Page 11 of Sheltered in the Storm (The Fortusian Mates # 1)

CHAPTER 10

VOS

As Calla slept beside me, wrapped in my tentacles and smelling of my homemade soap and contentment, I found myself caught between happiness at having a second chance to win her trust and heart, and nagging worry that I might fail.

When she had proposed starting over, I had hesitated, but only for a moment. I had so longed for this chance that, despite my reservations, to decline it seemed nearly incomprehensible—especially given how hopefully and sincerely she had asked.

The wonder of it sent me careening into a storm of yearning and uncertainty. My tiny flame of hope grew once more. I had not succeeded in extinguishing it—not even close. I had merely hidden it, and not very well at that.

If I fanned the flame, I might cause myself great pain. Starting over did not mean she would stay, or that we would find happiness, much less love, with one another. Calla had not offered any promises and I had no right to ask for one. But she had asked to start over, and that meant I could not dismiss what we had out of hand .

If I declined, I might feel less pain if she left me, but I would also deny myself a chance for joy.

The chance was slim—even lost in this euphoria, I knew that.

The Vos who had served the Guard would not have been put off by slim chances or long odds, or the prospect of pain. And even long after my retirement, I was still that man, as much as I preferred to think of him as a separate creature I had left light-years behind me. Vos Turek would not let anything come between him and his true mate—least of all his own fear.

Nothing about the future was certain except that if I did not allow myself this chance, I would regret it all my days.

I sensed a profound change in how Calla looked at me and my home. I was no longer a stranger to her, and my home was not merely shelter. My bed was not just a comfortable place to sleep, but a comfort, and she wanted to share it with me.

She had trusted me with the truth about her past and met my candor with her own. None of this meant she would stay once she had healed, but my instincts told me she now truly thought she might, and not just because she did not want to return to the Alliance Defense. I had become important to her.

Longing stirred when I recalled how she had trembled when I touched her during her bath. Today’s bath had been nothing like the first time I had washed her, when she lay unconscious and barely alive in my tentacles. Today, we had shared something beautiful and intimate that put a song in my hearts.

Fear had not caused her to shiver and I had not imagined her reaction to my touches. I had tasted and smelled her desire. I had yearned to join her in the tub, to caress her and hold her and perhaps kiss her, but resisted the urge. She had only just asked to begin again, to see where this might lead, and she was still healing. I must wait and focus all my energy on winning her heart.

One of my tentacles slipped into her blankets and wrapped around her lower leg. I closed my eyes to drink in her taste and scent.

What could I do to make her want to stay? What could I offer besides myself?

I could offer her a home.

With that goal in mind, I studied my bedroom with different eyes. I had always considered my capsule house ideal for my simple needs, and Poe was certainly very content, but I must do better for Calla. I should make our surroundings more pleasant, especially while her mobility was limited.

She had expressed an interest in my garden, so she might love growing things. And if she had lived on an outpost for years and not even seen rain during that time, she had been starved for connection with nature. Iosa would offer Calla wondrous opportunities to immerse herself in natural beauty.

Several plants grew in pots in my kitchen and living area and in the bathroom. Perhaps she would like a few in this room. I could move my vinefruit tree from the front room in here. Its fruit and blooms smelled very nice. And I could collect some of the crimson moss from the trees in the swamp and put it in a basket. Its scent was mild, but the color might make this room less bland.

Colorful stones from the seashore? I had little experience with such things, but Poe might have ideas for improving the appearance of these modest rooms.

Perhaps I could find some handmade trinkets in the village that would lift Calla’s spirits. Her rare smiles warmed my soul like little else. I yearned to see her smile more.

Once Calla began to heal, she might want to decorate our home in ways that pleased her. My hearts swelled at the thought.

Suddenly, Calla whimpered in her sleep. The scent of her fear and pain swirled in the air. She trembled, curling up almost into a fetal position, her arms in front of her chest as if to protect it.

Tension rippled through my body and tentacles and made my stomach lurch and hearts ache. All daydreams of making a home with Calla evaporated.

I had not suffered a single nightmare since Calla’s arrival, as if her mere presence had banished the ghosts of my past. Even the ambassador’s child had not visited my dreams, which was nothing less than miraculous.

But sweet, fiery Calla had yet to pass a night, or even a nap, without signs of bad dreams or nightmares. Though I had resolved to keep my emotional and physical distance, I always cooed for her from the bedroom doorway and that seemed to soothe her. I did not think she knew I had done this.

Now, with our agreement to start again, I could do more.

Gently, so I did not wake her, I drew her close with my tentacles and tucked her head under my chin so my body heat and scent might offer comfort and strength. I cooed very softly, the sound thrumming in my chest. Perhaps that sensation would comfort her as well.

Did she dream of her time in the arena? Battles in her fighter? Some other torment from her past she had not yet revealed to me? Or did her deeper fears come to her in her dreams, as mine had done so frequently until recently?

In the bath, Calla had spoken so flatly, so dispassionately, about her time as a gladiator on Ganai. I recognized that tone and method of coping because I used it myself on the very rare occasions I discussed my past with Poe.

However my mate’s presence had banished my nightmares, I longed to do the same for her. But how? If she accepted me as her mate, would that offer her the same peace? Would my contentment increase as well? I did not know.

For the first time, I was angry at myself for knowing so little about true mate physiology. And with no computer terminal in my home, I could not discover more unless I traveled to a town large enough to have one with access to the information I needed.

My desire to know more battled with my reluctance to leave Calla’s side—especially now that she had asked to start again. My soul and all my hearts were fixed on persuading her to stay.

“Keela,” Calla rasped, and let out a single sob.

A shudder of grief and guilt ran through me. Had asking about her past kindled this nightmare?

Cooing, I pressed my lips to her forehead. Her skin felt clammy despite the warmth of my body and the blankets. A single tear leaked from under one of her eyelids.

As much as she might need her sleep to recover from exercising and her bath, I could not bear to witness her pain any longer.

“Calla,” I murmured, stroking her hair. “Calla, I am here. You are safe.”

Her eyes flew open. She cried out, her hands clenching into fists.

“Calla,” I repeated. “You are safe.” Her chest heaved against mine. I cooed and stroked her hair until she took a ragged breath.

“Damn it,” she rasped. “I’m sorry.”

“You have no reason to be sorry,” I said, gently but firmly. “You did nothing wrong. You only had a bad dream.”

“Yeah, well.” Her mouth twisted. “My bunkmates weren’t very understanding when I woke up screaming. I think the rest of my squad fought over who had to share quarters with me.”

Dark humor, like the detachment with which Calla had described her time on Ganai, belied the real depth of her hurt.

“You do not need to hide your pain from me,” I said. “Your squad may not have understood what haunts your dreams, but I do.” I cupped her less-injured left cheek, careful to avoid touching her bruises. “Tell me about your dream. ”

“Why?” Her voice had a sharp edge. “What good would it do either of us?”

If I told her the truth about how different my dreams had become since her arrival, I feared she might think I wanted her to stay for selfish reasons. But perhaps she would find it easier to open her heart if I did the same.

“Our burdens are lighter when we share them,” I said quietly. “I have had nightmares all my life. Many days and nights I have lain awake, haunted by memories. But since you arrived, I have not had any. If you will trust me, I would like to do what I can to ease your hurt as you have eased mine.”

Rather than react with anger or suspicion, her eyes widened in surprise and wonder. “Because I’m your true mate?” she asked, wiping her eyes with her shaking hand.

“I am not sure,” I admitted. “I do not know much about the physiology of Fortusian true mates. But my hearts tell me it is so.”

Calla leaned against my hand on her cheek and closed her eyes. Whether she realized it or not, she would not close her eyes if she did not trust me.

“Your true mate brings you peace, even in your dreams?” she murmured. “That’s really lovely. It’s almost like magic…except it’s science.”

Calla’s mind was very practical and pragmatic. She had been raised as a gladiator in the arena, where analyzing opponents and preparing strategy was a matter of life and death, and then trained by the Defense as a fighter pilot. Science and analysis offered her a firm foundation—something she found safer than emotion.

I understood because I too had always found comfort in practicalities, but my life had become full of wonders since Calla came. I wished for her to feel some of the same awe.

“It is science, but that does not mean it is not also magic.” I rested my forehead on hers. “Tell me about Keela, please. I would like to know.”

Instead, she snuggled into my chest. I cooed and held her. She relaxed against me with a sigh, but still she said nothing.

What other comfort could I offer? What might make her feel she could unburden herself to me? Perhaps a story of my own.

Everything about my training and service in the Silent Guard was strictly confidential, under penalty of death. Decades of indoctrination made my stomach twist and hearts race at even the idea of sharing one of those secrets. Not for the first time, and likely not for the last, my need to comfort and care for Calla clashed with my Guard conditioning.

As I had done on the night Calla’s fighter crashed in the ocean, I followed my hearts because that way lay joy and the potential to comfort my mate. What were the Guard’s threats against that?

“I have told you I was made to serve in the Silent Guard,” I said, my lips against her hair. “And that is true, in the same way you telling me you were born on Ganai is true. They are simple ways to say big, terrible truths. The reality is much worse and more complex than that.”

She nestled her nose against my chest over my primary heart. Already her breathing had slowed and she no longer smelled like pain and unshed tears.

“I do not remember the woman who carried me, gave birth to me, and cared for me until I reached two standard years of age,” I told her. “I have tried throughout my life to recall a single memory—a scent, a voice, even an impression—and I have none. My trainers and handlers at the Guard told me she was no one of importance and I should not spare her a thought. But I wanted so much to remember her, because to me she was my mother, my only family. The only person who had ever cared about me in any way. To everyone I knew, I was nothing more than as an investment or asset who could be easily replaced. ”

She took a shaky breath. “I can relate to that.”

“I know.” I kissed her hair and continued my tale. “I quickly learned never to speak of this to anyone. Guard trainees are encouraged to inform on members of their cohorts as a way of weeding out those who are…unsuitable.”

Even so many years later, my throat closed on that word and my stomach clenched. To be deemed unsuitable was to disappear from the Guard training facility during the night without a trace, all belongings gone, empty bunk neatly made with clean bedding awaiting its next occupant. No one knew what befell these vanished trainees, but death was the unspoken assumption.

Calla slipped her much-smaller hand into mine. I did not squeeze because it was her right hand, not yet healed after being so badly broken by a raider’s boot. Just holding her hand chased away the sickness in my gut created by these memories.

“When I was young, I imagined my mother would come to the training facility sometimes to observe me,” I said. “Outside visitors were rare, but sometimes we would see unfamiliar people watching us train or sitting in classes. I did not know if she also had cephalopod characteristics, so to me, any of these female visitors might be her. I imagined what career she might have, if she might have a mate, if she had given birth to any other children. She lived a robust and full life in my imagination. I kept it all very secret, of course. You are the only person to ever hear of it.”

She squeezed my hand then, just a little—all she could manage to do without causing herself pain. And she pressed her lips to my chest over my primary heart. It was not quite a kiss, but I lost my ability to breathe.

Finally, I found my voice again. “For Fortusians created to serve in the Guard, primary training begins between the ages of two and four standard years and continues until age fifteen. Those who survive primary training are then divided based on their inherent abilities and strengths and ranking within the cohort and begin a four-year intensive, specialized training regimen. Upon completion, the Guard decides who will be designated as elite Silent Guard assassins, and who to sell at auction as bodyguards, private operatives, and such.”

Calla let out a little unhappy sound. Had she faced the prospect of being sold once her training was complete? The thought chilled me.

“Obviously, the Guard elected to keep me,” I said. “When they did, I was given access to my official file. The purpose of this is to demonstrate the level of scrutiny I had lived under and should expect for the entirety of my twenty years of service. Every tiny detail of my life was in the file, from birth onward.”

She raised her head, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Her information was in the file?”

“Yes.” For twenty-five years I had held this secret locked away. I took a deep breath through my nose and gills to fortify myself. “Her name was Deia, and she was an employee of the Silent Guard. During her prime childbearing years, she was a surrogate mother for six children. She cared for these children until the age of two standard years, when they began Guard training. I was the fourth of these six children.”

She flinched, but I did not think physical pain caused it. “Go on,” she said, her hand squeezing mine so gently it felt like a flutter.

“I did not have a mother,” I said, my voice tight with grief that only now, so many years later, I allowed to surface. “A woman carried me to term, gave birth to me, and worked as my caregiver for my first two years of life, and then handed me over. It was her job to do so. She did not visit me during my training. She did not love me or care for me as a mother. My ‘mother’ was a figment of my imagination.” I focused on Calla’s scent and warmth until I could continue. “And as I read my file in front of my superiors, I had to take in that information without showing any emotions at all. If I had reacted, I likely would have been either sold at auction or killed outright.”

“Oh, Vos.” Calla withdrew her other hand from her blankets and clasped mine in both of hers. Her tears spilled over and ran down her face. “Gods, I am sorry.”

My stomach churned because I had caused her grief by sharing this story. She likely would feel the same about sharing her own stories with me, and terribly vulnerable as well. Such vulnerability required as much courage as facing opponents in the arena or enemies in battle.

I ached because I had reopened this wound. It had festered for a very long time. Perhaps now it could heal.

And perhaps my Calla—yes, my Calla —and I could find a way to heal together, one story at a time.