Mine, his instincts whispered.My mate, my family, my purpose.
Jarrek elbowed him gently. “You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Looking at her like she’s water and you’ve been lost in the desert for a week.”
“That is an oddly specific comparison.”
“My mom says it’s romantic. My dad says it’s nauseating.” The boy grinned. “I think it’s nice. Anya says you’re all serious and scary with everyone else, but you turn into mush when she’s nearby.”
Selik’s tail flicked with irritation. “I do not turn into ‘mush.’”
“If you say so, sir.”
They finished unloading and collected their pay from Captain Drov’s first mate. Selik pocketed his credits and calculated how much closer they were to his goal—enough saved to pay off the boat and purchase the house they were currently renting. Another two months, perhaps three.
Assuming they were still here in two months.
Assuming the Council hadn’t found them.
Assuming this fragile happiness didn’t shatter like everything else he’d ever tried to hold onto.
He shoved the dark thoughts aside and headed home. The walk from the docks took fifteen minutes along the waterfront path, past vendors selling fresh catch and repair shops that smelled of oil and metal. The afternoon sun beat down on his skin, warming him pleasantly.
Their house came into view, small and sturdy on its stilts above the tide line. Mikoz sat on the deck with Chanda’s daughter Liara, both of them playing with a collection of shells and smooth stones. The infant looked up as he approached and let out an excited chirp.
“Sah!” Mikoz toddled toward him on unsteady legs. “Sah, sah!”
He caught him before he could tumble off the deck and lifted him high, earning delighted shrieks. The sound made his heart clench with emotions he still couldn’t fully name.
“Thank you for watching him,” he told Liara.
The teenage girl waved off his gratitude. “He’s easy. Mostly he just stacks rocks and babbles.” She gathered her things. “Mom wanted me to invite you all for dinner tomorrow night. She’s making that stew you liked.”
“We would be honored to attend.”
After Liara left, he settled on the deck with Mikoz and let the infant climb over him like a particularly determined obstacle. The boy had no fear, launching himself from Selik’s knee to grab his tail, then using that as leverage to scramble up his back.
“You will injure yourself,” he warned, catching him before he could tumble headfirst onto the deck.
Mikoz chirped his disagreement and immediately tried again.
He had spent years as a warrior, trained to fight and kill with ruthless efficiency. He’d commanded dozens of males, led missions into hostile territory, made decisions that determined whether people lived or died. None of it had prepared him for the terror of keeping one small, fearless infant alive.
Anya arrived home an hour later, her arms full of food supplies from the market. She dumped everything on the kitchen counter and collapsed onto the couch with theatrical exhaustion.
“I hate math,” she announced. “It’s pointless and boring and I’m never going to use it for anything.”
“You used it today when you calculated the cost of those supplies,” he pointed out.
“That’s different. That’s practical.”
“All mathematics is practical. You simply have not encountered the applications yet.”
She threw a pillow at him, which he caught easily. Mikoz laughed and clapped his hands, delighted by the game.
“You’re supposed to be on my side,” Anya grumbled.
