Mercenary. Enforcer. Cursed. I am not a Coalition fighter. I have no honor. I follow no rules. I am Rogue 5. I am Mikos of Astra legion.

Fate has always been cruel to brutes like me. Exiled from Rogue 5, abandoned by my legion, on the run for a vicious crime, Fate made sure I was captured and tortured by the scourge known as the Hive.

I should have died on that Hive prison ship. Instead, a Coalition ReCon team stormed my ship and with them, a female human too beautiful, too fragile, to step near a damaged, unforgiving enforcer like me. Yet the fearless female not only came close, she touched me.

The moment I caught her scent, looked into her eyes, I knew she was mine, my mate. A female I could never keep, never burden, never claim for myself. I would have spared her. Walked away.

Until she did the unthinkable. She saved my life, then nearly died in my arms.

I had no choice but to bite her, inject her with my essence. Now I'm in her body, in her blood. The most primitive part of me knows she's mine, and she's dying, slowly, from my venom. My cursed, hybrid bite.

The antidote is on Rogue 5, where I will face the executioner's blade.

So be it.

I will never tell my mate the price I pay, but I will save her. If I have to drag her, kicking and screaming, off Battleship Karter, I will. If I must eliminate every Prillon warrior, fighter and Atlan beast on this ship to take her with me, I will. Nothing will stop me.

There is nothing I will not do to save her life. The only thing I cannot do is resist. Resist the primal urge to touch her. Taste her. Make her whimper. Make her beg.

Make sure that long after I'm gone, she remembers screaming my name.