Chapter 7
Cleo
Three days after fixing the water purification system, I’d settled into something that almost resembled a routine.
Mornings were spent with Korin and the other engineers, checking systems and teaching them diagnostic techniques that would help them understand their salvaged technology better.
Afternoons, I explored the village, always within the walls, always shadowed by guards who maintained a respectful distance but never quite let me out of sight.
Evenings, I returned to our quarters to share meals with Baleck and Mierva, comparing notes on what we’d learned about D’tran culture and survival.
It should have felt like captivity. In some ways, it still did. But in others, it felt like being useful again. Like contributing something meaningful instead of just existing as a problem to be solved.
And through it all, I felt Rezor watching me.
Not constantly. Not even frequently. But enough that I’d catch glimpses of him at the edge of a plaza, or standing in a doorway, his eyes tracking my movements before he turned away.
We rarely spoke unless circumstances forced us into close proximity, which wasn’t often.
He seemed to be making a point of maintaining distance, of staying just out of reach.
I didn’t like it.
Not because I wanted his attention, I told myself.
But because I couldn’t figure out what he was thinking.
Was he still suspicious? Still deciding whether we were worth the risk of keeping around?
Or was he avoiding me for the same reason I caught myself cataloging his location whenever I saw him in the distance?
The marks. The impossible, glowing sacred marks that reacted to my presence like I was some kind of biological alarm system.
I tried not to think about what that meant.
The village itself made it easier to focus on other things.
Despite everything, I’d fallen a little bit in love with what these people had built.
The careful engineering that went into their water systems and drainage.
The way they’d organized their society to maximize efficiency without sacrificing community.
The grow facility that combined salvaged technology with careful agricultural practice to both provide food and preserve plant life that the storms would have wiped from existence.
They’d survived in complete isolation for generations, and they’d done it with intelligence and adaptability and a determination to preserve not just their people, but their world.
I understood that. Respected it. Maybe even envied it a little. Humans were not always so careful with our planet. We were now, but it had taken contact with aliens to expand our worldview and break us out of our destructive cycles.
By the time I made it back to our quarters, it was evening.
The planet’s sun only fully shone right at the middle of the day, for an hour or so.
That was the only time it wasn’t hidden by the clouds surrounding the valley.
So now, the world was bathed in purples and grays.
I didn’t mind. Lights in our quarters were warm and soft, and made the simple room feel almost cozy.
Mierva sat on her bed, which was absolutely covered in old data pads. Her arm was in a sling, held carefully against her chest, but she looked better than she had days ago. Healthier. The pain lines around her eyes had smoothed, and her color-shifting skin showed calmer patterns.
“You’re healing fast,” I observed, dropping onto my own bed with a grateful sigh.
“Destran physiology,” she said without looking up from the pad she was reading. “We heal quickly compared to most species. Though I wish I had lami.” She gestured at her arm with mild frustration. “As it is, I’m stuck being careful for at least another week.”
“Better than the alternative.” I kicked off my boots and stretched out, staring at the ceiling.
She was right, though. The healing properties of lami, a liquid produced by Solas, would have accelerated her healing.
Destrans could live on it alone, and while it was life-giving and healing for Destrans—and humans—it was an addictive drug for other species.
Which had caused plenty of problems. “What are you reading?”
“Historical records. Cultural documentation. Everything the D’tran have preserved about their ancestors.
” She finally looked up, her orange eyes bright with scholarly excitement.
“It’s fascinating, Cleo. The older the texts, the closer they are to Destran language.
You can actually track the linguistic drift over generations.
And their customs, their beliefs, they’re all rooted in Destran tradition but evolved to suit their isolated circumstances. ”
“Find anything useful? Like maybe a section on: How to convince your hosts you’re not going to destroy their civilization?”
She smiled. “Not specifically. But I’m learning a great deal about their value systems. Family bonds, community responsibility, respect for the land. They’re not so different from Destrans, really. Just shaped by different circumstances.”
I rolled onto my side, propping my head on my hand. “What about the marks? The sacred marks. Have you found anything about those?”
Mierva nodded. “Mmm. They’re fascinating. We never thought they actually translated to anything, but they do, apparently. Why do you ask?”
“Curious.” I kept my voice casual, even though my heart had started beating faster.
“They’re everywhere on D’tran skin. Everyone has them.
I initially thought they each had lots of mates, since Destrans only get them when they meet their one true love.
” I shrugged. “I just wondered why they have so many.”
“Any doubts that D’tran and Destrans are related disappear when we look at the marks.
” She set down the data pad and pulled up her right pant leg to reveal her calf.
My gaze fell on a design the size of my hand.
It was vivid green and a mix of organic swirls with runelike shapes.
“My mating mark, which appeared when I met my Derrin, apparently means, one who heals. I am not much of a nurse, I assure you. I tried…” Her smile faded and her eyes clouded, and I could only assume she was remembering the terrible war her people had waged against the Brakken—beings who wanted control over the Solas and their lami.
It was during that war that Destrans and humans first encountered each other—human women who were now mated to the lords of the Destran Solas.
Mierva was old enough to remember the battles very well.
She waved a hand. “Anyway, Destrans develop mating marks when they bond with their destined partner, but the D’tran are born with marks.
Most are just there, but some…activate when they encounter their destined mate. ”
“What happens when they activate?”
“Well, they glow.” Her expression was thoughtful.
“The texts describe it as a recognition. The marks responding to compatible energy, to someone whose presence completes something fundamental in the bearer. When marks glow for someone not yet bonded, it indicates deep compatibility. A potential mate.”
The words landed like stones in my chest. Deep compatibility. Potential mate.
Then, Mierva shook her head. “Although, it doesn’t happen all the time. Apparently only for significant bondings. I don’t understand all this, yet. The records seem contradictory.”
Rezor’s marks blazed every time he touched me. Every single time, without fail, like my presence set something on fire inside him. And from the way he’d been avoiding me for days, he knew exactly what it meant.
“That’s…” I swallowed. “That’s very specific.”
“It’s quite romantic, actually.” Mierva tilted her head, studying me. “Why the interest? Has someone’s marks been glowing around you?”
“No,” I lied quickly. Too quickly. “Just trying to understand their culture. You know me, always cataloging information.”
She didn’t look convinced, but she let it drop. “Well, if you want to know more, I’ve been compiling notes. The sacred marks are considered deeply significant in D’tran society. A gift from their ancestors, a way to ensure genetic and emotional compatibility in a small, isolated population.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. My mind was racing, thoughts tumbling over each other in increasingly uncomfortable ways.
Deep compatibility with Rezor. A D’tran male who was not only a different species, but who currently controlled every aspect of my life. Who could decide with a word whether we lived or died, whether we stayed or were cast out into the storms.
Who made my pulse race and my thoughts scatter every time those fuchsia eyes found mine across a crowded plaza.
No. Absolutely not.
I’d spent my entire adult life learning not to trust authority figures.
Not to let anyone have that kind of power over me.
I had friends, yes. Zara and Maya, now Baleck and Mierva.
People I’d chosen to let into my life. People who’d earned my trust through actions, not through some biological imperative that said we were “compatible.”
The memories rose unbidden, sharp and cutting as always.
You’re useless, Cleo. Can’t you do anything right?
My father’s voice, harsh and cold, echoing through my childhood home. Standing in the kitchen after I’d dropped a plate, frozen with fear while he towered over me.
Clumsy. Thoughtless. You’ll never amount to anything if you can’t even handle simple tasks.
I’d been eight years old.
Your sister understands discipline. Why can’t you be more like her?
Stop crying. You’re being dramatic. You think this is hard? Wait until the real world gets hold of you.
Biggest disappointment of my life.