Page 21 of Sheltered in the Storm

Perhaps somehow sensing my disquiet, Calla murmured in her sleep. I cooed until she relaxed and went quiet again. But the magic of the moment was lost.

What had I ever done to warrant the gods’ kindness? I was a killer. A monster. I had more blood on my hands and tentacles than Calla could have dreamed.

A chill swept over me.

Perhaps I had earned this punishment. Perhaps with every beat of my hearts and every ember of that tiny flame of hope, I added to my own suffering. Fire provided light and warmth, but fire also burned. Fire destroyed and turned living things to ash.

How could I be so careless and complicit in my own suffering as to want Calla, to the point I was ready to make her my universe, when every moment I spent with my arms around her did nothing but add pain on top of pain because she planned to leave as soon as she was able?

She had described her injuries as feeling like broken glass. I understood that feeling now, because that was how my gut feltlooking at her face—at her long lashes, soft cheeks, and lips I wanted to kiss. That mouth would tell me goodbye as soon as her body had healed enough to walk to the regional capital and its interplanetary communications relay.

To stay or not was her choice; whether to be hurt by her departure was mine. I had suffered enough in this lifetime. I did not need more pain.

Carefully, I rose and carried Calla to the bedroom. I placed her on the bed, then wrapped her in blankets and rolled up several more to secure her in place.

Still asleep, she murmured and extended her hand as if reaching for me.

I thought you were with me the whole time, she had said when I had admitted I left her just long enough to sink her fighter. She had sounded sad, as if the thought I had left her side bothered her.

Was it possible she felt something for me, despite her determination to return to her squadron? Did she feel the call of a true mate, though she was human?

No, of course not. She simply did not want to be left alone when she could not protect herself.

I tucked her hand and arm under the covers.

Then I turned and walked out of the bedroom, out of the house, and into the rain.

CHAPTER 7

CALLA

I woke up alone.

Vos had made me another blanket nest, this time banked on both sides with more folded blankets so I couldn’t roll over in my sleep and hurt myself. I thought at first he might be lying close to the window again and simply giving me space, but when I managed to turn onto my back, I found the bed empty.

I lay still and listened for signs that he’d gotten up to make himself food or do something in another room. The only sound in the house was the heavy rain on the roof and windows. I couldn’t see him in the kitchen or in the living area.

Vos’s absence was as profound of a feeling as his presence had been the first time I woke in this bed with his tentacles around me and his calm, kind voice telling me not to move because I’d been badly hurt. I didn’t like this feeling of loneliness. I had no business feeling abandoned, but that was how I felt nonetheless.

Then I got angry at myself.

Damn it, I woke alone in my bunk at the end of every singlesleep shift on the outpost. I shared my quarters with another pilot and we weren’t lovers. If ever one of us needed privacy for intimate activities, we let the other know to stay clear. I tended to meet lovers in their own quarters or occasionally at one of the outpost’s hotels, where pilots and passengers from passing ships stayed aboard the outpost for a few days or a week. I told them my bunk was too small and squeaked, but that wasn’t true. Well, itdidsqueak, but that wasn’t the real reason. I preferred to sleep alone. Less chance of developing emotional attachments that just led to hurt.

So why in the name of all the gods above and below did I miss waking up next to Vos?

My concussion, I decided. I was a pile of broken bones, cuts, and bruises wrapped in blankets on an ocean moon in a house surrounded by venomous reptiles and more serpents than I cared to think about. Of course I’d find even a stranger comforting in this situation.

No, you wouldn’t—you never have before, my brain tried to argue, but I ignored it. It was muddled by a concussion and didn’t know what it was talking about.

I was arguing with my own brain. I was a mess in every way.

Plus, Vos had every reason to think I didn’t want to be held while I slept. Hadn’t I argued with him about it and demanded explanations like an inquisitor at a trial? If the landing crew on Outpost 60 gave me as many mixed signals as I’d given Vos, I would end up landing my fighter in the mess hall instead of the hangar.

Not that I had a fighter anymore. That hurt too, though not as much as my chest and stomach.

As if on cue, my stomach growled very loudly. When had I last eaten? I had no clue. Without Vos, I was as helpless as a newly hatched Hardanian lava squid.

I opened my mouth to call out just as an enormous creature with a moss-covered shell, three eyes on long stalks, six triple-jointed legs, and pincher-tipped arms appeared in the bedroom doorway. At the moment, the pinchers were clasped as if my visitor was fretting.

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