Chapter 53 Bella
BELLA
Ash hangs in the air like memory—soft, gray, bitter.
It clings to the inside of my nose, settles in my throat, grits between my teeth.
The fire tore through Sector Alevin in under four hours.
The emergency broadcast said “no casualties,” but that doesn’t mean there wasn’t loss.
Homes. Heirlooms. Lives built brick by trembling brick.
Now, it’s a graveyard of smoke and soot, scattered with tents and tired eyes. And I’m back in motion—stabilizer pack on my belt, gloves caked in antiseptic balm, shouting over the crackle of portable power lines.
“Put pressure here!” I bark, guiding a jittery volunteer’s hands to a minor plasma burn on a boy’s leg. “Don’t dab—press. You’re not painting, you’re saving skin.”
The kid yelps. His mother tries to soothe him, but I already know the sound. Not pain—fear. He’s scared because everyone around him is. I hand him a lollipop from my side pouch and wink. “Tastes like cherry glue. You’re gonna hate it.”
He smiles, just barely.
“Bella!” someone calls from behind me. I turn, ready for another crisis, but it’s Natalie, running full tilt across the makeshift camp. Her boots kick up ash, and her curls bounce like wild comets under the sun. She skids to a stop beside me, panting.
“Can I help the kitchens? Papa said they’re swamped.”
“Did you ask if they want help first?” I arch a brow.
“Yeah. Gake said I could chop if I wear gloves.”
“Then go. And don’t cut off your fingers.”
She makes a dramatic show of wiggling all ten. “No promises.”
Then she bolts, disappearing behind a prefab unit.
I take a breath that burns on the way down and try not to let the smile crack my soot-streaked face.
She’s not hiding her scales anymore. They shimmer faintly across her cheekbones in the sunlight—barely visible unless you’re looking. But they’re there.
And no one’s looking. No one cares. That does something strange to my chest.
By sundown, I’m soaked in sweat and adrenaline.
My knees are starting to lock, and my shoulders ache like they’ve been socketed backward.
Still, I keep going. There's always one more blister to wrap, one more inhaler to recalibrate, one more child to distract while their mother cries over lost birth records.
At one point, I find myself holding a toddler with sticky fingers and a snot trail that would shame a jelly eel. He clings to me like a life raft, tiny fingers buried in the collar of my vest.
“What’s your name, sweetie?”
He hiccups into my neck. “Julo.”
“Julo, huh? Bet you’re tough.”
He pulls back just far enough to squint at me. “You smell like fire.”
“Thanks. You smell like cheese.” I boop his nose. “Guess we’re even.”
When I finally get a break, it’s because Sorena all but yanks me by the elbow and shoves a water canteen in my hand.
“You’re gonna collapse,” she growls. “Then who’ll yell at the rest of us?”
I gulp down three mouthfuls. “Is that your version of concern?”
“It’s my version of shut up and hydrate.” She jabs a finger toward the south tents. “Kids are playing tag. Go remind yourself what peace looks like.”
I want to argue. There are still wound packs to sterilize, still water rations to distribute. But my legs have other ideas. I follow the sound of laughter, dragging one boot in front of the other until I hit the edge of a makeshift clearing.
There they are—at least twenty kids, darting between tents and crates, giggling like the galaxy’s never been on fire. Natalie’s in the middle of it all, racing with her arms flung out like wings. Her scales catch the dusk light, shimmering bronze and teal.
No one flinches.
No one whispers.
One of the kids tags her. “Dragon! You’re it!”
She snarls playfully and chases after them, teeth bared, roaring with delight. I collapse onto a crate and watch, hands limp in my lap, ash still clinging to my fingertips.
“Your kid’s fast,” a voice beside me murmurs.
I glance sideways. It’s one of the other volunteers—a tall woman with soot smeared across her forehead and a cracked datapad in her lap.
“She’s got her father’s reflexes,” I say softly.
The woman nods. “And your eyes.”
I don’t know how to respond to that, so I just smile. We sit in silence for a bit, the kind of quiet only a day’s worth of exhaustion can buy. The sky overhead has turned orange with gas flare. Smoke threads through the atmosphere like a second horizon. And yet, somehow, it’s beautiful.
That night, I’m back in our tent, muscles too tired to twitch.
Kage is still out near the south line handing out ration packs.
Natalie’s already asleep, curled under a heat blanket with her stuffed croc-beast under one arm and a half-eaten protein bar near her mouth. She snores softly—just like her dad.
I dig through my med bag until I find a tiny, beaten-up notebook. I haven’t touched it in years. Not since the war. Not since before Kage found us again. But tonight, something cracks open inside me.
I flick on the low light, pull out a stub of a stylus, and begin to write:
This galaxy is still broken. But it’s learning. And so am I.
I pause. Tap the stylus against the page. Then I add:
I used to think surviving meant fighting. Bleeding. Screaming into voids that never answered. But today, a girl with scales outran a boy with a limp. And they laughed like they’d never seen fire eat a home. That’s healing, too. Quiet. Sticky. Unremarkable. But real.
I set the notebook down and sit back, listening to Natalie breathe. There’s soot in my bra, dirt under my nails, and I’m wearing mismatched socks. My whole body aches. And still—I wouldn’t trade this moment for anything.
Kage slips in not long after. He crouches beside me, his voice low.
“You’re up late.”
“Just writing.”
He leans in and kisses my forehead. “Did you save the galaxy again?”
“Only a few city blocks this time.”
He smirks, peeling off his outer jacket and tossing it into the corner. “Show off.”
I pat the floor beside me. “Sit. Breathe. Be still.”
He does.
He sinks beside me with a low grunt, the weight of him settling the room.
His bulk dwarfs mine, massive limbs folding down like tectonic plates easing into place.
For a while, we say nothing, just sit there—husband and wife, parents, survivors of too many things to count—watching our daughter sleep under stars made of synthetic cloth and old wiring.
Kage’s tail twitches once against the floor, then goes still.
Then he shifts, turns his head, his breath warm against my shoulder. “You think they’ll remember any of this? The kids?”
I wrap my arms around my legs, chin on my knees. “I hope not,” I say. “I hope they only remember the tag games. And the lollipops. And the fact that someone showed up when the fire came.”
Kage’s hand finds mine in the dark. His thumb brushes across my knuckles, tender despite the calluses and rough ridges. “Then we did good.”
“Yeah,” I whisper. “We did.”
But the quiet that follows isn’t complete. There’s something charged in the air, like static before a storm. I feel it in the way his hand tightens around mine. In the hitch of my breath when he leans closer.
His scaled nose brushes the shell of my ear. “Come with me.”
I follow him, heart in my throat, legs trembling as he guides me into the next room. The lights are low, flickering from old battery lamps, casting our shadows large on the walls. Kage stops near the edge of the bed, towering and quiet, watching me like I’m the only light he needs.
He reaches for me, hands sliding beneath my shirt, claws grazing my skin—not to threaten, never to harm, but to feel. He lifts it over my head slowly, reverently, letting his eyes devour every inch of pale skin exposed. “You always do that,” he rumbles.
“What?” I whisper, barely able to breathe.
“Look like a goddess and pretend you’re not.”
I snort, shaky. “You’re biased.”
“I’m possessive,” he growls. “And I know what’s mine.”
His mouth crashes into mine before I can retort. He kisses with heat, with hunger, his fangs grazing my lips without piercing. His tongue is rougher than a human’s, broader, and it fills my mouth with the taste of him—salt, smoke, wild earth.
He breaks away only to tug off his shirt, scales gleaming under the faint light. His black skin ripples with strength, patterned in silver along his chest, down his arms, across the corded planes of his abdomen. I trace one of the marks, breathless. “You’re beautiful.”
He snarls low. “Say that again.”
“You’re beautiful.”
His pupils dilate to slits, burning red. “Lie down.”
I obey.
The blankets crinkle beneath me as he crawls up the bed, body looming over mine, massive and solid and warm.
His hand trails down my side, claws skimming my ribs, hips, thighs.
When he reaches my panties, he tears them with one clean stroke of his claws.
I gasp, the sound swallowed by his mouth as he kisses me again.
“Let me taste,” he growls.
I nod, and he lowers his head.
His tongue is hot and wide, lapping slowly between my thighs, savoring every tremble of my pussy. He moans against me, the sound sending vibrations deep into my core. “You’re soaked,” he whispers. “Is this all for me?”
“Yes,” I pant, legs shaking.
He slides a clawed hand beneath my ass, tilting me closer to his mouth. His tongue flicks, circles, presses. My hands fist the sheets. “Kage,” I sob. “I’m going to—”
He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t let up. When I come, it’s in a wave that shakes my entire body, arching me off the bed. He licks me through it, groaning as he tastes every drop.
Then he moves up, positions himself between my legs. His cock—thick, ridged, long—is already hard, the tip slick with need. “Ready?” he asks, voice ragged.
“Yes. Fuck me.”
He presses in, slow at first, stretching me inch by inch. My walls grip him, desperate, greedy. I moan, clawing at his back, his shoulders, anything I can reach. He doesn’t stop until he’s fully seated, hips flush to mine.
“You’re so tight,” he growls. “So perfect.”
He starts to move, hips grinding slow, then harder. His cock hits deep, brushing places that make my vision go white. We fuck like we’re anchoring the universe. Like this is the only thing keeping the stars in place.
Our bodies slap together, sweat slick, gasps and moans filling the dark. “Harder,” I beg.
He snarls, obeying, thrusting deep enough to shake the bed. My second orgasm builds fast, burning behind my ribs. I cry out as it breaks, convulsing around him.
He follows with a roar, cock pulsing as he spills inside me, warmth flooding my womb.
We collapse together, breathless, spent, his body curling protectively around mine.
“You’re mine,” he murmurs into my hair.
“And you’re mine,” I whisper back.
And this time, there’s no fear in it. Only truth.