Chapter 7 #2
"I got these things," Harper said, gesturing toward two flat plastic things lying on the floor between us. "If we blow them up, they might make decent mattresses."
She held out one of the garishly colored plastic rectangles to me, and I turned it over in my hands, perplexed.
It was thin and lightweight, folded flat with odd ridges and what appeared to be a valve protruding from one corner.
I noticed faded images printed on the surface.
Some kind of Earth fruit, perhaps? The whole thing looked utterly useless in its current deflated state, like a shed skin or discarded membrane.
When Harper demonstrated blowing air into the valve, I watched in fascination as the limp plastic began to expand and take shape, transforming into something that could actually support weight. Ingenious, in a primitive sort of way.
We inflated the two floats, the plastic squeaking and stretching as they took shape.
I positioned them side by side on the floor, the bright tropical patterns—palm trees and cartoon pineapples—absurdly cheerful.
We spread the beach towels over the surfaces, the terrycloth providing a thin barrier between skin and plastic.
Harper claimed the float closest to the wall, settling onto it with a soft creak of air-filled chambers shifting beneath her weight.
I took up position beside her, close enough that my body formed a barrier between her and the door, between her and whatever threat might find us.
She gathered several towels around herself, layering them over her body as she curled into a tight ball, knees drawn up to her chest. The makeshift blankets did little to hide how small she looked, how vulnerable.
"Goodnight Xabat," she murmured, her voice muffled by the towels tucked under her chin.
"Goodnight, Harper."
She went still, but I could hear the rhythm of her breathing. Quick and shallow, the rapid in-and-out cadence of someone whose mind refused to quiet, whose worry kept sleep at bay despite exhaustion.
"Harper?"
She rolled over to face me, the towels rustling with the movement. Her blue eyes caught what little light remained, luminous and bright, like twin stars in a void.
"I will keep you safe. No matter what. You have my vow."
A strange expression flickered across her features—gratitude bleeding into relief, and beneath it all, something deeper I couldn't quite decipher, couldn't quite reach.
A tiny hand emerged from beneath the pile of towels, pale fingers seeking and finding my own, her skin cool against my palm as she wrapped her hand around mine.
"I know."
Her words settled over me like a benediction. She trusted me. This fragile human who had every reason to be wary had placed her faith in me without hesitation.
Something shifted in my chest, a tightening that was both painful and profound.
I'd been a slave, a thing to be used and discarded.
I'd been broken down until I barely remembered what it meant to be a warrior, to have honor.
Somehow, I'd found myself again, regained my honor through my work aboard the Historia, but sometimes, I still felt like the male lost in the gladiator pit.
I still felt the shame of being a male unable to save his own brother.
And yet here she was, Xytol's mate, looking at me with those clear blue eyes and trusting me with her life.
I didn't deserve it. I didn't deserve her faith, her warmth, the way her small hand felt in mine. But I'd die before I betrayed it.
I squeezed her hand gently, carefully, before releasing it. She pulled it back under the towels and turned away, settling into sleep.
I shifted on the float, the plastic membrane yielding beneath my weight with a series of soft squeaks and sighs as the air redistributed.
The surface felt unstable, undulating with every adjustment of my body until I found a position that wouldn't send me rolling off onto the cold floor.
Within minutes, Harper's breathing had deepened and slowed into the steady, rhythmic pattern of sleep.
But then her teeth began to chatter, a rapid clicking sound that battled with the howl of wind outside.
The temperature had plummeted precipitously in just the last hour, dropping at least fifteen degrees since my arrival.
While my kind registered fluctuating temperatures with the same sensory awareness we used to register any environmental data, I experienced no physical discomfort from such variations. Heat and cold were simply facts.
Without allowing myself to overthink the action, I shifted my weight and scooted closer across the squeaking plastic surface, closing the gap between us until my body heat could reach her.
She responded instinctively, even in sleep, her small form curling against me like a flower turning toward the sun.
I told myself it was merely practical. A necessary measure to prevent her from freezing, nothing more than fulfilling my duty to protect her.
But a deeper, more honest part of me—the part I was trying desperately to ignore—knew the truth of why my heart had begun to race.
Why the electric tingling at the base of my skull intensified to an almost unbearable degree.
She turned fully into me, her small body pressing against my chest, one hand coming to rest over my heart.
The gesture was so trusting, so innocent, and yet it sent a wave of heat through me that had nothing to do with body temperature.
I wrapped my arms around her carefully, telling myself it was only to share warmth more efficiently.
But the way she fit against me—perfectly—made my pulse quicken. Her scent filled my senses, sweet and distinctly human, distinctly Harper. I felt every breath she took, the rise and fall of her chest against mine.
Guilt crashed over me. This was Xytol's mate. My brother's bonded. The one person in the entire universe I should never allow myself to feel this way about. What kind of male was I, holding her like this, savoring the feel of her in my arms while my brother trusted me to protect what was his?
I should have pulled away. Put distance between us. But she shivered again, and I found myself holding her tighter, one hand coming up to stroke her hair before I could stop myself. Just to soothe her, I told myself. Just to keep her warm.
The lie tasted bitter even in my own mind.