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Fyn concurred—which mattered more than it should have—and they sidled back to the main tunnel. The low miasmic tide made their steps light and easy. Before long, they spotted another light pulsing in the tunnel ahead, this time shifting with shades of baby blue, petal pink, and buttercup yellow.

Fyn froze in place, having soundly learned his lesson. “Another charming local?”

“Several.” Vela grinned, nudging him forward.

After walking a few more yards, they climbed out of a cave mouth into a silvergrass lea surrounded by coral trees. A ranger station overlooked the glade, tangled in course branches. Doubtless, a park map waited somewhere behind its darkened windows. Vela would retrieve it in time, but for now, her attention belonged to the zephyr fish.

An entire school bobbed throughout the glade, pastel light pulsing beneath their diaphanous skin. Their little fins fluttered wildly as they pecked invisible motes of detritus from the air. A brazen blue specimen flitted straight up to Fyn, who apparently couldn’t resist reaching for it. At the slightest touch, the fish ballooned to three times its original size, then released its breath in a pigeon-like coo, looping around Fyn twice before flitting away.

Vela felt a prickle of envy. “I think it likes you.”

“What’s not to like?” Fyn flashed his crooked smile, and in that moment, Vela couldn’t think of a single answer.

His expression soured as a familiar, spoiled-shrimp reek filled the air and sickly light swept across the silvergrass. The zephyr fish froze in place, eyes fixed on the cave mouth, before darting off in a colorful flurry. A surge of terror forced Vela’s spine straight.

“Don’t look back,”Fyn mouthed, as though Vela was tempted. He tipped his head toward the ranger’s station and counted silently backward. “Three…two…”

On the count of one, Vela sprinted toward the station ladder. She reached it a split-second before Fyn, who urged her upward with a frantic shove. Her palms barely grazed the rungs as she clambered toward a wooden hatch, which flung open with ease. She’d just pulled herself into the building when a startled cry rang out below. Fyn dangled from the ladder by one hand as several broken rungs fell to the grass. The anglerbeast pounced, its jaws snapping shut a twitch from the Wanderling’s heel. Panic washed away the mistrust that had clouded Vela’s thoughts. Fyn vexed, amused, and thoroughly fascinated her. She was not about to let his story end in the belly of a beast.

Gripping a table for support, she leaned forward with an arm outstretched. Fyn clasped her hand and hauled himself to safety, kicking the latch shut behind him. Momentum sent them both tumbling to the floorboards, tangled in an adrenaline-fueled outburst that forced them conveniently closer with each chuckle.

It felt so natural when he cupped her face, the last of his laughter gusting her lips. So perfectly, ironically, alarminglyright. There Vela was, nestled in the arms of the criminal she’d set out to capture, having only just escaped a grisly death for two, and she could not recall having ever felt so safe.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she kissed him.

It started as an innocent brush of lips, soft and halting, teasingly sweet. Then, those lips parted, and any remaining inhibitions melted away. Fyn tangled his fingers in Vela’s braids and tugged, rousing a thrill in the nape of her neck, and another—far lower—that hadn’t stirred in much too long. If the mass that stiffened against her thigh was any clue, she was not alone in her yearning.

Feeling suddenly smothered by her jumpsuit, Vela guided Fyn’s hand to the topmost button. He took it for the permission it was, unfastening the garment from collar to waist and slipping his fingers beneath the fabric. He cupped her breast, his thumb skimming her nipple, as he trailed kisses down her neck, testing every inch until he found a spot that made her writhe.

Vela was on the cusp of losing herself when a prismatic tress fell over her cheek, and an inhibition clawed its way from the grave.

“Wait,” she breathed, releasing her vice-grip on his waist.

“I’m so sorry!” He scrambled upright, cheeks alight. “I thought you wanted?—”

“I do.” She sat forward “Just…not like this.”

“Oh.” Fyn forced a grin, far more brittle than his usual. “I suppose everyone has a fantasy, and I’m nothing if not adaptable. Is it women you prefer? Tentacles? A brawnier build? Simply say the word and I’ll…” He flinched, “Adjust accordingly.”

The sorrow in his voice nearly broke Vela. She didn’t need to know his history to tell he’d been used as a vending machine for all manner of kinks. It was enough to make her furious at every lover who’d come before her. And desperate to soothe the wounds they’d left behind.

“I wantyou.” She rose to meet his gaze. “The real you, not a hair or freckle altered. Despite my best efforts, you’ve managed to see me more clearly than anyone has in years. I’m only asking for the same.”

Fyn relaxed with a warm chuckle, and his form began to shift and shimmer. Lilac skin blanched to snowy silver, a shade paler than his frosty blue eyes. Ghost white waves spilled over slight shoulders, framing a delicate face that reminded Vela of the elves from Earthling Mythos. She could imagine no vessel more befitting the Wanderling’s wit and poise, his trickery and tenderness. He looked very much likehimself—a person whom Vela had, perhaps foolishly, grown to admire.

He must have read the awe on her face, because his confidence rushed back all at once. Those slender arms of his proved surprisingly adept at scooping her up and carrying her toward the bed in the corner. Giddy and impatient, she peeled his jumpsuit away en route. The second he set her down, her clothing joined his on the floor.

His pupils blossomed as they swept over her. “Here I thought the way you smiled while reading was the prettiest sight in the galaxies.”

If Vela wasn’t already smitten, that would have done it.

She pulled him onto the mattress and twisted atop him, stretching to give him a better view of the figure he’d been admiring. Somehow, his eyes grew wider. Though her body begged for his, she first treated herself to another kiss. The feral press of his lips was practically a plea, and the sweep of his tongue, a tender promise.

She lowered herself onto him slowly, savoring the sound of his groan and the pleasant ache of his entrance. With a few gentle thrusts, her body adapted to his, tightening to wring ecstasy from even the slightest movement. Judging from Fyn’s reaction—something between a giggle and a gasp—the surprise was not unwelcome.

His every sigh and shudder emboldened Vela, and her pace reflected her fervor. Before she could push him over the brink, he grabbed her hip to temper her pace, sliding his other hand up her thigh to part her folds with his thumb. Bliss echoed his strokes, building steadily brighter and bolder until it crackled through her like lightning.

Vela fell into Fyn’s embrace, a trembling rag doll. A moment later, he moaned her name, his entire body stuttering. Somehow, his release was even more satisfying than her own, and the way he melted against her, impossibly precious. He’d been stolen from as surely as those innocents he sought to help, and whatever small comfort she’d given him was a moment of healing for both of them.