Chapter 20
APPARENTLY, WE SMELL LIKE SEX AND WET ROCK (DIRECT QUOTE FROM ALEX)
MIKAELA
The climb out of the ravine feels short.
Maybe because I’m no longer climbing and Sarven is carrying me.
The return journey is a blur of motion that defies physics.
The route that would have taken us hours of careful climbing takes Sarven minutes.
He moves with a new, terrifying grace, leaping over the gaps where we would have stumbled, his feet finding purchase on rock I wouldn’t dare step on.
The terrain that slowed us down is nothing to him now; he navigates it like he owns it.
By the time we reach the familiar slope leading to the main cavern, my lungs are burning just from the altitude change, but I’m alive.
The air shifts, the cold damp of the deep tunnels giving way to the warmer, smoke-tinged scent of the central fire.
Sarven slows, his chest heaving against my side, and finally skids to a halt just before the last bend.
“Put me down,” I whisper, tapping his shoulder.
He tightens his grip instantly. I feel the possessive reluctance radiating off him in a stubborn, silent No.
“I can’t be carried in like a sack of grain if we want them to listen to the science. I need to stand.”
He grumbles, a low vibration against my ribs, but he listens, easing me carefully to the stone.
My shoes hit the floor. I brace myself, expecting my legs to wobble the way they did before, but they don’t. They hold firm.
“Okay,” I say, straightening my spine and smoothing my tunic. “I’m standing. Solid.”
We hit the familiar slope that leads into the main cavern. Faint voices echo off rock, low murmurs, the harsh clip of English here and there.
Home.
Sarven steps a little closer as we round the last bend, close enough that the heat of him presses along my right side. In the mindspace, I feel him wrap tighter too, like he’s unconsciously throwing a cloak around me.
“Ready?” he asks again.
“Nope,” I mutter. “Let’s do it anyway.”
We step out into the main cavern.
Firestones glow in the central fire, ringed by stone pots, bone bowls, and worried human faces. Drakav linger on the outer rim of the shared space, worry seeping from them too.
Every head turns.
A ripple passes through the crowd. Conversations stutter and stop.
I freeze for half a second under the weight of it.
We move together toward the central fire, through a narrowing lane of staring Drakav.
I’m acutely aware of…everything.
The torn edge of my scale-tunic, the way my braids are half unraveled, the faint ache between my thighs that makes my gait just a little different. How I smell like sex and cave dust.
And Sarven—
Sarven is bigger.
He was always big. But here, in familiar space, you can see the change. Or maybe that’s just the new confidence in his stride, the way he’s moving like someone who found the thing he didn’t dare hope for and is now prepared to fight gods for it.
Also: loincloth.
My extremely on-board idea to preserve his modesty (and my sanity) may not have accounted for the visual of him striding into the main cavern with most of his thighs and a scandalous amount of hip on display.
The clan notices.
Conversations die. Tools clatter to the floor. The ambient hum of the cave is replaced by the sound of forty massive, golden-skinned warriors inhaling sharply at the same time.
They stare at Sarven, at his new, broader shoulders, at the settled bulge behind the loincloth, the way he looks like he just conquered a kingdom.
Then they look at me.
The mindspace descends into absolute chaos.
“The Silent One? Him?”
“He did not bring shiny rocks. He did not do the blinking or teeth baring. He just… lurked.”
“Is lurking the key? I have been teeth baring. Have I been doing it wrong?”
I press my lips together. Don’t laugh. Do not laugh.
They drift toward us, a tide of golden muscle forming a loose huddle in our wake.
They are studying Sarven with the intensity of scholars. One male, Keth, actually stops smiling mid-stride and attempts to mimic Sarven’s trademark scowl, glancing around to see if any human females notice his new “dark and mysterious” energy.
Sarven’s mental presence flares with a mix of insufferable smugness and possessive irritation. He steps a fraction closer, body angling subtly to cut off their view of me.
“Mine,” he projects outward, a low, rolling growl that vibrates the very air. “Back.”
The crowd shuffles back a step, but they don’t leave. They just stare harder.
“He caught one,” one transmits, sounding almost tearful. “There is hope for the grumpy ones.”
I bite the inside of my cheek until it hurts to keep from cackling.
Kol is there by the central fire, back straight.
Kelvan stands nearby, looking remarkably solid for someone who recently had a mountain try to eat him.
His leg is wrapped in fiber, but, remarkably, he’s standing.
Haroth stands by his side and Zan lurks just behind them, arms folded, expression carved out of stone.
But before we can reach the leadership, the blockade hits.
“Mikaela!”
It’s a shriek that echoes off the ceiling.
Pam is the first to break ranks, launching herself from the group near the fire. Erika is right behind her, looking grimly relieved, with Jacqui and Justine trailing close, their expressions a mix of delight and something I feel in the mindspace. Recognition.
Sarven’s arm finds my waist and tightens around me instinctively. He grunts, muscles bunching, but he doesn’t stop them.
Pam slams into me, wrapping me in a hug that squeezes the last breath out of my ribs.
“You’re alive!” she squeals, pulling back to inspect me. “We thought—when the rocks fell—oh my; you look terrible!”
“Thanks,” I wheeze, patting her arm.
“You look alive,” Erika corrects, gripping my shoulder hard. Her eyes scan me, checking for missing limbs. “We were about five minutes away from organizing a rescue party with or without permission.”
“I told them you were too stubborn to die,” Alex adds, stepping up with a tired smile on her face.
But Jacqui and Justine haven’t said a word.
They are standing perfectly still, staring at me. Or rather, staring at the space between Sarven and me. Their eyes are wide, their mouths ajar.
“Oh my god,” Justine breathes.
Jacqui’s gaze snaps to mine. “Mikaela. Your head. It’s… loud.”
“Loud?” Pam asks, looking between us.
“She’s broadcasting,” Justine says, a grin spreading across her face. “Not words. Just… gold. A constant stream of safe-warm-mine.”
She points a finger at Sarven.
“And him,” Jacqui adds, looking at the warrior towering over me. “He’s practically screaming it back.”
The chatter dies instantly.
Pam’s eyes shift to Sarven, then widen as she really looks at him. At the loincloth. At the way he’s looming over me like a possessive gargoyle. At the bits of starry darkness that haven’t faded from his skin yet.
Her mouth drops open as she looks at me, then at him, then back at me. “You… you guys didn’t.”
“In the tunnels?” Erika asks, eyebrows shooting up. “Seriously?”
Heat floods my face.
“We almost died,” I defend weakly. “It was a high-stress situation. Adrenaline. You know.”
“Uh-huh,” Erika says, but she’s smiling. A real, genuine smile. “Adrenaline. Sure.”
“They’re bonded,” Justine announces to the group, beaming. “Look at him. He’s fully transformed. The dust chose.”
“And you accepted,” Jacqui adds softly to me.
The realization ripples through the human women. Another one of us has a protector who will burn the world down before letting her get hurt.
Pam grabs my hand, squeezing it. “I knew it! I told you he was making you things! I told you!”
“Okay, okay,” I laugh, overwhelmed.
Rok breaks away from the group of Drakav near the fire. A wide, delighted grin cracks his face.
“At last,” he projects, voice booming in the mindspace. He claps Sarven’s shoulder with a meaty hand that would have knocked me flat. “You stop walking around like a kicked sand-runner, hm?”
Laughter ripples through the mindspace.
Sarven huffs out a breath, but his embarrassment is underlaid with fierce, feral pride. If he had a tail, I’m pretty sure it would be wagging.
“Mated,” Rok adds more quietly, with a note of deep satisfaction. “Good.”
Then the crowd parts as Kol steps forward.
“You return,” he says, and whoa, Kol’s voice in the mindspace is like hearing Optimus Prime in your head. “Whole.”
“Mostly,” I answer aloud, because old habits die hard.
Alex blinks, looking between Kol’s silent, impassive face and me. She clearly didn’t hear what he said, but she definitely heard my answer. And for a nurse, the word ‘mostly’ is apparently a trigger.
“I don’t know what he asked,” Alex interjects, stepping forward from the circle of women, “but I don’t like that answer. Define ‘mostly.’” Her tired smile is gone, replaced by the look that could make grown marines confess their sins. “Sit.”
“I don’t need to—”
Sarven’s hand nudges my hip.
“Sit,” he echoes unhelpfully, sending an image of me collapsing like a rag doll if I don’t.
Traitor.
I sigh and drop onto the nearest flat rock.
Alex crouches, fingers pressing instantly against the pulse point at my wrist while the back of her other hand goes to my forehead. She counts silently for a moment, brow furrowed, then peels back one of my eyelids to check my pupil response.
“Huh,” she says finally, dropping my wrist. She’s frowning at me like my pulse just told a lie. “Heart rate is strong. Steady. Your temperature is actually… normal. How’s your head?”
“Clear,” I say, and mean it.
Alex’s shoulders drop half an inch in relief. “Planet sickness?”
“Gone. Completely.” My lungs feel scrubbed clean, my pulse steady. I glance at Sarven. Whatever he poured into me, it brought me back to life.
“Tina?” I ask, gaze shifting back to Alex. “Is she—”
“Better,” Alex says, glancing back toward the sick bay alcove. “Barely keeping hydrated on firebloom nectar, but she’s stabilizing. No more vomiting.”
A knot I wasn’t fully aware of unspools in my gut.