Epilogue
AN ATTEMPT WAS MADE
ERIKA
Three sols have passed since the attack.
I wake up trapped in a sweltering, golden cocoon.
I lie perfectly still, staring at the cavern ceiling.
He is wrapped around me so tightly I’m practically fixed to him.
Sometime during the night, he must have realized the temperature of the cave dropped, because he shifted his bulk to shield me from the draft.
One of his thick legs is thrown over both of mine, his chest pressed flush against my back.
His arm is slung across my ribs, burying me firmly in the furs.
I turn my head slightly to look at him, my cheek brushing against his skin.
His face is relaxed in sleep. The intensity usually burning in his golden eyes is hidden beneath closed lids.
I shift, slowly rolling onto my side to face him. He makes a low noise of protest, a sleep-drenched rumble vibrating through the mindspace, and his arm tightens around my waist to ensure I haven’t gone far.
I trace the line of his jaw. The thick corded muscle of his neck. The broad ridge of his collarbone.
My fingertip finds the raised, textured bumps carved into his skin. I trace the pectoral muscle to his shoulder.
The moment I touch the markings, his skin warms beneath my finger. A smile touches my lips and my body sags into the heat.
This feels good. The most terrifying thing about this planet is that it’s starting to feel like home.
I shift to untangle myself from my purring blanket. Before my feet can even touch the cold stone floor, the rhythmic hum in his chest cuts off. A broad arm wraps around my waist, yanking me backward.
I hit the solid wall of his chest with a soft, breathy oof.
“Where are you going?” his mindspace rumble sends a warm vibration through my ribs.
“To the bathing chamber,” I murmur, trying to push against the absolute tree trunk of his forearm. “And then to see if the cavern is still standing.”
“The cavern is fine.” He rolls, pinning me effortlessly onto my back. He cages me between his thick thighs, his golden eyes suddenly wide awake and burning with that obsessive, terrifying focus. “You are not.”
I swallow hard as a sudden spike of desire shoots straight to my core. “I’m perfectly fine.”
“Liar,” he growls softly. He dips his head, his teeth dragging over my throat.
“Oh, fuck,” I breathe. “You learn way too fast.”
“Learn? Your body teaches me,” he rumbles. “Your heart is racing. Your scent is thick.” His hips settle directly against mine, leaving zero doubt about his morning priorities. “You require my attention.”
“Kol, the clan is literally right outside—”
He cuts off my protest with a rough, sweeping kiss, swallowing my words completely.
The mindspace floods with the dark, overwhelming heat of his arousal, drowning out the noise of the clan.
I wrap my arms around his thick neck, twisting my fingers into his hair as he spreads my thighs and settles exactly where he belongs.
The cavern can wait.
By the time we finally emerge from the alcove and head out into the main cavern, the clan is awake and scattered.
Sorn is radiating confusion at Jacqui because she moved a pile of firestones he left near the wall.
Tharn and Rok are staring in utter bewilderment as Mikaela tries to mime the concept of ‘sweeping’ using a broken spear shaft.
Over by the bathing chamber, two women are arguing loudly about whose turn it is to have a bath.
But as I step into the noise, I realize almost immediately that Kol isn’t hovering directly behind me like a towering, protective shadow. I haven’t heard his resonant hum in the mindspace since we left the furs.
I turn around. He’s gone.
I don’t even have to think about it. My feet carry me out of the main cavern and into one of the smaller, secluded side-tunnels leading toward the surface vents.
A sudden, sharp spike of intense frustration hits me through the mindspace, followed closely by a violent image of a stone being crushed into dust.
I peek around the edge of the tunnel.
Kol is kneeling beside a small, secluded fire pit.
He is holding a flat, heated stone over the firestones with his bare hands.
On top of the stone is an objectively horrifying creation.
It appears to be a disc of ground gourd flesh, smeared with sandfin meat, topped with some kind of fat, and dotted with circular slices of root I don’t think I’ve ever seen before.
He manages to balance the stone for three seconds before the entire greasy concoction slides sideways, landing directly in the fire with a loud sizzle.
The glow beneath his skin flares. He growls, leaning back on his heels, his broad hands scorched and greasy.
Then he reaches for another clump of ground gourd flesh and starts over.
He fails again. The second attempt slides off the stone and sizzles into nothing. His glow flares hot.
I can’t help it. A laugh escapes before I can stop it.
Kol’s head snaps toward me.
I step out of the shadows, both hands raised. “What are you doing?”
He stares at me. Grease is smeared across his forearms. A clump of ground gourd is stuck to one of his claws. He looks deeply, personally offended that I am witnessing this.
“Making the flat-meat.” His projection is clipped. Frustrated. “With the pee. And the roh-nee.”
I blink. “The what?”
He gestures sharply at the ingredients laid out beside him on a flat stone. Ground gourd flesh. Strips of raw sandfin. Rendered fat in a hollowed shell. And a pile of thin, circular slices from that root I’ve never seen in the cavern stores before.
“Kiveh root,” he says, following my gaze. “For strength. It is spiced. I sliced it to match the circles from your dream.”
My dream?
I stare at the kiveh root circles. Then at the gourd disc. Then at the rendered fat.
“Kol.” My voice comes out strangled. “Is this... are you making pizza?”
He does not answer. His jaw tightens and he looks away from me, which is something I have never seen him do. If I didn’t know better, I’d say the intimidating warlord of the Drakav clan is embarrassed.
“The flat-meat with the pee and the roh-nee,” he repeats stiffly, as if saying it louder will somehow make the whole thing less ridiculous. “You wanted it. I saw it in your sleep. You were... sad.”
My throat closes up.
I look at the hot grease scorching his claws. I look at the pile of raw sandfin and the charred, misshapen slices of root laid out meticulously on the stone.
A tight, burning ache builds so fast behind my eyes I have to blink hard to clear it. I drop straight to my knees right next to him. I reach out and pick up the slimy, ruined circle of cooked gourd. It burns the tips of my fingers, and smells like fish and charred fat.
I take a bite.
It is unquestionably the worst thing I have ever tasted in my entire life. The gourd is gritty. The fat coats the roof of my mouth like candle wax. The kiveh root is so bitter it makes my eyes water.
I chew. I swallow. I take another bite.
“You do not have to consume it,” he projects, and every single muscle in his body goes rigid, braced for my verdict.
“Shut up. I’m eating your pizza.” I take another bite. My eyes are watering. “It’s perfect.”
“It is not. The fat did not melt correctly. The circles are uneven. I will improve it.”
“Kol.” I grab his thick wrist with my greasy hand. “It’s perfect.”
His chest expands, his dra-kir thumping hard. He leans forward, pressing his forehead against mine, his thumbs tracing the line of my jaw.
And right then, sitting by a smoky fire in the depths of a desert planet, the exhaustion and panic I’ve carried since the crash finally leaves my body.
We’re not getting rescued.
I don’t think I even care anymore.
I look at my hands resting against his arm. Calloused. Cracked at the knuckles. Stained with grease and cave dust. These aren’t the hands of a girl from Chicago anymore.
If a ship landed outside right now, engines hot, door open, a straight shot back to Earth with running water and actual pizza and beds that aren’t made of animal skin, I would not get on it. I would stand right here in this cave full of feral aliens and watch it leave.
Because he’s here.
That’s the entire reason. Not because I’m brave.
Not because I’ve accepted my role as an alien First Lady.
Just because the terrifying alien sitting in front of me just tried to make me pizza out of sandfin meat because he saw me dreaming about it.
Because his heartbeat is the only sound that makes the anxiety in my skull stop.
Because when he looks at me with those golden eyes, I don’t feel like a survivor anymore.
I trace the hard curve of his jaw.
“Ready for what comes next?” I project directly into his mind.
“Back to back,” he projects back. “Always.”
I exhale slowly, smiling against his lips.
Kol’s broad hands suddenly clamp over my hips. He spins me around, dragging my back flush against his chest, and buries his face directly into the curve of my neck and takes a deep, chest-rattling inhale, his nose dragging firmly along my skin.
I jump. “Kol! What are you doing?”
“You smell like the burnt fat,” he rumbles in the mindspace. His teeth scrape over my neck, sending a sudden spike of heat straight to my lower belly. “I must fix it. Immediately.”
I choke on a laugh, gripping his forearms. “Kol, we are right next to the main cavern.”
He ignores the protest. He simply lifts me off the ground, standing up with effortless strength.
“Kol! Put me down!” I shriek, though I’m laughing too hard for it to matter.
His low, possessive rumble vibrating against my spine is my only answer. He carries me back into the main cavern like a highly-prized sack of flour, leaving behind the greasy remnants of his first pizza as he takes the tunnel up to his alcove.
We will fight the rival clan. We will face the dust.
But first, we mate.