Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I don't leave. In fact, the next morning I'm being laced up by Starcroft into a bright red gown.
The back goes all the way up to the nape of my neck, but I assume that's to make up the difference for how low cut the front is.
Two stiff vees of fabric extend upwards, covering the peaks of my breasts with their petal shapes.
But the entirety of my sternum is exposed, and the opening stops just before my belly button.
I kick at the ruffled layers of the skirts as the droid’s hands work. For as open as the top is, the skirts are heavy. I turn my head and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The ball gown's width is giving fairy-tale princess.
The gown feels out of place in space. It feels human. For the first time since my abduction, human doesn't feel like a dirty word.
It feels worthy.
"Starcroft, can I ask you something?" I tap my fingernails on the stiff, corset-like bodice.
"Of course!" he chirps behind me.
"What exactly happens in this mating ceremony?"
Finished with his work, he floats around to face me. "I've never attended one, but I've heard reference to them being incredibly intimate and private affairs. It all seems very exciting!" Starcroft clasps his hands in front of his metal body as though he's swooning.
"Intimate," I echo.
Fuck, I don't know if I'm ready to take all five of Mekkra's heads.
I start sweating, worried that we're about to go blast into mostly uncharted territory with each other’s bodies.
It's not as though it's not exciting to imagine what it might be like…
but I don't think I'm ready for all that quite yet.
"Incredibly so." Starcroft's eye screen flip into digital glee.
I walk over and plop backwards onto the bed. The stiff ruffles of the skirt float up around me, and I'm left to press them down so as to not be buried alive in their opulence.
"Where did he even get this thing?" I ask incredulously.
"Once the trade for you was secured, Mekkra obtained your measurements from the Deenz and got the best tailor in the galaxy to create your whole wardrobe—including your mating robes."
I hadn't thought about the fact that it might be hard to buy human clothing off a rack here. That everything I have now is by Mekkra's design and careful planning.
"Oh," I whisper as a lone tear breaks free and slides down my cheek. "He must have really wanted a mate."
Starcroft's eyes grow more serious. "More than anything."
Worthy, wanted, and free to go if that's what I choose.
"Ready? Mekkra is ready to receive you."
I take a deep breath, push out of the red cloud of fabric, and stand up straight.
"Ready as I'll ever be."
When the door to Mekkra's room opens for the first time, I'm not sure what I expect, but it's not this.
Every square inch of the room—save for a narrow path worn into the steel—has been surrendered to flora.
The path winds between dense clusters of leaves and flowers, leading to a threadbare chair whose silver arms look polished smooth from years of use.
The air is thick with the humid scent of fresh soil and strange alien saps.
The walls themselves have vanished underneath curtains of purple vines.
They're coiled over every surface, their lacquered-looking leaves catching the scattered rays of the red lights I've grown so familiar with.
I find myself wondering if the lights on the station are actually grow lights.
The vines weave all the way down to the floor, like some living, creeping tapestry.
Set throughout the room are several glass cloches. Inside them, delicate flowers bloom in soft bursts of color, pale whites and ghostly lilacs. The blossoms look as though a slight breeze would bruise their trembling petals.
It feels less like a bedroom and more like a dark fantasy of a greenhouse, overgrown and slightly wild. Somewhere the outside world isn't welcome, and yet I've been invited in.
From a corner, I see Mekkra's shadow. He steps toward me, into a ray of crimson light, and his beautiful, earnest face is revealed. He's wearing metal armor over his broad body. It looks freshly shined.
Mekkra looks down at my hand and sees the ring.
"Mae—you're still here." His breath catches—then slows, careful.
"I am."
The warlord reaches out his hand and touches the side of my cheek with his palm. He sucks in a sharp breath on contact.
"And you're real—I haven't gone completely mad yet."
"And you won't." I put my own hand over his. "Because I want to be your mate."
His eyes soften.
"This is so wonderful, I'm so excited to take part in your mating ceremony." Starcroft's voice bubbles behind me.
Mekkra's eyes shoot up, and he pulls me forward before depressing the door panel and snapping it shut behind me, leaving the droid alone in the hall.
"He's not allowed to join us?" I say nervously as he leads me deeper into the room.
"No, he's not. This is between us alone." His voice is clearer than I've heard before, and he sounds like a man on a mission.
My heart races as we get the foot of his bed, my large gown tangling in the foliage along the floor. I hear the rip of fabric, but neither of us seem too concerned—more pressing matters are at hand.
He lifts me up, carrying me like a bride. Kneeling on the bed, he lays me on my back. He lies down next to me and turns to his side.
I stare up at the tendrils of orange blooms that dangle overhead.
"Do you know what a Drefling mating ceremony entails?" he asks.
"Intimacy, or so I've heard." I'm sure he can hear my heart thumping so loud that it threatens to burst out of my chest.
He does, because he places a hand over my breast, as if trying to calm the rogue organ.
"It is incredibly intimate, but I don't want it to frighten you. I'm going to explain everything."
"Okay," I gulp, willing my anxiety to calm—but it doesn't work.
"It may seem strange, but I ask that you keep an open mind."
"That statement doesn't help. Come on, just tell me what’s going to happen."
He takes a breath. "We pledge ourselves to each other, and then there is…"
He pauses, like he doesn't want to tell me.
"Oh my god, if you don't spit it out—"
"A meeting of our mouths."
"A kiss? That's it?" I guffaw.
Mekkra slides up to his elbows, brows knit.
"What do you mean, kiss? In Drefling culture, the meeting of the mouths is the most intimate of embraces. It is the opening to the soul."
"I've touched your cock," I say slowly. "Is that not more intimate?"
He scoffs. "My soul doesn't reside in my cock."
"So we kiss—sorry, meet mouths—and we're mated? We don't, like, fuck?" It can't be that simple, can it?
"I mean, if you want to, we can…but that isn't a requirement." His interest is obviously piqued.
"Why don't we just start with the meeting of the mouths and see how it goes?"
"You say that as if you weren’t saving me from madness…I can only hope I've done everything I can to save you."
No one ever comes for me. Not once.
So when it hits—when I realize he might—
A literal knight in shining armor.
Something in my chest cracks.
And the tears follow.
"Did I say something wrong?" Mekkra asks, swiping the moisture from my cheeks.
"No…I just, I had the wrong idea of you—I was wrong, you're not some terrible beast. You're a victim of circumstance, just like me."
Something darkens behind his eyes.
"No, you're wrong. I've done horrible things, I've killed my kin. I let my need for power, for control over this shipping lane take precedence over finding my mate. I paid the price. I can't change my past, but I can only try to make the future, our future, better."
"You can't fight your biology, but you wouldn't be the first person to try. We're fixing it right now. Tell me the words to say," Between the tears and my determination, my voice sounds desperate.
Mekkra locks in, shifting me to my side. He puts a hand on the small of my back, pulling me closer.
"Repeat after me," he breathes. We're so close that the whiskers of his mane are tickling my nose. "Stars may burn and die…"
"Stars may burn and die." My voice shakes.
"Planets may crumble, and dread hoards lost…"
"Planets crumble, hoards lost," I whisper.
"But you will always be mine, and I yours."
"…always mine, and I'm yours."
With that, he leans in, his mouth hovering just above mine—so near I feel the warmth of his breath. Yet, he doesn't touch me, like he's afraid none of this is real.
I wet my lips, ready to close the distance myself.
But before I can move, the far side of the room erupts.
A violent burst of yellow sparks showers across the chamber. Mekkra moves faster than thought, throwing himself over me, his body shielding mine as metal screams somewhere beyond the walls.
Sirens wail through the station.
The deck jolts beneath us—another impact, farther away but no less terrifying.
From his discarded datapad, a cold voice cuts through the chaos.
“Forceful boarding attempt at cargo bay. Lock seventy-five percent breached.”
Mekkra’s eyes widen. For a heartbeat they’re clear—then the familiar haze of battle madness slides over them like a storm front.
“No—” I grab for him. “Kiss me.”
He’s already moving.
In one brutal motion, he’s on his feet.
A sharp click—panel sliding open—and a hidden cache spills into view, blasters gleaming in tight rows. He grabs a bandolier, slings it over his shoulder in one clean pull.
No hesitation. No glance back.
The door hisses wide.
He’s already moving.
Immediately the station computer blares again.
“Lock breached. Enemy boarding.”
Smoke rolls in through the doorway, thick and acrid. Through it, a droid’s amplified voice booms down the corridor, metallic and merciless.
“Lord Quldo demands the surrender of the human on board.”
A beat of silence.
“Comply… or die.”