Page 29

T wo months later…

Thraxar’s shoulders relaxed as he approached their house, the tension of the workday melting away with each step.

Two months of this routine—walking the same path home each evening, knowing what waited for him there—and still the wonder of it hadn’t diminished.

If anything, it had deepened, taking root in him like the garden plants they’d cultivated together.

He paused at the gate, taking in the sight of their home.

The exterior walls glowed amber in the late afternoon light, the windows bright with life from within.

The garden had transformed under their care—beds of native plants interspersed with a few carefully selected varieties that Kara had special-ordered from an agricultural station.

Talia’s favorite purple flowers clustered along the pathway, their delicate petals folded for the evening.

His home. Their home.

The door recognized his biosignature and slid open. The familiar sounds and scents washed over him—the soft purr of the environmental controls, the lingering aroma of whatever Kara had prepared for the children’s meal, and beneath it all, the subtle sweetness that was uniquely hers.

“I’m back,” he called, an unnecessary announcement that had become ritual.

Rory didn’t look up as Thraxar entered the main living space, his focus absolute.

The boy sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by the collection of small mechanical components Thraxar had salvaged from Jerra’s shop.

Each piece was being arranged in a precise pattern that only made sense to Rory—concentric circles of gears and switches, sorted by size and shape with mathematical precision.

He crouched down, careful not to disturb the pattern. “Good evening, Rory.”

The boy’s fingers continued their methodical work, but his shoulders relaxed slightly at Thraxar’s voice. A slight bob of his head acknowledged the greeting without breaking his concentration. He’d learned to recognize this as Rory’s way of saying hello when he was deep in one of his projects.

“That’s an impressive arrangement,” he said quietly. “The symmetry is perfect.”

Rory’s hands paused for the briefest moment, a flicker of pleasure crossing his face before he resumed his work. A now-familiar warmth filled his chest—the satisfaction of understanding this child who so many others had failed to comprehend.

From the kitchen nook came the scratch of color sticks against paper. Talia sat at the table, her small lavender face screwed up in concentration as she worked on her latest drawing. Her translucent ears shifted from deep purple to a contented blue-green when she noticed him.

“Papa!” She abandoned her coloring and bounded across the room, launching herself into his arms with complete trust.

He caught her easily, lifting her high. “And how was your day, little one?”

“I learned five new words in Standard and helped Mama plant the seed things and saw a flying bug with spots!” The words tumbled out in a rush as her ears flickered with excitement. “And I’m making you a picture but it’s not done so don’t look!”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he promised solemnly, setting her back down. “A surprise is a serious matter.”

She nodded with grave importance before scampering back to her artwork, carefully positioning herself to block his view.

He sought his mate then, finding her curled in the corner of the couch with a medical text projected above a datapad. An expression he couldn’t read flickered across her face before she smiled and closed the projection with a quick gesture.

“You’re home early,” she said, smiling up at him.

“Jerra let me go once we finished the Carellian freighter.” He crossed to her, bending to press his forehead against hers in greeting. “The captain was so pleased with the repairs he gave her a bonus, and she passed some of it along.”

Her eyes brightened. “That’s wonderful.”

“Mmm.” He breathed in her scent, allowing himself the luxury of simply holding her for a moment. “How was the clinic today?”

“Busy. Three cases of Tellurian flu and a mining accident.” She traced the pattern along his forearm, a habitual gesture that never failed to send a pleasant shiver through him. “Nothing too serious, though.”

Something in her tone caught his attention—a slight hesitation, perhaps. But before he could question it, Talia called from the table.

“Mama! I need the purple stick again!”

“Coming,” she called back, giving his arm a squeeze before slipping away.

He watched her cross to Talia, noting the grace of her movements, the way she knelt beside the child with such natural ease. She’d adapted to this new life, this new world, with a resilience that continually amazed him. Both children had flourished under her care, and he…

He had been transformed.

The evening unfolded with comfortable familiarity.

They shared the meal his mate had prepared—a blend of local vegetables and protein.

Talia chattered about her day while Rory methodically separated his food into precise sections before eating.

He found himself content to simply listen, to absorb the domestic harmony that had once seemed an impossible dream.

After the meal came the bedtime routine.

Talia insisted on a story from him, a ritual that had begun their first night in the house.

Tonight she requested the tale of the star dragons of Vega, settling against his side as he described the luminous creatures that sailed the solar winds between twin suns.

“Are they real?” she asked, her eyes wide.

“Some say they are. Others believe they’re just reflections in the stellar dust.” He tucked the blanket around her small body. “Perhaps someday we’ll go see for ourselves.”

Her ears flushed pink with pleasure at the suggestion. “Promise?”

“When you’re older,” he said, a phrase that had become common in their household. A reminder that there would be a future, years stretching ahead for all of them together.

Rory’s routine was different but no less important.

Thraxar helped him arrange his collection of small treasures in their precise order on the shelf beside his bed—the polished stone from the garden, the gear wheel from Thraxar’s ship, the shell Kara had found on their trip to the lake.

Only when each item was perfectly positioned did Rory climb into bed, allowing Thraxar to pull the covers up to his chin.

No stories for Rory, but Thraxar always sat beside him for exactly five minutes—no more, no less—humming a low Cire melody that seemed to soothe the boy.

Tonight, just before he rose to leave, Rory’s hand emerged from beneath the blanket to trace a brief pattern on his wrist—a gesture of affection that made his throat tighten with emotion.

When both children were settled, he found Kara waiting for him in the main room, a strange tension in her posture.

“Walk with me in the garden?” she asked, her voice carefully neutral.

He followed her outside, where the evening air carried the scent of night-blooming flowers.

The moons of this world—one large and pale, one small and golden—cast overlapping shadows across the garden paths.

She moved to the stone bench they’d placed beneath the spreading branches of a native shade tree, its silvery leaves rustling softly in the breeze.

She didn’t sit. Instead, she paced a few steps away, then turned to face him. Her expression was unreadable in the dappled moonlight.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, his tail twitching with sudden concern.

“No.” She shook her head quickly. “No, nothing’s wrong. It’s just…” She drew a deep breath. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you.”

Alarm prickled along his spine. “Tell me what?”

She stepped closer, taking his hands in hers. “I’m pregnant, Thraxar.”

The words didn’t register at first. He stared at her, processing each syllable individually before they coalesced into meaning.

“Pregnant,” he repeated. “You’re… we’re…”

“Going to have a baby.” Her voice wavered slightly. “I confirmed it at the clinic today.”

“But how…” He trailed off, realizing the absurdity of the question. “I mean, I didn’t think it was possible despite the mate bond.”

“Neither did I.” A small smile played at the corners of her mouth. “But apparently we were wrong.”

“A baby,” he said again, the reality of it beginning to sink in. “Our baby.”

He placed his hands on her stomach, resting gently against the place where new life grew. There was no outward sign yet, no change he could detect, but knowing it was there—a child created from their union—filled him with a sense of wonder he couldn’t articulate.

“Are you… pleased?” she asked, a hint of uncertainty in her voice.

“Pleased?” He looked up from his hands to her face, seeing the vulnerability there. “Kara, I…”

Words failed him. Instead, he gathered her into his arms, lifting her off her feet in a careful embrace. His tail curled around them both as he pressed his forehead to hers.

“There is no word in any language for what I feel,” he murmured against her skin. “Joy seems too small. Excitement too common.”

She laughed, a sound of pure relief and happiness that resonated through him. “I was worried. We never discussed having more children.”

“I never dared hope for it.” He set her gently back on her feet but kept her close. “I thought myself fortunate beyond measure to have you, to have Rory and Talia. This is…” He shook his head, overwhelmed.

“I know.” She leaned into him, her warmth a counterpoint to the cool evening air. “The doctor says everything looks normal so far. The baby appears to be healthy, though they want to monitor me closely.”

“Is there any risk to you?” The thought sent a chill through him.

“No more than any pregnancy.” She placed her hand over his where it still rested on her abdomen. “Actually, Doctor Sarn seemed more excited than concerned. She mentioned something about writing a paper for the xenobiology journal.”

He snorted. “As long as she takes good care of you both.”

They stood in silence for a moment, absorbing the magnitude of this new development. The garden around them seemed more vibrant somehow, the night air sweeter, the distant stars brighter. Everything was transformed by the knowledge of new life.

“When?” he asked finally.

“About seven months, if it follows a human gestation.” She looked up at him. “We’ll need to prepare. The house isn’t really set up for an infant.”

“We’ll make it ready.” His mind was already racing ahead—another room to prepare, supplies to gather, adjustments to make. “Whatever you need, whatever the baby needs.”

“And the children? How do you think they’ll react?”

He considered this. “Talia will be excited, I think. You know how much she enjoys playing with the younger children.”

“And Rory?”

“Change is difficult for him.” He rubbed his thumb gently across her knuckles. “But he’s adapted to so much already. We’ll help him understand, prepare him gradually.”

She nodded, leaning her head against his chest. “A family of five.”

“My family,” he said softly, the possessive pronoun still a marvel to him after all these months. “Our family.”

He looked up at the unfamiliar constellations of this world that had become their home. Somewhere up there was Ciresia, the homeworld he had fled in grief. For so long he had carried that loss like a stone in his chest, believing himself undeserving of happiness, of connection.

Now, with his mate in his arms and the knowledge of their child growing within her, that old grief seemed distant, transformed.

He would always honor the memory of those he had lost, but he understood now that his survival had led him here—to this garden, this woman, these children.

To a future he could never have imagined.

“What are you thinking?” she asked, her voice gentle in the darkness.

“That I have everything I never knew I wanted,” he answered truthfully. “And now even more.”

His tail curled protectively around her waist as they stood together under the alien moons, the promise of new life binding them closer than ever before.