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Terror.

And then nothing at all.

It’s then that I feel Eissa pull me close, tucking me tightly against him, his face pushed against my stomach, wetness lingering against my skin.

I try to tug him up, so I can look into his eyes, so I can ask what that was. Was that Kori? Is that why he keeps pushing me away? None of it makes sense.

But in a way it does.

I just wish he’d talk to me, would open up, and just let us exist as we were meant to. Because we were meant to. To love, to lust, to have.

But he doesn’t let me in. He’ll never let me in. Not all the way.

I let out a shaky breath, one of my hands stroking his hair, the other rubbing the tip of his ear, making a purr erupt from him, content and happy.

Does he not realize he showed me that? Does he not know I saw?

I don’t know, and I say nothing—just close my eyes and let him cling to me. I can only hope that one day, the closer we get, he’ll open up to me and will give me all of him.

Because I know that’s what I want. As hard as it may be, he’s what I want.

twenty-three

EISSA

There is a very human expression which I think the Vyastil should adopt—playing with fire. That is exactly what I am doing. I am full of his cum, feeling stronger than I have in…it’s hard to calculate how many moon cycles it’s been since I helped myself to cum like this. But my mind is clear and focused, and it’s a stark, almost cruel reminder why we need humans.

Very little information exists on why our biology shifted. Young Vyastil are taught from hatchlings that the Tarek attacked us with a bioweapon that forever altered us. They unleashed an illness that made us immune to our own medicines, that destroyed half the female Vyastil population and forced us to make treaties with the Vorthex for access to Earth.

I believed it for so long, but the more my eyes are opened to what’s going on around me, the more I realize the propaganda and lies. We’ve been stripped of so much without noticing, sometimes willingly surrendering things that bring us joy and make us happy because joy and happiness are what bring flaws to Vyastil society.

And by the many gods who watch us, how different would things be if I had seen these cracks before Kori…

No. I can’t let myself think that way. Not with Luca warm in my arms, knowing he is VySytheh, and that it took every ounce of my self-control not to pin him, bite him, and breed him.

It’s foolish to consider because he cannot produce an egg for me to fertilize. I will never see him round before he lays it. And I have never wanted such a thing anyway. I brought up exactly two Vyastil from hatchlings.

One I can be proud of. The other…

A chime goes off in the room before I can finish my thought, and for a moment I feel panic because the last thing I want is for Luca to be disturbed. It takes me a moment to remember he cannot hear it as the alert continues to sound.

With a small groan, I carefully extract myself from his arms, looking down at the way he curls around my pillow and settles. Every ounce of me wants to stay and ignore all of my responsibilities, but maybe this was what some of the Vyastil in the past were talking about.

Love over obligation can be dangerous, and too many of my people are counting on me to stay focused.

Walking over to the small table beside my wardrobe, I stare down at my tablet and see an order from the council. No. Not from the council. From Prince Jyrion. He’s given me a task in the archives, searching for an old treaty with the Tarek.

The fact that one might have survived would be a miracle. According to historians, only two treaties were ever signed, and the Tarek violated them both within weeks of signing. Not that I buy it, but in all honesty, I don’t mind looking.

Access to the archives means I can do a little digging around in old records that haven’t been cataloged in our current systems. It means a chance I can find something to back up our cause. Proof that our society did not need to erase everything nearly human in us in order to move forward.

Turning toward the bedroom, I walk in where Luca is still sleeping and feel a tug in my chest. The last thing I want is to leave him. I know I have done all of this entirely wrong. In trying to protect my cause and myself, I have neglected him.

If I had another choice, I would make it.

It takes only a moment for me to slip into my tunic, ensuring all of my scars are properly covered, then lean over my desk and leave him a note. It didn’t take me long to master human script, but it’s still quite shaky, so I hope he’s able to read it.

I set it down on the pillow, then gently push into his mind and touch his dreams. He is outside by the lake. Home—his home. His brother is off in the distance, and his parents are at the shore. The sky is a mixture of clouds and sun, and it is so beautiful. Just like him.