Page 3 of Vylit: Glowing for Her (Consumed by the Alien Heat #1)

VYLIT

W e crashed through the edge of nothingness and slammed into the warmth of my skiff.

I locked my arms around her, the force of translation hurling us in a tangle to the center of the warming chamber.

I didn’t let go. Nothing in this world or any other could make me.

Even as the shockwave rolled over us and the Gate behind spat out a last shriek before sealing shut, my arms clung to her as my bones vibrated with the need to keep her from phasing back out.

Her pulse thumped against my chest. My own glow flared so hard my veins stung.

The Nest Moss, delighted by the drama, puffled instantly.

It bloomed beneath her, releasing its signature scented haze in a wave so aggressive my gills fluttered.

The moss molded around her hips, then crept up to cradle her shoulders, shifting and squirming as it sampled her heat signature with greedy delight.

By protocol, I should have placed her gently and then sat a respectful two hand-widths away for the rest-cycle.

Instead, I crashed down beside her, the moss swelling up to envelop my thighs and hips, pinning us together in a cocoon of radiating warmth.

"I’m assuming by your lack of panic, this is safe?

Kinda weird to be honest, but that seems to be everything to do with you.

" Her eyes widened at the moss’s enthusiasm, but the corners of her mouth betrayed the hint of a smile.

Her lips were parted behind the plush jelly of the Breather Mask as she panted.

Every muscle in her frame telegraphed tension…

fight, flight, or maybe the wild urge to laugh.

I reached to adjust the mask’s seal, and my thumb brushed the side of her neck. The jelly purred, literally, the vibration rippling into my bones. Her heartbeat tripled beneath my touch, a wild oceanic rhythm that drove my own internal tide up and up until I was sure I’d combust.

Scandalous patterns… deep violets, white-hot blue, little bursts of gold, raced up my forearms. I tried to suppress them, but the harder I reined in, the more the color found new places to escape: cheeks, clavicle, the damnable edge of my jaw.

She eyed my biolights, her own heat signature spiking in answer. The Breather Mask made her voice nasal and thick, but the translator patch at her throat did its best. "You look like a jellyfish rave."

The patch mangled it. "You have rebellious fish energy." My skin nearly detached itself in horror. My internal translator had finished calibrating to her language though she would still need hers for anyone else that might pop up.

She grinned, anyway, a feral show of teeth, and in that moment I wanted nothing more than to bare my own fangs, press her down into the moss, and test every theory the Intergalactic Registry had about cross-species compatibility.

Instead, I pulled my hand away. Protocol, protocol, protocol.

The mask’s jelly lips glimmered with condensation.

Her skin, delicate, not scaled or armored, so easy to bruise, seemed to pulse with the same rhythm as mine.

For a moment, the room and its protocols fell away.

There was only the spark between us, the pulse of heat, the knowledge that I’d already failed at every conceivable etiquette but couldn’t make myself care.

I leaned closer, so close the tips of our noses might have grazed if not for the mask. My own breath fogged the air, thick with pheromones I couldn’t hope to hide. She inhaled, eyes going glassy. Her tongue flicked out to taste the mask’s surface, and a sharp whimper caught in her throat.

At the worst possible moment, the translator chirped. "Nest calibration engaged. Proceed with cozy friction!"

We both froze. Then she barked a laugh… sharp, deranged, more panic than humor, and glared at the patch as if she might rip it off and throw it into the void.

"Are you—" she started, then faltered, shaking her head and muttering, "I can’t believe the only thing keeping me alive is a sex-mad Google Translate."

The moss, thrilled at the attention, wobbled under her hips and released a cloud so dense I nearly blacked out.

"Sorry," I said, which the patch warped into, "my apologies for the nest’s passionate engagement. I lack training in subtlety."

She snorted, then tipped her head back and groaned, the sound of it hitting me right behind the sternum. "Story of my life."

Before I could ask what that meant, the holowall flickered and the faces of my battle brothers, Kazmyr and Silvyr, projected into the chamber like disapproving ancestors.

Kazmyr’s scars glowed with their own internal fire, his molten-gold eyes sweeping over me, then Maya, then me again.

He made a low, knowing noise and muttered, "You’re running full heat, Vylit. We can see it from orbit."

Silvyr, always one to puncture solemnity, let out a staticky chuckle and deadpanned, "Asset acquired. Also, wow."

If I’d been in open water, I would have burrowed into an eternal trench.

Maya, not missing a beat, crossed her arms over her chest. A maneuver that inadvertently pressed her cleavage together in a way I doubted she realized, but I very much noticed. She pinned the projections with a withering glare.

"Is voyeurism a cultural thing here, or do you just spy on each other’s bedrooms for kicks?" She twisted on the moss, which gripped her tighter, as if shielding her from the embarrassment.

Silvyr laughed outright. "Only when it’s this entertaining. Welcome to the family."

Kazmyr cut in, all business again. "Gate’s tasting current still active. Rerouting trajectory before we lose vector. Hold tight, both of you."

The holowall snapped off, leaving behind an ozone tang and a mortifying silence.

I clenched my fists against my knees, willing my glow to dim.

Instead, the biolights up my thighs and hips pulsed harder, betraying every humiliating nuance of my emotional state.

If I’d been back on Mavtros, my display would have been a public invitation to any interested party.

Here, alone with her, it was just desperation.

Maya twisted again, the moss squirming audibly. "Is all your furniture this... enthusiastic?"

"The ship is alive," I said. "It responds to comfort and warmth. The moss is—" Her translation patch buzzed, cutting me off.

She interrupted, "It’s not responding to comfort, it’s responding to pheromones. Yours. Mine. The... whatever this is." She gestured between us, then shook her head, helpless. "God, I can’t believe I’m negotiating with horny sentient moss in a submarine with a glowing giant and a creep-cam."

I misinterpreted her sarcasm, enthralled by the "negotiating with moss" phrase, and said reverently, "You have a gift for poetry."

She gawked at me. Then she broke into a helpless, bright laugh that sent my pulse into a tailspin.

I explained, or tried. "Mavtrosian warming tradition requires sharing a nest. Moss increases thermal retention and—" The translator patch gave up. "Nest rubbing ensures optimal friction for reproduction."

She buried her face in her hands. The moss, emboldened, crept up her side and pressed her closer to my side. I tried to shift away, but the moss offered no escape. My skin ran molten. Every time I moved, her warmth followed, filling the space between our hips and then some.

We sat in charged silence for several beats, nothing but the hum of the ship and the wet smack of the moss reacting to every micro-movement.

She was the first to speak, voice muffled behind her hands. "Okay, I’ll play along. I’ll pretend this is normal, and you pretend not to notice that your moss is basically molesting me."

"It’s considered a compliment," I said, then immediately regretted it. "You can tell it to stop."

She made a dismissive noise as she peered at me through her fingers. "Do you always glow like this when you’re..."

I waited. "When I’m what?"

Her cheeks darkened. "Turned on?"

"Yes," I admitted. My glow flared, traitorously, in punctuation.

She laughed again, shaking her head in defeat, then lay back on the moss, letting it cradle her. She was pretending to relax, but her eyes tracked my every motion.

The ship gave a shudder, then shifted course with a lurch that drove her side against mine. My hands shot out to steady her, and her fingers dug into my forearm with surprising strength.

A low, discordant hum began to vibrate through the hull, off-tempo with the usual reef-song of the ship. It rattled my teeth and set my nerves on edge.

I recognized the sound… a white-light ping, the Gate’s claim. They were tracking us. The pulse would grow sharper and sharper until it locked onto our position or something broke.

The Nest Moss shrank down, compacting into a protective shell around Maya. She looked at me, finally realizing that I was worried.

I had no words for what I felt…dread, desire, the wild hope that maybe, just maybe, the universe hadn’t made a mistake after all. She was my match. But she was also the beacon that would draw every hunter in the Gate’s spiral straight to us.

She reached out, laying a hand on my chest, over the brightest point of my glow. Her thumb rubbed once in a slow, soothing spiral.

"We’ll figure it out," she said, and for the first time I believed it might be true.

I wrapped my hand over hers, feeling the fragile pulse beneath her skin, and let the tidal wave inside me crash.

The hum outside reached a fever pitch, but in the chamber, all I could hear was her heartbeat.