I wait for her to fall asleep, and I give in to the urge to silently roar as I rise from the bed—because all of my body is protesting. My vow to dispose of the men as humanely as possible is going to be tested sorely, because not only am I fighting pain, I’m having to leave the warm and soft form of Stella as she sleeps, unaware of my activities to ensure her safety.
Thankfully, she never stirs, not even when I shower a second time, getting rid of the evidence of my hunt. And when I join her again in the bed, she sleepily merges her chest against mine, giving me the curious experience of feeling a human heart in a way completely different from when I gripped the ones in her enemies’ chest cavities.
Her organ’s gentle rhythm lulls me into the feather-soft realm of sleep.
***
I don’t know what time it is, but it’s still dark when I wake to a sweet-smelling woman with her face tucked into my throat, her arm threaded under my own, her leg thrown over mine—and her tears wetting my neck.
“Stella?” I mumble, concerned. Groggily, I try to scan her brain, but my senses are powered down. “Are your feelings aching?”
A broken sound exits her throat. “Did you kill him?”
All three of them, for you. Because they frightened you. “Did I—” I blink in the darkness, my mind sharpening in increments as I shake off sleep. My eyes begin to work, and my mind catches up enough for me to know that she’s not asking about her former employees. I blink again, and I can see the framework of her mind, the signals being transmitted back and forth, her pain turning several areas the same shade of red as the popular Earthen drink known as sangria.
I pet her back. “I didn’t, Stella. I mean it: Baron was my friend. I would never have done that—” ripping their hearts from their chests and burying them and their belongings under a rubble slide in the bottom of a canyon “—to him.” And I know Baron would have done the same if he’d been alive and knew what was in those men’s minds. I find Stella’s chin, taking gentle hold of it in the dark, the precision a feat that poses no trouble with eyesight like mine. “I would never have taken him away from you, either.” I dare to place a kiss on her forehead, and I exhale in relief when she doesn’t flinch away. “I know what you meant to each other. Stella, I’m sorry he’s gone.” For her. And for myself: I never experienced a brotherly bond with anyone—until Baron befriended me.
Despair flares in her, despite the reassertion that I did not kill her husband to take his place. Humans are complicated creatures, especially my new human. I never had to worry about Baron like this. I gather Stella closer and let her weep.
When her tears slow, I place my forehead to hers and rest my palm along the side of her finely boned face. “Do you want me to make you feel better?” I tap her temple softly.
She sighs raggedly. “I feel horrible, but I just… I want to be old-fashioned comforted. I want you to make me feel better like this.” She reaches down and takes hold of my flaccid organ.
She strokes me to hardness, and for the first time, I enter her while looking into her eyes. In the dark of the room, she can’t see me, but I see everything. Every expression that crosses her face—anguish, fortitude, relief.
I move slowly, gripping her tightly, enjoying the feel of her cotton-covered breasts pressing against my chest. Her cotton-covered stomach brushing and rubbing against mine. It’s so… intimate.
She shows me the speed and motion she wants from me. When she pushes away to roll to her back, I enjoy the feeling of moving on top of her even more.
Bracing my weight on my forearms, I rock into her with all the wonder I feel. My muscles, strained from the hours-earlier exertion, forget that they hurt. I can’t care that they hurt. I just want this. Stella is beautiful. Tear tracks and lingering sadness and all. She’s strong and beautiful as ever.
And she’s mine.
“I’m yours,” I whisper to her, so low I almost hope she doesn’t hear the words. It would kill something inside of me if she’s raw enough to reject them.
Instead, she shudders and gulps—and nods. “C’vest…”
I don’t make her admit anything she’s not ready to. I nuzzle her cheek and brush my face against hers, butting her head gently to the side, and find that my chin fits perfectly in the hollow of her ranch work-toned shoulder. Almost like this silky soft place on her was made to fit a man, just like this.
Everything about her feels good to me. Our skin sticks, and her nightdress is pleasant everywhere it rubs.
She surprises me by jerking it from between our bodies, pulling it up to bare her breasts.
“Touch them,” she instructs me.
I raise myself up enough to take a handful, carefully beginning to massage her and learn them. Later, I’ll explore and play with these. I’ll enjoy them in all the ways she’ll let me. For now, I don’t want to do anything to disrupt this closeness. I want it. It feels like she needs it.
I think we both do.
“What should I do?” I ask, wondering if she’ll tell me to touch more of her body or her brain.
“Grind your pubic bone on my—like that,” she moans when I drag myself over her sensitive area.
Rhythmic activity sends her soaring, and I hungrily take in her wide-eyed expression. I murmur to her, “You’re magnificent when you’re stimulated to culmination.”
She’s caught in a sexual trancelike state for perhaps thirty breaths, and then she’s blinking and sparing me a fleeting grin. “Thank you.”
My motions intensify until I reach my own culmination, taking her to an apogee a second time. During the sensory absorption of her climax, her mind isn’t flaring with pain.
And she didn’t ask me to manipulate her emotions. I was able to give her comfort just like this.
We cling to each other, the flood of excited chemicals in our brain receding, giving each other a startlingly natural sort of solace.
EPILOGUE
STELLA
Three and a half Years Later…
I smile at my toddler, loving his grin as he splashes in the river’s gently moving water, his chest supported by my hand.
C’vest is on our baby’s other side, hand under his belly, looking at the pair of us with the sort of pride that makes my heart melt a little. More than a little. “There you go, Kaspian. Kick your legs. Kick,” he instructs.
I don’t need the ability to see inside of C’vest’s head to read the joy and delight he’s feeling. It’s written plainly all over him. As his gaze connects with mine over our son, I feel warm excitement stir inside me, making me think that once Kaspian goes down for his nap, we’re going to enjoy a little time for ourselves.
Kaspian Baron Ithor was born with human legs, care of my genes. He inherited fine little scales from his father though, tiny teal ones, that cover him from hips to his adorable little webbed toes. He’s cute as a button.
And he’s his daddy’s little man. Kaspian goes everywhere with his father, even riding in front of C’vest when he’s in the saddle.
For C’vest, even though there’s no part of Baron in him, Kaspian fills the hole that Baron left when he died.
C’vest does that for me. And Kaspian is the frosting on my cake. The sparkle to my days.