Page 13

Chapter thirteen

Not Normal

L ater the next day, Rowen eventually dragged herself back to her accommodation unit. It was small and dark, entirely hers, and she loved it. Unlike most of the other first-wave colonists, she still lived in the apartment buildings that had been created by the dismantled colony ship when they first arrived. It was a safe cocoon, surrounded by other people, the noise and bustle of a thriving colony.

Right now, though, it was silent, the night shift off working and the day shift all tucked up in bed. Where she should be, if she had half a brain. She desperately wanted a shower, but all she had the energy for was collapsing into bed half-dressed in her medbay gown. Sleep claimed her, sucking her under.

She was back in the dome, but everything was wrong. The walkway bucked and swayed beneath her feet like a living thing, each violent movement sending jolts of pain through her knees. Metal shrieked against metal, the sound piercing her ears as bolts tore free. Above, the crystalline panels splintered with sharp, gunshot-like cracks, the lattice of fractures spreading like frost on glass. The dome groaned under the crushing pressure, and she could feel the change in air pressure making her ears pop.

“The readings are critical!” Petre's voice echoed from below her, distorted by the chaos. “We have to—”

The words died in a way that would haunt her forever. The walkway gave way with an ear-splitting screech of tortured metal. She lunged for purchase, her muscles burning with desperation. Her fingers grasped nothing but empty air, so close she could feel the whisper of safety in her fingertips before it split away. Through the twisted wreckage of the failing structure, their eyes met for one terrible moment. His face, usually so composed, so steady, contorted in raw fear as the massive gantry slammed into him. The crystalline shards followed, catching the red emergency lights like bloody diamonds as they tore into his flesh. The spray of crimson was vivid, obscene against the sterile white of his uniform.

“PETRE!” His name ripped from her throat, raw and primal. The dome's alarms wailed, the strobing red emergency lights turning the scattered drops of his blood into a macabre constellation. Her lungs seized, and the bitter taste of terror flooded her mouth as she watched him disappear into the darkness below, unable to move, unable to save him, unable to—

Rowen burst awake with a strangled gasp, her heart slamming against her ribs so hard it hurt. Sweat plastered her sleep clothes to her skin, the sheets tangled like restraints around her legs. Her throat felt scraped raw, as if she'd been screaming.

“Lights!” she croaked, her voice trembling. “Computer, lights!”

The sudden brightness stabbed at her eyes, but she welcomed the pain. Anything to chase away the lingering images of blood and broken glass. Her quarters slowly came into focus: silent, safe. The time on the display read 03:17.

Her hands trembled violently as she reached for her HUD earpiece. She could call him. Just to check. Just to hear his voice, deep and steady, telling her everything was fine. Just to know that the wet warmth she could feel wasn't really his blood on her hands—

No. She slammed the HUD down so hard it skittered across the surface of the table onto the floor. Then she immediately regretted it. The image of his blood wouldn't leave her mind. Her fingers still felt the phantom sensation of reaching, grasping for him as he fell.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she scrambled for the HUD earpiece and jammed it back into place.

"Call Petre," she whispered, her voice cracking.

One ring. Two. Her heart hammered in her chest.

"Rowen?" His voice, groggy with sleep but gloriously alive, filled her ear. "What's wrong?"

"I—" The words caught in her throat. Now that she heard him, the nightmare seemed absurd, childish. "I'm sorry, it's stupid. I shouldn't have—"

"I'll be there in five minutes."

The connection closed before she could protest.

True to his word, barely five minutes later her door chimed. She'd managed to pull on a robe but hadn't bothered with anything else. When she opened the door, Petre stood there in sleep pants and a hastily thrown-on shirt, hair loose around his shoulders, eyes alert with concern.

"What happened?" He stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, eyes scanning for threats.

"It was just a dream." She felt ridiculous now. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have called—"

"Tell me." His voice was gentle but firm.

She hugged herself, suddenly cold despite the robe. "The dome collapse. But in my dream, it was you who fell. You who—" Her voice broke. "I watched you die."

Something in his expression softened. Without a word, he crossed to her and pulled her into his arms. The solid warmth of him, the steady beat of his heart against her cheek, broke something loose inside her. She clutched at his shirt, breathing in his scent—cedar and snow and very much alive.

"I'm here," he murmured into her hair. "I'm right here."

He guided her to the small couch, settling her beside him, never breaking contact. For a long while, they just sat there, his arms around her, her head on his shoulder, until her breathing steadied.

"I've dreamed of losing you too," he admitted quietly. "After the collapse. I keep seeing you fall, over and over."

She pulled back enough to see his face. "You do?"

His eyes met hers. "I think...I think I need to tell you the truth, Rowen. About everything."

"Everything?"

He nodded, his expression grave. "Bylelle—she's blackmailing me. She has my father. Luken and I have been trying to find him, but until we do..." He exhaled slowly. "She's threatening to kill him if I don't do what she wants."

"What does she want?" Rowen asked, though part of her already knew.

"Access to alien technology. Information from Casti. And...me." His face twisted. "She wants me as her mate."

Rowen's stomach dropped. "That's why you've been pushing me away."

"She threatened you too," he said quietly. "Said she'd hurt you if I...if we..." He couldn't finish the sentence.

"Oh, Petre." She took his hand. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I thought I was protecting you. I thought if you didn't know, you'd be safer." His fingers tightened around hers. "But after today, after seeing you in danger anyway...I can't keep pretending. I care for you too much."

"We'll find a way," she said firmly. "We'll find your father, stop Bylelle—"

"It's not that simple," he cut in. "After today...everyone saw how I reacted when you were hurt. Bylelle won't miss that. She'll know what you mean to me."

Rowen's mind raced. "Then we hide it. In public, we stay professional, distant."

"She'll be watching. She'll suspect."

“We’ll think of something.”

His eyes opened, and the fierce protectiveness there took her breath away. "But I need you to know this, Rowen. Whatever happens, you are mine. And I am yours."

Her heart caught. "Yours," she agreed softly.

His hand came up to cup her face, and when he kissed her, it was like a vow—deep, certain, and absolute. A promise of what waited on the other side of this danger.

"Stay with me tonight?" she asked when they finally broke apart. "Just to sleep. I don't think I can face that nightmare alone again."

He nodded, following her to the bed. They curled together under the covers, his arm around her waist, her back pressed to his chest. For the first time since the dome collapse, Rowen felt truly safe.

"We'll figure this out," she murmured, already drifting. "Together."

His arms tightened around her. "Together," he agreed.

And this time, when sleep claimed her, no nightmares came.

Morning light filtered through the window, painting warm stripes across the bed. Rowen stirred, momentarily confused by the solid warmth pressed against her back. Then memory returned—the nightmare, the call, Petre arriving at her door in the middle of the night. His confession.

She shifted carefully, wincing as her body reminded her of yesterday's injuries. Every muscle protested, stiff from the fall and the subsequent healing treatments.

"Don't move," Petre murmured, his voice rough with sleep. His arm tightened fractionally around her waist. "The regenerative treatments work better if you rest."

"Good morning to you too," she said, smiling despite the discomfort.

He propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at her with a concern that made her heart catch. Without the usual mask of reserve, his face was open, vulnerable. His silver hair fell loose around his shoulders, catching the morning light like a cloud. Ridiculously, she wondered what he used on it to get it to look so silky soft, first thing in the morning.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like I fell off a catwalk and nearly died," she replied dryly. "So, an improvement over yesterday."

His lips twitched. "Your humor remains intact. That's a good sign."

She tried to sit up, only to gasp as her muscles seized. Petre was there instantly, supporting her with gentle hands.

"I need a shower," she admitted. "I feel disgusting."

He considered her for a moment, eyes tracking over her disheveled appearance and the medical shirt she still wore. "I don't think you should be standing that long."

"I'll manage—"

"Let me help you."

The offer hung between them. Rowen met his gaze, seeing both tenderness and uncertainty there.

"Okay," she said softly.

He helped her to the small bathroom, movements careful and methodical. Once inside, he hesitated, eyes questioning.

"I'm not quite ready for...everything," she said, feeling her cheeks warm. "But I'd like you to stay. Please."

His smile was warm and caring. "I understand."

With soft movements, he helped her shed the robe, then the thin medical gown beneath. If he was shocked by the still-healing bruising across her ribs and back, he hid it well, his expression betraying nothing but tenderness as he assisted her into the shower stall, then stripped off his clothes.

The warm water was blissful against her aching muscles. Petre kept one steadying hand on her waist while he adjusted the spray with the other.

"Better?"

"Much." She leaned back against his chest, letting him take her weight. "Thank you."

He reached for her shampoo, squeezing a small amount into his palm. "May I?"

At her nod, his fingers slid into her hair, working the shampoo into a lather with gentle, rhythmic motions. Rowen closed her eyes, surrendering to the unexpected intimacy of being cared for, relaxation making her boneless.

"This isn't how I imagined our first shower together," she admitted, trying to lighten the moment.

His chuckle rumbled through her. "No?" His fingers massaged her scalp, finding tension she hadn't realized she was carrying. "And how did you imagine it?"

"With fewer injuries, for one thing." She tilted her head back as he rinsed the suds away. "And more...reciprocation on my part."

"There will be time," he said, voice low. "When you're healed."

His hands moved to her shoulders, washing away the remnants of medbay antiseptic, careful to avoid the fresh healing skin. There was nothing sexual in his touch, yet Rowen had never felt more cherished. His fingers traced the curve of her spine with reverent care, as if mapping something precious.

When he reached a particularly tender spot near her shoulder blade, she couldn't suppress a wince.

"Sorry," he murmured, immediately easing his pressure.

"It's okay." She reached back, finding his hand and guiding it. "Just...gentler there."

They finished in comfortable silence. When they were done, Petre wrapped her in a towel with the same careful attention he'd shown throughout.

Back in the bedroom, he helped her into fresh clothes—soft, loose things that wouldn't aggravate her injuries. His fingers lingered at her nape as he gathered her damp hair away from her face. He looked at her hair, and the mass of damp curls. “I have no idea how to help with your hair.”

She sighed. “It’ll take a couple of hours; I don’t have energy for it now. Just help me comb and wrap it.”

"Food?" he suggested. "You need to eat to help the healing process."

"In a minute." She caught his hand, drawing him to sit beside her on the bed. "We need to talk about what happens next."

His expression sobered. "Yes."

"You said Bylelle will have noticed how you reacted yesterday."

He nodded grimly. "I lost control. When I saw you hurt…I had no mask left. She’ll know it's because I care."

"We need a distraction," she said carefully. "Something to throw her off the scent."

"What do you have in mind?"

Rowen took a deep breath. "Varian asked me out."

Petre went perfectly still beside her. "When?"

"Just before the accident. I asked for time to think about it.”

Petre’s expression darkened. “You were going to go out with Varian?”

She flicked his nose. “Focus, Petre. I didn’t say yes. I was considering my options. You had sex with me and then ditched me, remember?” He had the grace to look abashed. “The point is, what if I accepted?"

The muscle in his jaw ticked. "Varian is dangerous. He's completely loyal to Bylelle."

"That's the point," she insisted. "If Bylelle thinks I'm interested in someone else, someone she trusts, maybe she'll stop seeing me as a threat." She touched his arm. "It would just be for show. Just until we find your father."

"You're asking me to stand by while another male courts you?" His voice had dropped to a growl, sending shivers down her spine.

"I'm asking you to trust me," she corrected gently. "To help me create a diversion while we buy time to figure out how to save your father."

He stood abruptly, pacing the small confines of her quarters. "You would be alone with him," he said finally. "Vulnerable."

"I'll be careful," she promised. "And we'd meet in public places. I'm an empath, remember? I'll know if he has bad intentions."

Petre ran a hand through his still-damp hair, his expression tortured. "Do you realize what you're asking of me? To watch another male touch you, speak to you, while I have to pretend indifference?"

"I know." She rose unsteadily, moving to stand before him. "And I wouldn't ask if I could think of another solution. But Bylelle is watching you, not me. This could buy us time, keep her attention diverted."

He caught her hands, his grip almost desperate. "I don't like it."

"Neither do I." She met his gaze steadily. "But I'd rather pretend with Varian for a few weeks than risk losing you forever."

The silence stretched between them, taut with unspoken emotion. Finally, a subtle shift in his posture told her she'd won.

"Three rules," he said, voice tight. "First, you meet only in public places. Second, Luken or I will be nearby, even if you don't see us. And third—" His eyes burned into hers. "You come to me afterward. Every time."

Heat bloomed in her chest at the possessiveness in his voice. "Agreed."

"I hate this," he admitted roughly. "Everything in me rebels against it."

"I know." She touched his face. "But it won't be forever. Just until we find your father and deal with Bylelle."

He turned his face to press a kiss to her palm. "Be careful with Varian. He's more dangerous than he appears."

"I will," she promised. "And in public, you and I will be strictly professional."

"While I watch you with him." The words emerged like they physically pained him.

"While you know that it's you I'm coming home to," she corrected softly.

He pulled her to him then, mindful of her injuries, and kissed her with a fierce possessiveness that left her breathless. When they finally separated, his eyes were dark with emotion.

"Mine," he said simply.

She smiled up at him, heart full. "Yours. No matter what game we have to play out there."

He nodded once, decision made. "Then let's play it well. For both our sakes."

***

Rowen was in the middle of an epic battle with her hair when the knock on her door came. The past two days of convalescence had left her with a bird's nest of epic proportions, though she couldn't help but smile at the memory of Petre's fingers working gently through it that morning. He'd left hours ago, reluctantly returning to his own quarters before anyone noticed his absence.

The last thing she wanted was to entertain visitors. She looked at the door, and then back at herself in the mirror. "No." Absolutely not.

The door chime went again. "Go away!" she called out, wincing as she worked the comb through another tangle. "I'm not in!"

"Good cover!" Fila's voice carried through the door panel, followed by Zera's more practical, "We brought wine. And snacks."

The problem with empath friends was that they always knew exactly when you needed them, whether you wanted them to or not. "Fine. But I'm not dressed."

"Hey, lovely," Zera said as the door slid open. Both females carried bottles and cartons of food.

"You look awful," Fila announced cheerfully, setting her offerings on the small table. She paused, nostrils flaring slightly. "And your quarters smell...different."

Rowen froze for a split second. Cedar and snow. Petre's scent. "I've been trying some new air fresheners," she lied, turning away quickly. "Medbay smells linger."

"Hmm." Zera's expression was skeptical, but she didn't press. "Come sit."

Zera grabbed the comb and settled herself behind her on the couch to start working through Rowen’s curls.

Fila handed her a drink that smelled expensive and definitely not colony produced. "How are you doing?"

"I'm ok, I think. Just tired now, mostly." That, at least, wasn't a lie. Despite a peaceful night in Petre's arms, her body was still recovering.

Fila took a sip of her own drink, and started pulling food, plates, and eating utensils out to set on the low table in front of the sofa. "How's Petre? He was really worried about you."

Rowen kept her expression carefully neutral. "Was he? I haven't seen him since we were in medbay." The lie felt clumsy on her tongue.

Zera's hands stilled in her hair. "Really?" Her voice was carefully neutral.

"Yes, really," Rowen insisted, perhaps too quickly. "Why?"

Fila and Zera exchanged glances. "Because," Fila said slowly, "you're practically glowing with contentment underneath that exhaustion. And you're a terrible liar."

"I'm not—"

"Rowen." Zera's voice was gentle but firm. "We're empaths too, remember? Your emotional signature is different today. Happier. More settled."

"And," Fila added, leaning forward with a conspiratorial smile, "these sheets smell like Petre."

Panic fluttered in Rowen's chest. "I don't—"

"Stop," Zera said, returning to untangling Rowen's curls. "You don't have to tell us anything you don't want to. But we're your friends. Whatever's going on, we've got your back."

Rowen looked between them, seeing nothing but genuine concern. She exhaled slowly. "It's complicated."

"Most worthwhile things are," Fila replied.

"And dangerous." Rowen's voice dropped. "For both of us."

Understanding dawned in Zera's eyes. "Bylelle," she said softly.

Rowen hesitated, then nodded. "She's...fixated on Petre."

"That's putting it mildly," Fila muttered. "The way she watches him is disturbing."

"There's more to it," Rowen admitted carefully. "Things I can't explain right now. But yes, Petre and I...we're together. And we need to keep it quiet."

"For how long?" Zera asked.

"Until we can resolve the situation." Rowen couldn't bring herself to say more, not without betraying Petre's trust. "I know it sounds paranoid, but it's real. If Bylelle knew..."

She didn't need to finish the thought.

"So that's why you've both been so strange lately," Fila said. "All those hot and cold moments, the distance one day and the protective fury the next."

"We're working on a solution," Rowen said. "But until then, we need to keep up appearances. No one can know about us."

"What do you need from us?" Zera asked practically.

Rowen felt a rush of gratitude. No judgment, no demands for more information. Just support. "Just...help me keep the secret? And maybe run interference sometimes, if things get awkward?"

"Consider it done," Fila said immediately. She hesitated, then added, "There's more you're not telling us, isn't there?"

"Yes," Rowen admitted. "But it's not my secret to share."

Zera nodded. "Fair enough." She resumed working the comb through Rowen's hair. "Though when this is all over, I expect the full story."

"With details," Fila added, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Especially the fun ones."

Rowen laughed, feeling some of the tension ease from her shoulders. "Deal."

Fila raised her glass. "To secrets worth keeping."

"And friends who help keep them," Zera added.

As they clinked glasses, Rowen felt a rush of affection for these women who understood without demanding explanations. In a galaxy full of uncertainties, their friendship was something she could count on.

"Now," Fila said, settling back with her wine, "tell us something you can share. Is he as good a kisser as he looks?"

"Fila!" Zera scolded, though her eyes sparkled with the same curiosity.

Rowen felt herself blush. "Better," she admitted. "Much better."

Before Rowen could say more, another knock echoed through the room. She groaned. “I swear by the Goddess, what do I need to do to recover in peace around here—”

When the door slid open, it was Varian who stood there. His smile faltered slightly when he saw her state of disarray.

“I'm sorry to disturb you,” he said. “I just wanted to check on you.”

Rowen glanced at her friends who stared back wide-eyed. “I’d invite you in, but we’re having a girls' night.”

“Of course, I wouldn’t want to interrupt such a sacred time.” He smiled wickedly. “I brought you these. They should be a suitable offering for you all.”

She snickered and accepted the package. “Thank you.”

“They’re Verit sweet rolls.”

“You didn't have to—”

“I wanted to,” he insisted. “I would have brought them sooner, but I figured you needed rest more than pastries.”

He flicked a glance over her shoulder, where Fila and Zera were watching like it was the latest episode of Love Among the Stars . “Listen,” Varian said, “I know the timing isn't great. You're still recovering, and there's obviously a lot going on with the project.” He met her eyes directly. “If you'd rather postpone, or even…” He gestured vaguely. “…not pursue this at all, I understand. But I’d still like the chance to take you out sometime. I can wait as long as you like.”

Seriously? She’d nearly died, and he was still pursuing her? He hadn’t even waited two days. It was kind of creepy and stalkerish. Still, she pursed her lips in thought. It was too good of an opportunity to pass up. They needed to put Bylelle off the scent, and fast. “Actually,” she heard herself say, “I could use a night out.”

He grinned, delighted. “When would you like to go?”

She considered. “Do you have any plans tomorrow night?”

His jaw dropped in surprise before he laughed. “Um, no. Nothing that can’t be rearranged.”

She checked the time on her HUD. “Meet me at Rok’s at eighteen hundred hours tomorrow?”

He nodded and grinned. “I’ll be there.”

After he left, Rowen turned to find both her friends watching her with identical expressions of concern.

"I think maybe you need to tell us a bit more about what’s going on with Petre and you," Zera said, placing her wineglass on the table with deliberate care. “And why you just accepted a date with Varian, when your emotions are screaming that he icks you out.”

Rowen sank deeper into the cushions, feeling the weight of their concern. "I told you we need to hide our relationship. Bylelle will suspect that something is going on with Petre and I, so what better way to convince her that we’re not seeing each other than to date someone else?" she admitted. "Also I don’t have any better ideas."

"But Varian?" Zera's expression was doubtful. "He's charming, but there's something...off about him. I can't quite put my finger on it."

Fila nodded, her expression grave. “And how long do you think you can keep it up? How far will you go with it?” She frowned. “And even if he’s a bit weird, it’s not exactly fair to Varian.”

“I know," Rowen admitted, the words coming out as barely more than a whisper. "And I don’t know how it’s going to play out. But at least I'm doing something about it instead of just...waiting."

"Alright," Zera conceded. "But promise me you'll keep your empathic senses open. If anything feels off with Varian—anything at all—you'll trust your instincts."

"I promise." Rowen managed a small smile. "Besides, it's just one date now. Maybe I only need to go on a couple, and then she’ll be satisfied."

"If you say so," Fila replied skeptically. “This has all the makings of a holodrama. Mind if I take notes for my script I’m writing?”

"Oh, shut up." Rowen laughed, some of the tension easing from her shoulders. "At least he brought me pastries."

"Speaking of which..." Zera reached for one of the sweet rolls, examining it with exaggerated suspicion. "These do look amazing." She took a big bite. “For the record, I think this whole thing is a terrible idea, and it’s going to blow up in your faces.”