His hand comes up to cover mine on my throat. “That's... specific timing.”
I nod against his hand. “Need to see it.” My voice drops. “The portal.” I swallow. “Need to know I could go through but chose not to.”
He studies my face, searching for doubt. “Can.” His thumb traces the spot. “But risky.” His other hand frames my face. “Portal energy might interfere with bonding.”
I turn to kiss his palm. “Or might make it stronger.” I meet his eyes. “Won't know unless we try.”
He traces the spot on my throat where the bite will go, pressure gentle but intent. “Once done, cannot be undone.”
My hand covers his. “I know.”
He hesitates, then asks carefully, “Your sister...”
“Will survive or not. But I can't save her by destroying myself. And leaving you would destroy me. The tonic made sure of that.”
“Not just tonic.”
“No. Not just.”
We spend the day preparing. Not for the portal, but for after. For survival together. He shows me where to find water when the rains come. Which caves flood, which stay dry. How to read the desert's moods.
I show him human things I remember. Patterns for weaving plant fibers into rope. Ways to preserve meat that Earth developed. Small efficiencies his people never needed.
“Your knowledge is useful,” he says.
“Your planet is hostile.”
“Yes. But you adapt.”
“Have to.”
“Tomorrow,” he agrees.
That night we don't have sex. Just hold each other, skin to scales, breathing synchronized. His tail wrapped around me. My fingers tracing his scars.
“Nervous?” he asks.
“Terrified.”
“Of bonding?”
“Of wanting it so much.”
“The wanting is the point.”
“Is it?”
“Without wanting, it's just biology. With wanting, it's choice.”
One more day.
One more night.
Then the portal opens and I choose to close it forever.
Not for him. Not against Lily.
For me.
