Page 48 of Sheltered in the Storm

I rubbed my nose against her hair, fighting irrational anger at whatever hypothetical partner she might have found. Truly, I understood the urge to do all the things she had described. Her voice belied the emptiness she had felt and sought to fill on Jakora. Many who went there did so for the same reasons. I could not hold it against her.

I had done the same more than once on Jakora and similar worlds: endless drinks, recreation, sex with partners whose full names I had never asked. And I had left as lonely and unfulfilled as when I had arrived. Once glance at her grim expression confirmed she had fully expected the same outcome. We could lie to others about what we had found in such places, but never to ourselves.

“Then I hit some kind of debris in space,” she continued, and now her voice sounded almost harsh. “It tore off one of my fighter’s wings and sent me spiraling toward the surface of some moon I didn’t even know existed. In a wild twist of fatethat I can’t begin to process, I ended up kidnapped by raiders and then rescued by a beautiful monster who can heal me andonlyme, comfort me andonlyme, and makeonlyme come just with the right touch.”

She looked up at me then, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears and pain that seemed to rip all my hearts right out of my chest. “And it fuckinghurtsbecause everything about you seems like it’s made to take care of me, a scrap who fell out of the sky and deserves none of it at all.”

Ascrap. A Ganaian pejorative meaning worse than garbage. My rage and grief at hearing the word applied to my mate made me sick to my stomach. My tentacles quivered with the desire to slaughter whoever said such a thing.

With my hands, my tentacles, my teeth, I would tear to pieces anyone or anything who hurt my Calla or called her a scrap. But who could I kill when my Calla hurt herself? The people who had called her that word were not here—only their ghosts, whispering in her mind. Such ghosts could not be killed. I had spent a lifetime trying to kill my own.

All my life I had solved problems for others and myself by dealing death. Nothing had prepared me to face this moment, when I must try to heal wounds I could not see.

“You are no scrap,” I said, my voice hoarse with the depth of my anger and sadness. “You are a treasure. A gift. Priceless beyond compare.”

“To you, maybe.” Her mouth twisted. “When I was born, I was a scrap. Once my mother sold me to my keepers on Ganai, I was a commodity who bled to make them lots of money. To the Alliance Defense, I’m a skilled but easily replaceable pilot they can use to protect colonies and travelers from raiders and invasions. But who am I?”

I too had asked this question throughout my life, especially during and immediately after my service in the Guard. Evennow I struggled to answer, but at least I believed I had finally found the path to finding that answer.

“You must define yourself not as who or what you are to others, but to yourself,” I said, tucking a strand of loose hair behind her ear. “Tell me who you are, Calla Wren.”

She swallowed hard. “I don’t know. Who are you, Vos Turek?”

I tilted my head and considered. “I am a former assassin now keeping a home on a quiet moon, living as peacefully and by my own rules as I can. I am haunted by nightmares and struggle to see what my future holds, but I have reason to hope for happiness—if not here, then somewhere.”

My Calla thought about what I had said for a long time.

“I am a former child gladiator,” she said finally. “Maybe now a former Defense pilot. I’m sharing a house with a big crab and a sexy cephalopod man and it rains here all the damn time. I have nightmares too and I don’t know what my future holds, but I want happiness, either here or somewhere else.”

Her expression turned fierce. “I like to protect people who can’t protect themselves and I like to fight every once in a while to keep my skills up and because I’m good at it. I don’t like being told what to do and I want to make my own rules for once.” She glanced down at herself. “And I’m so very happy to be mostly healed because I’d love to be carried by you because I want to be, not because Ihaveto be. So I guess all that is who I am. Am I too much?”

“Never.” I stroked her cheek with my thumb for the first time without having to be careful not to touch a cut or bruise. What a wonderful simple joy. “I am so very glad to make your acquaintance, Calla Wren.”

She smiled, and it felt as though the sun came out even though the rain continued outside unabated. “Likewise, Vos Turek.” She ran her hand through my hair to cup the back of my head. “Have we just really met for the first time?”

“Perhaps.” I returned her smile. “I have so much to learn about you still.” I touched her face. “I cannot banish hurtful words and your terrible mistreatment from your mind any more than I can from my own, but while you are with me, I will dedicate my life to replacing those things with better days and better memories.”

“As long as you let me do the same.” Calla slipped her fingers between mine and held on. “I can’t reciprocate your healing abilities, though, so our deal seems lopsided in my favor.”

I kissed her forehead. “You may not mend my cuts and bruises, but you heal wounds you cannot see. Speaking of mending…” I withdrew the box from under the bed and slid it over to her. “I have a something for you.”

She frowned. “A gift? I don’t need a gift.”

Perhaps she was not used to receiving gifts, or receiving gifts that did not come with strings attached.

“I respectfully disagree.” I put the box in her lap. “Please.”

With obvious reluctance, she lifted the lid and stared. “Vos, is this—my uniform?”

Now who was asking questions when the answer was obvious? I smiled. “Yes.”

With almost childlike wonder, she let go of my hand to pick up her repaired flight suit. “It’s all sewed back together.” Her gaze swept over it and then moved to my face. “You did this?”

“Yes,” I said again. “Bedsheets are not adequate clothing for you. Neither is a patched uniform, but until we can obtain something better, will this do? Your boots are in fine shape.”

She ran her fingers over the uniform, inspecting my repairs and smiling. “This is incredible, Vos. Thank you so much.” She started to pull my head closer, then hesitated. “Um, I guess a kiss isn’t just a kiss if you’re holding me with your tentacles.”

“Perhaps not.” I caressed her, then forced them to release her so she simply lay cradled in my human arms. “May I kiss you now?”

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