“I’ll do what I can,” he said. “It may take some time.”
“But you’ll do it.”
“Yes.”
The smile that crossed her face was small, but real. The first genuine smile he’d seen from her.
“Thank you.”
They continued walking, but something had shifted between them. The air felt lighter somehow, despite the weight of everything unsaid. He found himself talking to her—about the facility’s history, about the training exercises that had once filled this courtyard, about the traditions of his people that were dying along with their species. She listened, asking questions and offering observations that showed a sharp intelligence and a genuine curiosity.
It felt like a conversation. A real conversation, not the careful verbal sparring of captor and prisoner.
This is dangerous,he thought.This feeling. This… wanting.
But he couldn’t make himself stop.
The sun had fully set by the time they returned to her cell, the corridor lights flickering on to guide their way. Robbie was deeply asleep now, his small face peaceful, his tiny fingers curled against his chest. She carefully took her son back and settled himinto the crib with gentle movements that spoke of long practice. He watched, reluctant to leave, searching for reasons to stay.
“I should go,” he made himself say. “You need rest.”
“Probably.” She turned back to face him, and there was something in her expression that he couldn’t read. “Becsul?”
“Yes?”
“I know you can’t let me go. I know you’re part of this system, even if you don’t like what it’s doing.” She stepped closer, close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from her body. “But thank you. For today. For trying to make this bearable.”
“It’s the least I can?—”
She rose up on her toes and pressed her mouth to his.
The sensation was unlike anything he had ever experienced. The Cire did not kiss. Physical affection between mates was usually expressed through the intertwining of tails, but this… this pressing of soft lips against his mouth, this warmth and pressure and intimacy…
His body responded before his mind could catch up. His hands came up to cradle her face, tilting her head to deepen the contact. His tail wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer. A sound escaped him—something between a growl and a groan—as heat flooded through his system.
She tasted of something sweet. Something that made every nerve in his body sing with recognition.
Mine.
When she pulled back, her breathing was unsteady, her cheeks flushed that fascinating pink.
“I don’t know why I did that,” she whispered.
“I don’t care why.” His voice was rough, barely recognizable. “Just… do it again.”
She laughed—a real laugh, surprised and genuine—and stepped back out of his reach.
“Good night, Becsul.”
“Melissa—”
“Go. Before I do something else stupid.”
He wanted to stay. He wanted to pull her back into his arms and explore this new, intoxicating form of contact until neither of them could breathe. But the look in her eyes was half invitation, half warning, and he knew that pushing now would destroy whatever had just begun between them.
“Good night,” he managed. “I’ll come back tomorrow.”
“I know you will.”
