A laugh bubbles up. I set my mug down on the porch rail and wrap my arms around his neck, burying my face in his skin.
"You are so ridiculous," I whisper. "I love it."
"All for you," he rumbles, his hands cupping my ass to effortlessly hoist me up.
I wrap my legs around his hips, and Vael carries me over to our upgraded porch swing.
Vael settles me sideways across his lap, his red wings curling completely around us to block out the cool morning breeze. He rests his chin on the top of my head.
I lean back against his solid chest, opening my Sueva law textbook, resting it on my knees.
"How is the vocabulary progression?" Vael asks, his thumb lazily tracing the soft skin of my bare shoulder.
"They're actually pretty simple compared to Earth law," I say, tracing a line of alien script on the page. "It’s mostly just:'If you break the contract, the warlords get to throw you in a swamp.'I think I can pass their exams by next month. The local magistrates won't know what hit them when I start auditing their land grants."
"They will be entirely dismantled by your intellect," Vael-Torin agrees. He presses a lingering kiss to the side of my neck, his lips warm against my pulse point. “But remember... Tati's instructions command that you limit your cognitive exertion to four hours a day."
"I know, I know," I sigh, leaning into his kiss. "No overworking. And no baby-making practice until my stress is lower."
Vael-Torin lets out a groan of disappointment, his tail tightening around my leg. "The contraceptive has eleven months remaining. I believe Tati is overly conservative in her timelines."
"We have plenty of time, Vael," I murmur, turning my head to capture his lips.
The swing rocks gently beneath us, suspended by cables that could probably hold a small spaceship.
We survived.
And then we built this place, together.
I break the kiss, resting my forehead against his.
We’re home.
SNEAK PEEK: ALIEN GLADIATOR
LUCY
Sueva's medical science is supposed to be advanced, but this cooling blanket on my shoulders smells like it's about to catch fire.
Carmen taps on her tablet, adjusting some machine beside my cot. "Your core temp spiked another half-degree, Lucy. I'm bumping the coolant. Hang in there."
"I'm hanging," I say, squeezing the sheets until my knuckles turn white.
My body is radiating a heat that feels impossible. It's not a normal fever. It's the mating heat from Ty-Rok's venom, and it doesn't even hurt. It's just a throbbing itch in the center of my chest traveling straight down to my thighs, screaming for a certain yellow gladiator.
Tati steps into the tent with a tray of canisters. "The suppressants aren't holding. The pheromone structure is too complex for our blockers, we can't science our way out of this. The database says this heat cycle lasts three weeks unless there's physical alignment." She clears her throat. “You needto… let him come inside you if you don’t want to wait for it to end. Frankly, I’m worried about your heat lasting much longer, Lucy.”
"Three weeks?" I say, my voice hitting a pitch that only dogs can hear. "I'll melt into a puddle of fucking goo in three days."
Across the hangar, the guys are prepping for the trip to Draegorax. Pol is tossing crates of plas rifles into his cruiser while Selene stands on the ramp checking the scope on a gun with pure glee.
They're leaving to launch a coup against the king, and Ty-Rok is supposed to lead them through the capital's blind spots.
Except right now, Ty-Rok isn't looking at the weapons. I can see his massive silhouette through the mesh of the tent, pacing like a caged predator. His yellow scales are gleaming under the lights, his shoulders tense, his tail sweeping the dirt floor. He's spent twelve hours guarding my bed, refusing to eat or sleep, and the scent of him is drifting right through the screen.
He’s smells so fucking good, it’s like a punch in the face every time I catch it.
That's it. That's my fucking limit.
