Chapter 17
The weight of Michelle against his chest pulled Zeke from sleep.
He’d barely dozed anyway. Three days since the surgery.
Three nights he’d held her while she healed.
His body still hummed with the need to stay alert.
It wasn’t from danger; the garrison walls were safe enough.
It was the wonder of her, breathing steady and warm in his arms.
His legion purred through his blood. A satisfied predator.
The contentment should have terrified him.
The rage that had defined him since childhood was a constant burn.
It had always threatened to consume everything he touched but now, it had settled into something else.
Not gone, never gone, but changed into something else.
The fragment of his legion in Michelle sent back steady pulses of awareness, creating a feedback loop of calm he’d never experienced before.
She stirred against him and his hand moved without thought, smoothing down her spine.
The medical monitors were gone. Satisfied with her recovery, Prince Isan had removed them yesterday.
But he couldn't help tracking her every heartbeat.
It was strong. Regular. The knot in his chest, the one that had been there since she bled out, finally began to loosen.
“You’re thinking too loud,” she murmured, her voice rough with sleep.
“Sorry.” He pressed his lips to her hair and breathed in her scent. Under the medical soap was the sweetness that was purely Michelle. “How do you feel?”
“Like I got stabbed by a monster feral and lived to complain about it.” She tilted her head back to look at him. Her eyes were clearer than they’d been since the attack. “Also like I need some fresh air that doesn’t smell like antiseptic.”
The observation deck would be empty at this time of evening. Most of the garrison was at dinner or preparing for the night shift. It was perfect. They needed privacy to talk without being interrupted by medical staff.
He helped her sit up. He noted how she moved without the careful hesitation of the past days. The legion fragment was doing its work, accelerating her healing beyond normal human limits.
“The storms passed yesterday.” He swung his legs out of bed, then turned back to study her. The air coming through the open door was cool on his skin. It would be cold for her. Humans felt the temperature drop more sharply than Izaeans. “It might be cold for you.”
“Zeke, I’ve worked construction on planets where the atmosphere tried to freeze-dry me. I think I can handle a nice evening.”
But he was already pulling a blanket from the storage unit.
The weave was soft and retained heat without weight.
She rolled her eyes but let him wrap it around her shoulders.
The small surrender sent warmth through his chest. Three days ago, she’d been dying in his arms. He’d earned the right to fuss.
The corridors were mostly empty as he guided her toward the upper levels. Her hand stayed tucked in his. Their fingers were laced together like they’d been doing this for years, not days.
Every few steps she’d squeeze. He’d squeeze back. A conversation without words.
The observation deck doors slid open. The view hit him, and his breath caught, even after years of seeing it. The landscape stretched out in purple shadows and orange highlights. The sun dropped toward the horizon. Rock formations twisted up like frozen flames.
Michelle moved to the railing. He stayed close, ready to catch her if she wavered. But her stance was steady. She took in the view, the blanket sliding down to her elbows.
“It’s beautiful.” Her voice was quiet. “On Earth, you’d have to pay a fortune to see something like this. Private reserves for the wealthy.”
“This whole planet is yours now.” The words came out rough, possessive. “Every view, every sunset. Yours.”
She turned to face him and her fingers found his wrist. The touch was light. She traced the dark marks that wrapped around his skin like living vines. They had darkened over the last three days, more pronounced each time they touched.
“What are these?” Her finger followed one dark line as it curved toward his palm. “They weren’t there before.”
“Mating marks.” His throat tightened around the words. “They appeared when I thought I’d lost you.”
“Mating marks,” she repeated. She was tasting the words. “And this means what, exactly?”
The question required truth. Complete and unvarnished. She deserved to know what she’d bound herself to and what those marks meant to his people.
“You’re my kelarris.” The word fell from his lips like a prayer. She gave him a questioning look. He continued. “It means beloved. More than mate, more than partner. It means you’re the other half of my soul. The one the gods chose for me before either of us drew breath.”
Her fingers stilled on his wrist. “That’s a pretty word for property.”
“No.” The word came out sharp and her eyes widened. He gentled his voice, needing her to understand. “Kelarris isn’t about ownership. These marks are the gods’ blessing on our union. A recognition that we’re meant to be together. Two halves of one whole.”
She studied his face and he held her gaze, letting her see the desperate need, the worship, the surrender. Her expression softened.
“The warm feeling in my head,” she said quietly. “That’s your legion?”
“A fragment of it. It chose to stay with you. To protect you from within.” He covered her hand with his, trapping her fingers against his marked wrist. “I’ve never heard of it happening before. The legion doesn’t separate. It doesn’t share itself. But for you, it did.”
“And you’re okay with that? Part of you living in my head?”
“Michelle.” He turned her hand over and kissed her palm. “I’m okay with anything that keeps you safe. If my entire legion wanted to transfer to you, I’d let it go.”
She made a soft sound and stepped closer. Her body pressed against his. The blanket fell as her arms wound around his neck. He caught it one-handed and wrapped it back around her without breaking their embrace.
“You really can’t help yourself, can you?” Amusement was in her voice, not irritation. “Always trying to take care of me.”
“Always.” He pulled the blanket snug around her shoulders. “You’re too precious to risk.”
“I’m tough enough.”
“You’re perfect.” His hand cupped her face and his thumb brushed her cheekbone. “Delicate and fierce. Perfect.”
She leaned into his touch. Her eyes closed briefly. When they opened again, something vulnerable flickered in the depths. “I need to tell you something.”
His chest tightened. He kept his voice steady. “Anything.”
“My children… I want them to visit someday. My grandchildren too. I want them to meet you, to see this place.” She gestured at the landscape. “But Zeke, I can’t give you children. That ship has sailed. Menopause hit years ago. Even before that, having kids at my age would have been risky.”
The words tumbled out in a rush and her body went tense against his. He felt her brace herself, waiting for his reaction. Disappointment? Anger? He wasn’t sure what she expected.
Instead, he smiled.
“Michelle.” He tipped her chin up, forcing her to meet his eyes. “You think I care about that?”
“Most men want—”
“I’m not most men.” His thumb traced her lower lip. It trembled. “There are always children brought to Parac’Norr. Younglings who manifest early and have nowhere else to go. If we want a dozen children, we can have them. But if it’s just us forever, that’s perfect too.”
Her eyes went bright. “You mean that.”
“Every word.” He pulled her closer and she melted against him. “You’re all I need. Everything else is extra.”
She stretched up to kiss him. The kiss was soft, unhurried. When she pulled back, her fingers tangled in his hair.
“Your legion,” she said quietly. “It feels different from what I expected. Warm. Safe. Like having you with me even when you’re not there.”
“It knows you’re mine to protect.” His arms tightened around her. “It would die before letting anything hurt you again.”
“Our very own guardian angel.” She saw his confused expression and smiled. “Earth mythology. Protective spirits that watch over people.”
“Then yes. Your guardian angel. If angels have claws and a tendency toward violence.”
She laughed. The sound was bright in the evening air. “The best kind.”
They stood together as darkness crept across the landscape.
The first stars appeared overhead. The temperature dropped, but Michelle stayed warm between the blanket and his body heat.
She pointed out constellations she recognized.
He told her their Izaean names, the stories his people created for the same stars.
“That cluster there,” he indicated a group of bright stars overhead. “We call it the Warrior’s Rest. Legend says it’s where the greatest fighters go when they die. They feast and tell stories until the end of time.”
“And that one?” She pointed to a curving line of dimmer stars.
“The Keeper’s Path. It leads souls home when they’re lost.” His chin rested on her head. “I used to stare at it when I first came here. I wondered if it would show me the way back to my family.”
Her hand found his and squeezed tight. “I’m sorry. About your family, about what they did to you.”
“Don’t be.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “If they hadn’t sent me here, I never would have met you. Every hard thing, every lonely night, led to this moment.”
“Romantic talk from the big, scary feral?”
“You bring it out in me.” He felt her shiver as he led her toward the bench against the wall. “You’re cold.”
“I’m fine—”
But he was already settling her down. He settled the blanket around them both, then sat beside her, pulling her against his side. She sighed but snuggled closer. A rumble of satisfaction went through him. He had provided what she needed.