5 #3
He was asking my opinion. The officer who'd told me I had no right to lecture them on honor was asking for tactical advice.
"Yes," I said. "Defensive formations even more so. Your current defensive posture is a wall. I want to turn it into a net."
He processed this and nodded once. "Show me."
By the time the training day ended, Gorthal was running his own squad through the exercises, his gruff voice carrying across the training ground. "The human said collapse and reposition, not stand there looking decorative. Move."
I was exhausted and wired, running on alien caffeine and the unfamiliar sensation of being listened to by people who mattered.
Underneath all that, steady as a bass note, was the awareness that Vrex was watching me with that bronze glow in his scales.
I chose not to look at him and we both knew exactly why.
On the last training session before the battle, that awareness caught up with me.
I needed to demonstrate the visual signal system I'd designed for field communication.
The hand signals were simple enough on paper—specific finger configurations mapped to specific tactical commands—but the soldiers needed to see them from a distance, at speed, in conditions that approximated actual combat.
Which meant I needed someone tall enough to be visible from the back of the formation to stand beside me and relay the signals.
Vrex volunteered. Of course he did.
"Stand here," I said, positioning him at the front of the assembled group. "You'll mirror my signals so the back ranks can see."
He stood where I pointed, which put him directly behind me, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off his body.
Velkorin ran warmer than humans, and standing in his thermal shadow was like standing near a furnace.
His breathing was audible. The faint electrical hum of his bioluminescence was audible.
Everything about him was suddenly, overwhelmingly present.
"Okay." I raised my hands. "Signal one—shift left.
" I held the configuration, fingers spread in the pattern I'd mapped.
Behind me, Vrex raised his own hands to mirror.
His arms extended past mine on either side—the size difference meaning his hands framed mine in the air, visible and enormous. He retracted his claws to blunt safety.
"Signal two—hold position." I shifted my fingers. Vrex shifted his. His forearm brushed my shoulder. The scales were smooth and hot. The contact lasted maybe half a second.
Every mark on his body flared bronze.
I didn't turn around. I kept demonstrating signals. My hands were steady. My voice was steady. My pulse was absolutely not, hammering in my wrists and my throat, because his arm had brushed my shoulder. The heat of it was still there like a brand.
"Signal seven—advance on my mark." I raised both hands overhead.
Vrex did the same, and his body shifted forward to match my stance—close enough now that if I leaned back two inches I'd be pressed against his chest. The heat of him enveloped me.
His breathing was no longer audible—it had stopped, the absolute stillness of a man exercising every shred of control he possessed.
Two hundred soldiers watched. Nobody said a word.
"...and that's the full set," I said, dropping my hands. I stepped forward. One step. Enough to break the thermal connection, enough to breathe air that didn't taste like him. "Practice in pairs. Run through all seven until they're muscle memory."
The soldiers dispersed. I didn't turn around for a full thirty seconds. I needed that long to get myself under control.
When I did turn, Vrex was already walking away. His stride was too fast. His fists were clenched at his sides. And the bronze glow along his spine was so bright that three soldiers in his path detoured around him without being told.
Zenir materialized at my elbow. She looked at me. She looked at Vrex's retreating back.
She looked at me again.
"Interesting," she said, apparently amused.
"Don't," I said.
"You should know that the color he is producing is not common." She paused. "In fact, in my experience, it is unprecedented."
"Please stop talking."
"I am merely providing cultural context—"
"Zenir. I am begging you."
She almost smiled. Almost—the Velkorin version, which was a slight softening of the jaw and a fractional brightening of the scales around her eyes.
Then she walked away, leaving me alone on the training ground with a heart rate that wouldn't normalize and the lingering impression of heat along my shoulder blade where his arm had touched me.
That night, in my quarters, I updated my list. Crossed off items that had been resolved. Added new ones.
At the bottom, in smaller handwriting than the rest, I added, He noticed I didn't eat.
And below that, added after the training session, in handwriting that was distinctly less controlled, Signal seven. His arms around mine. I'm in trouble.
I stared at those words for a long time before turning off the light.