Brux opened his eyes again and looked out at the swiftly retreating moon.
Plo’nix had grown smaller now, a curved jewel hanging against the dark. Soon it too would be swallowed by distance and the black between worlds when the shuttle folded space back to the Mother Ship.
He found himself mourning already–not only for Kiera herself, though the Gods knew that was pain enough–but for the life he’d had with her. A life he’d begun to hope might continue forever.
He remembered the mornings at the sanctuary with her laughter on the wind and her voice talking to him as though he were the best part of her day…the evenings in the bathing pool, all steam and warm water and the scent of her skin. And most of all, the nights in the home-dome when she curled into him beneath the coverlet and trusted him to hold her while she slept.
He mourned the sight of her standing in the meadow with the pale lavender sky over her head and a look of contentment on her beautiful face…mourned the little smile she gave him when he did something useful…mourned the way she spoke his name—his true name—as though it mattered.
And finally, he mourned the knowledge that he had loved her, and she had loved him back–though he hadn’t been worthy.
He wished—Gods, how he wished—that he had been worthy to claim her as a mate. Not just to mount her and taste her sweetness and feel her warmth around him, but to stand before her cleanly and honorably and offer her what a female deserved–a male with a whole heart and a stable mind and a future not shadowed by grief and guilt.
Instead, what had he given her? A secret. A scandal. A dangerous male his fellow Monstrum had to drag away in restraints.
Brux lowered his head, shame and guilt overcoming him.
One of the armed warriors behind him shifted slightly, perhaps uneasy with the silence, but said nothing. None of them had spoken much since taking him aboard. They had been professional, not cruel. But their silence was its own kind of judgment.
He could hardly blame them, Brux thought.
But the worst part wasn’t their silent condemnation or the thought of punishment–he could bear punishment.
What he couldn’t bear was uncertainty.
Would he ever see Kiera again? Would the Council permit him to return to her? Would Commander Rarev believe her if she came to speak for him? Would the Goddess turn her face away, leaving him to whatever fate the Monstrum decided was safest for all concerned?
Or worse…Would being taken from her be long enough to send him sliding backward again? Back into the void.
Brux could feel the fear of that in his bones.
Already, without Kiera near him, the edges of his thoughts felt less steady. It wasn’t bad yet—not truly—but his mind felt different–dimmer somehow. Less bright and sure than it had been in the warm curve of the home-dome with her body tucked into his arms.
He was still himself–still in his humanoid form.
But for how long?
If the trial dragged on…if they confined him somewhere cold and isolated…if he was kept from her touch and scent and voice for too long…would he fall back into the void? Would he lose words first, then memory, then reason?
Would the blue leave his eyes again and never return as he slowly devolved into his most primal state?
Brux gripped the edge of the viewport so hard his fingers ached. No. He didn’t want to go back there–not after knowing what it felt like to come alive again in Kiera’s arms. He loved her too much–he didn’t want to lose himself and forget how he felt for her, his beautiful mate.
He loved Kiera–loved her with every part of himself that had survived the Darklings and the long descent into mindless grief. Loved her enough that if he never saw her again, some essential piece of him would always remain turned toward Plo’nix, toward her sanctuary, toward the warm little home-dome where she had taught him that he could still be touched with kindness.
He wondered, helplessly, if she was crying–if she was missing him already. Or maybe she hated him for not fighting harder.
Gods, Kiera, he thought, staring out into the dark. I didn’t want to leave you, baby. I’m sorry…so, so sorry for how things turned out.
The moon was little more than a pale curve now. Soon even that vanished as the shuttle turned toward the Mother Ship and jagged red fold in space.
The sudden strange, unsettling feeling of flying into the fold made one of the warriors mutter a curse under his breath, but Brux barely noticed. He was too lost in the hollow ache inside his chest.
He had thought his first mate’s death had emptied him completely…he had been wrong.
Because this hurt too. Differently, yes–the pain of loss was less bloody, less raw. Kiera still lived, unlike his other mate who had been torn from him. But Brux felt her loss no less deeply.
It was as though fate had let him glimpse warmth and hope and the possibility of joy…only to snatch it away the moment he reached for it.
