Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Methic
The weight of the supply pack pressed against Methic's shoulders as he navigated the forest path, but it wasn't the burden slowing his steps—it was the unfamiliar urgency clawing at his chest. He needed to get back. To her.
This restlessness was foreign, unwelcome.
In all his years as caretaker of the Nexxus, he had never felt pulled to return to his cabin.
It was shelter, nothing more. A place to rest between duties.
But now a petite human with golden hair and a pronounced limp occupied his thoughts with disturbing persistence.
Jeneva.
Even her name felt different on his tongue, soft where Majaki names were hard, musical where his people's words were guttural. She had looked at him this morning with hunger. Like he was worth wanting.
That was dangerous thinking.
He adjusted the pack and increased his pace.
The hyep wouldn't venture out in daylight—he had told her a small untruth about that.
The predators were strictly nocturnal hunters.
He could have safely escorted her back to the human colony today, but the thought of delivering her to that male, Rusik, made his blood burn.
The familiar scent of his cabin—cinnamon, she had called it—reached him before the structure came into view. His heart pounded faster. Foolish. He was behaving like a youngling with his first attraction, not a seasoned warrior who had seen more battles than he cared to count.
Pressing his palm to the scanner, he waited for the lock to disengage. The door swung open to silence.
"Jeneva?"
No response. He deposited the supplies on the kitchen table, noting the empty bowl where she had forced down his admittedly terrible porridge. The memory of her trying to spare his feelings made something shift in his chest.
"Jeneva?" Louder this time.
Nothing.
Concern prickled along his spine. Had something happened?
He moved through the main room, past his bedroom, toward the bathing room at the end of the hall. The door stood partially open, warm moisture escaping through the gap. He pushed it wider and stopped.
She was in the hot spring, arms folded on the stone edge, head resting on them with her face toward him.
Eyes closed, features relaxed. Her naked back was exposed from the waterline up, revealing the full extent of the metal plates running from her neck down her spine.
They disappeared beneath the water at the curve of her lower back.
The surgical scars around each plate had healed but left thin white lines against her pale skin.
His chest constricted. She had been broken and pieced back together. Just like he had been.
A soft sigh escaped her lips, and she stirred. Her eyes opened slowly, meeting his. For a moment, neither moved. Then awareness flooded her features, and she slipped back into the water until only her head remained visible.
"You’re back.”
"I called for you." His voice came out rougher than intended.
Pink colored her cheeks. "I think I dozed off." She bit her lower lip, and his attention zeroed in on the gesture. "It’s a little too deep for me to get out on my own.”
Something primitive, possessive rose within him followed by a burst of guilt. He had left her helpless without even knowing it.
"I will help you." He moved to the edge of the spring, kneeling on the warm stone. "Tell me how to do this without causing you pain."
“I think you’re going to have to just lift me out.” Her eyes strayed to the towel.
Following her gaze, Methic grabbed the towel and spread it between his hands. “Ready?”
She nodded and he gripped her beneath her arms. The towel pressed against her front, as he lifted her slightly, but he couldn’t wrap it around her without dropping it or her.
As she began to rise from the water, he kept his eyes locked on her face so he wouldn’t see anything if the towel failed.
Water cascaded down her pale skin as he lifted her out of the spring.
Fumbling with the towel, she tried to wrap it around herself, but it was already soaked through.
Making sure she was steady on her feet first, he quickly untied his shirt and shrugged out of it.
“What are you doing?”
“You are shivering.” Methic draped the shirt over her shoulders. “I will not look while you put your arms in the sleeves.”
The towel made a slopping sound as it hit the damp stone floor. He wanted to look. Very, very badly.
“I’m done,” she breathed. “Thanks.”
His hands lingered on the shirt, but she crossed her arms over her chest to hold it in place, so he let go. Daring to finally look, his chest tightened to see her wrapped in his shirt. The sleeves covered her hands, the hem dropping to her calves and yet, he had never seen anything more perfect.
Realizing the ends of her hair were dripping, he picked up the towel and find a dry corner.
“Your hair…” He gently gathered her hair into his hand and squeezed out some of the water.
She was soft, even though his shirt, her slight trembles making him want to pick her up and hold her against him until she was warm again.
Jeneva shuddered and hugged herself tighter, he skipped using the towel and nudged her gently. “Sit in front of the fire.”
Lightly holding onto her arm to support her as she walked down the hall, he adjusted the furs on the floor before the fire and helped her sit. Her small smile of thanks was dull, as were her eyes.
His heart lurched. What was wrong?
"You are troubled."
She lowered her gaze. "How do you know?"
"I feel it here.” He put a hand over his heart. The admission felt too revealing, but he couldn't take it back. She looked at him for a long moment before looking at her hands as she wound her fingers together.
"I have to go back to the colony." The words rushed out of her. “I’ve had a little adventure but it’s over now.”
“Can you not petition to stay?”
She shrugged. “Maybe but it wouldn’t change anything.
The residents of the human colonies are carefully curated to ensure the maximum chance of survival and growth.
I don’t fit into that narrative. A part of me hoped that maybe when they found out that I was a stow-a-way, they’d let me stay.
That didn’t work out.” She huffed a humorless laugh.
“I’d give anything to go back to my former life. ”
Methic covered her small hand with his. She gasped but didn’t pull away so he curled his fingers around hers and held on. It felt good to give her comfort.
"Show me," he said.
"What?"
"You said 'former life.' Show me who you were before."
Something shifted in her expression—surprise, maybe hope.
"My backpack," she looked around.
He retrieved the pack and sat next to her as she pulled out a well-used sketchbook. The pages revealed incredible botanical drawings—plants and flowers rendered in precise detail. Each drawing was annotated with notes in her small, neat script.
"You did these?"
She nodded, running her fingers over a page. "I am, was, a botanical artist." Her voice tripped over the last word. “It’s hard to hold a pencil now so things don’t come out quite right.”
Taking the book onto his own lap, he flipped through the slightly crinkled pages.
“How were you injured?”
He didn’t look at her, just kept pursuing the pages in hope she’d feel comfortable opening up.
“I was with my team on a two-week exploration. As usual, I saw a plant to look more closely at and ended up falling behind the others. I was crouched down when a rockslide came from the cliffs above. There was no warning, and I had no time to get out of the way. I was struck in the neck and fell onto my face. A few more huge rocks took out the rest of my spine. The doctors fixed my bones, but they could only do so much with the spinal column and nerves, and they don’t work right anymore. ”
A beat of silence passed between them. Methic flipped to another page hosting a large pink flower.
“The Nexxus forest came from my home planet. It started here with one seed. When it grew, the tree was different than those on my home planet. The branches grew differently, and the bioluminescence isn’t as bright.
Each tree inserts a seedling into the ground beneath its roots, and when it dies, the seedling takes its place.
Though they all come from the same origin, they grow differently, year after year.
They evolve and little about them remains the same. Yet they thrive.”
Setting the book aside, Methic shifted to face her.
"I was also injured in my former life. My back was sliced open in battle, nearly severing my spine. My superiors forced me to retire from the battle group early, well before I was ready to. I was lost for a long time until I came to Asemsa and took over the role as lumberjack of the Nexxus. And now my life has purpose again.”
Her eyes glittered with tears. “I’m glad.”
"What could give you new purpose, Jeneva?”
"I've never had the motivation to think about it. At the asylum, you a job, you do that job day after day and that’s your life. You don't plan, hope, or dream. You just... survive another day."
"You are not there now." He reached up, his fingers brushing a damp strand of hair from her face. "You are here. With me."
"Methic..." His name on her lips was part warning, part plea.
He rose to his knees, bringing himself level with her seated position. His hand curved around her jaw, thumb tracing the delicate line of her cheekbone. "Tell me to stop."
"I can't." The words were barely a whisper.
"Why?"
"Because I don't want you to stop."
He leaned in slowly, giving her time to pull away.
She didn't. Instead, she tilted her face up to meet him, her eyes fluttering closed.
The first brush of their lips was tentative, testing.
She tasted sweet, like the berries he had given her.
When she sighed against his mouth, he deepened the kiss, one hand tangling in her damp hair.
She kissed him back with surprising fervor, her small hands coming up to frame his face. When they finally broke apart, both were breathing hard. Her face was flushed, her smile bright and inquisitive.
“You taste like pumpkin spice!” Jeneva kissed him again, pressing her lips against his like she couldn’t get close enough. “You do. You taste just like pumpkin pie.”
A light laugh came from her throat. He didn’t know what pumpkin spice was, but it made her happy.
“You can taste me whenever you wish.” He pulled her gently against him. "I have known you one day, and yet…"
"I know." Her fingers traced the edge of his jaw.
“I desire you.”
"You shouldn’t. I'm broken."
"No." The word came out sharp, almost angry. He pulled back enough to look into her eyes. "You are evolving. You are not broken. Do not ever say that again."
He kissed her again, swallowing whatever protest she might have made. This time there was nothing tentative about it. It felt like he was trying to prove something, to her, to himself, to whatever had brought them together.