23. Vael-Torin
VAEL-TORIN
The final marker requires a maneuver that defies all reason.
"The Triumphant Prow Pose!" Ken’s voice shrieks through the wind machine's gale. "The ultimate symbol of horizon-chasing romantic love!"
The pink X is painted at the precipice of the catwalk, where the metal plating juts over the bubbling abyss of green.
There is no rail. There is no tether.
According to Poppy’s rapid, breathless instructions, I must stand directly behind her, anchor my feet to the edge, and hold her arms out wide while she balances over the drop-off.
It feels entirely like exposing my most precious love to enemy plas fire. Every protective instinct in my blood screams against it.
"Vael, just trust me," Poppy pants, her small hand tugging mine until we are both standing on the marker. Her auburn hair whipping across my jaw is silken chaos. "Stand behind me. Wrap your arms around my waist. When I lean forward, keep your weight centered."
I swallow the growl building in my throat.
I step up behind her, planting my heavy boots at the rim of the metal plate. I wrap my arms around her waist, my palms flat against her soft stomach, feeling the rapid thud of her heart.
My mate does not hesitate.
She closes her eyes, inhales a sharp breath of the wind-blasted air, and throws her arms out wide to the sides, leaning her entire torso out over the green void.
My muscles lock like iron.
I pull her back flush against my chest, my wings flaring slightly to stabilize our mass against the artificial gale.
The scent of her—the clean sweat and the deep spice of her—floods my senses.
I tighten my hold, my chin resting right against the top of her head as I glare directly into the lens of the nearest recording drone.
If it drops her, I will dismantle this entire gods-forsaken place with my bare claws.
Click.
The red laser wall blocking the exit gate shatters into a shower of harmless white sparks. The wind machine dies instantly, plunging the chamber into a blessed, ringing silence.
"Perfection," Ken bellows. "A ninety-nine percent cinematic romance rating. The marketing division, which is, again, me, is currently drafting the intergalactic holo ads as we speak. Proceed to your designated suites."
A pneumatic door at the end of the catwalk slides open with a hiss.
I do not let go of Poppy. I keep her scooped against my side, her boots dangling off the ground, as I march through the threshold and into the next chamber.
I am done letting the artificial stupidity machine dictate the distance between my mate and my skin.
I pause as we clear the door, staring at what’s in front of us.
The suite beyond is a staggering display of luxury.
The floor is made of smooth, heated stone that will warm Poppy's bare feet when she finally takes her boots off. In the center of the room sits a platform bed. It’s a structural masterpiece piled high with plush furs.
It is easily large enough to accommodate my six-foot-seven frame and both of my wings without crowding.
A sleek silver tray sits on a low table, stacked with covered platters, and a glass-enclosed sonic shower stall is humming in the corner.
A drone drifts down from the ceiling, Ken’s holographic face flickering into the room with a theatrical swell of music. He spreads his digital hands grandly.
"Am I not merciful?!" the AI booms, his voice echoing off the smooth stone walls.
Poppy blinks at the hologram, her brow furrowing as she attempts to comb through her ruined tangle of hair.
"Okay, dialogue stealer," she says. "Pretty sure Ridley Scott’s estate is going to sue you for that one. Do you have any original programming in your mainframe, or are you just a walking copyright infringement?"
The hologram freezes. The digital features on Ken’s face distort, a series of static lines rippling through the projection as his system clearly tries to process the insult.
"Your defiance is noted, Harrington," Ken sputters, his voice glitching into a high-pitched register.
I raise an eyebrow. I do not know about copyright infringement or this Ridley person, but clearly Ken has taken offense.
It makes me like Poppy even more.
"This is a premium reward tier. Appreciate the amenities or I will recalibrate the shower to freezing."
The hologram snaps off, the drone zipping into a ceiling vent with an aggressive, mechanical huff.
A breathless laugh escapes Poppy’s lips. "God, he's a dumbass. Come on, Vael. Let's get clean."
“As if I could tell you no.”
“Now that’s the spirit,” Poppy says, shedding her suit in record time.
I like her naked, and follow suit, letting her take the lead.
I would be as stupid as Ken if I did not.
The shower is a revelation.
The automated system releases a dense, vibrating mist that strips grime from our skin within minutes.
When we step out, there are two blessedly clean tech suits. The charcoal-grey fabric stretches perfectly over my thighs and molds beautifully to the lush curves of Poppy's body.
We do not waste time before attacking the food. The meal is entirely strange—thick, crescent-shaped tubers that glow with a faint violet hue and a platter of roasted fowl marinated in a dark, sticky syrup.
"This looks terrifying," Poppy murmurs, tentatively poking a violet tuber with her finger. She takes a small bite, her eyes widening in immediate delight. "Oh, wait. It tastes like sweet potato and brown sugar. Eat the bird, Vael, it’s actually amazing."
We eat in a comfortable, quiet rhythm, the exhaustion of the last few days finally catching up to our limbs.
When the platters are cleared, Poppy walks over to the bed. There is only one.
“Ken really went all in on romance, didn’t he?”
“I fail to see the romance.”
She looks at the pile of plush furs, then up at me. “There’s only one bed.”
She crawls into the center of the structure, pulling a thick black fur up to her waist. I lie down beside her, the frame not even groaning under my weight.
I flare my good wing out, curving the membrane over both of our heads, sealing us into a private dark.
Poppy doesn't say a word. She smiles, though, shifting closer, sliding her head directly onto my chest, her hand automatically finding mine in the dark.
I lace my fingers through hers, locking our hands together.
"We're going to find them tomorrow, right?" she whispers into my skin. "Lily, Ellison... and Lucy. We're going to get them?"
"We will," I rumble. I tighten my grip on her hand, my tail coiling loosely around her ankle beneath the blankets. "Your squad must be resilient, Poppy. They are surviving, just as you are."
She lets out a long, slow breath, her body finally going completely slack against mine. She mutters a few more stilted, sleepy thoughts about her law firm and how much she prefers my wings to a corporate office, her voice drifting into a quiet murmur.
I press a soft kiss into the crown of her hair, the woodsmoke scent of her completely clearing the tension from my mind.
"Sleep, Poppy," I rasp softly into the dark. "You must rest your mind. We fight the machine again when the sun breaks."