Chapter 4Before The Stars Forgot Your Name

The day Gideon marked me, acid rain was dissolving the outer plating of the garrison.

He had just pulled back from a catastrophic breach on the perimeter. His combat uniform was half-burned away, exposing raw, blistered flesh across his chest and shoulders.

When I started yelling at him for throwing his life away, he grabbed my wrists, pinned me against the concrete wall, and sank his teeth straight into the scent gland at the nape of my neck.

The pain turned my vision white. But the moment his dark, heavy Alpha pheromones flooded my system, my knees buckled.

He caught me, burying his face in my hair. He smelled of burnt polymer and ozone, his entire body trembling with the aftershocks of battle.

I asked him why he marked me so suddenly. He didn't answer.

Later, I dragged the truth out of his adjutant: during that morning's vanguard assault, Gideon's entire squad had been wiped out. He was the only one who crawled out of the crater.

I never brought it up again.

If he didn't want to talk, I didn't ask. That was our rhythm.

He fought on the line, and at night, he slept with his arms locked around me. I heated his rations, dressed his chemical burns, and shook him awake whenever the night terrors took over.

The System's mission parameters had long been cleared. His affection rating was maxed out; his villain index was flatlined at zero.

Yet I stayed.

The System asked me why I wouldn't leave.

“Get lost,” I told it.

When it pressed, I told it I would find a way to rip it out of my brain. It finally shut up.

The truth was simple: I loved Gideon Cole.

I couldn't pinpoint the exact moment it happened. Maybe it was the rusted sheet of metal blocking the wind, maybe it was the canister of clean water, or maybe it was the way his eyes searched for me first the second his boots touched the hangar floor.