My rescuer stepped toward me, all swagger and dark brooding. “Are you telling me you’re an Interstellar Bride?”
I shrugged again. “Not any longer. My mate’s dead. I’m going back to Earth.”
He laughed at me, and that totally pissed me off.
“Gara, you’re a citizen of Trion now. Not Earth.”
That word, that endearment, was what Naron had called me, too. The word from this male’s lips affected me like he’d licked my skin, the sound sensual and threatening all at once. And that double-edged sword made me want him close. Made me want to trust him. Which was stupid. Just fucking stupid.
“Don’t call me that.” I moved to stand toe to boot with him, but I had to tip my chin back even further to meet his eyes.
“Then tell me your name, human,” he countered.
“Zara.”
He said it aloud, as if testing the sound of it on his tongue. “There isn’t much difference between Zara and gara, now is there?”
I rolled my eyes.
He smirked.
“Well?” I waited.
He frowned. “Well, what?”
“Your name.”
“Isaak.”
“Isaak, I will go home to Earth. It hasn’t been thirty days yet,” I countered.
Slowly, he shook his head. “Trion’s in a different part of the galaxy. When you transport to and from Trion, time bends.”
“Bends? What does that mean?” I crossed my arms over my chest, felt the chain press into the backs of my arms.
“It means when you are on Trion, three months pass out here in a blink.”
My mouth fell open. “Three months? That wasn’t on Star Trek or Battlestar Galactica.”
He frowned. “I don’t know what that means, but Earth’s out for you. You’re never going back. You are a citizen of Trion, and since you’re past your thirty days and your mate is dead, you are a widow. You will not be assigned another mate by the program.”
“I’ve been in space all of a day, as far as I can tell.”
He studied me, and when his fingers lifted to my jaw again, I had to clench my teeth to keep from leaning into the touch. It was as if my body was starving for any amount of comfort it could get. Not that I could blame myself. The last day and a half had been hell on a whole new level.
“How many hours were you on Trion? Before you transported here?”
I wasn’t sure, but Bertok said he had to wait to transport me again, so I wouldn’t get sick or die. So who knew? “Overnight maybe. A day? Maybe a bit longer. I don’t know for sure. I slept part of it.”
Isaak’s dark eyes filled with pity, and the sight made me angry all over again. Completely ruined the soft, warm touch of his fingertips on my jaw. And the thought that I mourned the loss at all made me twice as angry even before he opened his mouth.
“Gara, every hour on Trion is more than a day and a half out here.”
I paused because his words rang with finality. They were also what Warden Egara had said—the part of being a citizen of Trion—right before she’d had a machine jab an NPU behind my ear. As for being a widow, that wasn’t mentioned. The death of a mate within five minutes of transport by throat slice was probably a little depressing to tell bride volunteers. “Fine, I can’t go back to Earth. So what? I’m still going to Trion. I’ve got a score to settle.”
He looked me over again, and this time, I wanted to punch the smirk off his face. “You’re a tiny thing but ruthless.” He leaned in close, almost as if he couldn’t help himself. “I like that.”
“Yeah, don’t forget it.” I held his gaze, but I was having trouble getting enough air into my lungs. Why was he still touching me? Totally distracting. I shoved his hand away. “Don’t do that again. Don’t touch me.”