God damn it!

Sagan had planned to kill Nox anyway, but now? If he hurt Rayne after all these months of healing from the last assault, nothing could contain Sagan’s fury. She’d wanted to kill him all over again while she had to cover up the branding on Rayne’s face. The only thing keeping her from going there now, and murdering him was that Xelan went with Rayne for assurance. And Nox wouldn’t risk making a martyr out of her.

So the walk was helping Sagan clear her head and calm down. Iona-30, outside Toronto, looked like a carbon copy of all the other bases: huge glass and concrete building in the center, lots of flat grounds, and some outbuildings.

The summer air was thick and clung to the exposed skin of Sagan’s arms and legs. Smith and Tumu had tried to talk her out of walking out alone, but she pulled rank, and they shut the fuck up.

Sagan needed the fresh air. How was she supposed to get through the next twelve hours? Surely, it wouldn’t last any longer than that. Would she spend the entire time worrying about Rayne? Absolutely.

Sagan approached the outbuilding the Shadow had used for target practice. Rebellious and enraged, she winked at the security camera as she freed the hair tie from her wrist and pulled back her short hair. So far, looting drug stores still supported her hair bleaching, but she needed to accept her fate sooner rather than later. The cut-off denim shorts and cropped white tee left her limbs unprotected. But no need to worry about that tonight. She wasn’t missing.

Sagan stood several paces back and produced three ten-centimeter knives from her pockets. She extended her arm, exhaled, and threw them in quick succession. Each struck the bullseye, forming a triangle.

Already, Sagan felt better. This was relieving some pressure. She retrieved them and walked even further back. She went to throw another round, and—

Arms encircled Sagan from behind with a firm hand over her mouth. She moved to stab her attacker—

“Sh, sh… Don’t scream.”

General Korac.

No.

Sagan couldn’t afford another hallucination right now. The smell of a crisp winter night assaulted her senses and tamed her initial urge to scream. Was she imagining it again? She couldn’t recall smells in her past hallucinations.

Korac’s soothing tenor reached parts of her she didn’t want to admit to. “I’m not here to fight. Your throwing skills are certainly impressive. We’ll explore that sometime.”

Sagan elbowed him in the ribs and stomped on his foot, hurting herself on his boot through her sneakers.

Korac grunted but held firm. How demoralizing. He said, “Now, now… We don’t have to fight, but if you’re looking for one, we can do that later. I’ll move my hand away. Don’t scream.”

Breathing heavily against Korac’s slender fingers for all the wrong reasons, a twisted part of Sagan’s brain enjoyed the scenario.

Sagan squeezed her eyes shut, took a deep inhale, and gave a firm nod.

With slow, cautious movements, Korac lowered his hands and backed away.

Sagan whirled on Korac, ready for a fight. “How. Dare—”

When she laid eyes on him, she staggered not to fall over. Her tension and anger dissipated like vapor.

Tiny braids of Korac’s pale hair criss-crossed like a net on the sides and joined the top, pulled straight back into a high, long ponytail. His appearance was softer and yet more arresting than when Sagan had last seen him at the school.

Korac kept his arms away from his body to express his good-intent or to show off his outfit. Maybe both. His black leather motorcycle gear had Kevlar at the knees and throughout the fitted jacket. That might explain why his boots had damaged her foot. How was she supposed to kill him if he always showed up looking like a model?

Sagan took a deep breath after holding it for so long.

Korac let her take him in. The gray flecks in his pale eyes danced with humor. The warmth in his expression surprised her. The lines of his features were more firm than harsh. He wasn’t mocking her. “I love the way you look at me.” His voice purred, and he lowered his arms.

Korac crossed the distance between them in two steps, and Sagan fended him off with an outstretched hand. “No. Don’t—I can’t think with you that close to me.” She winced as she admitted it out loud, and she hated herself for it.

Either out of respect or enjoying the game, Korac stepped back and gave Sagan a little room to breathe. He said, “We have a few hours, and I want you to come with me. Now.” Not a request, a command.

Sagan shut her eyes to him. Damn it. She still couldn’t tell if Korac was real, and now he’d said the exact thing she wanted him to say at the perfect moment.

Hallucination. For sure.

Deep breath. Here goes.

Sagan held out her hand.

Grass crunched, and then Korac’s warm hand surrounded hers like a promise of things to come. He jerked her against him, and her eyes popped open in alarm. His smile shone brighter than the facility security lights. He wrapped his arms around her waist. Then he leaned in close, ignoring her flinch. His breath against her ear made her heart skip a beat. “Hold on.”

Sagan realized what Korac meant to do and clung to him. Her heart pounded against her chest, and butterflies swirled in her stomach. When his wings extracted, she remembered how he’d looked over her burning school. Even then, she loved him.

One flush of the full feathers. Two. Then Korac lifted Sagan as high as the outbuilding and flew away. High enough she didn’t want to fall, but not so high that security would detect him. Her hallucinations had never worried about detection before. Or maybe he didn’t want to scare her the first time. Whatever, Sagan was flying in the arms of her psychopathic lover.

Enjoy the moment.

The journey ended abruptly at the edge of the block. Korac set down and released Sagan. She tried not to pout.

He said, “Over here,” and stepped over to a very nice looking sport bike parked on the side of the street. He turned around, and his eyes raked over Sagan. Slow, intentional.

She blushed.

Stolen novel; please report.

Korac smirked. “You’ll need this.” He shirked off his jacket. Underneath, he wore a Guns N’ Roses tee with the sleeves rolled up, flashing an expensive timepiece.

“What? No pack of cigarettes in the cuff?” Sagan asked, her tone light and playful. Which was impressive since she couldn’t manage more than speechless up until this point.

Korac tilted his head, considering her. He dipped to the side and approached her.

Blood rushed through Sagan’s entire body, leaving her hot and a little flustered.

He stopped right in front of her and stared down at her a moment. She gazed up at him. Her mind reeled with so many possibilities. Korac held the jacket out for her, and Sagan slid her arms through. He pulled it tight in the front and wrenched her against him, saying, “Those were for effect. I would never endanger you with something like that.”

A breeze lifted and brushed her hair over the scar he’d left on her cheek. Korac traced a knuckle over it. Sagan sighed at his touch. On the disfigurement he gave her. She really was going mad.

Korac said, “This was necessary in the moment, but it won’t happen again.”

Sagan wanted to believe him.

He let go of the jacket and headed back to the bike.

Her hallucination looked damned sexy crossing one long leather-clad leg over the seat of the gunmetal gray machine.

If Sagan would get wet from every remotely provocative thing Korac did, they would need to stop for water. Oh, and the son of a bitch broke into a grin like he knew. Did he know?

Sagan said, “There’s no painless way to say this and keep any dignity, but Xelan told us Icari could smell fear. Can you smell anything else?”

The smirk stayed put as Korac said, “You smell like fresh watermelon.”

Hypothesis confirmed.

It was time to swallow the reddened shame and move on. Sagan ducked her head when she approached Korac on the bike. There was no need for him to see how embarrassed he’d gotten her.

Sagan climbed on to the motorcycle while Korac held it steady. While gripping his shoulder, she swung her leg over and straddled the bike nestled comfortably against his back. She wrapped her arms around his waist and said, “I’m ready.”

Korac called over his shoulder as he started the bike, “Hold tight.”

The growl of the motorcycle almost blew her eardrums. Sagan nestled closer into the seat against Korac as he pulled away from the gutter.

They passed neighborhoods surrounding the York University area. He dodged the abandoned vehicles and trash well. Riding with him on the motorcycle gave her a tiny thrill. The speed and agility. The loudness of it amid all this quiet.

Sagan forced from her mind any thoughts about the world falling to shit after the invasion of Korac’s people. Primarily at his hands. No, this wasn’t the time for that.

He hauled the bike up an on-ramp and leaned into it as he sped down the expressway. The force of the wind carried his hair high above her. Sagan smiled at the sight of it.

The summer night was warm, and the Kevlar jacket was even warmer. After about thirty minutes, sweat dripped down her back. Sagan laughed at the notion of dropping it altogether.

Korac’s precious clothes.

The motorcycle slowed to a stop. When he turned back to look at her, she let the humor shine on her face. “What’s so funny?” he asked, his alluring looks a cruel joke on her heart.

“Nothing. I was just thinking about tossing your jacket. It’s too warm.” Sagan tried for casual and almost nailed it. The breathiness of her words gave her away.

Korac stared into her eyes for two heartbeats and then broke into the infamous smirk. So pleased with himself, he shrugged. “Then drop it.”

Her mouth popped open. “But… but?”

Korac laughed, warm and full. “You’re too cute.” He chuffed Sagan under the chin, nudging her mouth closed. “I only wore it for you. I don’t need the protection.”

She glared at him. Cute, huh? “You brought a Kevlar jacket, but didn’t think to bring a helmet?”

Korac blinked once. Twice. Then he confessed, “It messes up my hair.”

Of all the fucking things to say…

Sagan swatted at him. A few times.

Korac was a big, tough Icarean General. He could take a few hits.

On that note, Sagan stopped holding back. She owed him some of her pain and fury. On an empty expressway surrounded by abandoned vehicles, hot tears spilled from her eyes and down her cheeks.

Korac put the kickstand down and leaned the bike onto it. While Sagan beat at his shoulder, back, and side, he tucked one leg under him to face her better in the seat.

Korac took both Sagan’s wrists in one hand and stopped her. Her chest heaved on the verge of sobs.

With slender fingers, he brushed away her tears before their eyes met. Only centimeters apart. A flutter in her pulse, a catch in her breath, and most likely the scent of watermelon.

Sagan glanced down at her wrists bound in Korac’s hand at the same time he did. Their eyes connected, and he yanked her closer. There was one more second of staring into his icy gaze.

Korac parted his lips and crushed hers to the point of overwhelming Sagan with heat and mint. After all this time of kissing him in her dreams, the reality ripped the fantasy into pieces. The hard press of his chest against her, the purr in his throat, and the sweet taste of him stimulated her in ways she thought impossible outside of their dreams. The grip on her hand tightened as she moaned into his mouth.

Within a breath, Korac broke the kiss, growled, and pinned Sagan’s wrists to the back of the bike. Spread out before him, she kept her feet on the pegs and braced herself for what came next.

Korac leaned over Sagan’s exposed, scarred midriff and inhaled deeply, sending shocks across her sensitized skin. Her breath left in little shallow puffs against the fallen strands of her hair. Watching him made the anticipation worse, but not watching him gave away all her control. They didn’t have enough trust for that. Hell, they didn’t have enough trust for this. But dammit… She was letting it happen.

When a wisp of white hair fell and brushed her stomach, Sagan flinched. Korac’s lips brushed in the same spot. Her back arched off the seat. She whimpered. His kisses traced the grooves of her muscles, delicate and soft. She knew better. Straining against his grip on her wrists, she said, “Don’t. Don’t you dare build this up to be something other than what it is.”

Those predatory eyes snapped to her. Korac flicked his tongue on Sagan’s battle scar. She undulated despite her tough girl attitude. He asked, “Are you asking me to stop?”

Because it was too difficult to look at him, Sagan stared into the night. “You went this way before. You pretended not to be what you are. Don’t do that again. I can handle it.”

Korac tilted her chin with his free hand until Sagan looked at him and then trailed it over her crop top. “We’ll start this slow. I have a whole eon to explore you and expand your limits. Tonight,” he kissed the skin above her waistband, “I want to get lost in you.” He slipped his feverish hand under her shirt and rested it on her diaphragm below her bra.

Korac waited.

Consent. He wanted consent.

Sagan looked back up to the heavens. There were so many stars in the absence of artificial light. Was she really about to do this? She looked back down the length of her to the sight of them together.

The Icarean General and the Progeny Lt. General.

Korac had reversed-straddled the bike; his hips pressed to hers. His face was patient, but his eyes were not calm. They were the lie of calm, like just before a storm, all the heavy gray had built up behind the white clouds.

Sagan wanted to feel the storm surge inside her. Yes, she was really about to do this. She nodded.

He hauled her up by her wrists and let her go. He brushed the jacket off her shoulders, setting her free of its hot confines. She lifted her shirt overhead, and he watched as she exposed her violet bra. He tried for cavalier, but his voice came out husky, “Do the panties match?”

Sagan pressed a finger to Korac’s lips while he let down her hair. She said, “Shh, patience.”

He scooped both hands under her ass and with a prolonged sigh ground her against him until she wrapped her legs around him. How was he comfortable straining against the leather material? But knowing her effect on him made her purr and bite into his shoulder. He licked the bend of her neck and nipped the sensitive skin there.

A thought struck Sagan to the point of distraction. Korac detected the change and pulled back, asking, “Is something wrong?”

She licked her lips. His eyes flicked to the movement, and she fought the distraction. Sagan started, “You wouldn’t happen to have any, uh…” She’d never had to worry about this in her dreams, but now? “Protection—”

Far away, Sagan heard Tameka’s voice. “Sagan, wake up.”

Sagan startled awake when Tameka gripped her shoulders and gave her a gentle shake. Dehydrated and confused, Sagan asked, “Where am I?”

Tameka stood up and crooked an eyebrow. “Your dorm.”

Sagan sat up from the bed and looked around. Then panicked. How in the hell did she get here? Where was Korac? Had he even been real?!

Tameka asked, “Are you all right?”

“How did I get here?” Sagan asked, trying to soften the anxiety in her voice.

Tameka sat on the bed and placed the back of her hand on the other girl’s forehead. “Smith said you came back from target practice pretty wiped. I’m sure your shoulder will kill you later—Hey, you’re pretty warm. Like burning up. We should get you to the infirmary, but I know you. You’ll want to see Rayne first.”

“She’s back?!” Sagan sprung from the bed and headed for the door.

“Hey! You might want to change clothes and put a bra on first.” Tameka’s narrowed gaze made Sagan want to squirm.

She looked down at her denim shorts and white crop top. Where the fuck was her bra?!