CHAPTER EIGHT
T hraxar sat in the dimly lit lounge, contemplating his bare arm.
The intricate patterns that covered it extended to the rest of his body, but battle scars interrupted the symmetry—each one a memory, each one a lesson.
The ship hummed quietly around him, its familiar vibrations usually comforting, but tonight they failed to soothe his restlessness.
He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, watching it catch the low light. The Partallan liquor was a rare indulgence, something he drank occasionally when the solitude pressed too heavily upon him. Tonight seemed an appropriate occasion to deplete his small supply.
His tail flicked restlessly, betraying his unsettled thoughts. Kara and Rory had disrupted his carefully maintained isolation. He had not shared his ship with anyone in… years? Decades? Time blurred when each cycle resembled the last.
The sweetness of Kara’s scent alerted him to presence, even before he detected the soft patter of bare feet and she appeared in the doorway.
She stood hesitantly at the threshold, her slender frame draped in one of the garments she’d fashioned from his old clothes.
The sight of her wearing something of his stirred an unexpected warmth in his chest.
“I apologize for disturbing you,” she said, her voice low. “I couldn’t sleep.”
He straightened, suddenly conscious of his bare, scarred. He’d removed his shirt before attempting to rest, and hadn’t bothered to replace it when he’d abandoned his quarters for the lounge.
“The apology is unnecessary.” He gestured to the seat across from him. “Join me, if you wish.”
She crossed the room and settled into the chair, tucking her legs beneath her. The posture made her appear even smaller, more vulnerable, yet he’d seen the steel in her spine when she’d faced down the guard on the asteroid.
“Is Rory sleeping?” he asked.
“Yes. He falls asleep quickly once he feels secure.” She glanced around the lounge. “Your ship feels safe to him.”
“That is… gratifying to hear.” He hesitated, then offered her his glass. “Would you care for some? It is Partallan liquor.”
She accepted the glass, taking a cautious sip. Her eyes widened slightly. “That’s amazing. That’s what you were selling on Jellix V?”
“I sold a crate of Partallan liquor, but this is much older and rarer. You find it acceptable?”
“More than acceptable.” She took another small sip before returning the glass. “Luxury.”
They sat in silence for a moment, surrounded by the gentle hum of the ship, and he found himself studying her features—the curve of her jaw, the alertness in her eyes even at this late hour, the slight tension in her shoulders that never fully dissipated.
“May I ask about Rory’s sire?” The question emerged before he could reconsider its propriety.
Kara’s expression hardened slightly. “What about him?”
“Is he deceased?”
“No.” Her fingers twisted together in her lap. “He left us.”
His tail lashed as a growl escaped him. “He abandoned his offspring?”
“He never really wanted a child to begin with but he eventually agreed.” Her voice remained steady, but her eyes reflected old pain.
“When Rory was diagnosed as neurodivergent—when we learned he processed the world differently—his father decided he couldn’t handle it.
Said he hadn’t signed up for a ‘defective’ child. ”
His fingers dug into the armrests of his chair. “He considered the child defective?”
“Those were his exact words.” Her jaw tightened. “He was a surgeon. Brilliant, according to his colleagues. But he wanted a perfect child to showcase his perfect genes. When he didn’t get that, he left.”
“He was unworthy of you both.”
She gave him a startled look, clearly surprised by his vehemence.
“Among the Cire,” he continued, “our children are sacred. To abandon one’s young is… unthinkable. At least it was when we could have children.”
“Even if they’re different?”
“Of course. Rory’s differences would be valued, not rejected.”
A small, sad smile touched her lips. “That’s a kinder view than most humans take.”
“Then humans are fools.” He took another drink, the liquor burning pleasantly down his throat. “Your former mate dishonored himself through his abandonment.”
“You seem to take it personally.”
Thraxar was silent for a moment, considering how much to reveal. The liquor had loosened his customary reserve, and something about the quiet darkness of the ship, the intimacy of the hour, prompted honesty.
“I would give anything to have a child,” he said finally. “But without any Cire females, it will never happen. From what I have heard, the ruling council has attempted artificial reproduction back on Ciresia but with very limited success.”
“But you left?” she asked softly.
His jaw tightened. “We never should have been there to begin with. My family were traders—we lived aboard our ship and traveled widely. We returned just as the plague reached its height and I lost them all—mother, father, brother. I couldn’t remain there after that.
I left and never returned. I could not face the emptiness of a world without—” He broke off, the words catching in his throat.
“Without your family,” she finished for him.
“Without hope,” he corrected. “I not only abandoned Ciresia, I have avoided any of the other Cire who have left. That’s why I trade in this sector so far from the central systems. “
“And you are sure that interspecies compatibility isn’t possible?”
He focused on the glass in his hand, avoiding her curious gaze. “So I have always believed. Until recently.”
The implication hung in the air between them, unspoken but unmistakable, and when he looked up she was studying his face.
“So you’ve been alone all this time,” she said, changing the subject slightly. “Trading, traveling.”
“Yes.” He welcomed the shift. “Solitude became… familiar. Preferable to the politics and desperation of Ciresia.”
“I understand choosing solitude,” she said. “After everything with Rory’s father, I kept to myself. It was safer that way.”
“Yet you care deeply for your offspring.”
“He’s everything to me.” The simple declaration carried absolute conviction.
He nodded, understanding completely. “On the asteroid, you placed yourself between him and danger without hesitation.”
“Any parent would.”
“No. Many would not.” His voice roughened. “Your courage was… remarkable.”
She looked down, seemingly uncomfortable with the praise. “It wasn’t courage. Just necessity.”
“They are often the same.” He rose from his seat. “Would you care for a drink of your own?”
“Please.”
He moved to the small cabinet where he kept his few luxuries, selecting a second glass.
As he poured a modest amount for her, he became acutely aware of his bare torso, the scars and patterns fully visible in the lounge’s soft light.
Among Cire, such casual undress would be unremarkable, but he was uncertain of human customs.
“I apologize for my state of disarray,” he said, returning with her drink. “I had attempted to rest before coming here.”
Her eyes swept over his chest, and something flickered in her gaze—an interest he hadn’t anticipated. “Don’t apologize. I don’t mind.” A hint of color tinged her cheeks as she accepted the glass. “The patterns on your skin—they’re very striking.”
“As I said, they identify lineage.”
“They’re beautiful,” she said, the color on her cheeks intensifying.
The slight huskiness in her voice and the increased sweetness in her scent triggered an instinctive response in him, and his tail gently circled her wrist as he handed her the glass.
He settled back into his chair, oddly pleased by her appraisal. The liquor warmed him from within, softening the edges of his thoughts.
“Have you considered what you will do after we reach the Patrol station?” he asked.
She took a small sip of her drink, her expression turning thoughtful. “Not really. This has all happened so fast. That’s why I wasn’t bothered by the delay.”
“We can take as long as you like to get there,” he offered. He hadn’t considered the words prior to speaking, but he immediately agreed with the idea.
She didn’t pull away, and he was suddenly aware of the intimate atmosphere—the low light, the warmth of her skin beneath his tail—and the unexpected but undeniable attraction that sparked between them.
“May I see the scars?” she asked suddenly. “Do they bother you?”
He hesitated, then held out his arm. She leaned closer, examining the scars.
“These look like burns,” she said, her fingers gently tracing the marks on his skin. “And this one, it looks like the flesh was torn by something.”
She was so close now that her scent enveloped him, her breath warm against his chest as she moved from his arm to his torso.
“A battle with a Khasar,” he said, his voice low. “I was fortunate to survive.”
Her fingers continued exploring the marks, the sensation both pleasurable and oddly soothing.
“You were a warrior,” she said, her voice soft.
“I was a mercenary,” he corrected. “When I first left Ciresia I had nowhere to go and I could not face the thought of traveling alone on my family’s ship. Many systems were in chaos and work was easy to find.”
He ran his finger across the worst of his scars—a line from one side of his stomach to the other where he had almost been eviscerated.
“I did not expect to survive,” he added softly. “But I did, and eventually I grew tired of the fighting. I sold my family’s ship and bought this one.”
She was still so close that he could see her eyes dilate at his words. She placed a hand flat on his abdomen, just over the scar.
“And now?” she asked. “You live to trade?”
“It is safer. And profitable enough.” He hesitated, then added, “I am satisfied with the solitude. You and Rory are my first passengers.”
“Thank you for sharing it with us, even temporarily.”
“The ship feels… different with you aboard.” He struggled to articulate the sensation. “Less hollow.”
She gave him a delighted smile. “That’s one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me.”
The whiskey had created a pleasant warmth in his chest, loosening his customary reserve. “It is merely the truth.”
“Do you want to return to your solitary state?” she asked, and her hand lingered on his skin, sending an unexpected jolt of awareness through him.
“I am no longer certain,” he admitted.
Her head tilted, her eyes searching his face. “Because of us? Rory and me?”
“Because you challenge my assumptions.”
Her lips curved into a smile. “Is that a good thing?”
He was suddenly aware of how close she was, her face upturned and her hand still resting on his chest.
“Perhaps.”
He reached out and brushed his knuckles over her cheek, marveling at the softness of her skin. Her eyes widened, but she didn’t move away. Instead, she leaned into his touch, her breath catching in her throat.
He traced the delicate line of her jaw, then cupped the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair. His tail circled her waist, pulling her closer and she didn’t resist, leaning into him instead. Her head tilted further, and he could feel the warmth of her breath against his skin.
“Thraxar,” she whispered, and the sound of his name on her lips ignited something within him, a hunger that he’d long suppressed.
He bent his head and brushed his mouth against hers. Her lips parted on a soft sigh, and he deepened the kiss, his tongue slipping between her lips to explore the warm, sweet heat of her mouth.
She kissed him back eagerly, her hands sliding up his chest to twine around his neck.
He pulled her closer, his arms wrapping around her small frame as her body pressed against the hard planes of his.
Her scent surrounded him, intoxicatingly sweet, and he wanted nothing more than to taste every inch of her.