Chapter 29
BELLA
Anxiety is a bastard. Doesn’t matter how many cups of coffee I drown myself in, how many laps I swim before sunrise to burn it off. It clings. Lives in my bones. Every day Kage spends with Natalie, it digs deeper. And she—my little monster—she’s getting attached. Fast.
I can’t blame her. He’s larger than life, patient when she’s wild, stern when she needs it, and funny in this awkward, dry way that makes her giggle until her ribs hurt.
Every time I see her climbing his back or curling into his arms, my chest cracks a little wider.
Because I know what I’m not saying. And the silence? It’s not neutral. It’s growing teeth.
By the time I flop into Jexi’s cluttered little storefront, I feel like I’m going to choke on my own secret. The place smells like burning sage and bad ideas. Crystals hang from every surface—pink, green, jagged, smooth. She’s got half of Glimner convinced these things balance your soul.
Jexi eyes me over a chipped mug of tea. “You look like warmed-over shit, Bella.”
“Thanks. Always good to feel seen.” I sink into her lopsided beanbag chair and pick up a ‘healing orb’ that looks suspiciously like a polished paperweight. “How’s business? Sold any miracle cures lately?”
She smirks. “Three today. One guy swears this quartz keeps his bowels regular.”
“Hope he doesn’t swallow it.”
Jexi leans forward, eyes sharp despite the lazy tone. “Spit it out, Red. You didn’t come here to roast my life choices.”
I spin the orb in my hands, staring at the warped reflection of my face. “It’s Kage.”
Her brows shoot up. “Tall, dark, and lizardy? He’s here?”
I nod. “Here and… with us. With Natalie.”
Jexi whistles low. “Shit. That’s not a small development. And judging by your raccoon eyes, you haven’t told him.”
I bark a laugh. “Oh sure, let me just drop that over dinner. ‘Pass the salt, by the way, she’s yours.’ That won’t implode.”
“Bella.” Jexi’s voice loses its teasing edge. “You either tell him, or you don’t. But this middle-ground shit? It’s gonna explode all over you. Probably soon.”
The words land heavy. Shard of glass pressing deeper.
At work, I’m a mess. The artificial wave pool churns under the domed sky, synthetic sun painting the water gold. Whistles echo. Kids scream and splash. It should feel routine. But my head won’t stop spinning.
I catch myself staring at a family near the shallow end. Grolgath father, human mother. He’s massive, laughing as his kids climb him like scaffolding. She kisses his jaw without shame. It’s easy. Normal. Like no one’s whispering about genetics or politics or who belongs to who.
My throat locks.
The alert siren blares—shrill, urgent. A boy thrashing in the deep zone.
“Bella!” my supervisor shouts.
Shit. I didn’t see him.
I dive in late, arms cutting water. By the time I drag the boy out, another guard’s already there, glaring.
Later, my supervisor corners me. “What the hell happened?”
“I spaced,” I snap before I can stop myself. “Maybe because I’ve been working doubles covering for your lazy ass—”
His mouth drops. Mine slams shut.
I apologize an hour later, chewing on shame all the while. But the cracks? They’re spreading.
That night, Kage and I go out. Just two people trying to remember how to be alive.
The zero-gravity garden is like stepping into a dream. Vines suspended in midair, blossoms drifting like stars, water bubbles floating between them. Kage looks ridiculous, his bulk trying to navigate the slow spin of weightlessness. He grabs a vine, snarling when it tears free.
I laugh so hard I almost choke. “Graceful.”
He snorts. “Your world is ridiculous. Plants should stay on the ground.”
“Tell that to the hydro-techs.”
We drift together, our bodies catching currents. A bubble of water floats between us. I poke it. It bursts, scattering droplets over his scales. He growls, swipes at me, misses.
For a while, we forget. Laugh. Breathe. He catches my waist when I drift too far, steadying me with one massive hand. And then he kisses me, right there in the middle of floating orchids and synthetic starlight.
It’s slow. Sweet. Terrifying.
When we break apart, I whisper, “This can’t be just about the past.”
He rumbles back, “It’s not.”
I want to believe him. Gods, I do.
But the glass in my throat cuts sharper.
Back home, I slip into Natalie’s room to tuck her in. She’s sprawled out sideways, blanket twisted, plastic sword clutched in her fist. My little warrior. My little lie.
Kage’s in the living room when I return, crouched near the shelf. My breath snags. He’s holding something.
The holo.
It flickers faint blue light across his face—me, heavy with pregnancy, awkward smile as I stood in front of the clinic scanner. I kept it. I don’t know why. Maybe because erasing proof felt like erasing him, too.
Kage stares at it too long. Too still.
My pulse jackhammers. I snatch it from his claws. “That’s private.” Too sharp. Too fast.
His frills flicker. He nods once, slow. “Understood.”
He doesn’t press. Doesn’t accuse. Just settles back on the couch, shoulders slumping like the whole world’s weight shifted again.
I stand there, holo clutched tight, heart racing. The silence between us feels louder than gunfire.
Then he rises.
One step. Two. Until his shadow swallows mine and I can’t breathe for the heat rolling off him.
“I should have known,” he murmurs.
I blink up at him, chest aching. “I was scared.”
He reaches for me—not to take the holo, but to cup my cheek. His scaled fingers are rough, claws sheathed. “You were alone.”
“I thought I lost you,” I whisper.
He doesn’t answer. His mouth crushes into mine with sudden hunger, a growl low in his throat. The holo drops from my hand and rolls under the couch. I don’t care.
He backs me against the wall, lips devouring, tongue pushing into my mouth like he needs to taste the truth from me. I gasp, hips arching forward. He growls again, deeper, the sound vibrating in my bones.
“You kept her from me,” he rasps, pressing his forehead to mine. “But I still want you. I want all of it. All of you.”
“Then take me,” I say. “Show me I’m still yours.”
He lifts me, claws supporting my thighs as he carries me toward the bedroom. The lights flicker as we pass, his breath ragged against my neck.
Inside, he throws me onto the bed—not hard, but fast. He’s trembling.
I strip quickly, tossing my shirt aside as he shucks his gear.
His massive black body gleams in the dim light, silver patterns glowing faintly like bioluminescent ink.
His cock is already hard, thick and veined, gleaming with need.
I crawl back, legs spread. “Come here, you beautiful monster.”
He snarls. “You’re playing with fire.”
“Good,” I pant. “Burn me.”
He climbs over me, mouth latching onto my breast as his claws trail down my belly. I arch, moaning, as his tongue circles my nipple, sharp teeth grazing just enough to make me gasp.
His hand slips between my legs. One thick finger plunges into my pussy and I cry out. “Fuck, Kage—”
“You’re soaked,” he growls. “You need this.”
“I need you,” I breathe. “I always did.”
He lines his cock up, dragging the thick head through my folds, soaking it in my arousal. Then he pushes in, slow, deliberate. I stretch around him, breath catching as inch after inch slides inside me.
“Oh my god—” I whimper.
“You’re mine,” he snarls. “Say it.”
“I’m yours. Fuck, Kage—I’m yours.”
He drives deeper. I wrap my legs around him, nails digging into his shoulders as he starts to thrust. Each stroke rocks the bed, the headboard knocking into the wall. My pussy clenches, desperate for more.
“You kept our child,” he groans. “You raised her alone.”
“I did it for her,” I pant. “But I needed you. I need you still.”
He kisses me again, brutal and consuming. “Then take all of me.”
He slams into me harder, and I scream. Not in pain. In release. In reunion. Every thrust brings us closer, his massive cock hitting that perfect spot over and over.
I come with a cry, my entire body shuddering. My walls pulse around him, milking him. He growls, a deep, guttural sound, and then he’s spilling inside me, thrusting through it, giving me everything.
We collapse together. I sob into his chest. He cradles me, claws splayed protectively.
“You’re mine,” he whispers again.
Later, when he goes to bed, I sit alone in the kitchen. Lights low. The holo flickering in my palm.
The lie is heavier now. Not abstract. Not quiet. It’s alive. Breathing. Watching me.