Page 86 of Stars in Nova

Her chest burned.Fokk, he was beautiful.

He leaned in, sliding his hands in her hair. ‘Show me again how genuine they were.’

She did until he pulled away and stalked off.

‘Scared Sableman?’

He paused mid-step. ‘Nada, just wary is all.’

He powered back into the light, leaving her panting, one hand on the wall beside her, hiding her need, her ever-lovin’ desire for him in the darkness.

The glow of overhead lanterns in the garrison’s infirmary cast shadows across the rows of makeshift beds, their light reflecting off the polished instruments on the medics’ carts.

While Kisan underwent his final health check, Samira walked through the small hospital’s corridors, chatting with the media, nurses, and patients.

The beeping of monitors punctuated the hushed murmur of voices.

Injured combatants lay on cots, their faces pale and worn, as physicians worked to dress wounds and administer fluids.

The occasional groan of anguish broke through the quiet, a harsh reminder of the cost of their fight.

Samira often came here, her presence a balm to those who needed it.

She walked through the wards and rows of beds, occasionally pausing to speak to the injured, her touch light on a shoulder or hand.

Even in pain, the soldiers’ expressions brightened when they spotted her.

Their respect for her was tangible, an unspoken acknowledgment that she carried their hopes, even when her strength was depleted.

She returned to the emergency area with a slight smile, amused by a raw joke one of the grunts had shared.

The Rider’s aqua eyes canted toward Samira, an unreadable expression on his face as she moved toward him, stopping to speak with a patient.

Finally, she got to his side.

He sat on the edge of a cot, face closed off as Soren, the Vaelorian head medic, scanned him with a handheld device.

‘You’re clear for the surface,’ Soren announced after a few more minutes. ‘Your meta levels are stabilizing, but you’re fit to travel.’

Kisan gave a curt nod, his eyes lingering on the shimmer of scars still fading from his forearms. ‘Sante.’

Samira flashed him a wry smile. ‘You ship shape and good to go?’

He jerked his chin at her. ‘Fokkyeah.’

‘Fighting words,’ she murmured as he rose to his full height, looming over her.

He gave her a lop-sided grin as they proceeded to walk in sync through the clinic.

She tagged the concern in his eyes when he studied the patients they passed by.

Kisan’s gaze locked on her, his expression shuttering as if hiding a lifetime of triggered memories. ‘How do youfokkin’ deal with it?’

She sensed the struggle assaulting his mind, recalling his history.

‘This place and our current reality aren’t easy,’ she muttered. ‘However, seeing these soldiers, even laughing with them, reminds me what I’m fighting for.’

Kisan’s countenance softened. ‘They look to you like you’re their shield.’

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