Not by blood. But by choice. By love. By the bond that was now as much a part of him as his own skin.
“He’s going to need a diaper change soon,” Melissa murmured, her head dropping to his shoulder. “The glamour of parenthood.”
“I’ll handle it.”
“You don’t have to?—”
“I want to.” He pressed a kiss to her hair. “I want to do all of it. Every diaper change. Every midnight feeding. Every tantrum and scraped knee and difficult question I don’t know how to answer.”
“Even the teenage years?”
“Especially the teenage years.” His tail tightened around her waist. “I’ve survived wars, Melissa. I think I can survive adolescent rebellion.”
Her laugh was tired but genuine. “Famous last words.”
They sat together in the humming quiet of the cargo hold, their son sleeping between them, the stars streaming past the viewport. Behind them, Sarah shifted in her sleep, murmuring something to Katie. Wei-Lin’s eyes opened briefly, scanning the room before closing again—satisfied, apparently, that all was well.
Family, Becsul thought. This is what family feels like.
Not just Melissa and Robbie, though they were the center of everything. But Sarah and Katie and Wei-Lin too. Strangers who had become allies who had become something more. People who had suffered together, survived together, escaped together.
Found family, Melissa had called it.
He understood now what she meant.
“Becsul?” Her voice was drowsy, sleep pulling at her again.
“Yes?”
“Thank you. For being willing to let me go if that’s what I wanted.”
His throat tightened. “I would have. If it was truly what you needed.”
“I know.” She pressed closer to him, her body warm against his side. “That’s one of the reasons I love you.”
He held her as she drifted back to sleep, held Robbie as he dreamed whatever dreams infants dreamed, and watched the stars stream past like rivers of light.
Six hours to Waypoint Seven. Six hours until they faced whatever came next—the investigations, the questions, the uncertain future. But for now, in this moment, everything was exactly as it should be.
His mate was in his arms. His son was against his chest. And ahead of them lay not an ending, but a beginning.
Together, he thought, the word settling into his bones with the weight of a promise.
Always together.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Robbie’s laughter echoed off the metal walls of the galley, bright and unexpected.
Melissa looked up from the datapad balanced on her knee to find her son sitting in the middle of the floor, clapping his tiny hands at the ship’s engineer—a stocky, purple-skinned Threlian named Koss who was making an increasingly ridiculous series of faces. Each exaggerated expression earned another delighted squeal, and Koss seemed to be enjoying himself just as much as the baby.
“Your offspring has excellent taste,” Koss declared, pulling his features into something that made him look like a startled fish. “He appreciates true artistry.”
“He’s six months old. He thinks sneezing is hilarious.”
“Sneezing is hilarious. Have you seen Captain Trevan sneeze? His whole body vibrates like a faulty engine coupling.” Koss demonstrated with an enthusiastic full-body shake that sent Robbie into fresh peals of giggles. “See? The child understands comedy.”
Melissa found herself smiling—a real smile, not the brittle thing she’d been wearing for weeks. Three days since they’d boarded the Celestine’s Mercy. Three days of something she hadn’t experienced in what felt like forever: normalcy.
