14. Poppy
POPPY
“Make the fire,” he roars, waking me from where I’m half dozing after a few hours of taking turns fishing. “We will feast tonight!”
“Make the fire?” I ask blearily. “I don’t know how to do that. Do you have matches in your pack? I think it’s too wet in here. We could do sushi.”
Vael-Torin walks past the shark he finally successfully caught, staring at me as if I have just confessed to not knowing how to breathe.
“Oh, good job,” I tell him, beaming at the shark. “I can’t believe I made a fishing rod. Or harpoon. Or whatever.” I don’t think it’ good enough to be called either of those things, but it worked, and that’s all that matters.
"You do not know the spark?" His eyebrows rise toward his horns.
"I am a lawyer, Vael," I mutter. "We have appliances. Gas stoves. We don't strike rocks together in my neighborhood." I look sidelong at the vines. “Though the stove does make a clicky noise when it’s lighting.”
He lets out a rumbling noise of disbelief. My lack of basic survival skills is clearly highly amusing.
“I will show you,” he tells me.
“Okay.” The last time a man told me he was going to teach me something he just took it away from me, called me stupid, and did it himself.
We’ll see how this showing me goes.
Vael refuses to do the work for me, though. Instead, he drops a handful of moss into my lap, places two chunks of rock in my hands, and kneels on the cave floor beside me.
"Strike," he commands.
I hit the rocks together. Nothing happens except a dull scraping sound.
“Again,” he says.
I try again, harder, missing the moss entirely and nearly bruising my thumb.
Vael lets out a heavy sigh.
Here we go. Here’s the part where he tells me I’m dumb and takes it from me.
But he moves closer, his heat instantly cutting through the chill of the cenote. Clamping his hand right over mine, he adjusts my grip, tilting my wrist a fraction of an inch to correct the angle.
"Down," he growls softly against my ear. "With force."
We strike together.
A spark flies from the stone, landing directly on the moss. A ribbon of smoke rises, and I quickly blow on the embers until a small flame catches the vines.
I have no idea how something that looked so green can catch, but maybe earth rules of thermodynamics or whatever don’t apply here.
Vael steps back, looking down at me with a mixture of pity and wonder. "A species that cannot command fire without a machine," he murmurs. "It is a miracle your species survived long enough to leave your atmosphere."
"Yeah, well, we're full of surprises," I grumble, though the heat of the fire is an instant relief. “Thank you,” I tell him. “You’re a good teacher.”
“I am not,” he says, frowning at me. “How poor were your teachers if that was an example of good instruction?”
That makes me laugh. “Well, lets just say that the last time a boyfriend tried to teach me something he called me stupid and took it out of my hands.”
His fangs show as he smiles. “Tell me this boyfriend’s name. I can teach him something.”
I raise my eyebrows. “What?”
“I will teach him what happens when one calls my female names. You are not stupid, Poppy. I will kill him if you like.” Vael slices into the fish with his claws, and frankly, it’s pretty damn terrifying.
I make a mental note not to let him touch me down there again with those talons.
“Ah,” I make a delicate noise. “I think we have bigger fish to fry.”
I snort at my joke.
“We aren’t frying the fish. That would require oil.”
A moment later, a thick fillet of the shark sizzles on a stick over our fire. My fire.
While Vael watches the meat, I sit near the carcass with a flat stone, hammering the remaining rows of teeth out of the shark's jaw. They are sharp, and I have a feeling we’re going to need sharp.
Waste not want not shark teeth later or something.
Vael-Torin wrinkles his nose, his tail twitching in the dirt. "This collection is morbid, Poppy."
"It’s called resourcefulness," I say, wiping a smudge of fish blood onto my jumpsuit and stacking the teeth in a pile. “I don’t have talons. Or fangs. I can use some extra teeth.”
“I am your extra teeth, mate.” There is a flicker of amusement in his eyes.
It delights me, and I smile while I keep working. If he doesn’t want them, more stinky fish teeth for me.
After some time, he pulls the cooked meat from the fire, dividing it onto two flat stones. The fish is dense, and tastes surprisingly like lemon and salt.
And it’s hot, and it fills my stomach.
Mission fucking accomplished.
We eat in silence. We’ve made progress, sure, but the tension is still there, unspoken questions between us.
It makes me sad.
All of this makes me sad.
This was supposed to be fun, not… this awfulness it’s turned into.
"Vael," I say quietly. "Can I hold your hand?"
He stops chewing. He looks at his palm, then at me, brow furrowing. "Why? We have already joined our bodies. The mating is complete. Why do you wish to grasp my digits?"
"It's a, uh, cultural thing," I explain, reaching out and placing my hand next to his. "It's different from sex. It’s just... a way to connect when things are hard."
He stares at my fingers for a long moment before slowly turning his palm upward. I slide my hand into his. My fingers are small against his, but I lace them through his anyway, squeezing gently.
Vael goes completely stiff. His pupils expand, his gaze dropping to our joined hands as if I’ve just performed a magic trick. He doesn't pull away. Instead, his thumb moves over my knuckles, a careful light touch.
It’s sweet, and unexpected, and makes me smile.
"This is strange," he murmurs, his voice a low rasp. "It carries a heavy weight. To touch without the mating need... it is different."
"Yeah," I whisper, a sudden lump forming in my throat. "It is."
The warmth of his skin breaks something loose inside me. I look into the fire, and my guilt returns full force.
"I didn't come up with this, have them sign those waivers just to be reckless.
" My voice trembles, and I take a deep breath, attempting to settle myself. "Earth is dying, Vael. Even before the Roth ships arrived and burned our cities, our climate was failing. The oceans are too hot. The air is toxic. We were all just suffocating in our own ways. Ellison was working herself to death, Lily and Lucy was trapped, and I was spending seventy hours a week defending people I’d rather see lose everything. And for what? For a life that I hated? My friends were —are— the only good things I have.”
A hot tear spills over my lashes, tracking through the filth on my cheek. I don't bother trying to hide it.
"I saw the advertisement for this show, and I saw an exit.
A desperate one, sure, but a way out. I thought if I could get us to Sueva, to those mansions, we could breathe again.
I wanted to save them. Save myself." I choke back a sob, my fingers tightening around his hand.
"But I messed up. I didn't give them a choice, and now they're in trouble because of me. Real trouble, Vael."
Vael watches the tears fall, his face expressionless.
He nods once, his tone entirely level. "Your planet sounds a terrible place.
Does no one work to fix these things? The mad king on my planet," he pauses, “he is the reason things are bad, yes. But you do not have such a king, right? Or are they willfully dooming you?”
I freeze. Blinking through my tears, staring at his alien face for three seconds before a laugh rips out of my throat. "Wow. Thanks for the optimism, Vael. Really keeping the morale high."
"I am stating a fact," he continues, though the corners of his mouth twitch upward.
"If a bridge is collapsing, you do not praise the wood.
You find a new crossing." His thumb rubs my knuckle again, his gaze locking onto mine with a sudden gravity.
"You made an error in leadership, Poppy.
You denied your friends their agency. But your intent was survival.
Hope for a better life… that I can understand. "
It feels like a blessing, and I lean my head against his shoulder for a long moment, listening to the lapping of the water and the crackle of the fire.
I wipe the tears from my face with my free hand, my chest a little lighter.
"Then we better get to Sueva," I say. "I'm going to prove to you that you can trust me, Vael. I'm going to be the best partner you've ever had."
"You are the only partner I’ve ever had," he says. “I am unsure that you can call yourself the best if you are the only.” He doesn't let go of my hand, though.
“Does that mean that was your first time?” Taken aback, I look up at him.
“It was my first time with my mate. Everyone else has been a passing fancy. They were not special. Not like you.”
It’s a sign of how dire my love life has been that that’s the most romantic thing someone’s ever said to me.
“You think the tablet still works?” I ask him. “I need to check on them. My friends. I should have already.”
“Do not feel guilty. You cannot take care of others if you do not take care of yourself,” he says, helping himself to some more shark.
I reach into my pocket, pulling out the comms tablet. The screen blinks to life, thankfully.
I open the text channel, my fingers flying across the glass. I am going to locate my friends, coordinate a meet-up, and get us through this gauntlet together.
It’ll be like planning another girls’ night but with significantly less margaritas and significantly more monsters, unfortunately.