Belle had told him to stay here. He'd promised to stay here.

He twisted his fingers in the coverlet, trying to banish the fear that she wasn't coming back. She'd said she'd be back. His mate wouldn't lie to him. Young wouldn't be able to lay a hand on her; he knew who she belonged to now. He shuddered, reliving the moment when his mate had claimed him in front of his rival, her teeth digging into his skin, showing Young exactly where her loyalties lay. Young was no longer a threat.

Young wasn't the only other male around though. There were others who might see his beautiful mate and want her for themselves. Growling at the thought, he clawed at the coverlet. His Belle wouldn't let them steal her. She wouldn't. She wouldn't.

His mate loved him. She'd said so. She'd said she loved him and let him claim her again and again. Even now she was covered in his marks and his scent, wearing his clothes, showing everyone who she belonged to. She wouldn't let anyone take her away from him.

Yet he couldn't stop thinking about her eyes the last time he'd claimed her. He'd been taking his time with her, indulging in her, just savoring the feel of his mate's body around him and trying to make it last. He couldn't look away from her beautiful eyes, feeling closer to her than he'd ever been to anyone. Then everything had changed. Her eyes had gone sad and distant, his mate not feeling the same connection that he was. She'd closed her eyes, cutting herself off from him, and he'd never felt colder or more alone even buried to the hilt within her.

He'd been desperate to please her, to remind her that he could make her happy, to get her back, but she hadn't wanted that either. Spilling his seed on her had helped, and she'd said she was his, but then she'd left. She could be anywhere by now. Anything could be happening to her, and he wasn't there to protect her.

He needed his mate.

With a whimper, he lunged for the door, meaning to claw at it until he finally dug his way through. He would find his mate. Instead, it opened at a touch.

Pleased, he slipped through the opening, the corridor's chill uncomfortable against his bare skin. Something nagged at the back of his mind. His mate had put clothing on before she'd left their den, and he probably should too. Yet if he went back inside, the door might not open again. Last time it hadn't no matter how much he'd pawed at it. If he went back inside, he might be cut off from his mate again, and that couldn't be allowed.

Instead, he lifted his head, trying to scent her on the air. His mate had been here recently, and he followed her trail, her scent mingled with his own. Growling at the thought he picked up speed, loping after her until he bowled into another male, the impact sending both of them sprawling. "Rush?" the male asked, rubbing the back of his head, then his eyes went wide. "Oh fuck," he muttered, covering his face with his hands, "Eli wasn't kidding."

He sniffed at the younger male, snarling when he caught the faintest whiff of his mate's scent clinging to him. "Where is she?"

"I don't know!" the male blurted, and he lunged forward to wrap his hands around his throat. He would not be kept from his mate. The male clawed at his hands, gasping, "I was in the console room! I haven't seen her!"

It was the scent of desperation that convinced him, and he released his grip on the male's throat with a growl of warning. He scrambled back. "God, would you put some clothes on or something? This is really fucking weird."

Losing interest in the conversation, he got to his feet, lifting his head and inhaling, determined to track his mate. "Seriously, Rush, you can't walk around naked," the male blathered, and he ignored him even when the man started following him down the corridor.

"Why don't you go back to your quarters and wait for her?" the man suggested, his words coming too fast. "I'll call her and tell her you're looking for her."

A snarl sent the man shying back, and he huffed with satisfaction. He wanted no one else approaching his mate. Belle belonged to him.

"When you snap out of this, I want you to remember that I tried to help!" the man called after him as he left him behind.

He continued to track her, coming across people more frequently as he followed her scent. They gave him odd looks, and he preened a little, knowing that the places his mate had bitten and clawed him were on display. Anyone who looked at him would know exactly how well he'd pleased her. He sniffed each person suspiciously, making certain that none of them had accosted his mate. They chattered at him and spoke into their little boxes, but he didn't smell his mate on any of them, so they weren't important. All that mattered was finding her.

He could smell something that part of him identified as food even though most of him rejected the scent, and he followed it, remembering that his mate had indicated she was planning to find something for them to eat. This place was large and echoey, but it went silent at his arrival, which was quite convenient. Tilting his head back, he let out a low howl, listening intently for her response.

"Uh... Rush?" The dark haired female who approached him was not his mate, and he growled at her when she got too close, straining his ears for any sign of Belle. The female halted but didn't back off, gesturing to one of the doors. "Try the showers. I saw Belle in the hall, and that's where it looked like she was going."

For a moment he was tempted to lick her in thanks, but the need to find his mate was too strong to resist. He loped off in the direction the female had indicated, nostrils flaring as he picked up Belle's scent. It grew stronger with every step, and the others dodged as he increased his pace, following her trail to a door that opened at a touch.

"Occupied!" her voice sang out upon his entrance, and he rumbled with delight, lunging around the partition that separated him from her. Nothing should separate him from his mate.

Warm mist engulfed him, and he paused, his breath catching at the sight of her as she turned on her heel to face him. "Nick!" she gasped, and she looked gorgeous all wet and glistening and covered in his marks as she smiled just for him. "You scared me."

He was about to take her in his arms in apology for frightening her, when he suddenly registered what she was doing. His mate had a bar of soap in her hands, and she was carefully washing away the marker he'd rubbed into her skin. His mate was washing away his claim, and he sank to his haunches, whimpering in dismay.

"NIck?" She put the soap down, crouching down in front of him. "What's wrong?"

She'd washed away his marker; she'd closed herself off from him as he made love to her, and she'd left him alone. He could no longer deny it. His mate was not satisfied with him, and he didn't know what he was doing wrong.

Tugging at his hair, he looked at her pleadingly, begging her to tell him how he was failing her. "Mine?"

"Yes, yours," she agreed, reaching out to cup his cheek, "For as long as you want me."

Her eyes were gentle and a little sad, and it made him want to whimper and claw. There was something not right between them, and some part of his mind was screaming, demanding his attention. Desperation drowned out the little voice, and he yanked his mate into his arms, wishing that he could fix everything just by holding her tightly enough. "Love you," he rasped, scrambling for words, "My mate. Always. Mine."

"I love you too, Nick," she murmured, and he seized her mouth, licking the words from her lips and swallowing them down, trying to take them into himself so they would always be safe and true. Without his mate, he had nothing, and there were so many ways he could lose her, so many rivals who wanted to steal her away.

He would prove his worth, prove that he deserved the honor of being her mate. Carefully, he eased her just far enough away that he could nuzzle at her throat, licking along the marks he'd left there. They would fade in time, leaving no trace of him, and he wanted something permanent, something so blatant that everyone who looked upon her knew immediately that she was his and his alone.

It was hard to think with his mate in his arms, her warm skin slippery and exposed to his hungry eyes. Nudging at her, he got her to lie down before he feasted on her, every bit of him focused on bringing her pleasure. There were so many places to lick and touch and kiss, her soft little body decorated with his bites. He kissed every one, hearing her soft cries as she arched beneath him.

He cupped her breasts, lifting them so he could nuzzle at the undersides, and she cried out, her hands plunging into his hair to hold him in place. This was a new place, a new discovery, and his mate keened as he alternated his licks with gentle scrapes of his teeth. This place was too delicate to mark, so he sucked instead, feeling her squirming beneath him, "Nick, please!"

It wasn't right for his mate to plead with him. He would gladly meet her every need, give her everything she wanted. Pleasing her was his reason for existing. He licked his way down her body, grumbling at the odd taste of the water on her skin. It was inert, lifeless, and he didn't like the way it distracted him from the sweet salt taste of his mate's sweat and skin.

When he reached his favorite place, he could taste nothing but her, and he growled in delight as he lapped at her ravenously, her sweetness overpowering the strange water. Clawing gently at her hips, he encouraged her to rock against him as he licked her, his mate's cries filling his ears as she petted and tugged at his hair. This was where he belonged, where he always wanted to be. He couldn't get enough of her cries of delight or the way her body moved against him so trustingly.

His mate deserved pleasure, deserved to feel nothing but ecstasy and joy. He would give her pleasure, would prove that she'd chosen well in allowing him to be her mate. She screamed for him again and again, and it still wasn't enough. It would never be enough.

She was so tight around his fingers, and he growled at the thought of feeling her wrapped around his cock. With his free hand, he pulled at his own hair in punishment for his selfishness. His mate needed this, needed him. He couldn't be greedy.

"Nick, please!" she keened, and he lifted his mouth from her to see what was wrong. She grabbed handfuls of his hair and yanked him up for a kiss, and his eyes rolled back in his head as his mate licked the taste of herself off his tongue. "In me," she growled.

He slammed into her with a ragged cry that she echoed, clawing at the ground in an effort not to come at once. He would not disappoint his mate. She lapped at his lower lip, and he only then realized he'd nearly bitten through it as he attempted to keep control.

The floor was slippery, and she yelped, clinging to him as his first thrust sent both of them skidding. With a grumble, he tried again, his knees slipping, and this was not going to work. Locking his arms around her, he turned them over so she was astride him, and his mate's mouth opened in a coo of pleasure as the position allowed him to push deeper. Bracing her hands on his shoulders, she lifted herself up then sank back down, and he threw his head back with a howl of sheer pleasure.

Beaming at him, his mate did it again and then again, her sweet body engulfing him in heat and bliss. It was glorious, but her breath was coming fast, and she shouldn't have to work so hard. It was his job to please her.

Keeping his arms around her, he staggered to his feet, their bodies locked together as he managed to pin her against the wall. He planted his feet, making sure he wouldn't slip and drop her, then started to thrust in long, deep strokes that made his mate sigh and arch against him, her head dropping back.

He sucked at one of the marks he'd left on her throat, darkening it more, but it still wasn't enough. He needed to leave a permanent mark on his mate, something that would make her his eternally.

Her nails raked down his back, and he growled, loving how possessive it felt. Helplessly, he thrust harder, plunging into her, and suddenly his mind caught fire. A cub. He'd plant a cub in her. She'd be his forever then- mate and mother and his. They'd be a pack.

Her soft body would round with his cub, and no one would ever be able to take her away from him. The thought made him howl, and he exploded within her, desperately fumbling for the place he so loved to lick in an effort to bring her with him.

His mate writhed and keened in his arms, and he kept thrusting, prolonging her pleasure until his knees gave out. They cuddled together in the mist, his hand splayed over her stomach where their cub would grow.

He whimpered when she extricated herself from his arms, but she returned to his side almost immediately with the soap in her hands, working up a lather between her palms before she began to slide her soft little paws over him, soothing aching muscles. He subsided with a happy rumble, enjoying her ministrations. "Roll over, sweetheart," she crooned, and he obeyed, the cool floor feeling good against his overheated body.

She draped herself over him, rubbing his back in long strokes that made him groan in bliss before working her way lower to squeeze his arse. "Doesn't that feel better?" she purred, "Nice and clean?"

He could think of something that would feel better yet, but she fended off his attempt to pull her down with him. "Oh no. Food," she said decisively, leaving him no choice but to follow her out of the wet space and watch with regret as she toweled herself off and slipped her clothes back on. At least she was still wearing his shirt.

Obediently, he let her dry him off as well and wrap the damp towel around his waist. It was wet enough to feel unpleasant, but for some reason, the thought of going out unclothed no longer held any appeal.

Holding Belle's hand made up for the discomfort, and she led him back to the large, echoey place, retrieving two bowls of something that looked revolting and didn't smell much better. Most of the others had gone away, but a few were still hanging about, watching him and his mate, and he held his head higher. Let them look. Let them envy him for his beautiful mate. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he nuzzled her neck, running his tongue over one of his marks, and she giggled, squirming in his arms.

With a growl, he pulled her tighter, pressing his hips against her so she could feel how pleased he was to be with her, how proud he was to be her mate. "Not here, Nick!" she scolded, but she didn't push him away as he nipped gently at her throat.

He was almost sorry to leave the echoey place. There was a table that was just the right height for her to lay on while he pleased her in front of the others. Nothing could stake his claim more clearly than that, but she refused to cooperate, instead leading him back to their den.

They snuggled together in their cozy nest as they ate, and he almost immediately grew bored with the slop. It tasted of nothing, and he dragged his fingers through it, painting a thick stripe across his mate's collarbone. The slop tasted much better when licked off her skin, and he growled with pleasure as she reclined on the bed.

When she put her own bowl aside, he frowned and pressed it back into her hands. She'd said she was hungry. She needed to eat, even if it was slop. Perhaps later he could find something to hunt for her. His mate needed to keep up her strength, especially if they were going to make a cub.

He rumbled happily at the thought of their cub. It would be good to be a pack. His mate would be gorgeous with a swollen belly, every inch of her announcing his claim.

He waited patiently until she'd finished eating, then gathered more of the slop on his fingers, decorating her chest in swirls. She gasped when he carefully painted her nipples, and he started there, cleaning away every bit of the slop with flicks of his tongue and gentle scrapes from his teeth.

It was hard not to bite when she tasted so delicious, but he'd promised. His mate was sore, and he would not hurt her. Bad enough that he'd left bruises with his clumsy hands. Never again would his mate know a moment of discomfort because of him, only pleasure.

With another swipe of the slop, he painted a series of angular figures on her stomach, and she looked down at them curiously, her breath catching. "Nick?"

He hummed in response, leaning down to lick the figures away before she caught his jaw in her hand, stopping him. "Do you know what you wrote?"

She guided him to look down at the figures, and he stared at them, perplexed. He hadn't realized he was writing anything, but now that she'd pointed it out, the figures looked familiar. There was an itch at the back of his mind, something demanding his attention as words formed in his head- Destiny, Ancient. "Love," he rumbled, not knowing how he knew that.

"Yes," she smiled, releasing him so he could lick the word away. Dipping his fingers into the slop, he tried again, and she giggled at the new word. "Mine."

"Mine," he repeated, beaming at her. Belle was his in all ways possible. Whatever had been wrong, he'd fixed it. She looked happy again. His mate was relaxed and smiling at him, and nothing could go wrong here in their nest.

After he'd lapped up the word, Belle wrote one herself, and he puzzled over it, waiting for the itch to come back. After a moment it did, and he read it aloud, "Yours."

"Yours," she echoed, and that was true too. He belonged to her completely, and he wanted nothing more than to lose himself in his mate, but the itch had turned into an uncomfortable pressure, his head aching with it.

Strange thoughts broke through, and he heard someone snarl, 'Get away from her!' Whimpering, he blanketed his mate with his body, burying his face against her throat.

"Nick?" she murmured, sounding worried as she stroked his hair, "Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

He clung to her, trembling. There was someone else in his head, and the Other was bellowing in rage, shouting words he could barely make out. 'Bastard... forcing yourself on her... leave her alone!'

He snarled at it, clawing at the edges of his mind in an effort to lock it away. Their nest had room for only two. The voice didn't belong here.

His mate was talking too, and she sounded upset, "Does your head hurt? Your hand? We should get TJ to look at you again. Nick, talk to me, please."

The voice had upset his mate, and that gave him the strength to shove it back with a growl of rage. It was not welcome here. In the back of his mind, it babbled on, and he moaned, seizing his mate's mouth in desperation.

The roar of pleasure drowned out the voice, and he groaned in relief, rubbing himself against her. Her fingers carded through his hair, pulling him away from her, and he whimpered and fought, straining his neck to claim her mouth again. He needed her mouth, needed her. She made the voice go away.

"Nick, are you all right?" she asked urgently, and he broke free of her hold to cover her face in frantic kisses, working his way down her throat. He was biting again, sharp little nips that he couldn't hold back. The voice wanted to take her away from him. Nothing could take her away from him.

"Mine," he snarled, staring down at her desperately, "Mine. Mate. Need you."

"Okay," she breathed, parting her legs for him, and he shoved himself between her thighs, grinding himself against her.

She wrapped her fingers around him, guiding him in, and he thrust deep, burying himself in her as he claimed her mouth again. This was better. With his cock buried in her body and his tongue buried in her mouth, he could ignore the voice, drown it out with pure joy. Belle was his mate, and he'd never let her go. Nothing would ever make him let her go.

His movements were jerky and erratic, and his mate ran her gentle paws over his back, trying to soothe him. He needed to be deeper, needed more, needed to be so deep in his mate that nothing could ever tear them apart. "Mine," he groaned, sliding his arms under her knees to draw her legs back more, letting him thrust even deeper.

"Mine... Mine..." he snarled with every jerk of his hips, and his mate scraped her nails along his spine. "More," he pleaded. He needed her to claw him, leave marks, claim him. He needed to be hers. Then the voice would be silent.

"Mine," she hissed, and he threw his head back and howled, his eyes rolling back in his head when his mate sunk her teeth into his neck. She tugged roughly, sucking hard to draw his blood to the surface, then released him and bit again, just the slightest bit higher. She was marking him as her own, and it drove him out of his mind.

With a roar, he spilled himself in her, slamming himself as deep as he could go as his back arched, grinding against her as he struggled to push deeper yet. "That's it, sweetheart, that's right," she crooned as he shuddered and growled, her lips painting the marks she'd left.

She continued to lick them as he collapsed upon her, struggling for breath. The voice had gone silent, forced away by his mate's touch, and he smirked, feeling smug. No voice was a match for his mate.

She continued to stroke him with tender hands, and he went cold as he realized what he'd done. He'd found his pleasure without her, left her unsatisfied, failed her. Whimpering he lifted himself off of her, desperate to put things right. He'd been greedy; now it was her turn.

Her stomach was still decorated with smears of the slop, and he leaned down to lick her clean, careful not to miss a single smudge. It seemed to have gotten all over, and it gave him an excuse to lick every inch of her, paying particular attention to her breasts. His mate had perfect breasts, and he never grew tired of simply gazing at them. To be allowed to touch and taste was a gift beyond price.

"Nice and clean," he rasped, repeating her words from earlier, and her nose crinkled as she smiled at him.

"Much better," she praised, and he kissed the smile away, moving down her body until she stopped him by catching his shoulder.

He looked up at her in dismay, but her sweet smile soothed his worries. "I'm exhausted, sweetheart. You wore me out." She said it with such affection that he felt a degree of pride. "Hold me?"

Happily he spooned up behind her, his arms tight around her as he twined their legs together as well, tangling them together completely. Like this he could protect her- guard her dreams and defend her from all harm. Burying his face against her throat, he licked her in long strokes, soothing her into sleep before following her himself, warm and content.

His dreams were odd, and he grumbled in his sleep, half-waking to pull his mate closer. His head felt strange again, and he wanted her touch, but she was asleep. He wouldn't wake her. Instead he closed his mouth over the place where her neck met her shoulder and suckled, her warmth and sweetness calming him back into sleep.

Rush awoke with a jerk, blinking rapidly as he tried to figure out where he was. He'd been on a planet, and there'd been a plant, and then everything had gone foggy and strange.

Someone was in bed with him, and he looked down at a familiar crown of chestnut curls, his assistant snuggled in his arms, both of them naked as they day they were born. Seeing Belle flipped a switch, and his mind suddenly flooded with images.

"Stay behind me. Something's wrong with him."

"Leave Belle alone."

"Nick, stop. No touching."

"Doctor Rush, wake up please!"

He jerked back, scrambling off the bed and away from her, his knees drawn up as he covered his mouth to muffle his cry of horror. On the bed, Belle rolled over into the warm spot where he'd been, and even in the room's dim light he could clearly see the marks he'd left on her. Her pale skin was covered in bruises and bites, and something primal growled with pleasure at the sight of them. Belle was his, and anyone looking at her could see how well he'd claimed her.

Rush didn't realize he'd started crawling back toward the bed until he smacked into it, his hands reaching for Belle. He needed to touch her, just for a moment. He needed to feel her warmth and soft skin, to kiss her and please her and prove his love for her.

His love. He bit back a hysterical laugh. He'd been entranced by Belle since the day he met her, and he'd fallen more in love with her every day. He'd dreamed that one day she might return his feelings, but the plant had shattered that pretty fantasy. She'd never permit him to be near her again.

He'd forced himself on her.

Groaning with shame and desire, he felt himself hardening at the memory of having Belle pinned under him on the bed and against the wall. She'd been so soft, so beautiful, and he'd wanted her so much.

She'd told him no, told him to stop, and he hadn't listened. He'd kissed away her protests, never taking his hands off of her. He'd been plastered to her, his superior strength meaning she was trapped. She'd never had a chance of escape, never had a choice.

He'd bit her, bruised her, hurt her, and he cringed as he felt his blood start to boil at the memories. By god, he was a sick bastard. He was actually getting turned on by the memory of forcing himself on his assistant. He was a fucking animal.

Belle shifted in her sleep, rolling onto her back and giving him a view of her breasts that made his mouth go dry and his fingers itch. With sick fascination he watched himself reach for her, his fingers almost brushing her soft skin before he forced his hand back. He had to get out of this room before he lost control.

Struggling into his jeans, Rush fled the room, not daring to look back at Belle. The sight of her in his bed where he'd wanted her for so long was more than he could handle. He could feel something clawing at his gut, begging him to return, and he identified it as the beast, the monster who'd hurt Belle.

Even now all the beast wanted was to crawl back into bed with her and take her again, and Rush broke into a run, heading for the deepest recesses of the ship. He couldn't be trusted until he knew he had the beast under control. A sharp keening noise filled his ears, and he realized it was coming from his own throat as the beast howled in rage at being separated from Belle.

"It's your fault," he hissed at it, finding a dark nook to press himself into. No one would find him here even if they bothered to look. "You hurt her."

Rush ground his teeth, his eyes burning. This was no alien life form that had harmed Belle. It was him, all the sticky, revolting parts that were left over when civilization was stripped away. At his core, he was the kind of man who'd force himself on the woman he loved.

He'd had vague, grand dreams of proving himself worthy of a good soul like Belle, of winning her over and earning her love. Now that she knew what he really was, all hope was lost. After what he'd done, she'd hate him. She'd be frightened of him. This wasn't an argument that could be brushed over by him bringing her a few interesting rocks from the latest planet; this was a cataclysm.

Belle had tried to help him, and he'd repaid her by hurting her. The best thing in his life was lost to him forever. Closing his eyes, Rush pressed himself deeper into his shadowy nook as inside of him, the beast howled for its mate.