DAY 21
The nightmares started two nights after Vek died. Not about the attack itself, but about the portal. Standing before it while my body tears itself apart, unable to go through because the tonic has made me too specific to Khor. Unable to stay because Lily needs me.
I wake gasping, sheets soaked with sweat. He's already there. Not asking questions, just pulling me against him until my breathing steadies. His tail wraps around my waist, the weight of it grounding.
I press my face into his chest, inhaling his sulfur-and-spice scent. “The portal can't actually hurt me.”
His hand strokes down my spine, claws gentle. “No.” He shifts, pulling me closer. “But leaving might.”
I push back slightly to look at him. “That's not helpful.”
His head tilts, that alien movement I've learned means he's being literal. “Not trying to be helpful.” His pupils contract in the darkness. “Being truthful.”
We don't talk about it more. Instead, he fills me until I can't think about anything except the stretch and pressure and heat. The breeding has changed since the attack. Less desperate, more deliberate. Like we're trying to memorize each other.
Day 23
I find myself organizing the den while he's out checking territory. Not survival organization. Domestic. Making spaces for things. Creating something that looks like a home instead of just shelter.
My hands move without conscious thought, arranging the water vessels by size, the dried meats by type. I'm humming something, a half-remembered Earth song, when I realize what I'm doing.
When did I start thinking of this as home?
He returns with fresh meat and finds me arranging the furs in a way that makes no survival sense but feels right. Blood from his kill still stains his claws. He stops in the entrance, watching me work.
He sets down the meat, his tail twitching with what I've learned is amusement. “Nesting.”
I throw a small stone at him, not hard. “Just organizing.”
He catches it easily, examining it like it's precious. “Nesting behavior.” He sets the stone carefully on a ledge. “Common when females are either breeding true or...” He stops. His spines half-extend then flatten.
I turn from the furs to face him properly. “Or what?”
His weight shifts, something he does when choosing words carefully. “Or deciding to stay.”
I throw a fur at him. He catches it, laughing. The sound is still strange, like rocks grinding, but I've learned to love it.
That night, the sex is playful. He lets me explore him properly for the first time. I trace every scar, learn the story of each one. The parallel marks on his ribs from his first harvest. The puncture wounds on his shoulder from a territorial fight. The burn marks on his back from acid rain before he knew to find shelter.
“You're scarred everywhere,” I tell him.
“Survival requires payment.”
He's right. My body carries its own stories now. The scars on my feet from obsidian. Marks from his claws and teeth. Changes from the tonic that go deeper than skin.
Day 25
We're lying in the thermal pool, my back against his chest, his tail wrapped around my waist. The mineral water burns slightly against my skin, but it's become comfortable. Steam rises around us, creating a private world.
His claws trace patterns on my stomach under the water. “Tell me about Lily.”
The question surprises me. I tense, and he feels it immediately. His hand stills.
I lean my head back against his shoulder. “Why?”
His chest rumbles with something that might be thought. “Want to understand what pulls you away.”
So I tell him. The words come slowly at first, then faster. About the accident that was my fault no matter what anyone says. About the medical bills that multiply faster than interest. About how she's the only family I have left. My hands move as I talk, gesturing even though he can't see them clearly through the steam.
