Chapter 014
Shadows in the Grass
Rokk's call still echoed in my ears as Cassidy and I hurried from the pens toward the wild colony site. The sun hung low, painting the grasslands in long shadows, and I estimated we had about forty minutes of usable daylight left. Nearly two hours had passed since we'd first arrived at the enclosures, but the theft changed everything. Three blue-spined younglings gone. Not just a break-in anymore—a targeted grab.
Cassidy kept pace beside me, her boots kicking up small puffs of dust. She'd pulled her flannel tighter around her shoulders, but her eyes were sharp, scanning the horizon like she was already mapping the trail. I admired that focus. It matched my own methodical approach, but hers came from a harder place. Survival.
"The wild colony's just over that rise," I said, pointing to a gentle swell in the terrain. "Rokk keeps them semi-contained there, mimicking their natural herds."
She nodded, not wasting breath on questions. Good. We needed to move.
We crested the hill and spotted Rokk waiting near a cluster of low shrubs where the wild luminooks usually grazed. His sorhox was tied nearby, and he paced with his arms crossed, his face a mask of barely contained fury. The penned luminooks back at the ranch were agitated, but out here, the absence hit different. No glowing spines flickering in the fading light. Just empty grass.
"Thokk. Cassidy." Rokk turned as we approached. "I recounted twice. The three blues—the rare ones—are missing. No blood, no signs of struggle. They were taken clean."
I knelt by the nearest feeding station, a simple trough Rokk had set up with native grasses and mineral supplements. The luminooks chumbled around it protectively, but these younglings had been separated somehow. "Show us the trail."
He led us a short distance into the grass, where the ground softened underfoot. Cassidy dropped to one knee immediately, her fingers hovering inches above a set of prints without touching them. I pulled out my multi-tool—always on my belt—and my spare flashlight, handing it to her. Our fingers brushed, a brief warmth that sent a pulse through the mating bond. Steady, I told myself. Focus.
"See how the soil’s compressed here?" she said, her voice low and precise. She traced the edge of a footprint with her gaze, stooping lower. "That’s not from walking. Someone knelt, probably to secure whatever they were carrying. And these drag marks—cage-like. Parallel lines, about two feet apart. They had a carrier for the younglings."
I crouched beside her, confirming it. The compression was deep, consistent with weight distribution from kneeling. Human-sized boot, Vibram sole like the one at the pens. "Expert read. You've done this before."
She brushed off her jeans, standing. "Patterns tell stories if you listen." Her eyes met mine, a flicker of something vulnerable there before she turned back to the trail. "It heads toward the forest edge. We follow?"
"Yes." I checked my compass—bearing 247 degrees southwest. "Stay on visual. No stepping in the prints."
We moved out, single file with Cassidy leading. The grasslands stretched wide, dotted with wildflowers now wilting in the cooling air. The trail was faint but deliberate: bent grass stems leaning in the direction of travel, occasional scuffs where the carrier had caught. About twenty minutes in, as the sun dipped below the mountains, she called a halt.
"Thornbush ahead. Iridescent fur snagged on it." She pointed without touching. Blue shimmer caught the last rays—a youngling spine hair.
Rokk would be devastated. Those blues were his pride, relocated from the kingdom depths. I bagged a sample with a sterile evidence pouch from my kit, sealing it tight. "Keep going."
Dusk deepened into full dark as we hit the forest edge. Stars pricked the sky, and I flicked on my flashlight, low beam to avoid washing out night vision. Cassidy had hers too, sweeping methodically. The trees closed in, aspens giving way to denser pine, the air sharpening with resin scent. The trail thickened here—broken branches at knee height, snapped by a hasty carrier.
Then the clearing. Moonlight silvered the open space, maybe fifty yards across, ringed by thick trunks. Cassidy froze, then pointed. "Vehicle tracks. SUV or light truck—wide tires, aggressive tread. Pulled in, loaded up, backed out."
I circled the area, measuring grass recovery with my multi-tool's ruler. Fresh, less than six hours old. Kneeling by a discarded energy bar wrapper—Clif Builder's, chocolate peanut butter flavor—I bagged it without touching. "Litter. Amateur mistake."
"Not amateur," she said, examining the ground near the tracks. "Portable pen parts. Collapsible fencing, stakes driven here. They contained the younglings temporarily, transferred to the vehicle."
My stomach clenched. The pieces snapped together. Fence cuts at the pens, missing wild younglings, now this setup. "They’re collecting them. The fence cuts at the pens, the missing wild younglings. They’re systematically targeting luminooks."
Her face paled in the flashlight glow. "For what? Glow pets?"
"No." I stood, the horror settling cold in my gut. "Bioluminescence. Unique to their spines—stable, efficient light production. Pharma could harvest for medical imaging, non-toxic dyes. Military? Night ops markers, undetectable tracers. Chumbles protect the young fiercely, but they're vulnerable to bullets or traps. High value, low risk if you're prepared."
She nodded slowly, horror mirroring mine. "Professionals. Or skilled amateurs with backing."
We documented everything: photos with my phone's grid overlay, GPS coordinates logged, samples secured. I radioed in. "Dispatch, Unit One. Evidence secured at wild colony. Alert contacts in neighboring towns—vehicle description outbound. Brothers, increase security. Rokk, pen the wild ones separately tonight."
"Acknowledged," came the chorus.
No more daylight. Trail cold. Time to withdraw.
The walk back across the open plain felt endless under the rising moon. Stars wheeled overhead, crisp mountain air carrying the faint hum of distant luminooks. Cassidy walked close, her shoulder brushing mine now and then. The mating bond thrummed, but deeper now—something independent, pulling me toward her.
"You're quiet," she said finally.
"Processing." I glanced at her profile, silvered by moonlight. "You were brilliant out there. Reading the compression, the cage marks. That's not deputy training. That's your past."
She tensed, then exhaled. "Forensic accounting honed it. Patterns in dirt, same as ledgers."
I stopped, turning to her. "And the courage it took to run, to testify. Facing down Blainsworth. You're not just surviving, Cassidy. You're strong."
Her eyes glistened. "I don't feel strong. Just... hunted."
I took her hand, my palm engulfing hers completely. Warm, steady squeeze. "You’re not alone anymore. Whatever comes next, we face it together."
Moonlight caught in her hair, turning it to silver threads. In that moment, the bond aside, I knew. Her intelligence, her moral compass, the way she saw my preciseness as strength, not quirk—it undid me. I was falling in love with her. Fully, irrevocably.
She squeezed back. "Together."
We held there a beat, hands linked, before resuming the trek. The valley spread below, Dusty Gulch lights twinkling like fallen stars. Home.
By the time we reached my house, it was late night. Cassidy headed straight for the bathroom, calling over her shoulder, "Shower. Dirt everywhere."
"Take your time," I replied. "I'll handle updates."
While water ran, I made the report: photos uploaded to the secure server, evidence logged in the chain-of-custody file. Checked with Bram—bakery secure. Vorn at the Pottery Barn, patrols doubled. Rokk confirmed the wild ones penned safe. Alerts to outer towns: black SUV, poaching detail. Protocol Bourne active.
Satisfied, I pulled leftovers from the fridge—stew from Mina, reheated precise to 165 degrees internal. Plates set, silverware aligned.
Cassidy emerged in my oversized t-shirt and sleep pants rolled at the cuffs, hair damp and curling. She smelled of my pine soap, clean and inviting. "Smells good."
We ate at the kitchen table, stew steaming. "Contacts will watch roads," I said between bites. "Vehicle won't slip out easy."
She nodded, spoon pausing. "The poaching... it's bigger than us. But the timing, with my past—"
"Possible link. We'll dig." I set my spoon down. "You did good today. Thank you."
Her cheeks warmed. "Couldn't have without you. Your preparedness... it's reassuring."
The air shifted, warm with unspoken want. We cleared plates together, her hip bumping mine in the narrow kitchen—a deliberate graze? The bond hummed hotter.
Dishes done, we migrated to the living room. The sofa faced the big window, mountains dark silhouettes. I sat, patting the cushion. She curled beside me, tucking her legs under, head on my shoulder.
Quiet comfort. Then she tilted up, eyes soft. "Thokk..."
I cupped her face, thumb tracing her jaw. "I’m going to kiss you now. If that’s alright with you."
She breathed, "I’ve never been more sure of anything."
Our lips met, slow at first, then deepening. Hunger built, my hands roaming her back under the shirt. She tasted of stew and sweetness, moaning soft as my tusks grazed her lip.
I lifted her effortlessly to my lap, her legs straddling my thighs. The t-shirt rode up, exposing soft skin. I trailed kisses down her neck, nipping gently, hands sliding under to cup her breasts. Thumbs circled nipples, hardening under my touch.
"Thokk," she gasped, arching.
"Easy, breela." My endearment for her—little light. Fitting.
I peeled the shirt off, tossing it aside. Her body glowed in lamplight—curves I'd memorized. Lowering her back, I kissed a path down her chest, stomach, hooking fingers in the pants waistband. Off they went, leaving her bare.
She watched, breath quick, as I settled between her thighs. Knees spread wide for my shoulders. I kissed inner thighs, teasing, inhaling her arousal. Wet, ready.
Tongue first—flat lick up her folds, savoring salt-sweet. She shuddered, fingers tangling in my hair. I circled her clit, slow laps building pressure. One finger, then two, curling inside to find that spot. Her walls clenched, hips bucking.
"Please," she whispered.
I sucked gently, tongue flicking, fingers thrusting steady. Rhythm precise, like everything—watch her cues, adjust. Tension coiled in her thighs, breaths ragged.
"Come for me, Cassidy." Vibration hummed against her.
She shattered, crying out, back arching, clutching my hair hard enough to sting. Waves pulsed around my fingers, her release flooding my tongue. I worked her through it, softening laps until she trembled, spent.
Pulling back, I kissed her thigh, gathering her into my arms. She snuggled close, legs tucked, head on my chest.
"Perfect," she murmured.
I held her, heart full. Threats loomed, but here? Sanctuary.
The night deepened, but sleep could wait. For now, this.