“If something happens to me tomorrow...”
“Don't.” I turn my head, finding his alien eyes in the dimness. “Just don't.”
We stay locked in silence, his seed pulsing into me with each heartbeat.
Outside, something howls. Not close, but not far enough.
Tomorrow he hunts dangerous creatures to pay for me. Tomorrow Vek will certainly make some move. Tomorrow the water situation will be worse.
But tonight, we're locked together, gentle for once, pretending the choice isn't already made by biology, economics, and the dying resources of two worlds.
His knot finally releases just as full dark falls. He doesn't move away, just shifts so I'm tucked against him, his tail wrapping around my waist.
“Sleep. Tomorrow starts before dawn.”
“What if I'm not tired?”
“Then think about how much seed is inside you. How it seeks your eggs. How even now, you might be breeding true.”
I should hate how those words make me clench, make me wetter. Should hate how my body interprets his breeding talk as foreplay. But the tonic has made hate impossible where he's concerned. All I can do is want and want and want.
“Twenty-four days,” I whisper to the darkness.
“Twenty-four opportunities to change your mind,” he corrects.
We both know I won't last that long. The biology won't let me. But I hold onto the number anyway, like Lily holds onto hope for her surgery, like Earth holds onto Pyraxian resources.
Everyone holding onto something that's already slipping away.
In the darkness, something howls again. Closer this time.
Definitely closer.
MARA
DAY 7 - BEFORE DAWN
The howling stopped an hour ago. That's worse than the sound itself. At least when they howled, we knew where they were. Now there's just darkness and the weight of Khor moving through the den, gathering supplies with sharp economy.
“Pack these.” He drops a bundle of dried meat at my feet. The stuff tastes like leather soaked in sulfur, but it keeps you alive. “Water pouches go in the outer pockets. Need quick access.”
His movements are different this morning. Not the casual dominance I'm used to. This is preparation for battle. Every item he packs has purpose. Rope made from something's sinew. Blades carved from volcanic glass. Vials empty and waiting for whatever we're hunting.
“The howling...”
“Skarrathi. Pack hunters. Usually stay in the northern wastes.” He pauses, listening to something I can't hear. “Coming south because water sources are failing there too.”
“Are they dangerous?”
“Everything here is dangerous. Question is whether they're stupid enough to challenge my claim.” His tail whips once,agitation he's trying to hide. “We leave before sun fully rises. Better to travel in half-light.”
I finish packing while he marks the den entrance with fresh scent. The smell is overwhelming, testosterone and pheromones and that sulfur tang that makes my body clench with recognition. Even knowing I'm bought property, my transformed flesh responds to him like he's salvation itself.
“Stop watching me like prey about to run.”
I hadn't realized I was staring. “I'm not running.”
“Body says otherwise. Can smell the flight hormones mixing with arousal. Interesting combination.” He shoulders the pack, then does something unexpected. Hands me a blade, handle first. “For the journey. Not for me.”
