A reason to survive.
The thread hummed between us, quiet and constant. A reminder that neither of us would face what was coming alone.
I didn’t know what this would mean for my mates, for my clan, for the constellation I’d built so carefully around my heart. Those were questions for another day. Another time. Another stolen breath of peace before the universe demanded more.
For now, this was enough.
One broken soul reaching for help from another.
One more thread woven into the web holding my world together.
My clan waited—my mates, my cubs, the family I’d carved out of nothing when the universe had given me every reason to believe I deserved nothing at all.
And somewhere beyond the stars, enemies gathered. Quaww fire eating through Aldawi borders. Verya minds turning toward me, sharp and hungry, like predators scenting blood.
Two wars.
One convergence point.
Me.
They were coming.
And so was I.
5
Zyxel
The nestroom smelled like belonging.
Zyxel hadn’t expected that. Hadn’t braced for the way scent could crack a male open faster than any blade. He stayed coiled near the far wall, tail tucked tight beneath him, and cataloged anyway—because cataloging was what kept panic from showing on his face.
Warm musk and shadow.
Ocean-deep brine.
The green, living bite of growing things.
And under it all—threaded through silk, metal, skin, the air itself—Selena.
His enax.
The word still lodged in his throat, too enormous to speak aloud. Too sacred. Too terrifying in its permanence. He’d finally found her after all these years… and she’d accepted him for who hewaswithout hesitation.
Yesterday he’d been an ambassador. A scholar hiding in borrowed skin. Today he was bonded to the Aldawi Beacon,swept into a galactic war, and sitting in a room built for intimacy with males who had every right to end him.
He lifted his gaze, taking in the space like it might explain how the universe had tilted so violently.
His crimson scales caught the soft lighting as he surveyed his surroundings. The massive circular bed dominated the space—silk sheets in royal purple, scattered with cushions in jewel tones that spoke of comfort rather than display. The furniture curved around the nest like protective arms. A discarded cape lay draped over a chair while a half-finished carving rested on a low table. A stack of data tablets leaned slightly askew, and a bowl of fruit gleamed like it had been polished by someone who cared.
Every surface carried the clan.
And their scents. Layered. Distinct. A map of possession he was only beginning to read.
He hadn’t asked for this. Hadn’t schemed or plotted or manipulated his way into her graces. All he’d wanted was a chance to explain himself—to pour his heart out to her, to confess what she was to him, what her existence meant for his dying species, and why he’d done things he wasn’t proud of to get close enough to speak. He’d rehearsed the words a thousand times during sleepless cycles, preparing for rejection, preparing for confusion, preparing for the cold dismissal he probably deserved.
Instead, she’d looked at him like he was worth keeping.
