That makes me laugh.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
ZAN
The air is different here…or maybe it’s me that’s different.
With Lily at my side, tucked in tight, staring up at me with an adoration that’s completely unmasked now, it’s fresh. Both the look in her eyes and the humid air all around us.
Sunlight streams through the tall trees overhead. There’s a lightness to my steps and a freedom in my heart because the being I want to spend the rest of my life with is chatting with me, checking on me, touching me. And there’s no threat of being conscripted into the Draegon Army yet again.
There’s no war at the front; there are no colonies to defend.
It’s just the sound of alien birdsong, the beautiful melodic susurrations of my little human speaking to me, and the warmth of her hand against my scales.
I want this walk to last forever. I want to bask in her and in the sunshine.
At the same time, I cannot wait for us to be alone in our home—ours, not some figment of an artificial intelligence’s minddredged up from whatever data collection processing plant that it used, but something new.
Not of Earth, not of Draegon culture.
Something that is ours. Ours and ours alone to share in this new home on Sueva. A fresh start.
We catch a glimpse of Lily’s friend Allison, who screeches in delight but doesn’t approach, thanks to Lily shouting out, “I’m still in heat! We’ll talk later!” then tugging at my hand to make us move faster.
“They said it’s the third one on the left,” she tells me, the scent of her heat spiking the closer we get to the house.
Finally
We finally reach the house, and it’s unlike the thick utilitarian mortar and rock slab-style homes the draegons are fond of.
It’s made of wood—polished, honed, a warm gold-brown color, as if it was grown from the ground itself and not something made by hands or talons and tools. It feels as natural as the bond that I share with my Lily.
“I’ll never take you for granted,” I tell her.
Taking both of her hands in my own, I pull her as close as I can without making her crane her neck to look up at me.
She’s so delicate, it’s nearly impossible to think of the bravery she showed by throwing herself in front of my last-ditch resort at Draegon fire.
“I never want you to put yourself in danger like that again,” I say.
She rolls her eyes. “Oh, so you’re just allowed to, like, try to kill yourself to save me, but I’m not allowed to put myself in danger? Absolutely not,” she says with a laugh.
“How did you know what I was trying to do?”
“Well, I didn’t, not until I got there,” she hedges, her eyes darting sideways. “They told me in the med bay that only the royal bloodline of the Draegons can successfully use their fire without self-immolating. I think that was the word.”
“That’s the word.”
Simply remembering that moment makes me sick to my stomach, and I tuck her close into me, my one wing held at an awkward angle, the other covering her completely.
“I’m so sorry,” I tell her again. “I failed you.”
“You didn’t fail me, not at all. You chose me. They told me that worm toxin would have killed you. I know why you did what you did, and I can’t say that I wouldn’t have done the same.”
She takes a deep breath and pushes off me so that she can look into my eyes again, and I let her.
