Chapter 8 #2
“Don’t worry,” Jolie said softly, catching my involuntary reaction.
“This is just a precaution. I don’t think the wound is deep enough to require stitches.
” Her fingers were gentle as she examined the cut, her touch sending a slight shiver through me that had nothing to do with pain.
She dipped a corner of the cloth in water and began cleaning the wound.
The water was warm, almost hot, and stung slightly, but her touch was feather-light, and I tried not to react too visibly to the sensation.
I watched her face, noting the concentration in her eyes, the way her brow furrowed slightly as she worked.
So fucking beautiful it caused my heart to stutter.
“It’s not as bad as I first thought,” she murmured, more to herself than to me. Her fingers traced the edge of the wound, and I had to suppress a sudden impulse to catch her hand and press it against my lips.
She uncapped the jar of healing gel, a sharp medicinal tang filling the air. “This might sting a bit,” she warned, her voice soft.
“You are an excellent healer,” I told her, watching as she carefully applied the translucent gel. The substance felt cool and slightly viscous against my raw flesh, creating a mild burning sensation that quickly faded to a gentle tingling. Uncomfortable but entirely bearable.
A faint derisive snort escaped her lips, the sound sharp in the quiet treehouse. “Not good enough,” she muttered, her voice thick with self-recrimination.
“Why do you say that?” I asked, settling back in the sturdy wooden chair and allowing myself to savor her gentle ministrations as she began fashioning a bandage from a strip of cloth.
Her sigh was deep and heavy as it escaped her lips.
The sound settled between us like a physical presence, and I watched her shoulders sag slightly under some invisible burden.
“Being an oncology nurse, you learn to compartmentalize,” she began, her voice taking on a distant quality as she wrapped the soft fabric around my hand.
“The kids I cared for were so sick—terminal cases, most of them. Some days, it felt like no matter how hard I tried, death was always lurking just one step ahead, waiting to snatch them away.” She paused, her amber eyes growing distant.
“You learn to build walls around your heart, thick ones, to protect yourself from the constant grief. But those walls….” Her voice cracked slightly.
“They don’t always stop the pain from seeping through the cracks. ”
She drew in a shuddering breath, her gaze finally lifting to meet mine, brown eyes now shimmering with unshed tears.
“I met Lilibet’s mother, Saishie, right after Qurbaga bought me at auction.
She took me under her wing... protected me, showed me how to survive harem life.
” Jolie’s hands stilled completely now, the half-finished bandage forgotten.
“I wouldn’t have made it through those first weeks without her.
She was already pregnant when the slavers captured her—had to watch as they killed her mate when he tried to defend her.
Something broke inside her that day, and it never quite healed. ”
A single tear escaped, tracing a silver path down her cheek.
“Her pregnancy was difficult from the start—complications I didn’t fully understand.
I did everything I knew how to do, called upon every iota of training I’d ever received, but it wasn’t enough.
” Her voice dropped to barely above a whisper.
“Saishie is the death that haunts me most. I failed Lilibet before she was even born, and I don’t know how I’ll ever make that right. ”
“You did not fail Lilibet,” I insisted, my uninjured hand lifting to cup the delicate curve of her cheek, my thumb gently swiping away the tears that had dared to fall.
Her skin was impossibly soft beneath my touch, warm and slightly damp from her crying.
“You took care of her from the moment she drew breath, loved her. Lilibet is alive and safe because of you.” I could see the regret still swimming in her eyes, the self-doubt that clung to her like shadows.
“Most Naniloa end up in slavery, prized possessions coveted for their beauty and grace. But that youngling runs free through these trees, laughs without fear, learns and grows in safety, and it’s all because of you. ”
“I love her more than anything,” she whispered, her voice breaking. Fresh tears spilled over, creating new tracks down her cheeks. “She’s my daughter in every way that matters.”
“And you are her mother,” I promised. “Lilibet calls you MeMe. In her native language, that is the word reserved only for the female who nurtures and protects a youngling’s heart.”
Jolie gasped, her eyes widening as a fresh torrent of tears began swimming in their amber depths. “I thought it was just a nickname,” she breathed, her voice filled with wonder. “I didn’t realize the true meaning....” Her fingers fumbled slightly as she finished tying off the bandage.
I cupped her face gently in my hands, my thumbs moving in slow, soothing strokes to catch each tear. “You are Lilibet’s mother in every sense that matters,” I repeated firmly. “Never allow yourself to forget that truth.”
“What if I can’t keep her safe?” she whispered, her voice saturated with bone-deep worry. The kind of fear that only a parent can truly understand.
“You will,” I promised. “And I will stand beside you. I will protect Lilibet as if she were my own blood.” I drew in a deep, steadying breath, the next words flowing from somewhere deep in my chest, filled with both promise and longing. “You as well, Jolie. I will protect you both with my life.”
Jolie’s eyes met mine, a mixture of gratitude, vulnerability, and something else—something deeper. For a moment, neither of us moved, the silence charged with unspoken emotions. Her hand, still resting on my arm, trembled slightly.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. Slowly, as if unsure of her actions, she rose on tiptoe and pressed her lips to mine.
The kiss was tentative at first, soft and questioning. Her lips felt warm against mine, tasting faintly of the herbal tea she’d been drinking earlier. I remained perfectly still, letting her set the pace, afraid that any sudden movement might break the spell between us.
When she didn’t pull away, I allowed myself to respond, my lips moving gently against hers, purely on instinct.
My hands, still cupping her face, drew her slightly closer.
The kiss deepened just a fraction, and I felt her breath catch against my mouth.
Her free hand came up to rest against my chest, fingers splaying over my heart, and my scales tingled.
This was what I craved with every fiber of my being.
Not the chaste kiss of friendship or the polite peck of gratitude, but a kiss that burned with desire, a kiss between lovers who hungered to discover more of what lay between them.
Time seemed suspended. The treehouse around us fading away until there was nothing but the warmth of her touch, the sweetness of her lips, and the thundering of my pulse in my ears.
When we finally broke apart, it was slowly, reluctantly, our foreheads coming to rest against each other as we caught our breath.
“Well, on Earth we believe that kissing a boo boo makes it all better,” she laughed faintly.
“I certainly feel better,” I chuckled as well, the sound rumbling deep in my chest. I felt more than better—I felt invincible, as though I could conquer entire star systems with nothing but the memory of her lips against mine.
“I... uh... I better get back to Lilibet,” Jolie murmured, her voice barely above a whisper as she pulled away from my touch, her fingertips lingering on my chest for just a heartbeat longer than necessary, as if she, too, was reluctant to break the spell that had woven itself around us.
“Of course,” I said, though every fiber of my being wanted to ask her to stay. I watched as she moved toward the door, her movements slightly unsteady, and I realized I wasn’t the only one affected by what had just happened. “That was certainly worth getting injured,” I murmured, my voice rough.
I remained seated at the table, my bandaged hand resting in my lap. The treehouse felt impossibly quiet without her presence, and I touched my lips, still feeling the phantom pressure of hers against them.
The kiss had awakened something in me I hadn’t even known was sleeping. It wasn’t just desire, though that was certainly part of it. It was a deep, aching need to protect her, to be worthy of the trust she’d shown me, to prove that I wasn’t broken and could be the male she and Lilibet deserved.
My chest felt tight with emotions I couldn’t quite name.
Hope, perhaps. Fear, certainly. Jolie had kissed me—not out of gratitude or desperation, but because she wanted to.
The thought sent another wave of warmth through me, and I resisted the urge to follow her outside and sweep her into another kiss.
Instead, I sat there, letting the magnitude of the moment settle over me, knowing that nothing would ever be the same again. I wanted more. I wanted Jolie. Whether I deserved her or not.