Ralaen knew hyperspace was boring. It always had been. The initial, breathtaking wonder of the Zeta band ascent had faded into the monotonous reality of a long journey: days upon days of silent, frictionless travel through a tunnel of white-silver light. The routine aboard Draupnir was a well-oiled machine, but a machine nonetheless. Eat, train, run combat drills, sleep. Repeat. The distractions were few, and the ones she'd found were growing hollow.

  Thankfully, Draupnir had a shipboard commissary, a large store that carried everything from spare uniform parts to high-end electronics and snacks. The one thing it didn't carry was alcohol. She'd spent a pretty penny of her back-pay on a large vid screen for the cabin she shared with Eirik, a purchase that had been the source of great amusement for her entire squad. She'd shanghaied Thomas into helping her mount it on the bulkhead, his grumbling about "civvy luxuries" barely concealing his curiosity. Fortunately, the crew cabins were designed with mounting points for just such occasions.

  Eirik had at first questioned her reasoning. "We have duty terminals for media access," he'd rumbled, his brow furrowed. "This is different," Ralaen had insisted. "It's for sharing. For watching things together, not just alone on a small screen. Movies, TV-shows... a little piece of normal." He had relented at that. During their time at Einherjar Command, she'd gotten hooked on a couple of ásveldi historical dramas, and she was eager to catch up.

  But even movies could only fill so many hours. The monotony was a pressure cooker, and the easiest way to release the steam was physical. Combat drills, training, and sex. She used them all, though she wasn't keen on admitting to anyone how much she relied on the last one as a simple distraction from the endless, starless void.

  To break the cycle, they'd started integrating with the Jaeger battalion for training drills. The Jaegers had converted one of the empty hangars into a sprawling MOUT facility—Military Operations on Urban Terrain—and the Einherjar were invited to be the opposition force. It was pure mayhem. Wolf Squad and Cobra Squad, encased in their Mj?lnir armor, didn't just run circles around the Jaegers; they rewrote the rules of engagement. They flowed through the simulated cityscape like ghosts, the magnetic soles of their Mj?lnir armor making no sound on the ferrocrete. Ralaen remembered vaulting over a three-story building, the impact absorbed by the suit's hydraulics, to land silently behind the Jaeger command post. The exercise was over in ninety seconds.

  The point of the exercise, according to the Jaeger Major, was to prepare his battalion for the worst. Ralaen had to agree; trying to keep up with four Einherjar in powered armor, moving with impossible speed and precision, was probably as bad as it could ever get.

  After one such exercise, Ralaen walked back into the quiet solitude of the morgue. The air was cool and sterile, a stark contrast to the adrenaline-fueled chaos of the hangar. She was still fully enclosed in her Mk.4, her heavy, digitigrade footfalls echoing softly in the space as she approached the empty armor rack. The mechanical tail armor, locked over her own, swayed in a slow, deliberate arc behind her, tracking her every movement.

  Just as she placed her wolf-skull helmet on its designated perch, the articulated ears falling still, the door hissed open and Sari bounced in. "Heard you guys just turned Blue Company inside out again," she chirped, but her voice trailed off as her eyes went wide, taking in the full sight of Ralaen in her armor. "By the ancestors... look at you."

  Sari circled her slowly, this time her gaze was one of pure, unadulterated awe. Ralaen stood taller and broader in the suit, the armor adding nearly half a meter to her frame. "I've seen them on the training grounds, but never up close. This is a work of art." She reached out, her fingers hesitantly touching the Battlesteel plating over a knee joint. "The lines... the way the joints are articulated for mobility. It's not just a suit, it's a predator." Her eyes moved to Ralaen's gauntleted hands, clearly designed to grip a weapon with terrifying force. "And the way you move... I've seen what you do to a Jaeger platoon in the MOUT course. It's not fair."

  Ralaen stood still, a faint amusement mixing with her exhaustion.

  Sari caught the look and laughed, moving to the back. "Don't give me that face. It's terrifying. All that armor and you still move that fast. Like, one moment you were over here—" She gestured to one side of the room, then the other. "—and the next you were over there. How do you even get out of this thing?"

  "Stand back," Ralaen said, a small smile playing on her lips. Sari scrambled to a safe distance, her eyes locked on the suit.

  Ralaen initiated the disengagement sequence. A series of soft hisses filled the room. First, the central spine lock disengaged with a solid thunk. Then, the armored plates on her back slid open with a fluid, hydraulic grace, peeling away to the sides like the petals of a metal flower. The entire rear of the suit opened, revealing the dark, padded interior and the slim figure within.

  Clad only in the sensually sleek bodyglove, Ralaen took a single step back and out of the Mk.4, leaving the empty shell to close and seal itself on the rack. She stretched, feeling the cool air along the exposed fur of her neck and ears.

  Sari was speechless for a full second. "Whoa."

  She circled Ralaen slowly, her gaze now appreciative and predatory. "I've seen these in the catalogs, but never up close. That's... way more than risque." She reached out, her fingers trailing down Ralaen's spine, making her shiver. "It's a weapon. A very, very dangerous weapon."

  Before Ralaen could respond, Sari's hands moved to her hips, squeezing firmly. "I have to know," Sari said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Is it as soft as it looks?" Her hands roamed, tracing the curve of Ralaen's waist before sliding down to cup her shapely butt, giving it a thorough, appreciative squeeze.

  Ralaen stiffened, a flush of heat spreading across her face. "Sari!"

  "What? I'm conducting a thorough investigation," Sari said with a completely unapologetic grin. Her hands slid around Ralaen's front, moving upward with deliberate slowness. "For science." She paused, her fingers hovering just below the swell of Ralaen's breasts. "The material seems to have incredible tensile strength and elasticity, but the texture... I need more data." With that, she cupped Ralaen's large breasts, hefting them in her palms as if testing their weight. "Oh, yeah. Definitely soft. And you're not even cold in here. How does the thermal regulation work, anyway?"

  Ralaen's mind raced. She couldn't explain the real reason - that was classified.

  "It... circulates fluid," she managed. "In the suit."

  "Fascinating," Sari murmured, her thumbs brushing over Ralaen's nipples, which were now clearly visible through the thin material. She leaned in close, her voice a hot puff of air against Ralaen's ear. "You know, if you ever need help with a... stress test... I'm a very thorough researcher."

  Ralaen finally found the strength to gently push her hands away, her face burning. "I think you have enough data for your report, Specialist."

  Sari just laughed, stepping back but not breaking eye contact. "For now. But I'll need to run a follow-up experiment later. For consistency, you understand." Before Ralaen could form a reply, Sari leaned in and kissed her. It was quick, soft—but not quite as casual as the grin that followed it. For half a heartbeat, Sari lingered, close enough that Ralaen could see the way her pupils dilated.

  Then she pulled back, the mask snapping into place. "Thanks for the dessert," she winked.

  And with that, she spun on her heel and skipped out of the morgue, the door hissing shut behind her.

  Her hand rose slowly to touch her lips. The cool air felt suddenly inadequate against the flush spreading across her face.

  What was that?

  It wasn't that she was interested. She wasn't. But there was something deeper than annoyance coiling in her chest—something almost territorial. An old instinct, half-remembered from dry lectures on Asuaril, stirred beneath the surface.

  She shook herself before it could fully form. Don't be dramatic.

  She moved mechanically through the rest of her post-exercise routine. Stowing the Mk.4's helmet. Running a diagnostic check she didn't actually need. Busywork to occupy her hands while her mind kept circling back to the soft, quick pressure of Sari's mouth on hers.

  She needed to tell him. The thought surfaced with uncomfortable clarity. Not because she'd done anything wrong, but because not telling him would feel like hiding something. And between mates—

  The word stopped her mid-stride.

  Mates.

  They weren't that. Not formally. That was... that was something her parents had. Something from the old traditions, the ones that felt distant and ceremonial when you lived on starships and worked alongside humans. She and Eirik were together, yes. Committed. But the word carried weight she wasn't sure she was ready to claim.

  Her tail gave an agitated flick as she resumed walking. She'd tell him about Sari. That was all.

  The door to their quarters hissed open, and Ralaen stepped inside to find Eirik already there, stretched out on the bed with a datapad balanced on his chest. He looked up, a lazy half-smile forming—then his eyes narrowed slightly, reading her the way he always did.

  "What happened?"

  She hesitated in the doorway. "Nothing. It's stupid."

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  He set the datapad aside and sat up, the motion unhurried but watchful. "Ralaen."

  Just her name. No pressure, no demand. But he was looking at her now, and she knew he wouldn't let it go.

  She sighed, stepping fully into the cabin and letting the door close behind her. "It's Sari. She's just... she doesn't have any boundaries. I just don't know what to do about her," she said, her voice a frustrated whisper. The solid black fur on her triangular ears was flattened back against her skull, betraying an annoyance she was trying to keep from her voice. "She's completely relentless."

  He was trying to listen, he really was. But Ralaen had started undressing, and his focus—sharp only moments before—was fracturing. A faint half-smile tugged at his lips, equal parts affection and frustration at his own distraction.

  "She's always in my personal space, touching my armor, my gear," Ralaen continued, her back to him as she peeled the sleek, form-fitting bodyglove down her arms. The material whispered as it slid over her dense, glossy black fur, revealing the well-developed muscles of her back and the thicker, more powerful set of her shoulders—a compact fighter's build that was still new to her, a constant reminder of the Ascension. She was completely oblivious, her bright sky-blue eyes fixed on some point on the far wall, her mind still chewing on Sari's antics while her body simply went through the familiar motions of getting ready for a shower.

  "Right," Eirik managed, his voice a little thick. "A real tease. Should be punished for it." He wasn't tracking the specifics. He was watching the way the low light caught the powerful lines of her new, compact fighter's build as she shimmied the suit down over her wide, shapely hips. In his mind, Ralaen was the tease, standing there, unknowingly performing the most intimate show in the galaxy just for him. He shifted, the lean-strong muscles of his own back tightening as he fought the urge to simply stand up and stop her pacing with a kiss.

  Ralaen stepped out of the pooled bodyglove, now completely naked. Her thick-furred tail gave an irritated lash behind her. She turned to face him, still pacing, still talking. "And the way she just touches everything! I don't know if she's actually interested in me or if she's just… like that with everyone." She threw her hands up in frustration. "She has no boundaries! It's all under the guise of..." She trailed off, gesturing vaguely with a paw-hand, her sharp-clawed fingers looking surprisingly delicate. "...of 'scientific curiosity'!"

  She stopped right in front of him, leaning forward to emphasize her point. The movement brought her large, full breasts into his immediate line of sight, the soft fur almost brushing his chin. The heady, sweet scent of her fur, amplified by the faint, unique aroma of her pheromones, filled his senses, crowding out all rational thought.

  "...and then," Ralaen said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush, her short canine muzzle only inches from his own. She was completely unaware of the effect she was having. "She just... kissed me."

  Thump.

  That single word didn't just cut through the fog; it shattered it. Eirik's brain short-circuited. The rational, listening part of him—the squad mate, the partner—flickered and died. In its place, something older and more territorial roared to life. His eyes, which had been glazed over, snapped into sharp, predatory focus. The friendly, distracted expression was gone, wiped clean by a surge of pure, unadulterated possessiveness.

  His gaze dropped for a split second to the dark Einherjar rune tattooed over her heart, a stark mark on her black fur. His mate. Marked. His.

  "She what?" The growl was low, guttural, a sound that seemed to come from his chest rather than his throat.

  Ralaen blinked, her ears perking up in surprise as she finally registered the seismic shift in the room's atmosphere. "She... she kissed me. On the lips. It was just a—"

  She didn't get to finish.

  Eirik didn't say another word. He shot up from the edge of the bed, the calm, observant man was gone in an instant, replaced by the rangy, dangerous predator that lived beneath the skin. His movements fluid and impossibly fast. Before she could even process his change in demeanor, he was on her. His hands gripped her arms, not hurting her, but with an unyielding strength that brooked no argument. He walked her backward, forcing her towards the large bed until the backs of her legs hit the mattress.

  With a final, firm push, he forced her down onto her back. The shock of it stole her breath, but it was the look in his eyes that truly froze her. It wasn't anger. It was a burning, possessive fire—but beneath it, something she almost didn't recognize. Fear. Not of her, not of the act, but of losing her. As if Sari's casual kiss had cracked open something he kept buried, a terror that she might one day not come back to him.

  He followed her down, covering her body with his own, his weight a familiar, grounding pressure that was now charged with an unfamiliar intensity.

  His mouth moved lower, tracing the line of her collarbone, his tongue laving the dark Einherjar rune on her chest. He worshiped it, as if reaffirming the bond it represented. For just a moment, his forehead pressed against her chest, over the rune, and the demanding intensity softened into something almost reverent. Needing, not just claiming.

  And the thing she'd been pushing away all evening—the word, the knowing—rose up and refused to be denied. It wasn't a thought. It was older than thought. A recognition written into her bones, her blood, her scent. The dry classroom lectures hadn't prepared her for this: the way it would feel like coming home.

  Oh, she thought, the last of her resistance crumbling. This is what it is.

  He didn't start with a kiss, but with his teeth, scraping them gently against the tendon in her neck before his mouth was hot against her fur. His kisses were not gentle but demanding, loving bites that weren't meant to harm but to mark. To leave his scent on her fur, to erase the ghost of Sari's touch and replace it with his own.

  A shocked gasp escaped her lips, but it quickly morphed into a shuddering moan. The primal, possessive act should have offended her soldier's sensibilities, but it did the opposite. It triggered something deep and ancient within her, a mating response that overrode her conscious thought. Her body, which had been tense with shock, softened beneath him, arching to meet his touch. Her thick-furred tail, which had been lashing in agitation, began to thump softly against the mattress, a betraying drumbeat of her growing arousal. Her own pheromones answered his, a sweet, needy scent that filled the air between them. She felt his love for her in the way his hands held her, in the desperate, almost worshipful way his mouth roamed her body. This wasn't just lust; this was a claiming born of a desperate, overwhelming love.

  He was reclaiming what was his. His girlfriend, his lover, his woman, his mate.

  He took one of her large breasts into his hand, his thumb brushing over the taut peak, while his mouth closed over the other. The sensation was electric, a jolt that went straight to her core. Her hands, which had been pushing weakly at his chest, now clawed at his shoulders, pulling him closer. The shock was gone, replaced by a burning need that matched his own. She felt his hardness pressing against her, an insistent, undeniable proof of his desire, and she spread her legs for him, an instinctual act of surrender and invitation.

  He shifted, his body a dominant weight between her thighs. He paused for a heartbeat, looking down at her, his eyes burning with an intensity that stole the air from her lungs. And then he drove into her, a single, deep thrust that buried him to the hilt.

  They both cried out. The feeling of him filling her so completely, so possessively, was overwhelming. It was a promise. A vow. He began to move, his strokes hard and deep, each one a declaration of ownership. "Mine," he growled against her ear, his voice a ragged, primal rasp. "All mine."

  The words, the possessiveness, the sheer, overwhelming love behind it all, shattered the last of her restraint. The pleasure built into a tidal wave, a white-hot crest of sensation that flooded her entire being. Her ears flattened against her skull, her muzzle pulling back in a silent snarl of pure ecstasy. As the first wave of her climax crashed over her, she threw her head back and screamed, a single word torn from her throat.

  "Mate!"

  He roared in response, his own control shattering as her inner muscles clenched around him, milking him for all he was worth. He drove into her one last time, burying himself deep as he erupted, pouring himself into her, a hot, flooding release that was the ultimate mark of his claim. He collapsed against her, his body trembling with the force of his release, his face buried in the crook of her neck.

  They lay there for a long time, their bodies tangled, their breathing ragged. The room was thick with the scent of them, of sex and claim and love. Eirik shifted, his weight rolling slightly, but his arm remained a steel band around her, holding her possessively even in sleep. Ralaen stroked his back, her claws gently tracing his skin. They weren't boyfriend and girlfriend anymore. They were something more. Something permanent. They were mates.

  Long moments later, the frantic energy had subsided, leaving a profound, sated calm in its wake. They lay intertwined in the tangled sheets of their bed, the air thick with the scent of their exertion. Eirik hadn't let her go. Not once. Even now, with his breathing slow and deep, his arm remained locked around her—not tight enough to constrain, but firm enough that she couldn't slip away without waking him. As if even in sleep, some part of him refused to let her out of reach.

  He had claimed her again and again, each time a little less frantic, a little more deliberate, until the act was no longer about erasing a phantom touch but about reinforcing a permanent bond. Ralaen felt utterly spent, marked, and cherished. Her head rested on his chest, listening to the steady, reassuring beat of his heart, his arm a heavy, protective weight around her.

  Pheromone analysis complete, Artemis's calm voice stated in her mind, cutting through the post-coital haze. I noted a significant spike in your output during coitus, triggered by a primal response to your mate's heightened aggression and pheromonal signature. His own output increased in response, creating a feedback loop. Fascinating.

  Ralaen blinked, a slow smile touching her lips. "Fascinating, huh?" she murmured aloud, tracing idle patterns on Eirik's sweat-slicked chest.

  He just grunted contentedly, nuzzling the top of her head.

  You called him mate, Artemis observed. Not a question. The pheromone exchange confirms a bonding event consistent with Asuari literature on pair-formation. Your scent profiles are already beginning to synchronize.

  Ralaen didn't answer immediately. She was thinking of dry lectures on Asuaril, holo-images of ancestors on the ancient steppes. Back then it had seemed distant, ceremonial—something her parents had, not something that would ever feel real to her.

  Now she understood. The old traditions weren't rituals performed. They were truths recognized.

  "It dates back to when we were hunter-nomads," she thought back to Artemis, her mental voice softer than usual. "A visible, olfactory claim. It meant you were protected. Part of a pair." She paused. "A bond that couldn't be faked."

  And now you have one, Artemis said. The AI's tone was as clinical as ever, but Ralaen could have sworn there was something almost warm beneath it.

  Stand by, Artemis added, a note of excitement entering her mental voice. Cross-referencing Asuari pheromonal bonding with ásveldi xenobiological and sociological databases. Searching for analogous behaviors in other known species.

  Ralaen felt a faint, humming sensation at the edge of her consciousness as Artemis dove into the ship's datastream. A moment later, she returned.

  Fascinating, the AI announced, her tone practically glowing with discovery. The closest analogue within the ásveldi records are the Terran canids known as wolves, specifically their pair-bonding and pack dynamics. Given the noted physiological similarities between your species and that ancient predator, the parallel is... compelling. It also explains the 'Draupnir werewolf' rumor, Artemis added thoughtfully. The visual and behavioral parallels to a Terran apex predator are statistically significant.

  Ralaen lifted her head, looking at Eirik, who had dozed off. She saw him not just as her lover, her boyfriend, but as her partner. Her other half. The one whose scent now mingled with hers, creating a new, unique signature that proclaimed to anyone with the senses to notice: We are one.

  She lay back down, her head finding its place on his chest. Her own tail, now calm, curled trustingly over his leg. A deep sense of rightness settled over her, a feeling as fundamental as the ship's thrum. They weren't just a couple anymore. They were a mated pair. A pack of two. And as she drifted off to sleep, she knew with a certainty that resonated in her very bones that this bond was more real and more important than any ceremony or contract could ever be.