Page 37

Thirty-Seven

S he lay against him, soft and warm, her body a perfect counterpoint to his own. The storm still rumbled distantly, a low, sullen echo of the one that had passed—both in the sky and in his blood. His arms and tentacles curled around her protectively, reverently. She was so small. So human. And yet, somehow, she had unraveled him.

He was the Marak. Ruler of Luxar. Sovereign of the skies and the seas. He should have felt powerful.

Instead, as he watched her eyelids flutter with the last remnants of bliss, he felt something dangerously close to...vulnerability.

“I will not let you be sad,” he said, his voice low, resonating from his chest. “Not here. Not with me.”

She blinked up at him, her lashes damp, her lips parted with something he didn’t quite know how to name. Trust, maybe. Or the early flickers of affection. It made his hearts stutter.

“I don’t want to be sad,” she murmured. “But I miss him. I miss my dog.”

He smoothed a hand down her hair, and another tentacle curled softly around her waist.

“Tell me how to find him,” he said. “This...Alfie.”

She hesitated, chewing her lip, then said, “He might be at a pound. A shelter. Or someone might have taken him in. We could check online—on social media. He’s microchipped.”

He frowned. “These words mean little to me. A ‘pound’? What kind of holding facility is this? And what is...a chip?”

She smiled faintly, the ghost of amusement beneath her grief. “It’s a tiny implant under his skin. It has information. His ID. His home. If someone scans it, they’ll know he’s mine.”

Ah. An Earthling form of tagging. Not unlike the aquatic tracking the Yerak used on deep-sea harvesters. Still, the thought of this 'Alfie' wandering alone—untended—irked him.

“Can you not simply take another creature?” he asked.

Her expression changed instantly. “No. I want my dog.”

He heard the finality in her tone. The sharpness. The rawness. It wasn’t about the dog. It was about what had been taken from her. Without consent. Without warning.

He almost winced.

Then he said, “Would you prefer I bring others from your planet here? Humans, for companionship?”

She recoiled. “No. You can’t just take people. That’s not how it works.”

Her horror was genuine. And that, perhaps, was what decided him.

“There is only one solution, then,” he said.

She looked up at him, wary. “What?”

He met her eyes, his obsidian gaze unwavering. “I will take you back to your planet. You will stand beside me. And we will retrieve your creature. Together.”

She gaped at him, stunned. Then whispered, “You’d do that?”

“I will do anything for you,” he said. “You are mine. And that means your pain is mine to resolve.”

She didn’t answer. But the look in her eyes was answer enough.

He would take her home. Not to stay, but to reclaim a piece of her soul.

Even if it meant setting foot on a primitive world that knew nothing of beings like him.

Even if it meant risking exposure.

For her, he would.