Page 49

EPILOGUE

S he stood on the balcony, bathed in golden light, staring out at a forest that could never exist on Earth.

Alien trees stretched toward the twin moons above, their leaves a luminous green-blue that shimmered faintly, even in shadow. Birds flitted through the canopy—beings with wings and crests and strange, sweeping tails—singing in warbles and whistles so close to familiar, yet undeniably other. The air smelled rich and alive, full of strange pollen and something sweet beneath it all.

It was beautiful. Remote. Utterly untouched.

No cities. No people. No noise.

Just the fortress behind her—Kyhin’s fortress. Now hers, too.

A brutal structure of some alien, concrete-like substance, studded with mineral veins that caught the light like stars. Cold and unyielding once, but since her arrival, it had softened. A little. Subtle changes, additions. Textiles from across the Universe. Warm lighting. Even relics from Earth, scavenged from trader stalls and outposts. A record player. Woolen throws. Real coffee.

Kyhin brought them back each time he left—and he always came back.

Sometimes she was alone, surrounded by technology she didn’t understand, protected by systems that could probably reduce an invading army to ash. At first, the solitude had felt unbearable.

But not anymore.

Not when she knew he would return with gifts. With surprises. With his warmth and his hands and the low, rough voice that belonged only to her now.

She’d learned about him over time… through the translator and his increasingly fluent English, and now, through her growing grasp of his own language.

He’d once served an empire. Been one of the Hvrok elite, a blade in the dark, a tool of enforcement. And when the Hvrok turned on each other, when their legacy was burned down by their own hands, Kyhin had been left with no purpose but survival.

A killer without a cause.

Until her.

The thought struck her again, painfully intimate.

She was his reason now.

And if anyone tried to take her from him…

Her mind flashed to Earth. Her family. Her brothers. Her parents: aging, frail. Still alive, hopefully. Still waiting. Still wondering what happened to her.

She had disappeared from a beach. No trace. A car left behind. A case file, probably. A photo tacked to a corkboard somewhere, labelled: Missing.

God. The thought made her ache. How could she leave her family and friends with the pain of not knowing?

But Kyhin had promised. They would return. Soon. Once the ship was ready. Once his disguise was perfected.

She’d spent a long time thinking about it. Planning it. The lie.

A story about an abduction. About escape. About a mysterious man who helped her. She’d coach Kyhin in everything: his alias, his accent, his backstory.

They’d pull it off. Somehow.

And then, she’d say goodbye. Again. But properly this time.

Return here.

To him.

A flimsy plan, maybe, but what choice did she have? She couldn’t go back to the life she knew. She wasn’t that woman anymore. That life didn’t fit. Not after this.

Not after him.

He who would never let her go.

Behind her, a breeze stirred… and then warm arms wrapped around her. Large. Inhuman. Familiar.

Kyhin.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t tense.

Just leaned back into him.

"Is something wrong?" he murmured, the translator glowing faintly in his palm.

"Just thinking," she replied, a little stiffly, in Hvrok.

He chuckled. That low, pleased sound she’d come to know so well. Every time she made the effort to speak in his tongue, he looked so happy.

"If something troubles you…”

"I know. You’ll move the stars to make it right." She smiled faintly. "I was just thinking about Earth. About what I’m going to say. It’s… going to be complicated."

"You could tell them the truth."

"The truth would break them," she said softly. "They wouldn’t believe it. And even if they did… it would haunt them. This is the kindest way."

"You lie out of consideration," he said thoughtfully, trying to understand.

"Sometimes, it’s necessary."

"Would you lie to me?" His voice was gentle, but there was steel beneath.

She turned her head slightly. "No. That would be impossible."

"Good." He kissed her neck, slow and molten, and she felt her breath catch. "You don’t ever have to lie to me."

"I know." And somehow, it was true. He was the only one she could be utterly unfiltered with. The only one who saw her— all of her —and wanted more.

"There is a Majarin," he said, almost shyly. "He is bonded to a human female. I’ve made contact. If you wish… I can arrange a meeting."

Her heart stirred. "Another human?"

"Yes. I thought… perhaps it would please you."

"It would," she said, a little breathless. "Thank you."

He seemed impossibly pleased with himself, and again, she was struck by how much joy he took in making her happy. Fierce joy. Possessive joy.

His wings—bare now, always bare in this sanctuary—wrapped around her. Warm and leathery and secure.

She felt his arousal press against her back. Hard. Hot.

But he didn’t rush her.

He never did.

And she was grateful for it, grateful for the tension he allowed to build, for the power she felt in making him wait.

She was aroused, yes. Her heart fluttered. Her body tingled. But she was content to let it simmer.

Because this moment—this stillness—meant something.

They stood like that for a while. Wrapped in each other. Surrounded by alien birdsong and the wind through luminous trees.

And for the first time since she’d been stolen from her world, she felt…

Like this was her place now.

Theirs.

Belonging.

Together.