Page 11 of Across the Stars (Cosmic Threads of Fate #1)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

MAE

The tree’s dark-purple leaves glowed faintly pink, as though each vein carried its own current of light.

In the center of the twisted trunk, teal radiance pulsed like a heartbeat, washing the entire crown in a soft glow—warm and steady, like the inside of a hot-air balloon.

The bark was thick, smooth, almost black; emerald vines spiraled up the branches, their bioluminescent jade tips sparkling like constellations.

Mae couldn’t comprehend how such a thing existed. The logical part of her mind tried to catalogue details—pigmentation, structure, energy source—while the rest of her could only stare upward, stunned.

How could a tree sustain this much life? And how could this moon possibly support seven of them?

She remembered the first drone data—the scans lit with root-like filaments, each Tree of Life acting as a node in a vast, planet-wide network.

Now, carried within the crown of one, she could almost feel that network humming in her bones: importance, power, a deep slow intelligence pressing against her skin.

Regardless of everything—being naked, being taken, being afraid—some part of her knew she was witnessing something extraordinary. This moment would mark her forever, an honor she would never forget. She had never encountered anything like it, and doubted she ever would again.

She hadn’t believed in luck her entire life, but the only other explanation for everything that had happened to her on this moon would be…

Fate.

The thought flickered up unbidden, the only explanation for all that had happened on this moon. But she shoved it down hard. She had never believed in fate—and she wasn’t about to start now. No cosmic force would control her life.

The alien male hurried her down a stairwell of woven vines, moving fast, his steps sure and silent. It felt like he was trying to elude his family. Mae’s stomach clenched. If she struggled and he slipped, there was nothing between her and the dizzying drop but air.

With the bad luck that she had been cursed with ever since she had arrived on this moon, she could be hurled off the ledge.

She wasn’t afraid of heights, but they were an awfully long way from the ground.

Over his shoulder, the canopy unfolded into a kaleidoscope of wings.

Dragons—dozens of them—curled in nests or glided between branches, hatchlings peeking from beneath translucent sails.

Others wove in and out of the crown with effortless precision, as if the lattice of living wood had shaped their instincts from birth.

She recognized the pattern instantly—just like the swarms that circled the floating islands.

Her heart hammered as she craned to look down. Hundreds of hanging structures dangled below like birdhouses—baskets of vine and supple wood swaying in the breeze, crowding the lower branches. Homes. An entire community suspended in the crown.

She was so captivated by the sight that she almost missed when he stopped—directly in front of a dragon.

A sound tore from her throat, half shriek, half plea, as she curled tighter against his chest, trying to disappear inside the cage of his arms.

“I’m not sure why I’m here, but I want you to know that I’m not ready to die,” she yelped, panic cracking her voice, as she thrashed in his arms, praying he wouldn’t leave her at the mercy of the creature.

“I promise you, I don’t taste like chicken…

or anything else you might like. I am repulsive and will cause you to vomit.

Everyone despises having an upset stomach. If you eat me, I’ll give you one.”

The alien murmured something low and steady and set her on her feet, tucking the blanket tight around her shoulders before turning to the dragon.

Mae backed away until her spine hit the wooden wall. She couldn’t look away from the scene—the alien with his long braided hair stepping forward, touching the dragon’s chin, scratching, then pressing his forehead to the beast’s massive head.

The dragon’s scales were a deep emerald green that caught the teal glow and fractured it into blues and purples.

Its six vast wings were paneled in a violet glass-like pattern reminiscent of stained glass that darkened gradually to sapphire near the tips.

Its large dragonfly-like eyes changed colors, swirling between a dark green and blue, making her think of the mood rings that were popular when her great-great-grandmother was a teenager.

The alien’s tail swayed back and forth, slow and deliberate, like a giant cat savoring a moment.

Mae’s gaze swept the porch edge, searching for another way out. All she found were narrow vine paths without rails, perilous walkways that offered no safety from a fall. Either his people were unbelievably sure-footed in the treetops…or everyone here had a dragon of their own to ride.

“Nyi xymu?” His voice, softer now, pulled her attention back. He gestured to the dragon. “Nyi Z’myuzo, Iskzo.”

“I don’t understand what you’re saying.” She shook her head, frowning, as she clutched the blanket tighter. “I’m glad you’re friends, but I refuse to be food.”

The dragon shifted, lowering its head, stepping closer with a slow, deliberate grace—as if ready to strike.

Before she could retreat, the alien crossed the space between them, caught her hand in his, and drew her forward. She dug her heels into the floorboards, leaning back, but he was far stronger.

Mae squeezed her eyes shut, spitting out another stream of protests about how she wouldn’t taste good, promising to help them find something more appetizing—anything to keep herself from becoming lunch.

Her brow furrowed when, instead of teeth, her palm met something cool and ridged—scales.

A voice, deep and resonant, bloomed in her mind, smoother than the alien’s but unmistakably connected: “We finally meet, small one.”

Mae’s breath caught. The words weren’t sound but thought, brushing the inside of her skull like velvet.

“My threadrider and I have been waiting for you for a long time.”