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CHAPTER TEN

T hraxar remained frozen in the lounge long after Kara disappeared down the corridor. His pulse hammered against his ribs, and his skin felt too tight, too hot. The taste of her lingered on his mouth—alien yet impossibly sweet.

But it was the undeniable physical response of his body that left him truly stunned.

Every Cire male knew the stories. The elders had been clear: only a female of their own species could trigger the mating response.

It was biological certainty, evolutionary design—the foundation of their species’ continuation.

A Cire male’s body simply couldn’t respond to other species in that particular way.

Yet here he stood, his body unmistakably, undeniably aroused.

Impossible.

He paced the small confines of the lounge, his tail lashing behind him in agitation. The ship’s environmental controls hummed steadily, but he barely registered the sound over the rush of blood in his ears.

Had the elders lied? Or had they simply been wrong? Either possibility unsettled him deeply. If they had been wrong about this fundamental aspect of Cire biology, what else might they have misunderstood?

He stopped abruptly, his hand pressed against the cool metal wall. He should feel guilty. This reaction to a non-Cire female should fill him with shame—a betrayal of his species when they stood on the precipice of extinction.

But the guilt wouldn’t come.

Instead, a dangerous warmth spread through his chest when he thought of Kara’s determined eyes, her fierce protection of her young, the unexpected softness of her lips against his. She was unlike any female he had ever encountered, of any species.

“You don’t deserve a mate,” he muttered to himself, the words harsh in the empty room.

He had survived when his family perished. He had run when others stayed to rebuild. What right did he have to find connection when so many of his people remained alone?

Sleep eluded him that night. He spent hours in the cockpit, watching the stars streak past, trying to prepare for the repair to be made rather than the memory of her hands against his chest and her mouth beneath his.

By the time the ship’s lighting shifted to simulate dawn, he had managed to convince himself that the incident had been a momentary lapse, nothing more.

He would maintain his distance. He would complete the repairs. He would deliver them to the Patrol station as promised. Then he would return to his solitary existence, and the strange, unsettling feelings would fade.

The cockpit door slid open with a soft hiss.

He turned, expecting Kara, his carefully prepared speech of polite detachment ready on his tongue. Instead, Rory stood in the doorway, his oversized coat wrapped around him like armor.

“Good morning,” he said, his voice rough from lack of sleep.

Rory didn’t respond verbally—Thraxar had learned not to expect it—but he padded forward on silent feet until he reached the co-pilot’s chair. He climbed into it, his movements deliberate, then settled with his legs folded beneath him.

For several minutes, they sat in silence. Rory’s fingers traced patterns on the armrest, back and forth, back and forth. The repetitive motion should have been irritating. Instead, Thraxar found it oddly soothing, like the rhythm of waves against a shore.

The boy seemed content in the silence, asking nothing, demanding nothing. His presence was simultaneously unobtrusive and profound—a contradiction that Thraxar couldn’t quite understand but found himself appreciating nonetheless.

“We’ll be arriving at the trading post soon,” he said eventually, not expecting a response but feeling compelled to speak anyway. “It’s called Neralda. Not as large as some, but they have decent repair facilities.”

Rory’s fingers continued their pattern, but his head tilted slightly toward Thraxar, an indication that he was listening.

“The repairs shouldn’t take more than a day. Then we can continue to the Patrol station.” He adjusted their course slightly, the ship responding with smooth precision. “Your mother will find help there.”

At the mention of Kara, Rory’s eyes flicked up to Thraxar’s face, studying him with that peculiar intensity that seemed to see beyond surface appearances. He wondered, not for the first time, how much the child understood.

“Good morning.”

Kara’s voice from the doorway sent a jolt through his system, but he kept his eyes fixed on the navigation display, not trusting himself to look at her directly.

“I woke up and he was gone,” she continued, moving into the cockpit. “I should have known he’d find his way to you.”

Thraxar risked a glance then. She looked tired, dark smudges beneath her eyes suggesting she’d slept no better than he had. Her hair was pulled back from her face, emphasizing the delicate structure of her cheekbones and the determined set of her jaw.

“He’s been no trouble,” he said, his voice carefully neutral. “We’ve been… sitting together.”

She nodded, moving to stand behind Rory’s chair. Her hand rested on her son’s shoulder, a casual touch that nonetheless conveyed deep connection. “He likes you.”

“I’ve done nothing to earn such regard.”

“That’s not how it works with Rory.” Her smile was small but genuine. “He sees things in people that others miss.”

He didn’t know how to respond to that, so he turned back to the controls. “We’re approaching Outpost Neralda. We should be docking within the hour.”

“And you think it is safe?” The protective edge in her voice was immediate.

“Safe enough. It’s a legitimate trading post, not a smuggler’s haven.

The station security is adequate.” He gestured toward the viewscreen where the station was now visible—a sprawling structure of interconnected modules orbiting a small, barren moon.

“You and Rory can remain on the ship while I arrange for the repairs.”

“Actually,” she said, scooping up Rory and sitting back down with him in her lap. “I’d like to help with the repairs if I can.”

His surprise momentarily overrode his determination to maintain emotional distance. “You have engineering experience?”

“Not at all. But I’m good with my hands, and I learn fast.” She shrugged, a casual gesture that somehow made her seem younger.

“I had to figure out how to fix the medical equipment at the mining settlement. Grentz wasn’t going to waste credits on replacement parts if he could help it, and even if he agreed, it took forever for this to arrive. ”

The image of Kara bent over delicate medical instruments, teaching herself complex repairs with limited resources, fit perfectly with what he already knew of her resourcefulness. Still, he hesitated.

“The system is quite complex.”

“I don’t expect to redesign it. But I can hand you tools, hold things in place, and follow basic instructions.” Her eyes met his directly for the first time since entering the cockpit. “I’d rather be useful than sit around waiting.”

The intensity of her gaze made his skin warm. He looked away, focusing on the approaching station.

“Very well,” he conceded. “Your assistance would be… appreciated.”

Rory had been watching their exchange, his eyes moving between them with quiet assessment. Now he resumed his repetitive tracing, but Thraxar noticed a subtle change in the pattern—it seemed more relaxed somehow, less urgent.

The ship’s communication system chimed, and a mechanical voice requested their identification and purpose. He provided the necessary information, grateful for the distraction.

“Docking procedure initiated,” the station’s computer announced. “Please maintain current approach vector.”

The next several minutes were occupied with the technical details of bringing the ship safely into its assigned berth. He was acutely aware of Kara and Rory watching the process with fascination, their faces illuminated by the shifting lights of the docking bay as they drew closer.

“What happens after the repairs?” she asked quietly as the docking clamps engaged with a muffled thunk, and his hands stilled on the controls.

“We continue to the Patrol station as planned.”

“And then?”

The question hung between them, loaded with unspoken possibilities. He powered down the engines before answering.

“And then you and Rory will be safe. The Patrol will ensure you’re returned to your home planet, or relocated to a suitable colony world if you prefer.”

“And you?”

He turned to face her fully then, allowing himself to really look at her for the first time since their kiss. The sight of her—determined, intelligent, resilient—sent a surge of that forbidden warmth through his chest again.

“I will continue as I have been,” he said, the words tasting bitter. “Trading. Moving from port to port.”

“Alone,” she added softly.

He didn’t confirm or deny it. He didn’t need to.

Rory chose that moment to unfold himself from the chair, moving to stand directly in front of him. With deliberate care, the boy reached out and placed his small hand on Thraxar’s forearm, his fingers tracing one of the patterns on his skin.

The simple touch conveyed more than words could have—connection, trust, a form of communication uniquely Rory’s own. He remained perfectly still, afraid that any movement might break the moment.

She watched them, her expression unreadable. “We should probably talk about last night,” she said finally.

“There is no need,” he replied, more gruffly than he intended. “It was… unexpected. But it need not complicate matters.”

“Is that what you want? To pretend it didn’t happen?”

The direct question caught him off guard. “What I want is irrelevant. My responsibility is to ensure your safety.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only answer I can give.” He stood abruptly, careful not to dislodge Rory’s hand. “The station’s repair bay will be expecting us. I should go make arrangements.”

Kara’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she nodded. “And I’ll help, as we discussed.”

“What about Rory?” he asked, glancing down at the boy who was still focused on the patterns of his skin.

“He’ll come with us. He does better when he can see me.” She hesitated, then added, “And you.”

The simple statement shouldn’t have affected him as deeply as it did. He swallowed hard, fighting against the surge of protective instinct that threatened to overwhelm his carefully maintained detachment.

“Very well,” he said finally. “Let’s proceed with the repairs.”

As they exited the cockpit together, Rory between them, he couldn’t help but notice how natural it felt—the three of them moving as a unit. It was a dangerous thought, one that could lead only to disappointment.

But as they prepared to disembark, Rory’s hand still clinging to his arm and Kara’s presence a constant awareness at his side, he found himself wishing, for the first time in years, that things could be different.