21. Vael-Torin
VAEL-TORIN
The mechanical red track eventually bleeds into a quiet grotto. The neon path dims, humming low against the dirt, signaling a temporary ceasefire from the foul entity watching our every move.
A narrow freshwater stream trickles over smooth rocks, the water crystalline and reflecting the faint light of the stars high above.
I drop our survival pack onto a patch of soft moss.
My body aches, the gash the beasts left on my left wing throbbing with a dull heat. But as I look at Poppy, the exhaustion vanishes. She leans against a boulder, her boots caked in dried mud, her face streaked with grime and the remnants of her tears.
"Wash," I tell her softly, gesturing to the clear water. “I will watch over you.”
She lets out a weary sigh that makes her small shoulders drop. "Oh, thank god. If I have to smell like alien hyena-badger and onions for one more minute, I'm going to file a formal complaint with the galaxy writ large."
“I do not think the galaxy writ large takes formal complaints,” I inform her calmly.
“That was a—” she cuts herself off as she sees me smiling at her.
“A joke,” I finish. “I can make them too.”
“I like that,” she tells me, her smile growing. “Keep the jokes coming.”
She strips off the top half of her ruined tech suit, tying the sleeves around her waist, and steps into the shallow stream.
She splashes the cool water over her face, her neck, and her arms, scrubbing away the grime of the battlefield.
The water sheets down her pale skin, slicking her auburn hair back into a dark, heavy mass.
I step into the pool beside her. I use my hands to rinse the foul blood from my red scales, the cold current soothing the fire in my veins.
When I turn back to her, the breath catches in my throat.
The water has cleared away the mask of the gauntlet.
She stands in the center of the stream, the dim indigo light catching the perfect, lush curve of her waist, the soft swell of her breasts, and the fierce, beautiful line of her jaw.
She looks completely fragile, yet she is the most resilient creature I have ever encountered.
Slowly, she peels the fabric from her legs, too, her boots left on the shore, and her suit joins them.
I cannot take my eyes off her. I am entirely, completely mesmerized.
Poppy catches me staring. She stops scrubbing herself, a sleepy smile touching her pink lips. "What? Do I still have mud on my nose?"
"No." I shake my head, stepping closer, water rippling around my boots until I am looming over her.
I reach out, my blunt talons carefully lifting a wet lock of hair from her cheek.
"You are... entirely perfect, Poppy. I do not understand how a creature of such beauty and intellect came to be here, nor how I became the male permitted to claim you. "
Her smile softens, her eyes warming. She reaches up, her hand resting flat against my chest. "Vael..."
A weight in my spirit presses down on me. I glance away from her beautiful face, my gaze dropping to the sparkling water.
"I am a branded traitor," I mutter, my jaw tightening in frustration.
"I was a warrior, but I find myself unable to give you what you need. I cannot lift you into the sky and fly you away to another planet. I am meant to be your protector, Poppy, but cannot rescue you from this gauntlet I’ve been forced into. "
"Hey."
Poppy reaches up high, tall on her tiptoes, and catches my chin with her fingers, gently forcing my face back up to meet her gaze. A fierce sincerity shines in her eyes, one that cuts right through my pride.
"You didn't drag me here, Vael-Torin," she says softly, her fingers sliding up to cup my jaw. "I'm the one who signed the paperwork, remember? And you have protected me every single step of the way. We are a team, right? We save each other."
She pulls my head down toward hers.
She kisses me.
It is entirely different from the explosive night on the metal table or the raw, adrenaline-fueled claim against the tree. There is no frenzy. No desperation.
It is simply a slow, sweet pressing of her lips against mine, a gentle warmth that makes the armor I keep trying to construct around my heart dissolve. I wrap my arms around my female, pulling her into my body, my wings curving forward to seal us away from the jealous stars.
We stay in the stream for a long time, simply holding each other in the quiet dark, the water murmuring against our legs as we help each other wash.
I help Poppy wash her suit, the moss on the bank making a good tool for cleaning her one garment.
“Let me help with this, too,” Poppy tells me, gingerly rubbing clean moss against my wound. I hiss in surprise, then blink as the throbbing settles as she packs the moss into the scratches.
“To bed,” I tell my mate, and she nods at me sleepily, rubbing her hands together in the water.
I pick her up with one hand, and carry her out of the stream. I spread my good wing over a bed of dry moss, creating a canopy. We lie down together, tangled in a knot of limbs. Poppy burrows her face into the juncture of my neck and shoulder, her hand securely laced through mine.
I like this human tradition, I decide.
She mumbles soft, sleepy stories about her home planet—about a place called Chicago, about the taste of frozen margaritas, and how much she misses her friends. I do not understand all the human terms, but I listen to the cadence of her voice until her breathing goes deep and even.
I squeeze her soft hand, locking our fingers tight as I close my eyes. We are deep in an alien hellhole, but tucked securely beneath my wing, holding my mate, I have never felt more at home.