Page 10 of Sheltered in the Storm

But sleep was not waiting at home for me tonight. I must take my mate to safety and tend to her wounds before she succumbed to them.

By the time I reached the familiar tiny inlet that served as my hidden, habitual entry point to the sea, Calla shivereduncontrollably and her body temperature had dropped noticeably. She had gone into shock.

Finally, I emerged from the water with aching arms and legs. The muddy bank sucked at my feet until I reached firmer, grassy ground. At least the rain had turned to a drizzle as the worst of the storm passed.

Each time I had climbed this bank, I had immediately missed the sea. This time, the moment my human feet touched firm ground, I ran for home without thinking of the water’s warmth and comfort, and without looking back.

My homestead was nearly two kilometers from the inlet—two kilometers of swamp filled with predators and other hidden dangers. Normally I traversed the distance with caution, treading lightly to not alert the enormous, venomous, and perpetually ravenous reptilian kaory to my presence. They were vicious and difficult to kill even when my arms and tentacles were free of burdens. I could not afford any delays, much less to have to fight one—or gods forbid, more than one—while holding and protecting Calla.

Despite the dangers of predators and the need for a quiet journey, I murmured to Calla as I ran, ducking under branches and leaping over pools of brackish water. I told her my full name, my homeworld, the name of this moon, and where I was taking her. I promised she would survive and I would care for her until she recovered. Talking to her helped distract me from my exhaustion, and I wanted her to hear my voice and sense she was safe with me. I did not want her to fear or hate me.

She had looked at me on the raiders’ boat as if I were a monster. I feared she was right. I was a killer many times over, and some of my targets during my service to the Guard had not deserved their deaths. I could not delude myself into believing otherwise.

No woman could love a monster, or a man who didmonstrous things. And yet I hoped if I showed her kindness that someday she might.

If I had not kept myself in the same peak physical condition as during my service to the Guard, and Calla’s life had not depended on me doing so, I could not have carried her and swum so far so quickly—much less run from the inlet to my homestead after. As it was, I had moments of desperation when I was not sure I would make it to safety before Calla’s injuries took her from me.

When my home finally came into view through the trees, I let out a ragged sound of relief.

As if she had heard me or sensed my exhaustion, Calla whimpered and moved uneasily in my tentacles’ gentle embrace. Unlike my legs, they did not ache with tiredness. They knew only the joy of her.

I pressed a kiss to her clammy forehead. “We are home, my mate,” I said, daring to speak above a whisper for the first time. The kaory rarely ventured near my homestead. I had left the unburied bones of their dead brethren around to warn others away. Even primitive reptilian brains recognized a threat of that kind. “Rest, Calla. I will care for you.”

She murmured something I did not understand and went still again except for shallow, raspy breathing that sent chills down my spine.

The cold assassin I had been when I served the Guard would not recognize the man who stood here now in the rain with his hearts in his throat. Would he feel ashamed of me for my fear, or bless my chance at happiness? Perhaps both.

I had built and maintained a tall wall topped with sharp metal shards around my homestead to keep out the venomous serpents that called the surrounding wetlands their home. My Anomuran companion and I dealt with larger predators who occasionally got over the wall.

As I approached the front gate, it swung open. A trio of longeyestalks peered at me over the top of the wall before the entire figure of my companion scuttled into the gate’s opening. Her enormous moss-covered shell blocked my way, and she clacked her claws together in obvious anxiety.

“Poe?” she asked, her voice quavering. Her briny smell increased sharply to signify her distress.

“Let me by, Poe,” I said sternly. “Calla is badly injured and may die. I need your help.”

Poe flickered her long antennae, stirring the air so she could better smell Calla through the chemosensory hairs that covered them from base to tip. Even wet from rain, her senses of smell, taste, and hearing remained sharp. As a guardian of our home, she had proven herself more than adequate, especially against kaory, serpents, and other predators. Her claws were as deadly as my tentacles.

She also had an uncanny sixth sense for both danger and fate.

“Poe…” she murmured. Her eyestalks drooped. She moved aside with a quiet keening.

My stomach clenched. I recognized that sound. She did not think Calla would live.

I left Poe to close the gate and ran to the house. My residence was a three-room capsule home, sturdy and designed to withstand Iosa’s weather. I had purchased it sight unseen from its previous owner and renovated it myself with materials purchased from nearby villages. No one but Poe or me had crossed this threshold since I had made it my home nearly five years ago.

Utterly unconcerned by the amount and smell of the muck I was tracking into my otherwise tidy house, I unlatched the door and hurried inside. Poe followed me in, still keening as she gripped the short rope in her clawed hand to pull the door closed and latch it against the rain and wind.

Rather than take Calla to my bed, I placed her on my kitchentable to tend to her injuries. Her comfort came second to efficiency at the moment. I did, however, take the time to place folded towels under her feet to help ensure blood flow to her head and turned on all the lanterns in the kitchen and living area.

Mindful of Calla’s need for heat, I lit a fire in the fireplace to banish the chill from the room in addition to the radiant comfort from the thermal spring under the house.

As I finished my preparations, Poe brought both my medical kits from the bedroom, carrying them in her claws by their handles.

“Thank you,” I told her, taking the heavy cases from her.

“Poe,” she said sadly.

“She will live,” I stated, as if by saying it aloud repeatedly I could make it true. As if Calla’s blood had not already puddled on the table and her skin was not so pale it appeared almost gray.

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