanted nothing to do with me.
Shaarr is eight feet of claws, armor, scars, and bad attitude.
He’s also one of the Hunt-Born’s most dangerous western guardians.
The first time I touch the scar beneath his ruined eye, he shatters an examination table.
Not because I hurt him.
Because a biological receptor buried beneath his armor recognizes
me
.
There’s only one problem.
Shaarr has already experienced that signal once before.
His first compatible mate died twenty-six rotations ago, leaving behind a bond that kept calling for a man who would never answer.
Shaarr survived.
He has no intention of risking that kind of loss again.
That works for me.
I survived Preybridge with military hardware buried in my nervous system and memories of my own body being used like a weapon. The last thing I need is alien biology making another decision for me.
So we agree:
Compatibility isn’t consent.
Pain isn’t permission.
And nobody gets bonded out of pity.
Then something beneath Hunt-Born territory begins moving.
Massive predators called Rootmaws are abandoning ancient migration routes and tearing through nursery grounds—and the frequencies driving them upward look disturbingly familiar.
Preybridge familiar.
Unfortunately, the adaptive military interface still buried inside my body may be the only thing capable of finding the source.
And Shaarr is the only guardian who knows the western root system well enough to take me there.
Forced into the forest together, we uncover something neither of us expected.
The scars connecting us may run deeper than attraction.
But if Shaarr wants me to run for him, he’ll have to ask.
And if I choose to let him catch me, it won’t be because biology decided my future.
It’ll be because I did.
