Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
The bed was too soft. After a month of sleeping on a hard bunk in a Vedeckian cell, the comfort of Selik’s bed threatened to smother Corinne.
She lay perfectly still, staring at the ceiling of his quarters and trying not to notice how the sheets smelled like him—clean and unfamiliar, with a hint of that spicy scent she’d noticed up on the ridge.
Anya slept beside her, curled on her side with one hand tucked under her chin, while Mikoz dozed in the nest of blankets she’d fashioned on the other side.
She should sleep. Her body screamed for it, exhaustion pulling at her bones, but her mind refused to quiet.
Every time she closed her eyes, she was back in the Vedeckian ship, listening to footsteps in the corridor and wondering if tonight would be the night they came for the children.
And not just for Mikoz. She’d heard them discussing whether or not Anya was old enough for breeding.
Except they were safe now. Selik had promised to protect them, and something in his quiet, powerful presence made her believe him—which was dangerous in its own way.
Don’t get attached.
The warning echoed through her thoughts, but it came too late.
She was already attached to this oversized reptilian warrior with his careful hands and unexpected gentleness.
The way his tail wrapped around her waist felt protective rather than threatening, and when his fingers brushed her skin, the heat that had flooded through her had nothing to do with fear.
She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes.
This was insane. She’d been rescued less than twelve hours ago.
She was traumatized, exhausted, and clearly not thinking straight.
Whatever she felt toward Selik was just gratitude mixed with relief and a healthy dose of Stockholm Syndrome.
Except it didn’t feel like any of those things.
Mikoz stirred, making a small distressed sound, and she immediately reached for him. He settled against her chest, his tiny fist curling against her collarbone, and her heart clenched painfully.
I have to give him up.
The thought had been circling her mind for hours, vicious and relentless.
Getting Anya home meant returning to Earth, but she couldn’t take Mikoz there.
He needed a home with his own people. He deserved to grow up knowing his culture and heritage, rather than being hidden away on an alien planet.
It was the right thing to do. The logical thing.
So why did the thought of letting him go feel like ripping out a piece of her soul?
She pressed a kiss to his forehead, breathing in his clean infant scent, and fought back tears. She’d promised his mother she would protect him. But maybe protection meant finding him a better life than she could provide.
Anya shifted in her sleep, mumbling something incoherent, and she gently smoothed her stepdaughter’s short auburn hair. The girl looked younger when she slept, vulnerable in a way she never allowed when awake. Thirteen years old and already so guarded, so careful about showing weakness.
I’ll get you home, she promised silently. Whatever it takes.
Even if it meant leaving Mikoz behind. Even if it meant never seeing Selik again.
The door chime sounded softly, and she tensed before remembering where she was. Right. Selik’s quarters. He’d said he would check on them.
She returned Mikoz to his nest of blankets and slipped quietly out of bed and into the main room, leaving the door to the bedroom slightly ajar.
“Come in,” she said softly, and Selik entered, somehow managing to make even that simple action look graceful despite his size.
He’d changed out of his uniform into something that looked more comfortable—loose pants and a sleeveless tunic that revealed the powerful muscles of his arms and the intricate patterns on his skin.
Stop staring.
“I apologize for the late hour.” His voice was pitched low, respectful of the sleeping children. “I wanted to ensure you had everything you needed.”
“We’re fine. Thank you. They’re both sleeping.”
“You should sleep as well.”
“I know. I’m just…” She gestured helplessly. “Too keyed up, I guess.”
He studied her with those intense black eyes, and she resisted the urge to fidget. His gaze felt physical, like he could see straight through her carefully maintained composure to the terrified woman underneath.
“Would it help to talk?”
“I don’t want to keep you up.”
“I do not require much sleep.”
She glanced towards the sleeping chamber, then back at him. “All right. But only if you sit down. You’re making me feel short.”
He smiled at her and after the briefest hesitation, sat down at one end of the small couch. She hesitated as well, then settled at the other end, tucking her legs under her and pulling the oversized shirt—borrowed from his wardrobe—more tightly around herself. His gaze followed the movement.
“I see you have found my clothing.”
“I hope you don’t mind. We don’t have anything to wear other than what we were wearing when we were taken and—”
“I do not mind.” The warmth in his eyes brought a corresponding heat to her cheeks. “I like the sight of you in my clothing.”
“Oh.” Her ability to speak deserted her for a moment, suddenly supremely conscious of how close they were in the quiet room. Focus, Corinne. She cleared her throat nervously. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Tell me about your planet.”
The request caught her off guard. “Earth? Why?”
“I am curious about where you come from. What your life was like before the Vedeckians took you.”
She bit her lip, unsure where to start. Her old life already felt like something that had happened to someone else, a story she’d read rather than lived.
“I was a professor at a small university, and I taught literature—not exactly practical knowledge for surviving an alien abduction.”
“You survived. That required more than academic knowledge.”
She looked away, uncomfortable with the praise. “I got lucky. If your ship hadn’t been there…”
“Luck is a factor, but so is will. You protected two children against overwhelming odds. That speaks to strength, not luck.”
Heat crept up her cheeks. When was the last time anyone had called her strong?
“Your daughter is strong as well,” he added.
“Stepdaughter,” she corrected automatically.
His expression didn’t change, but his tail shifted slightly. “Her father?”
“Dead. A year before we were taken.” The familiar ache settled in her chest, but it felt distant now, muted by everything else she’d endured.
“David was a good man. A history professor at the same university. We got married three years ago when Anya was ten, more for companionship than passion. He’d been raising Anya on his own since she was four, when her mother left. ”
“And Anya resented you.”
It wasn’t a question. She sighed and nodded.
“At first, yes. She was used to having her father to herself. I tried not to intrude too much, but it’s hard to live in the same house and not disrupt someone’s routine.
” She played absently with the hem on her shirt.
“We were just starting to find a rhythm when David had a heart attack. It was very sudden.”
“I am sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.” She swallowed hard. “Anya and I… we were grieving separately, you know? She blamed me a little, I think. Like if I hadn’t been there, if her father hadn’t remarried, maybe things would have been different.
And then the Vedeckians came, and we got thrown together in the worst possible circumstances. ”
“Yet you protected her.”
“Of course I did. She’s just a child. She lost her mother, then her father. I’m all she has left. I have to get her back home and make sure she has a chance at a normal life again.”
He was quiet for a long moment, his gaze unwavering.
“And what about what you need?”
The question hit harder than it should have. She’d been so focused on survival, on keeping the children safe, that she hadn’t let herself think about her own wants.
“I need to get Anya home. That’s enough.”
“Is it?”
Before she could answer, a soft cry came from the sleeping chamber. Mikoz, working himself up to a full wail. She started to rise, but Selik was faster, moving with that startling speed she’d noticed before.
“I will get him.”
She followed him into the sleeping chamber and watched as he carefully lifted Mikoz from the nest of blankets. The baby’s cries immediately softened, but he was clearly still fussy, his tiny face scrunched up in distress.
“He’s probably hungry.” She reached for him, but Selik had already settled the infant against his chest, one large hand supporting Mikoz’s head while the other rubbed gentle circles on his back.
“Shh, little one. You are safe.”
Mikoz’s tail wrapped around Selik’s wrist, and something in his expression shifted, softened. He began to hum, a low rumbling sound that she felt more than heard, and Mikoz’s cries faded to whimpers.
She stood there, transfixed, watching this huge alien warrior comfort a tiny infant with infinite gentleness. His tail had started moving in a slow, soothing pattern, and Mikoz’s eyes were already drooping.
“You’re good at that,” she whispered.
“I had practice once.” The words were barely audible, threaded with old pain. “A long time ago.”
He had a child. Of course he did. He was what, mid-forties at least?
And he wore grief like a second skin, carefully controlled but always present.
She wanted to ask, but the set of his shoulders warned her off.
Instead, she watched as he swayed gently, continuing that deep humming sound until Mikoz went completely limp, fast asleep again.
Selik carefully lowered the infant back into the blankets, but he didn’t step away immediately. He stood there, looking down at the sleeping baby, and his expression was so raw that she had to look away.
“Selik,” she said softly. “Can I ask you something?”
“You may ask me anything, s’kara.”
“S’kara?”