The first edge of the storm hit and the wind nearly knocking him off his feet. Ice particles scoured his scales and his wings, and tried to rip away her thermal gear. She stopped struggling and buried her face against his chest instead, her whole body tense against the sudden assault.
Ten more seconds. Just ten more seconds.
The habitat loomed ahead, its outer door still open. He threw himself through it with Jaz clutched against his chest, and barely managed to turn and slam the seal before the full force of the storm arrived.
The noise was indescribable. Wind hammered against the structure with such force that he braced himself against the inner wall, half-expecting the habitat to be torn from its foundations. Ice struck the exterior like bullets, a constant rattling roar that drowned out everything else.
She was shaking in his arms.
“The inner door,” he shouted over the din. “We must?—”
She nodded, her face pale, and he carried her through into the relative quiet of the main chamber. Even here, the storm was audible—a muffled howl that spoke of violence beyond the walls—but it was survivable. Safe.
He set her down carefully, his hands lingering on her shoulders as he scanned her for injuries. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine.” Her voice came out shaky, but she straightened, pulling away from his touch to brush ice crystals from her gear. “I’m fine, Adjar. You didn’t have to?—”
“You would be dead.”
The bluntness of it stopped her cold. She stared at him, her eyes wide, and he saw the moment she actually listened to the storm raging outside.
“That was…” She swallowed hard. “That came out of nowhere.”
“I saw it from the sky. Approaching fast.” He fought to keep his voice level, though his heart still pounded with fading terror. “You did not see. You were looking at the wreckage. You would not have reached shelter in time.”
“That storm must have been miles away when we went outside. How did it move so fast?”
“I do not know.” The admission frustrated him. Another change he didn’t understand, another way this world had become foreign. “But I felt it. In the air. In the ice. The pressure changed very quickly, but I should have checked before we left the habitat.”
She was quiet for a moment, then she slowly moved towards him and placed one small hand against his chest.
“Thank you.”
The words were soft, almost lost beneath the storm’s distant roar. But he heard them and felt them resonating in a place deeper than his ears.
“I was…” She stopped, took a breath, tried again. “You were right. If you hadn’t grabbed me… I was so focused on the rig, I didn’t even notice the sky changing. I would have been caught out there when?—”
“Don’t.” He couldn’t bear to even think about it. The image of her lost in that white violence, torn apart by wind and ice, made something dark and savage rise in his chest. “Do not think of it.”
“I have to think of it.” Her hand pressed harder against his chest. “I need to remember how close that was. How stupid I was being.”
“Not stupid. Focused.”
She laughed, the sound wet and shaky. “That’s very diplomatic of you.”
“I do not know this word.”
“It means—” She shook her head. “Never mind. The point is, you saved my life.”
“This is what mates do,” he said simply. “Protect each other.”
Her hand stilled against his chest. “You keep saying that word. Mate.”
“Because it is truth.”
“How can you be so sure?” She looked up at him, and there was something fragile in her expression—something that wanted to believe but feared the cost. “You barely know me. I barely know you. We’ve been trapped together for a few days in a crisis, and you think that makes us—what? Bonded for life?”
He considered the question seriously because it deserved a serious answer.
