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“No!” Six cries out. She lunges away, trying to make for the edge of camp, but the Legion soldier is on her in a second, pinning her to the ground with his knee in her back. It knocks the wind from her, wheezing into the dirt. He yanks her arm behind her back, twisting it so painfully she cries out.
“Rubrius, Gallus,” the Centurion orders. “Deliver her straight to the Legate.”
Her breath hitches. “Don’t,” she says again. She doesn’t know who— or what— she’s pleading to.
Don’t recognize the name. If they recognize the name on her arm, it only means one thing.
Her soulmate is Legion.
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Passing through Arizona, Six finds herself captured by a Legion raiding party searching for escaped slaves. She’s not a slave. But when they search for a brand, they find something objectively worse. Her soulmark.