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I bow my nog to her. “You are most welcome, mortania.”
She smiles as she takes one of my fingers and slides on a zuta-metal band. It has etchings and catches the light. “Oh, thank God, it fits.”
Frowning, I inspect the zuta-metal on my finger. It fits comfortably but I wonder its purpose. She hands me a smaller zuta-metal band that has a shiny stone wedged between four prongs. It glitters in my palm.
“Put it on my same finger,” she instructs.
Carefully, so as not to snag her delicate flesh with my claws, I slide the small band onto her finger.
“Wedding rings,” she informs me. “It binds our promises to each other. It’s a human thing.” She winks at me. “Now, Commander, you may kiss your bride.” Her brown eyes are liquid fire as she parts her lips, just begging to be tasted.
I haul her to me, loving the squeal from her and the way her breasts smash against me, and devour her sweet mouth. I lick and taste her long after everyone leaves the room. And when it’s empty, I peel away her clothes and taste her some more. Everywhere.
Epilogue
Calix
From my vantage point, I can see straight into the sub-faction. She—Emery, as they say—is so fragile. Like the fine petals of a lilabush. But unlike the healthy flowers that grow in Galen’s lab, this one wilts. With each passing solar, her skin grows more pallid. The tiny coughs rattle from her chest and her breaths come out labored.
Aria has been distracted creating the home for the humans and readying the space for the others to be woken up, but she is overlooking the needs of my lilapetal. She is letting her die before our very eyes.
As usual, when I’m stealing gazes of Emery, her nog will slowly turn and seek me out. She does not smile for she is too weak. She does not gesture in greeting. All she does is cry. Silently. Motionless. The tears I’ve tasted while she was in cryosleep were unlike anything my forked tongue has ever had the pleasure of licking. I crave to hold her in my solid arms and lick away her sweet sadness.
But I am not allowed to hold her.
Aria demands that I keep my distance until Emery can decide these things for herself. They do not understand that I’ve studied her expressions long before she became the next awoken one. I feel attuned to her. She coughs and sputters, and yet I do not fear the pathogens that litter the air around her. It is unimportant to me because her well-being trumps all. The idea of anyone else coughing like that is enough to have me running back to the lab and sitting under the equalizer to eliminate the bacteria.
Emery, I’d gladly catch whatever it is she ails from.
Then I could hold her while it stole us both from this life.
Nobody, especially Emery, deserves to die alone.
I won’t rekking allow it.
With my eyes locked on hers, I try to read her expressions. She’s sad but mostly worried. Using what little energy she does have, she tugs and twists at the zuta-metal that is around her arm. I feel like it unlocks an important secret about her. I’ve scoured through the test results Avrell has obtained from her and read through his notes.
For someone so brilliant, our faction’s physician is plagued with not knowing what to do.
There’s a name for her ailment. She spoke it to Aria and it’s been recorded, but it means nothing to us morts. Asthma. Inhaler. All we know is her lungs struggle even on her own planet, but at least there she had the proper medicine. She is too weak for us to try to send her back. It’s been discussed. With space’s compression on one’s lungs, she would not survive. That is written in Avrell’s notes as well.
Which means…
There is only one thing left to do.
I study contagious diseases and pathogens. I find cures for our people. It’s what I’m good at. Like second nature. This will be no different. I won’t stop until I’ve done it.
Quietly, I step into the sub-faction and stalk her way, thankful that Hadrian is nowhere to be seen. Her eyes widen in surprise but she does not call out. Something that resembles relief flashes in her bright blue eyes. It’s enough to fuel me forward on my mission—a mission that’ll no doubt get me locked away in a reform cell, should Breccan and the others intercept it.
I cannot fail.
Kneeling beside her, I hover my palm over her cheek, desperate to touch her. But Aria’s commanding words still ring in my nog. Her laws about only touching if they ask. Hesitation swirls inside of me like the stirrings of an epic geostorm.
“Help me,” Emery croaks out, her body shuddering slightly as she pleads. “Help me or I will die.”
