Chapter 11
Niki
The descent toward Avalon felt like falling through a dream.
I sat in the pilot's seat—not piloting, the autopilot handled that—but I couldn't sit anywhere else. Couldn't stop watching the viewscreen as the planet grew larger, closer, more real with every passing second.
My hands gripped the armrests so hard my knuckles had gone white.
Behind me, in the small cargo area, Enslak lay sedated on a narrow bunk. I'd checked on him twenty-eight times during the six-hour journey. Counted his breaths. Watched the rise and fall of his massive chest. Pressed my fingers to his throat to feel his pulse—strong, steady, alive.
But what if the descent killed him? What if atmospheric entry, the gravitational shift, the stress on his healing body proved too much?
What if I'd stolen him from his family only to watch him die?
"Stop it," I muttered to myself. "He's fine. He's going to be fine."
The ship shuddered as we hit the outer atmosphere. I twisted in my seat, craning to see Enslak through the open doorway. Still breathing. Still alive.
I turned back to the viewscreen just as Avalon revealed itself.
"Oh my God," I whispered.
It was beautiful.
Not Earth-beautiful. Not the familiar blues and greens I'd grown up seeing. This was something else entirely. Something alien and wild and impossibly vibrant.
The landmasses were deep emerald and blue, shot through with veins of color I didn't have names for—purples and golds and something that glowed even in daylight. The oceans were pale lime green, so clear I could see patterns beneath the surface even from orbit.
And the sky—
The sky was wrong. Beautiful, but wrong. Not quite blue. Not quite purple. Something in between, shifting and shimmering like oil on water.
We descended through clouds that looked like spun sugar, pink and gold, catching the light of Avalon's sun—larger than Earth's, more orange than yellow, casting everything in a warm, amber glow.
Another shudder. The engines adjusted, compensating for the thicker atmosphere. I checked on Enslak again—twenty-ninth time—and found him exactly as I'd left him. Sedated. Peaceful. Alive.
The ground rushed up to meet us. I saw forests—if they could be called forests—with trees that towered hundreds of feet into that strange sky.
I saw clearings of what might have been grassland but moved wrong, rippling like water.
I saw something massive moving through the canopy, too far away to identify but big enough to make the trees sway.
"Please let this work," I whispered. "Please."
The landing gear deployed with a mechanical whine. The autopilot guided us toward a clearing near what looked like a river—Binwee had programmed it well, choosing a location with water, shelter, and defensible terrain.
The landing was gentle. A slight bump, a settling sensation, then stillness.
Silence.
I sat frozen for a moment, hardly daring to believe we'd made it. Then I was moving—unbuckling, rushing to the cargo area where Enslak lay.
He was still breathing. Still alive.
But I couldn't leave him sedated forever. George said the medication would wear off naturally within a day, but if he woke confused and disoriented in a strange place, it could trigger his defensive instincts. Make him violent.
Better to wake him now, while I could talk to him. Calm him. Help him understand.
I pulled out the small patch George had prepared—the reversal agent that would bring him out of sedation quickly but safely. My hands trembled as I pressed it to his neck, just below his jaw where the skin was softer.
I stepped back, giving him space, my heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat.
For a long moment, nothing happened.
Then his breathing changed. Deepened. His chest rose and fell more rapidly. His fingers twitched. His head moved slightly, turning toward me even though his eyes remained closed.
"Enslak," I said softly. "It's okay. You're safe."
His eyes opened.
They were filled with rage.
He lunged upright with a roar that made every instinct I had scream run. His claws extended, his teeth bared, his entire body coiling with lethal intent. He didn't know where he was. Didn't recognize the ship, the space, me.
All he knew was threat.
The restraints George had insisted on—the medical-grade straps designed to hold large patients—snapped like thread.
The first one gave way with a sharp crack as Enslak's arm jerked upward. The second followed immediately, the reinforced material tearing like paper. His legs came free a heartbeat later, the straps around his ankles breaking with barely any resistance.
The gurney groaned under the force of his movement, metal scraping against metal as he pushed himself up.
I stumbled backward, my spine hitting the bulkhead. There was nowhere to go. The cargo hold was small, designed for efficiency, not escape routes. Enslak stood between me and the only door.
He rose to his full height, towering over me, his chest heaving with each breath. The torn restraints hung from his wrists like broken chains.
His eyes swept the room—wild, unfocused, searching for threats. For enemies.
Then they locked on me.
"Enslak!" I held up my hands, forcing my voice to stay calm even as adrenaline flooded my system.
My heart hammered against my ribs. Every nerve ending screamed danger, the primal need to flee.
My body went into full fight-or-flight mode, trembling under the weight of his rage, the sheer lethal potential radiating from him.
But I wasn't afraid of him.
That was the paradox cutting through the panic.
My body registered the danger—the feral snarl, the extended claws, the raw power coiled in his massive frame.
But somewhere bone-deep, soul-deep, I knew.
The same way I'd known in that cell on Merisalle that he'd protect me.
The same way I'd known in the sewers that his gentleness was real, not a mask.
That connection we'd forged—through blood and fear and desperate escape—had carved something into me that transcended logic.
He'd never hurt me. Not like this. Not ever.
"It's me. It's Niki. You're safe. You're not in the cell anymore. You're not on Merisalle."
A growl rumbled from his chest, feral and dangerous.
"Look at me," I said, keeping my voice calm and soft. "Please, Enslak. Look at me. You know me. You saved me. Remember?"
His eyes found mine. For a heartbeat, there was nothing there but animal instinct. Fight or flight. Kill or be killed.
Then something shifted.
Recognition flickered across his face. His growl faltered. His body remained tense, coiled, ready to strike—but he didn't lunge.
"That's it." I took a small step closer. "It's me. Niki. The one you carried through the sewers. The one you protected from the guards."
His breathing was still rapid, his chest heaving, but the wildness in his eyes was fading. Confusion replaced it. Then awareness.
"You're safe," I repeated. "I promise. You're safe with me."
He straightened slowly, his claws retracting, his posture shifting from aggressive to uncertain. He looked around the cargo area, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings, then back at me.
"Niki." My name on his tongue was little more than a growl, uncertain but unmistakable.
Relief hit me so hard my knees nearly buckled. "Yes. Niki. I'm here. You're okay."
He took a step toward me, then stopped, staring down at his hands as if seeing them for the first time. Taking in the lack of augments, the healed skin where blaster wounds had been, the absence of the collar that had bound him for so long.
"We're safe now," I said softly. "Both of us."
He looked at me, and I saw the question in his eyes even if he couldn't form the words.
"Come on." I moved toward the ship's hatch. "Let me show you."
I opened the hatch and the smell hit me first.
Not the recycled air of the ship or the sterile scent of the Bardaga's medi-bay. This was alive. Rich and green and growing, with undertones of flowers and earth and something sweet I couldn't quite place.
I stepped onto the ramp, and Avalon stole my breath.
The clearing was maybe fifty yards across, ringed by massive trees with bark that looked almost metallic in the orange sunlight. The grass—if it was grass—came up to my knees and rippled in waves despite the barely-there breeze, each blade tipped with something that caught the light like dew.
Flowers grew in clusters throughout the clearing. Not Earth flowers. These were larger, more complex, with petals that shifted colors as I watched—blues bleeding into purples bleeding into golds. Some stood taller than me, their blooms the size of dinner plates.
The sky overhead was that impossible not-quite-blue, streaked with clouds that looked hand-painted. The sun—larger, warmer, more orange than Sol—cast everything in a golden glow that made the whole scene look like a fantasy painting come to life.
And the sounds.
Wind moved through the trees, but not like Earth wind. This had a musical quality, as if the leaves were designed to sing. Water ran somewhere nearby—the river I'd spotted during our descent. And in the distance, something roared.
Deep. Primal. The kind of sound that lit up every prey instinct in my DNA.
"Holy shit," I whispered, apprehension prickling up my spine.
Movement in the trees caught my eye. Something massive—easily thirty feet tall—moved through the forest with surprising grace. I caught glimpses: scaled hide, a long neck, a tail that swept through the underbrush.
A dinosaur.
An actual goddamn dinosaur.
Or something so close it didn't matter. Something that had no business existing outside museums and Jurassic Park movies.
My heart hammered against my ribs as I watched it move through the distant trees, each step making the ground tremble. The creature—whatever it was—seemed focused on something else, moving parallel to our position rather than toward us.
It was far away. At least a quarter mile, maybe more. The forest stretched thick between us, layers of those massive trees and dense undergrowth that would slow anything down.