Chapter 2
Elsa
Warmth. Too much warmth.
Elsa’s consciousness surfaced slowly, dragging through layers of artificial heat that pressed against her skin like a living thing.
Her eyelids felt heavy, sticky, as if weighted down by more than sleep.
When she finally pried them open, soft blue light flooded her vision—not the harsh white of emergency lighting, but something gentler. Stranger.
The curved walls around her pulsed with faint luminescence.
Runes or circuitry—she couldn’t tell which—traced patterns across the translucent surface above her, their glow rhythmic, almost hypnotic.
Like watching stars flicker across a celestial map, except these stars were too close, too deliberate in their arrangement.
She tried to sit up.
Her body didn’t respond.
Panic spiked sharp through her chest. Her fingers twitched against smooth fabric beneath her, but her legs—nothing. Dead weight. The sensation stopped at her hips, as if someone had drawn a line across her body and erased everything below it.
Move. Move. Why can’t I—
The dome hissed.
Elsa’s breath caught. The curved barrier above her lifted with a whisper of pressurized air, and sterile warmth poured over her like water. The scent hit her next—antiseptic and sharp, underlaid with something organic she couldn’t place. Not quite medicinal. Not quite natural.
Her pulse hammered against her ribs.
The translucent shell retracted fully, leaving her exposed on what felt like a medical bed.
The surface beneath her back was firm but yielded slightly to her weight, as if designed to cradle without confining.
Blue light still pulsed from the walls around her, casting everything in shades of twilight and ice.
Get up. Find a weapon. Get out.
Elsa braced her palms against the bed and shoved herself upright.
Her torso obeyed—muscles screaming in protest but functional.
Her legs remained uselessly sprawled in front of her, still dressed in the torn white gown from the wedding she’d been forced to attend while her captain destroyed everything she’d charted.
She looked down at herself. The fabric was cleaner than it should have been, the worst of the ash and blood scrubbed away.
Someone had tended to her. Someone had undressed her enough to clean her wounds, then dressed her again.
Her space suit was gone, leaving only a damaged and frayed gown, which once used to be elegant.
The thought made her skin crawl.
Her gaze swept the room. Small. Dimly lit.
Other domes lined the walls—three of them, their interiors obscured by the same translucent barrier that had just released her.
Shapes inside. People. The other survivors from the escape vessel, probably, still locked in whatever healing stasis this technology provided.
A low table stood near the far wall, sleek and metallic, its surface cluttered with devices she didn’t recognize. One caught her eye—a gun-like object, all smooth lines and glowing components. Not Earth tech. Not even close. But the shape was universal enough.
Weapon.
Elsa swung her legs over the edge of the bed. They hung there, useless, but if she could just reach—
Her upper body lurched forward. Gravity took over. She pitched toward the floor, hands scrabbling for purchase on nothing but air.
Strong hands—no, paws—caught her before she hit the ground.
Elsa gasped, twisting against the grip. Thick fur brushed her bare arms. Heat radiated from the massive frame holding her upright with effortless strength. She caught a glimpse of brown streaked with gray, amber eyes narrowed in what might have been exasperation.
“Enough.” The voice rumbled low, more growl than speech. “You’ll just injure yourself again.”
The wolfman—because that’s what he was, undeniably, his muzzle close enough that she could see the flex of muscle beneath fur—lifted her as if she weighed nothing and deposited her back on the bed with surprising care. His claws clicked softly against the medical surface as he withdrew.
Elsa’s heart slammed against her sternum. She scooted backward instinctively, her useless legs dragging behind her, until her spine hit the curved wall of the dome’s base.
The creature watched her retreat with the patience of a predator who knew his prey had nowhere to run.
He was smaller than the one who’d carried her through the storm—leaner, built for precision rather than raw power.
Brown fur covered his frame, darker along his spine and lightening to gray at the edges.
His ears swiveled toward her, tracking every ragged breath she took.
Amber eyes studied her with clinical detachment.
Around one thick wrist, a black band gleamed. Set into its center, a tear-shaped blue gem pulsed with the same rhythm as the lights in the walls.
The same blue that had flashed through the forest before the creatures vanished.
Technology. They have advanced technology.
“Who are you?” The words scraped out of her throat, sharper than she’d intended. Fear sharpened them further. “Where am I?”
The wolfman tilted his head. Something that might have been amusement flickered across his muzzle—a subtle pull of lips that didn’t quite bare teeth. “You won’t do any damage with that medgun, little one.” He gestured toward the table she’d been eyeing. “Hand it over before you hurt yourself.”
Elsa followed his gaze. The weapon-like device still sat there, within reach if she could just—
She lunged.
Her upper body carried her forward, arms outstretched, fingers closing around cool metal. She swung the device up, pointing it at the wolfman even as her legs tangled uselessly beneath her. The bed shifted. Her balance wavered.
The wolfman moved faster than anything his size should have been able to move.
His paw closed around her wrist—not painfully, but firm enough to freeze her in place. Claws pressed lightly against her skin, a reminder of what he could do if he chose. His other paw plucked the device from her grip as easily as taking a toy from a child.
“Or,” he said, voice dropping to something darker, “I will have to take it from you myself.” His amber eyes met hers, unyielding. “You won’t want that.”
Elsa jerked her arm back, but the movement sent her tilting sideways. Her knees buckled—or would have, if they’d been working. Instead, she toppled like a felled tree.
The wolfman caught her again. Of course he did.
This time, he simply picked her up and placed her back on the bed with the kind of efficiency that suggested he’d dealt with difficult patients before. His claws clicked against metal as he returned the medgun to the table, setting it down with a firm clink that felt pointed.
“Don’t move,” he ordered.
Elsa’s jaw tightened. “What did you do to me?”
“Saved your life.” He turned back to her, ears flicking with what might have been irritation. “You should be thanking me for taking you in and healing you.”
“Healing me?” She gestured sharply toward her useless legs, the movement wild, uncontrolled. “I can’t walk!”
“Aftereffect from the Tear Dome.” The wolfman’s tone suggested this should have been obvious. He loomed over her, his imposing frame blocking out the blue lights above. “You’ll be fine soon enough.”
“How do you know?”
His muzzle pulled back slightly, revealing the edge of teeth. Not a threat. Closer to the expression someone might make when explaining something painfully simple to someone painfully slow. “Because I’m Healer Yarx, and I’ve been supervising both your and your companions’ recovery.”
Healer. The word lodged in her brain, refusing to connect with the creature standing before her. Healers were supposed to be gentle. Reassuring. Not seven feet of muscle and fur with claws that could rip through steel.
But his amber gaze held no malice. Just a kind of weary competence that reminded her of every overworked medic she’d ever encountered on the Stardancer.
Elsa forced herself to breathe. To think. Panicking wouldn’t help. Antagonizing the one creature who seemed remotely invested in keeping her alive definitely wouldn’t help.
She unclenched her fists. “What happened to the others?”
Yarx gestured toward the other domes with one clawed paw. “They’re still in stasis until the Tear Dome completes their healing process.” His ears swiveled back toward her, attention sharpening. “You’re the first to wake. Lucky you.”
The sarcasm in his tone was unmistakable.
Elsa glanced at the domes again. Through the translucent barriers, she could make out shapes—a man’s broad shoulders, another figure smaller and curled in on itself. Her fellow prisoners. Her fellow captives.
Because that’s what they were. Whatever else this was—medical bay, healing center—it was also a cage.
Her fingers found the edge of the bed, gripping hard enough that her knuckles went white. “How long until I can walk?”
“Soon.” Yarx moved to the table, his movements efficient as he checked readings on a tablet that glowed with the same blue light as everything else in this place. “The Tear Dome accelerates cellular repair, but your species isn’t designed for it. Your nervous system needs time to recalibrate.”
“My species.” The words tasted bitter. “You mean humans.”
“Humans.” He pronounced it carefully, as if testing the shape of the word. “Fragile. No natural defenses. Barely any muscle mass.” His gaze raked over her in a way that felt clinical rather than threatening. “You aren’t built for strength, and I would assume you weren’t trained for combat.”
The assessment stung more than it should have. Elsa lifted her chin, meeting his eyes with what little defiance she could muster while sitting helpless on a medical bed with useless legs. “I had some training.”
Yarx’s ears flicked. Amusement, maybe. Or dismissal. “It won’t matter.”
Before she could respond, movement at the edge of her vision snapped her attention to the doorway.
Another wolfman entered.