10. Chapter 10
ten
Hue
I can’t stop seeing Mom.
Every blink offering cool fur, limp tails, and empty slitted eyes.
My skin itches so badly I want to peel it off.
To take the fang from my neck and scrub every place that it touched.
To be so completely free from the concept of death that it no longer keeps me awake at night.
That it doesn’t sneak into every waking moment, polluting every thought.
That field out there, the male pacing, stalking like a predator outside my tent, is the pure embodiment of my greatest fear.
And I’m trapped here, with him.
My hands are unsteady, my movements jerky instead of smooth, the food I ate earlier offsetting in my stomach, threatening to surface as I gather the oil that seems to slicken his palms wherever they meet my skin.
I rub it upward, coating myself with it.
Like a compulsion, like an addict. Like maybe it will make me feel better, that I’m frantic, panting when the top sheet is ripped off my tent.
I barely react because the panic has a hold of me now.
I watch in horror as his enraged eyes soften, concern taking over where something deadly rested before.
His concern makes it worse. Like the way Glamorith looked at me after Mom died, like the way Ualate and the other kids avoided me, the way I couldn’t stop crying for orbits, couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep.
Couldn’t hide in the wall, learn, or even play.
How I never stepped foot in the fake outside room again and nobody made me.
How death ruined fucking everything about an already miserable existence and managed to make it worse.
It's shameful.
Weak.
That’s what Mom said.
To die, to give in to fate, is the ultimate weakness.
A failure.
I’m lost in my thoughts when two strong obsidian arms band around me, tugging me into his chest.
I don’t mean to speak.
I really don’t.
But that’s the thing about panic, it makes me ramble. “I-I don’t want to die,” I croak out.
Something between a growl and a snarl leaves the male holding me, caging me, his body slick with something divine, something warm and welcoming.
I scramble for it until his hand finds my chin, forcing me to still.
The pressure aches, but only barely. It’s grounding, welcome even, like the oil. “Death cannot reach you here.”
“It's everywhere,” I gasp, my words rough and desperate.
“The goddess would not dare set such a calamity upon the world. A mated Xyrelith is dangerous. It is why the Agency gave you to me so easily. They knew the alternative was… unpleasant.”
I shake in his arms.
“Why do you fear death, little one?”
His eyes track as my hand finds her fang, gripping it tightly. “It ruins everything.”
“It changes everything, but so does stepping from one room to the next,” he counters calmly. The rock in my raging storm.
I open my mouth to argue before he cuts me off. “I am not perhaps what you saw for yourself, but there are perks to being mated to one of the most feared beings in the galaxy.”
I try to roll my eyes, but not even that works. “Yeah, what’s that?”
“You do not have to be strong. I can hold the weight for you, little human. You need not run from me. Not hate me so vibrantly.”
Something odd unknots in my chest, and I cry.
Because I don’t hate him.
I don’t think.
No, I don’t hate him at all.
I cry in the arms of the giant death-touch alien who kidnapped me because I did like the fields, and his laugh.
I liked the way Melion ran with me, and the cool rain on my skin.
I like that I did a scary thing. That organically, it didn’t feel scary before I knew that.
That for a moment, death was safe, warm… and beautiful.