SERA
The sirens rip me from sleep like claws.
I sit up gasping, my heart already racing before my brain catches up. Red emergency lights flash through my tiny room, painting everything in blood-colored shadows. For three horrible seconds I'm thirteen again, watching Earth burn through a viewport while my mother screams my name.
Then I see my datapad blinking on the floor. The message glows in harsh white letters.
ALERT: DRAEV'KYN WARSHIP INCOMING. ALL PERSONNEL REPORT TO STATIONS.
No.
My hands shake as I grab my maintenance uniform from the hook. The fabric feels rough against my skin because I'm sweating even though the room is cold. Five years I've been hiding here. Five years of scrubbing floors and fixing broken machines and pretending I'm nobody special. Just another human refugee on Colony 7, grateful for rations and a bed.
Now they're coming here.
The Draev'kyn. The aliens who promised to help Earth fight the Dominion. The warriors who showed up six hours too late with their powerful ships and their weapons that could have saved billions.
I yank on my boots so hard the laces snap. I curse and tie them anyway with fingers that won't stop trembling. My reflection catches in the small mirror by the door. Short dark hair sticking up everywhere. Gray eyes too wide. I look scared.
I look exactly like what I am. A girl who's been running from nightmares for half a decade.
"Get it together," I whisper to myself.
The hallway outside is chaos. People running everywhere, some still in sleep clothes, all of them looking terrified. Colony 7 isn't used to visitors. We're a forgotten mining moon at the edge of nowhere. Nobody important comes here. Nobody cares about us.
Except apparently today.
I push into the crowd flowing toward the main corridor. My neighbor bumps into me and doesn't even apologize. Everyone's too focused on the massive viewscreen mounted on the wall. I crane my neck to see over taller shoulders.
The screen shows external cameras. Colony 7's landing zone spreads out below, a flat area of reinforced metal surrounded by the sad collection of prefab buildings we call home. The sky above is the usual sick yellow color from the moon's atmosphere.
Then something blocks out the stars.
The ship descends like a nightmare coming to life. It's huge. Bigger than any vessel I've seen since the evacuation transports that carried us away from Earth's burning corpse. Black metal hull covered in what looks like armor plating. Weapons bristling from every surface. It moves with deadly grace, lowering toward the landing zone with the confidence of a predator that knows nothing can challenge it.
A Draev'kyn warship.
My stomach twists into knots. Around me people whisper nervously. Some sound excited. Resources, someone says. Maybe they'll give us better supplies. Maybe relocation to a real colony world.
Idiots. The Draev'kyn don't give anything for free. Everything is negotiation. Everything is power.
My datapad buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and see the assignment. Maintenance crew to landing zone. Report immediately for preparation duties.
Of course. Because my life couldn't possibly get worse.
I follow the crowd down three levels to the exterior access corridor. Other maintenance workers are already gathering, looking just as unhappy as I feel. Our supervisor barks orders about cleaning protocols and safety checks. I grab a cleaning kit and a toolkit like this is any normal day.
It's not. Nothing about this is normal.
We file out through the airlock onto the landing platform. The moon's thin atmosphere makes breathing feel like sucking air through a wet cloth. My breath fogs in front of my face. The massive warship is already settling onto the reinforced pad with a hiss of hydraulics that I feel through the soles of my boots.
Up close it's even more terrifying. The hull towers over us like a cliff face made of weapons and death. Exhaust vents release steam that smells like burning metal. Somewhere inside that ship are Draev'kyn warriors. The same species that failed Earth.
The same species I've hated for five years.
"Stay back from the landing ramp," our supervisor shouts. "Let them disembark first. Then we prep the area."
I position myself at the back of our group. Head down. Invisible. That's how I've survived this long. Never stand out. Never draw attention. Just another forgettable maintenance worker in a forgettable colony.
The warship's main ramp begins to lower with a mechanical whine. My pulse pounds in my ears. Around the platform I see colonial security forming up in dress uniforms. Director Marr herself stands at the front wearing her best political smile. This is important then. High-level delegation.
Perfect. Just perfect.
The ramp touches down with a heavy clang. Steam pours out from the ship's interior, creating a dramatic fog bank. Very theatrical. Very Draev'kyn.
A figure appears at the top of the ramp.
The entire crowd goes silent.
He's massive. That's my first stupid thought. Draev'kyn are tall but this one makes the others I've seen look small. He has to be over seven feet. Maybe eight. His armor is polished black that drinks in the colony lights, making him look like a shadow come to life. Weapons hang from his belt. A long coat flows behind him in the recycled air from the ship.
But it's his face that makes my breath catch.
Silver skin. Sharp features that look carved from stone. Eyes that glow amber even from this distance. Black hair pulled back in intricate braids that mean something in Draev'kyn culture. Warrior marks, I remember distantly from old diplomatic briefings my parents made me study.
He looks like violence wrapped in royalty. Like death pretending to be civilized.
He scans the crowd with those burning eyes. Searching for something. Someone.
I shrink back further behind the other workers. Don't look at me. Don't see me. I'm nobody. I'm nothing.
Director Marr steps forward with her fake politician voice. "Warlord Var'thos. Colony 7 welcomes you. We're honored by your visit."
Warlord. Of course. Because a regular Draev'kyn officer wouldn't be dramatic enough.
The warlord's voice carries across the platform like thunder. Deep. Commanding. The kind of voice that expects obedience. "Director Marr. My thanks for your hospitality. I'm here on behalf of the Draev'kyn Council to discuss potential alliance and resource allocation."
Lies. I don't know how I know but I'm certain he's lying. The way his eyes keep scanning the crowd. The tension in his massive shoulders. He's looking for something specific.
Another figure appears beside him. Slightly smaller but just as dangerous looking. More scars. This one has white hair instead of black.
"My second, Commander Thaan," the warlord says.
Marr does more diplomatic talking. I stop listening. My survival instincts are screaming at me to leave. Get away from this platform. Away from these warriors. Something bad is about to happen. I can feel it in my bones.
But I can't move without drawing attention. So I stand frozen with my cleaning kit clutched in white-knuckled hands while Director Marr leads the delegation on a tour starting with administrative buildings.
Thank every star in the sky. They're leaving.
I start to breathe again.
Then the warlord stops walking. He turns his head slowly, those amber eyes sweeping across the crowd of workers. Searching. Hunting.
My heart stops.
His gaze passes over me once. Keeps going. Passes over maintenance crew to my left. Comes back.
Stops on me.
Our eyes lock across thirty feet of landing platform. His are molten gold. Ancient. Intense. Looking at me like he can see straight through my maintenance uniform and fake identity into whatever's underneath.
Heat explodes across my collarbone. Not metaphorical heat. Actual burning pain that makes me gasp. I slap a hand to my chest and feel something wrong. Something glowing beneath my skin.
Silver light blazes through my uniform. Bright enough that workers near me stumble backward with shocked sounds. The light forms patterns. Intricate designs spreading across my collarbone and up my neck like living tattoos.
No. No no no no.
The warlord's entire left arm ignites. Same silver light. Same impossible patterns. His armor can't hide it. The glow shines through gaps in the plating, matching mine perfectly.
Around us the crowd gasps. Someone drops something metal that clangs on the platform. Director Marr's face drains of all color. The warlord stares at me like I just appeared from nowhere and destroyed his entire world.
The patterns on my skin pulse in rhythm with my heartbeat. I can feel him somehow. His shock. His recognition. His absolute certainty about something I don't understand.
"You," he says. The word carries across the distance like a physical blow.
Every survival instinct I possess kicks in at once.
I run.
I drop my cleaning kit and bolt toward the nearest maintenance entrance. Behind me I hear shouting. Director Marr yelling my name. The warlord's deep voice commanding me to stop.
I don't stop. I run faster than I've ever run in my life. Through the airlock. Down service corridors I know by heart from five years of hiding. My collarbone burns with silver light I can't make stop. The patterns illuminate the dark tunnels around me.
What is happening. What is this.
I hear heavy footsteps behind me. Following. Getting closer. Impossibly he's keeping up even though these passages are too small for someone his size.
The bond, some distant memory whispers from diplomatic lessons. The sacred Draev'kyn life bond that appears between destined mates.
No. Absolutely not. That's impossible. Those are rare. They happen maybe once in a thousand years.
The footsteps get closer.
I turn a corner and slam face-first into a dead end. The service tunnel ends at a storage bay with no other exits. I spin around, breathing hard, my back against cold metal.
The warlord appears in the tunnel entrance. He has to duck to fit through. His glowing marks light up the small space. We're alone. No witnesses. Just him and me and these impossible marks burning on our skin.
"Stay away from me," I gasp out.
He raises his hands slowly like he's trying not to spook a wild animal. "The marks don't lie. You're my destined mate."
The words hit like bullets. Mate. Destined. All the things I've spent five years running from. Connection. Vulnerability. Needing someone.
"I'm nothing to you."
"You're everything." He steps closer and I smell ozone and something else. Something that makes my traitorous body want to lean toward him. "What's your name."
The truth comes out before I can stop it. "Sera."
His eyes narrow. Intelligence working behind that brutal face. "Sera. Short for Seraphina." His voice drops to something almost gentle. Almost deadly. "You're her. The lost princess."
My secret. The one I've guarded for five years. Destroyed in thirty seconds.
"I'm a maintenance worker," I try weakly.
"You're the last heir of Earth's royal bloodline." He takes another step and I'm trapped between him and the wall. "And you're mine."
The possessive claim ignites rage so hot it burns away fear. "I belong to no one. Especially not some alien warlord who let my world burn."
I see the words hit him like I slapped him. Pain flashes across his face before his expression hardens into something cold.
"We tried to save Earth."
"You were too late." My voice cracks. "My parents died screaming. Billions died. You were too late."
"I know."
The simple admission shouldn't hurt him this much. I can see it in his eyes. Guilt. Old and deep and infected.
"So take your bond and your marks and leave." I shove at his chest. It's like pushing a mountain. "I don't want this."
"The bond doesn't ask what we want."
"Then I'll find a way to break it."
I duck under his arm and run again. Back through the tunnels. Away from him. Away from the marks burning on my skin and the impossible connection pulling me back toward a warlord whose people failed mine when we needed them most.
My quarters are empty when I reach them. I lock the door and collapse against it. The marks are still glowing. Still pulsing. Still connecting me to him.
This can't be happening.
A knock on my door makes me jump. "Sera." Director Marr's voice. Cold and furious. "Open this door right now."
I close my eyes and press my hand against the glowing patterns on my collarbone. They burn warm beneath my palm. Connected to a warrior somewhere on this colony who thinks I'm his.
The knocking gets louder.
My five years of hiding just ended.
And I have absolutely no idea what happens next.