Chapter 5
The transport door slammed shut and Juni settled into the passenger seat, pulling Goraath’s oversized jacket tighter. The cold had seeped through during her time in the square, but that wasn’t why her hands trembled. She pressed them flat against her thighs.
Ask him. Just ask.
The engine rumbled to life. Goraath’s massive frame filled the driver’s side, his focus locked on backing out of the parking space. Other transports moved around them—Daax helping Aida with packages, Thayn opening Autumn’s door with gentle care. Normal couples doing normal things.
Her throat locked.
The transport lurched forward and they rolled out of the square. Buildings slipped past the window, then open terrain, then there was nothing but purple fields stretching toward mountains. The silence pressed in, broken only by the engine’s hum and the occasional rattle when they hit rough patches.
She’d practiced the words while saying goodbye to the women. Keep them simple. Direct. Not about Christmas—she’d learned that lesson this morning when he’d thrown her mother’s memory in her face.
This was about Midwinter.
His culture.
His world.
Her fingers twisted in the jacket fabric. The words echoed: All are welcome.
Even those whose hosts voted against them being here at all.
“The colony leader mentioned—” Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat, tried again. “The Midwinter Celebration. It’s in three days.”
Goraath’s jaw muscle pulsed. His hands stayed steady on the controls.
“Kaalden said everyone’s invited. The whole colony gathers.” The words tumbled out faster. “It sounds beautiful. Fire and music and—”
“No.”
Her stomach dropped. “But…”
“I don’t do gatherings.”
“It’s the colony’s biggest celebration.”
“So?”
“So I’d like to learn about it.” She kept her voice level and reasonable. “That’s what you want, right? For me to adapt? To understand your world?”
His knuckles went white on the controls.
“The other females are going with their hosts. You could go with them.”
Like a child tagging along with the adults. Yeah, right.
“I don’t want to impose on their time with their matches.”
“They wouldn’t mind.”
The transport hit a rut. She grabbed the handle overhead, steadying herself. When the ride smoothed out, she turned in her seat to face him. His profile was all hard angles… tight lips and that little muscle pulsing in the corner of his jaw.
“I want to go with you.”
The words hung between them. Too honest. Too vulnerable. But she couldn’t take them back now.
His throat worked, and he slid a sideways glance at her. “Why?”
Her chest squeezed as she opened her mouth, but no words emerged.
“Because I’m trying,” she said finally, the reply smaller than she’d meant it to be. “I’m trying to understand this place. Your traditions. But I can’t do that from your ranch, alone, while everyone else is together.”
The mountain road curved ahead. His eyes narrowed and he navigated it in silence, every line of his body rigid.
“This morning you said I was refusing to integrate. That I expected everything to change for me.” Her fingers dug into the jacket as she pulled it closer.
“But I’m not asking you to celebrate Christmas.
I’m asking you to take me to your people’s celebration.
To let me be part of something here. To not be so. ..”
Alone. The word stuck in her throat. That sounded pathetic, even to her own ears.
“Isolated.”
The purple fields gave way to rocky terrain. Shadows from the twin suns stretched long and strange across the landscape. She watched a herd of something, not krulaati, but something smaller and quick, scatter as the transport rumbled past.
Still he said nothing.
Her but her lip. She’d pushed too hard. Asked for too much.
He was going to say no and probably ignore her for the rest of the drive.
“One celebration.”
Her head snapped around toward him. “What?”
“The Midwinter Celebration. I’ll take you.” His jaw stayed tight, eyes locked forward. “Once. Don’t expect me to enjoy it. I don’t like crowds.”
The vise around her ribs released all at once and her breath came easier. She pressed her lips together to keep from grinning like an idiot.
“Thank you. Really. Thank you.”
He grunted.
Once she’d started, it was like she couldn’t stop the words.
“The council member said it goes from sunset to dawn. There’s music and dancing and something about an eternal flame—”
Another grunt, but less harsh. Her shoulders dropped, the knot between her shoulder blades loosening a bit.
“The vendors were telling me about the food. Special dishes that only get made for Midwinter. Aida said Daax promised to show her how to make something called e’tra cakes?” She shifted in her seat, angling toward him. “Do you know how to make those?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
Right. Of course he didn’t.
“Well, maybe someone at the celebration can teach me. I love baking, or I used to. Haven’t had a proper kitchen in—” She caught herself. “Anyway. I’d love to learn your traditional recipes.”
The road smoothed out as they descended into the valley. His ranch sprawled ahead, the massive krulaati visible in their enclosures.
“Finley said there’s traditional clothing too. Special colors and patterns for Midwinter.” She tugged at the sleeve of his jacket. “I don’t suppose you have anything that would work? Everything I own is either LMP issue or—”
“We’ll figure it out.”
Warmth spread through her chest, settling low in her belly.
“Right. Of course.”
The transport pulled up to the house. He cut the engine but didn’t immediately move to get out. She waited, not wanting to break whatever fragile thing had just shifted between them.
“The supplies need unloading.” He opened his door.
She scrambled out her side, boots crunching on the frozen ground.
The wind hit her immediately, but it didn’t feel quite as bitter.
He opened the cargo area. Boxes and crates were packed tight, way more than she’d expected.
There were thick blankets visible through clear packaging and what looked like heating coils.
And underneath, wrapped in protective cloth, a flash of red fabric.
Her breath caught.
“What’s all this?”
“Supplies.” He hefted a crate, muscles shifting under his shirt. “For the house. Some trall you might be able to use. Grall was selling it off cheap.”
She grabbed a smaller box, following him inside. The house still felt cold, still looked bare, but that pathetic fabric garland she’d made this morning caught the afternoon light. She couldn’t help grinning.
And in three days, she’d be at the Midwinter Celebration.
“Thank you,” she said again as they set the boxes down in the main room. “For agreeing to take me.”
He straightened, eyes finally meeting hers.
“It’s just one night.” But his voice had lost its edge.
She smiled.
One night was a start.
Juni couldn’t sit still.
This morning Goraath had called her Christmas decorations “false cheer.” This afternoon he’d agreed to take her to Midwinter. And he’d brought her things but she didn’t know if she should unpack them yet or not.
The house felt too small to contain whatever was buzzing under her skin.
Grabbing her jacket, she stepped outside.
The cold hit her face, sharp and clean, and she pulled the air deep into her lungs.
Better. The sky was turning gold and purple at the edges, the suns dropping toward the mountain ridge.
It was beautiful, in a stark, alien way.
She was starting to understand why someone might choose to live out here, alone.
She walked without direction at first, just moving, her boots crunching on the hard-packed ground. The ranch spread out around her… fences, outbuildings, the distant shapes of the herd in the far pasture. Goraath’s whole world, contained in this valley.
A sound caught her attention. High-pitched. Distressed.
Following the sound, she found herself at one of the larger outbuildings… a barn set apart from the others. Warm light spilled from a gap in the door, and she moved toward it without thinking, drawn by that thin, frightened little cry.
She peered through the gap and stopped breathing.
Goraath was inside, crouched on the ground beside a small creature. No, not small. Just young. A baby version of the massive animals she’d seen in the fields. It lay on a bed of straw, its sides heaving, and its legs folded awkwardly beneath it.
Six legs. And that head… armored plates across the skull, though on this little one they looked soft, like they hadn’t hardened yet. The rest of it was all gangly limbs and velvet hide and huge dark eyes.
Her heart melted. It looked like a reindeer.
A six-legged, armor-headed reindeer on an alien planet in the middle of nowhere, but a soft, fluffy baby reindeer all the same.
Suddenly she was eight years old, hanging ornaments on the tree while her mother hummed carols in the kitchen.
Goraath hadn’t seen her. His back was to the door, his massive frame folded down to make himself smaller. Less threatening. One hand rested on the baby’s flank, steady and warm. The other held a bottle. Milk, maybe, or medicine.
“Easy, little one.” His voice was low. Soft. “I’ve got you.”
He stroked a massive hand down the baby’s flank. The creature shivered but didn’t pull away.
“You’re alright,” he murmured. “Just need to get some of this into you. Can you do that for me?”
The baby made a sound somewhere between a bleat and a whimper, and kicked its legs weakly.
“I know. I know it’s scary.” His hand stroked down the creature’s neck, slow and soothing. “But you’re tough, aren’t you? Tougher than you look.”
Her throat went tight.
This was the alien man who’d told her she was a temporary guest. Who spoke to her in clipped sentences and looked at her like she was a problem to be managed. And here he was, murmuring endearments to a sick baby animal, his scarred hands as gentle as anything she’d ever seen.
“That’s it.” He shifted the bottle, angling it toward the baby’s mouth. “Good boy. There you go. Nice and slow.”
The baby found the teat. It drank, hesitant at first, then stronger. Goraath made a low sound of approval.
“Good. That’s good, little one. See? Not so bad.”
Watching his hand move over the soft, unhardened armor of the baby’s head, she forgot to breathe. He waited, patient as stone, while the creature drank its fill. No frustration. No impatience. Just steady, quiet care.
The baby finished and let out a small sound… not distressed this time. Tired. Settling.
Goraath smiled.
It transformed his face. Cracked open the hard lines and revealed something underneath… warmth, tenderness, and a softness she hadn’t known existed in him. He looked younger. He looked like someone who knew how to love things.
“There,” he said, his hand resting on the baby’s flank. “Rest now, little male. I’ll check on you in a few hours.”
She couldn’t move. Couldn’t look away.
Little male. He’d called it little male, like it was precious. Like it mattered.
The baby’s eyes drifted closed. Goraath stayed where he was, one hand still resting on its side, watching it breathe.
She stayed frozen, barely breathing, afraid any movement would alert him that she was there.
She watched until the baby settled, then retreated silently, back toward the house.
Inside, she leaned against the closed door and pressed her palms to her cheeks. They were hot despite the cold.
Footsteps on the porch.
She fled to her room and shut the door, pulse racing.
Dinner was in an hour. One hour to figure out how to sit across from him without her face giving everything away. One hour to forget the way he’d murmured little male in that wonderfully deep voice.
She was in so much trouble.