Rich made me feel like the most beautiful woman on the planet. Trouble was, he made about a dozen other women feel the same way at the same time—including his wife. By the time I learned the truth, it was too late. Rich did what he always did to women who became inconvenient, who threatened hisfacade. I left Sloan Kettering with my reputation in tatters. Most coworkers believed I was the one who pursued him, to the point of stalking. The restraining order painted me as an unhinged woman who couldn’t take no for an answer.
Thankfully, I ended up at St. Jude’s Children’s Research Hospital. There, I slowly began to heal by caring for the brave, fierce children fighting for their lives on the oncology ward. Children fighting for what Dr. Rich Landers took for granted—the simple ability to live another day, to see another sunrise, to laugh at silly jokes, and dream of a future that might never come.
Now here I was, in this impossible place with Diarvet, and my heart was doing things I’d sworn I’d never let it do again. The way he looked at me wasn’t like Rich’s calculated charm or my college boyfriend’s distracted glances. When Diarvet’s eyes met mine, those deep, blue orbs that seemed to hold starlight, I felt seen—really seen—in a way that both thrilled and terrified me. His gentleness with Lilibet, his protectiveness, the quiet strength in everything he did, was nothing like the men I’d fallen for before.
That’s exactly what scared me.
What if I were wrong again? What if I was reading too much into stolen glances, into the way his breath caught when I accidentally brushed against him? I’d trusted my instincts before and ended up humiliated and heartbroken. The stakes felt significantly higher now, not just for me, but for Lilibet too. We’d found something precious here, a family of sorts that felt more real than anything I’d ever known. I couldn’t bear the thought of destroying it by wanting something that existed only in my imagination.
I came out of my reverie to find Ceeka gesturing again, more urgently now, a blue leaf clutched in one hand and an obsidian stone in the other, both objects catching the sunlight that danced through the trees. It took me a minute, my mindstill foggy with memories and fears, but I finally realized she was trying to say something about how Diarvet’s scales had shifted to black. Something important, judging by her intensity.
I’ll admit, it was a lot to take in when I first saw Diarvet attack the Wojonik, his body transforming before my eyes into something both beautiful and terrifying. He’d grown almost twice his normal size, muscles rippling, and his scales had shifted to a glossy obsidian black. Yet the way he fought to protect us took the fear that had initially frozen me and turned it into something else. Appreciation, yes, but something more. Something primal and deep that echoed in my bones.
If I read Ceeka’s gestures correctly, she was explaining something important regarding those black scales. The way Ceeka acted, her movements almost reverent when she touched the obsidian stone, it suggested something that went beyond mere physical transformation.
"What?” I asked, raising my hands in the universal gesture of confusion.
Ceeka’s next set of gestures was plain.Ask Diarvet.
I glanced to where he sat under the shade of bright purple leaves that shimmered like jewels in the sunlight, while Lilibet worked her small fingers through his hair with the focused concentration of an artist, intent on her masterpiece.
Diarvet’s scales had returned to their usual blue and gold shortly after our encounter with the Wojonik, but a few obsidian scales remained scattered over his neck and shoulders like black stars, catching the light with an almost otherworldly gleam.
“Fine, I’ll ask him,” I conceded, my voice carrying a resignation that made Ceeka’s eyes brighten with satisfaction. “Later. After dinner, when we put Lilibet to bed.”
Ceeka shook her head so fiercely that the small shell necklace she wore around her neck tinkled like wind chimes.Her gesture was delivered with the kind of emphasis that left no room for misinterpretation.
Alone.
Whatever secret knowledge she possessed about his transformation, she thought I needed to ask him when there wasn't the threat of an audience. The problem was, we were hardly ever alone. Lilibet was always with us, or the tribe was nearby, or there were daily tasks that demanded attention.
Ceeka knew this and obviously had something in mind, her dark eyes shimmering with a sort of scheming intelligence that made me nervous. She waved toward where Numa worked alongside the other females preparing the maramount, then nodded toward Lilibet and tapped herself on the chest. Then she reached into the woven basket at our feet, pulling out a long purple root. Kompur root, she gestured, her hands shaping the familiar sign. One of my favorites for its sweet potato flavor and the way it melted on the tongue like butter. Translation: She and Numa would watch Lilibet while Diarvet and I fetched more kompur roots. Since kompur root only grew in one place—near the falls on the other side of the mountain—to walk there and back would take several hours, plenty of time for a conversation that required privacy.
With Ceeka at my side, I meandered over to where Lilibet and Diarvet sat beneath a massive tree, purple leaves creating a natural canopy that filtered the afternoon sunlight into dancing patterns across their forms.
“Look, MeMe, isn’t he pretty?” Lilibet asked, her small face absolutely glowing with pride as she stepped back to admire her handiwork, her tiny hands still clutching a few stray yellow blossoms.
Diarvet squared his broad shoulders and lifted his chin, somehow looking both proud and strong despite bearing a startling resemblance to a Chia pet. Albeit a devastatinglyhandsome Chia pet whose deep blue hair now sprouted tiny yellow flowers. The sight made my chest tight with unexpected affection.
“Yes, he is very pretty,” I agreed, pressing my lips together to bite back the smile that threatened to break free at the way Diarvet’s golden eyes brightened with pleasure at the compliment.
“I have been groomed by the talented Princess Lilibet,” he announced, his deep voice carrying across the clearing like he was declaring something truly magnificent to the entire tribe.
“I can do your hair too, MeMe,” Lilibet declared with the confidence of a master stylist, waving one small hand toward the pile of bright yellow blossoms resting on the soft grass near her bare feet.
“I would love that,” I told her, sinking to my knees and pulling her against me in a hug that smelled of sunshine and wildflowers. As the frequent recipient of many of her beauty treatments, I knew the simple joy of being cared for by those gentle, determined little hands. “Maybe you could do Ceeka and Numa’s hair too?” I suggested, catching Ceeka’s eye and offering her a conspiratorial wink.
Ceeka’s eyes widened with a mixture of horror and reluctant amusement at the prospect of being subjected to Lilibet’s artistry, her fur rippling as she suppressed what might have been either laughter or panic. At least it would keep Lilibet happily occupied while Diarvet and I had our private conversation. My stomach fluttered at the thought, and unbidden images of what else we might do while alone together flashed through my mind, sending heat racing across my cheeks like wildfire.
“I’m going to gather kompur root,” I announced, gazing at Diarvet and hoping I sounded casual, though my voice came out slightly breathless. “Want to come help me?”
“Yes,” Diarvet jumped to his feet, yellow blossoms cascading from his dark hair like golden raindrops. Then he tempered his obvious excitement and straightened to his full, impressive height. “You will need protection in the jungle.”
Ceeka snorted in amusement as she fixed Diarvet with a look that could have stripped paint, her eyes dancing in a way that said she saw straight through his pretense.
After giving Lilibet goodbye hugs and ensuring she was set for her impromptu afternoon beauty parlor, we made our way into the jungle, following a narrow path that wound between the trees, with filtered sunlight dancing in patterns of gold and green at our feet. The air was thick with the scent of blooming flowers and rich, fertile earth, alive with the gentle hum of insects and the distant calls of exotic birds.
“The kompur grows best near water,” Diarvet explained, as he pushed aside a curtain of hanging vines for me to pass through.
