"We did it," Ellison sobs, her arms locked around my neck. "Bex—she’s one of the humans sent here for tech, do you remember that scandal… She got the signal booster active. You're safe. We’re all safe."
"The cryo-pods of the other people on that station are landing over in the capital," Lily pants, wiping her eyes as she smiles at us. "The Suevan Warlords are already retrieving them. Everyone is safe, Poppy. You saved an entire station full of people."
Lucy joins us with a whoop, and we group hug for a long, long moment.
I pull back, my chest heaving as I take in my girls. Lucy and I are dirty and look absurd and exhausted, but we are alive.
I look back toward the shuttle.
Vael-Torin stands at the edge of the grass, his red wings catching the warm Sueva breeze, his hair blowing across his brow.
He looks fucking edible.
He meets my gaze, a tender smile showing off his fangs. Yum.
I stand up, brush the dirt from my legs, and run back to him. I slide my small hand into his palm.
"Welcome to Sueva, Poppy," Vael rumbles softly, pulling me close as we look out at our new home.
"We have a lot of work to do," I say, leaning my head against his shoulder. "We need to find a place to live. We need to help Pol take his throne. And most importantly..."
I look up into his eyes, my grin wide.
"We need to build a really, really big bed."
Vael-Torin lets out a laugh, and as his arm wraps securely around my waist, I feel the safest I ever have in my life.
I am exactly where I belong.
CHAPTER 34
POPPY
Our new houseon Sueva is a masterpiece… of compromise.
Nestled at the edge of a gorgeous green valley, it’s built from local timber and blocks of grey river stone. Vael-Torin, true to his military roots, initially drafted a blueprint that featured three defense trenches, a reinforced gatehouse, and narrow slit windows designed for plasma archers.
I had to step in with a red pen to negotiate the addition of a wraparound porch, floor to ceiling windows to let in the Suevan sun and insisted on absolutely zero tactical murder holes.
But the centerpiece of the entire structure is the bedroom.
Where the magic happens, as they used to say.
The bed is colossal.
It spans almost the entire back wall, piled three feet high with thick, cloud-soft alien blankets and cooling sheets. There are no cameras. No holographic artificial stupidity displays.
"Your breathing is uneven," Vael rumbles from across our half-unpacked living room. He is currently building a piece of furniture, his ruby wings tucked neatly behind his shoulders.
His long red tail, though, lazily sweeps the floorboards in a rhythm that matches my own heartbeat. I wonder if I could put a wet sponge on it and have him clean the floors like that.
"Are you alright?"
"I’m trying to mentally prepare myself," I say, leaning back against a stack of cardboard shipping boxes. "Therapy is intimidating, Vael. Especially when your therapist is an actual genius astronaut."
"Tati is a highly decorated medical officer," Vael says for the millionth time. "Her diagnostic assessments are without fault. If she requires us to examine our cognitive trauma, we would do well to listen."
“Knowing that and wanting to do that are two different things.”
