Chapter 19 #2
"Of course, but our matings are arranged for political and financial advantage rather than personal relationships. My mother and father made such an agreement, but they never lived together."
"Never?"
He shook his head. "No. She had a prestigious position on one of the inner planets and did not wish to leave it. I never met her."
She sat up at that, her eyes wide.
"How is that even possible?"
"She had no desire for offspring, but my father wished for an heir. They each contributed their genetic material, and once I was born, my father assumed responsibility for raising me."
"Contributed their genetic material?" she asked slowly. "Does that mean they never had a... physical relationship?"
"No. Such relationships lead only to a loss of control.
" Something he had understood in theory before, but in the aftermath of their love-making, he realized the sheer visceral truth of it.
His already protective instincts toward her had intensified.
His fingertips tingled, his claws threatening to emerge at the mere thought of anyone harming her.
"So who raised you?" she asked curiously. "Just your father?"
"He oversaw my training and education, but we had limited physical contact until I was of age. I spent most of my youth in military academies or in the care of trainers."
"Trainers?"
"Physical combat, tactical analysis, and weapon handling," he explained. "My father had high expectations."
"That's the saddest thing I've ever heard." The conviction in her voice made his chest ache. "So your father didn't love you. Your mother wasn't interested. And you were raised by trainers to be a perfect warrior who never feels anything."
He said nothing, but the truth of her words settled in the silence between them. Her fingers traced patterns on his chest, a soothing counterpoint to her words.
"It was... acceptable. Normal." He looked at the ceiling, at the rough wooden beams above them. "I never questioned it. Not until you."
"Me?" She tilted her head, giving him an enquiring look.
"Yes. You feel. You show emotion without shame.
You cared for a child even when he resented you, and you gave away scarce resources to strangers.
You kiss an alien in a dusty workshop because it feels right even though it's illogical.
" He caught her hand, bringing it to his lips.
"I have found," he added slowly, "that what I was taught to be superior, I no longer believe to be true. "
He expected her to say something more, but she merely leaned down and brushed a soft kiss against his lips. He deepened it, sliding a hand into her hair and pulling her more tightly against him.
Outside, the snow continued its relentless assault on the workshop. The cold was seeping through the cracks in the walls, but their shared body heat created a pocket of warmth in the center of the room.
"The fire will require attention soon," he said eventually, even though he had no desire to move.
"I know." She snuggled closer. "Five more minutes."
"Five minutes is an arbitrary timeframe. The fire's heat is declining at a rate of approximately—"
"Klaus."
"My apologies. Five minutes."
They lay in silence, the only sounds that of the storm and their breathing.
He found himself memorizing the details of this moment—the way her hair felt against his skin, the pattern of her breathing, the steady beat of her heart against his chest. They were illogical, inefficient data points.
He should be cataloguing repair schematics or tactical scenarios.
Instead, he was storing the memory of this moment with the same focus he'd once reserved for combat training.
"We should—" He started, just as she said, "We really—"
They both stopped, and she laughed. "You go."
"We should get dressed. The temperature will continue to decline."
"You say the most romantic things." She pushed herself into a sitting position, then rose to her feet, pulling the blanket around her like a cape. The lamplight caught her skin, turning it golden in the gloom as she gathered her clothing.
She dressed quickly but without embarrassment. Just practical actions in the aftermath of... what? Empirical research. The clinical term felt laughably inadequate now.
While he resumed his own clothing, she crouched by the stove, adding wood and adjusting the flue. The flames caught, licking higher and casting flickering shadows that made the workshop feel less like a workspace and more like a sanctuary.
"The fire will not last through the night," he observed.
"I know." She rose, brushing dust from her hands. "But it will help. The insulation in here is surprisingly good."
He approached her, drawn by an instinct he no longer wanted to suppress. He settled his hands on her waist, and she leaned back against him without hesitation, fitting into the curve of his body as if she belonged there.
"I have never experienced this," he said quietly. The words felt inadequate.
"Me neither," she admitted.
The storm raged outside, but in here, they had created their own world, governed by different principles. Warmth instead of cold. Connection instead of isolation. The slow, steady beat of two hearts instead of the precise, calculated rhythm of duty.