Xylo’s presence brushed against Odelm’s awareness—quiet devotion, clinical assessment, the healer already cataloging what needed mending and knowing he couldn’t fix any of it.
And there—a new note in the symphony of his nestqueen’s constellation.
Zyxel.
The serpent male’s uncertain wonder pulsed at the edge of the gathering, still learning the shape of this family. His crimson thread was fresh, bright against the older bonds, and his emotions tasted like someone who’d stumbled into sanctuary after years in the cold. Like he still didn’t believe it was real.
Odelm understood that feeling.
He shifted his fingers, letting the melody breathe. His regenerating appendages ached with the effort—the delicate tendrils still too short, barely in existence—but the discomfort grounded him. Kept him present when his instincts screamed to cross the room and wrap himself around Selena until the rest of the galaxy ceased to exist.
Not clingy. You promised.
He’d sworn it to himself in the quiet hours before dawn. Sworn it to Xylo when his bondbrother had found him staring at the ceiling, heart racing from another nightmare of empty bonds and severed threads. Sworn it silently to Selena every time she’d smiled at him through their connection during the journey home.
He would bebetter. Stronger. Supportive instead of suffocating.
Even if the empath in him wanted to drown in her presence until he forgot what loneliness tasted like.
The cubs’ chatter cut through his spiraling thoughts—bright, careless, the sound of children who didn’t understand what tomorrow would bring. Nocrez and Neazzos argued over the last roll while little Meti tried to sneak bites from both their plates. Their laughter rang against the vaulted ceiling, and something in Odelm’s chest loosened.
This. This was why he played.
Not for audiences or acclaim. For moments like this—when music could mask the tremor in Zirene’s jaw, could give Selena’s shoulders permission to unknot, could make a dining hall feel like shelter instead of the eye of a storm.
The household staff moved between seats with practiced efficiency, refilling glasses and replacing empty dishes. They’d served this clan through celebrations and crises, through gatherings and departures and the long nights when Selena had been gone and the villa had felt like a tomb. They understood the weight of tonight without being told.
Odelm let the melody shift, adding warmth where there had been lightness. Thevelishra’sstrings hummed beneath his fingers, the instrument responding to his emotional state the way it always had—more honestly than words ever could.
Then his gaze caught on Meti.
Their daughter watched the table with eyes that held too much knowing. Her small face carried the same weight her mother bore—awareness of undercurrents, of the fear adults tried to hide. She picked at her food without eating, attention drifting between Zirene’s rigid posture and Selena’s forced smiles.
She understood.
The realization lodged like a splinter beneath Odelm’s ribs.
He adjusted the melody, weaving in something warmer. Something that might reach a child who’d learned too young that safety was temporary.
“Pass the greens.”
Selena’s voice drew his focus. She held her hand out toward the center of the table, and Zyxel—coiled on the large cushion beside her—reached across to hand her the dish before anyone else could move.
“Thank you.” Her smile warmed, spots flickering pink at the edges.
Zyxel’s forked tongue flicked out—not nervous anymore but pleased. Tasting her approval in the air. “Of course,enax.”
The endearment slipped out naturally, without the hesitation that had marked his first time with the clan on Destima. He’d claimed his place on that cushion like he belonged there, massive serpentine body coiled in relaxed loops, his upper torso angled toward Selena with quiet attentiveness. The uncertainty that had clung to him during his first arrival to the villa had begun to shed like old scales.
Through the bonds, Odelm felt the shift in Zyxel’s thread—still new, still bright crimson against the older connections, but settling. Finding its rhythm within the constellation. The scholar who’d spent so long alone was learning what it meant to bekept.
Something in Odelm’s chest eased at the sight. He understood that journey. The slow realization that belonging wasn’t conditional. That Selena’s love didn’t require earning—only accepting.
His chest tightened.
Focus. Play.
Further down the table, Tori laughed at something Auro said, the sound bright and human in the midst of so many alien voices. Her three Swynemi mates surrounded her—Celyze’s cosmic-touched wings folded against his back, Luwynleaning close to murmur something that made her blush, Auro’s arm draped protectively across her shoulders. They’d found their place in Selena’s orbit too, ambassadors who’d become something closer to family.
