Page 12 of Across the Stars (Cosmic Threads of Fate #1)
CHAPTER TWELVE
MAE
Mae inhaled sharply, her chest tightening as she tried to make sense of what had just happened. A moment ago, the dragon’s touch had been alien and incomprehensible—then its voice had bloomed inside her head. Clear, calm. Impossible.
She froze, her fingers trembling where they rested against the creature’s cool scales. She could hear it. Not through sound, but inside her own mind.
How was she suddenly able to understand?
Her aunt’s old stories about “whisper-thinkers” from the outer systems flickered through her mind—rumors of powerful telepathic aliens that had been circulating since Earth’s first contact century.
Mae had never believed them. The CTA had never documented such beings.
Humanity had barely begun scattering its seeds across the galaxy; they were still fumbling in the dark, greedily staking claims on every habitable planet—or moon—they stumbled across.
If such a telepathic species existed, she’d assumed she’d hear about it in a classified briefing long before she actually met one.
Her first instinct was to pull back, to flee, to fight —anything to reassert some control over her life.
But she’d been in over her head since the moment she’d woken up on this moon, stripped of her ship, her uniform, and her plan.
Running now would be useless. She needed to adjust if she wanted to survive.
She needed to keep her wits, find a way back to the Atlantis , and make sure no one else logged this place before she could decide what to do with her discovery.
Her lips moved before she could second-guess herself. “Can you understand me?” she asked aloud, at the same time trying to push the thought outward, clumsy and uncertain, as though she could force the words into the creature’s head the way its voice had entered hers.
The space dragon bobbed its massive head slightly. “Yes, small one. I understand.”
Mae’s stomach dropped. She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing herself. “Are you—” she swallowed, forcing the words out “—are you planning on eating me?”
The dragon’s voice rolled through her mind like distant thunder. “That depends on whether you taste like my favorite fish or not.”
A low rumble vibrated through its chest—purring. Not a sound she expected from something with six wings and teeth longer than her fingers.
Her eyes flew open, and she let out a gasp. “Oh, hell no—” She tried to yank her hand away, but the blue alien—the one who’d carried her—caught her wrist gently but firmly.
He hissed at the dragon in a tone that even Mae understood as reprimand.
The dragon’s mental voice shifted, still rumbling but softer. He tells me to assure you: I’m not a Kutsiu. I don’t eat anything with a cosmic thread. Because you are a part of my threadrider’s cord, you are connected to me through him via our cosmic thread.”
“You’re not going to eat me?” Her voice cracked. She tilted her head, locking onto its enormous eyes—green and blue, swirling like oil on water. “Then why am I here? And why can I understand you but not him?”
“Why would I eat you?” He blinked slowly, almost like a house cat, as if he couldn’t believe she’d ask such a question. “ You’re my threadrider’s gift from Z’myu.”
Mae’s breath caught. Gift. She didn’t want to be anyone’s gift.
“I don’t know how our minds connect,” the dragon continued. “ It’s simply how we work. Through him, you’re bound to me, so I can hear you.”
“This cosmic-thread stuff is confusing,” she admitted.
She didn’t believe in destiny, fate, fortune-tellers or astrology—any of it.
“And I’m not a gift. I’m a person. I don’t belong to anyone.
I’ve never even met your rider or your Z’myu before today.
I’m still trying to figure out how I got here—and why I woke up naked, wrapped in a blanket, in some vine web. ”
“You’ll soon learn, small one.” The dragon’s rumble smoothed out into a near-purr. “I don’t have all the answers for you. But I can tell you that my threadrider brought you to our tribe’s weavetree because you were injured, and he needed healers to tend to you.”
“Oh…”
Mae’s fingers drifted to the tender spot above her brow, feeling the slight pull of a bandage.
The blue alien—her rescuer?—touched his own forehead in mimicry, murmuring something soft and foreign.
“Uwa’xolu, nyi’xyayn.” The dragon rider’s face softened, concern flickering back across his features. “Ela’nya Qe’Ayn Qe’xen. Ayn ekyn lwen.”
Before she could ask the dragon for a translation, its mental voice cut in again.
“My threadrider apologizes for the harm he’s caused and asks that you accompany him to your hut so he can provide you with clothing.”
Mae glanced down at the black-and-emerald marbled fur blanket. Was it worth demanding her old clothes back? Or should she just take whatever scrap of fabric he handed her? Bikini top, loincloth—whatever. At this point, she’d wear a leaf if it meant not clinging to this heavy fur with one hand.
She decided not to press the issue. She’d dealt with enough alien dignitaries to know when to pick her battles. This wasn’t about pride; it was about survival. And despite everything, the blue alien had treated her with a strange, careful respect.
During her missions, she had spent enough time with other alien species to know that they could be difficult to deal with as any other people she had to talk to, just like when she had to talk to older humans from generations before her.
She decided to ignore his apology. He could be apologizing for something he had done, which could be anything from removing her clothes to manhandling her out of the villa or scaring her with his dragon alien.
It would be stupid to refuse his offer. She was becoming increasingly irritated by keeping the blanket wrapped around her at all times. She had to use one hand simply to hold it up because the fur was so dense.
She was willing to wear whatever he was willing to give her. Just like the old Earth proverb that said: When in Rome, do as the Romans do , which stated that one should copy the culture of the place they are visiting.
She cast a glance toward the stairwell, wondering if his family—the older female with the gold-speckled eyes—would come down, maybe offer her something more… human. But then she remembered: he had been the one to scoop her out of the desert. He’d been the one to bring her to healers.
Biting her bottom lip, she decided to trust the alien before her. Maybe, for now, trust was the safest bet.
Since he hadn’t shown any signs of aggression and had only wanted to take care of her so far, she felt it was in her best interest to let him do whatever he wanted, including providing her with the necessities she needed to survive on this moon.
“All right,” she said both aloud and in thought. She nodded, giving the blue alien a small, tentative smile, hoping he’d understand that she’d accepted his offer. “We can go to your home so I can finally get dressed.”
The dragon’s mind-voice purred approval.
The creature must have translated the message correctly to his rider because he grinned the widest grin she’d ever seen—startlingly boyish for someone so imposing—and released her hand only to draw her into a heartfelt hug that lifted her off the floor with his excitement.
He extended his hand again. She hesitated—then, without realizing, glanced back at the dragon’s massive head for reassurance. The fact that she already sought comfort from a creature she’d feared minutes before made her stomach flip.
“It’s the cosmic connection—the one that placed us all on the same cord—that is telling you to trust both of us,” the dragon noted, surprising Mae.
How was it able to pick up her thoughts when she wasn’t projecting them?
“The cord tells you we won’t harm you. Neither of us could betray you without suffering the same pain. ”
Reassuring… and terrifying. If they believed some cosmic force bound them, it meant accepting the bond. It meant being claimed, however gently. A gift. A possession.
Mae had spent years brushing off crewmates—human and alien alike—who assumed a female pilot must be lonely, must want a fling.
They’d seen her as something to chase, an object to conquer, never the colleague she fought to be.
She’d always preferred spending her time aboard a ship playing multiplayer games, and the quiet escape of entertainment streams over anyone’s bed.
And now, wrapped in fur, labeled a gift all over again.
But survival came first. Everything else could wait.
“I’m ready to go,” she said, her voice steady as she placed her hand in the blue alien’s.
In one fluid motion he pulled her to his chest, lifting her as if she weighed nothing, cradled in his arms. His dragon crouched low on the porch, six wings pinned tight against its back.
Mae squeezed her eyes shut as they leapt, landing with a soft thud on the dragon’s back. When she opened them again, her breath caught at the view—branches, huts, and glowing stones spinning past as they turned toward a smaller three-tiered hut.
Even with the fur blanket between them, she couldn’t ignore the intimate press of his body, the steady heat of him seeping into her back.
She sat between his legs, her hips brushing too close to his, awareness sparking with every shift.
His hands closed around her waist, firm and unyielding, lifting her as if she weighed nothing.
He settled her astride the dragon’s back, legs straddling where he wanted them, before drawing her tight against him as the straps locked them together.
Mae forced herself to remain calm and concentrate on the cool dragon scales against her skin rather than the male who was working around her.
He spoke to her in his native language, then placed his hands on the tops of her thighs and stilled.
Something about the deep timbre of his voice, combined with the warmth she felt from being pressed against his chest, sent a flurry of tingling sensations up her spine.
“He wants to know if it’s okay to touch you,” his dragon pathed. The darker version of his rider’s voice was giving her whiplash she hadn’t felt since maneuvering through an asteroid field.
Mae blinked. “Touch me?”
Her thighs tightened reflexively, pushing against the crease in the saddle’s leather. Suddenly, she found it more difficult to focus on anything other than the weight of his hands on her legs.
“ Yes. To secure the riding straps.”
Relief made her lightheaded. “Of course.”
She sucked in a breath as his hands came to life, carefully maneuvering straps around her legs and waist. He worked with such precision, his fingers barely touching her bare skin, that she didn’t realize he was finished until he removed his hands from beneath the blanket and grabbed the reins.
Suddenly, he let out a loud call, and the alien male pressed his body against hers, squeezing her between himself and his dragon. His dragon squatted down—and then lunged off the ledge before she could react.
Mae’s stomach dropped as they spiraled down through the tree’s branches. She clawed for a hold on the dragon’s neck, forgetting the blanket entirely. The alien’s arm came around her waist, pinning the fur to her and keeping her covered.
They wove through the cluster of hanging huts, past a blur of curious alien faces. The dragon bugled, a sound like laughter made of bells, before spreading his six wings wide. Each beat rippled through the air like rolling waves, muscles tightening beneath Mae every time he drove them down.
They skimmed horizontally toward a smaller hut—a much humbler one-story version of the one that they had just left—tucked between two massive branches, its encircled porch lit by glowing stones netted in vines.
With a final backward sweep of his wings, the dragon reclined on his hind legs and touched down in a soft thud , folding his wings with deliberate care.
“We’ve arrived.”
The rider wasted no time unbuckling them both. He leapt off with feline grace, tail flicking to keep his balance, then turned and offered his hand.
Mae seized his hand. Her eyes widened when, in one swift motion, he lifted her from the dragon—blanket miraculously still in place—and caught her just before her feet touched the floor.
She sucked in a sharp breath, astonished.
The floor beneath them wasn’t solid wood but a mesh of netting boxed together with support beams, spaced just far enough apart that someone could leap from one to the next like stones in a river.
Only the outermost beams anchored to the two massive tree limbs, creating a solid perch for the dragon.
It was ridiculous to fear falling—the weave was tight enough that nothing larger than her vidtablet could slip through—but the thought of those vines giving way made her silently vow never to walk across that porch.
The alien carried her along the rim, following the path of beams around the hut. She took in the strange architecture, noting how each structure connected to a limb broad enough for residents to walk along, rather than relying solely on their dragons to ferry them between dwellings.
Vines brushed her face like a living curtain as he pushed through the threshold of his hut—an extra layer of privacy, warmth, and whatever awaited her inside.
“Nyi’xyayn, vin’me qe’xen,” he murmured, voice low and coaxing, as though inviting her to step into a new world.