Iwantto soothe her.
No. Ineedto.
So I hum.
Low. Deep. A tone passed from my father to me, and his father before him. A melody carved from ancient stone and frostwind. A song so old, only mates shared it. Mates and children, and those whose fates were bound by something more powerful than lust or desire.
“Veshka tharnal... eh’draan ishani... su’laa ven...”
She stirs.
Her breath catches.
She doesn’t know the words. I’m sure of that. But her bodyreacts.The rhythm of her breathing syncs to mine. The twitch of her fingers stills. Her shoulders relax.
Aylafeelsit.
Somewhere, deep in her human soul, sheknows.
I keep singing, so quietly the ship’s systems barely register the sound. My voice is scratchy. Rusted from disuse. But the words come anyway.
About fire meeting ice. Blood meeting blood. The stars folding over two hearts made whole.
When I stop, the silence rings.
She shifts closer and whispers—barely audible—“That was...beautiful.”
I freeze.
She’s awake.
But she doesn’t lift her head. Doesn’t open her eyes. She just curls in tighter, like my voice is her cocoon.
I exhale.
“It’s a Reaper song,” I murmur.
“I figured,” she says, voice thick with sleep. “What does it mean?”
“Nothing you’d believe.”
“Try me.”
I hesitate. Then: “It’s about... mates. Forever.”
A pause. Her hand tightens against my chest.
“Oh,” she says.
Another pause. Long. Quiet. Dangerous.
Then: “Sing it again.”
I do.
Not because she asks—but because Iwantto.
The second time, my voice doesn’t tremble.
