Page 57 of Sheltered in the Storm

I listened to his footsteps return to the house, but didn’t hear the door close. A glance over my shoulder confirmed he’d left the windows open as well to let the breeze blow through. The sky remained overcast, but no thunder rumbled. The lack of rain was almost unnerving after hearing nothing else for weeks.

I folded my hands around my mug as Poe hummed to herself and tended her garden. Unlike Vos’s planned fruit and vegetable garden, which remained covered and unused until the rainy season ended, Poe’s welcomed the daily deluges. Her garden plants were both her food and attractive to theenniand other small animals she ate.

After the severity of my injuries, my time lying in bed, and the expectation that my recovery would take weeks or months, not days, I’d fully expected to wake today restless and itching for adventure. Instead, I found myself enjoying my first pain-free day sitting in Vos’s single outdoor chair with a cup of tea, lost in thought.

Despite all its dangers, I wanted to explore the swamp, and go with Vos to the ocean. He’d scarcely been there since he’d brought me home. The wistful way he described swimming in its depths told me he missed it, but his worry about my safety overrode even what must be his most innate desires.

Thinking about the swamp and ocean was a way of distracting myself from the real decision I needed to make: whether to journey to the regional capital to relay a message to Outpost 60, where I was now weeks overdue and likely presumed dead.

My squadron—and Epsilon Squad Captain Proos, with the so-punchable face—would know I’d gone missing somewhere between my patrol assignment and the outpost. Proos I didn’t care about, but I didn’t want my squadron mates to think I was marooned somewhere, or captive, or dead. I didn’t want them to grieve for me.

I’d had no comms after the raider attack and hadn’t been able to activate any kind of emergency beacon, so they would have no way of knowing where I’d ended up—or whether my ship and I were now merely atoms drifting through space. Parts of my ship were presumably still up there, but eventually they’d get demolished by large passing ships or burn up in the atmosphere. As long as no one knew about the remains of my fighter on the ocean floor, no one would know I’d ended up here.

I really could make this a new beginning and let the Alliance Defense go on without me, but was that what I wanted? Or would I soon grow tired of Vos and this simple home on Iosa, leaving me restless and yearning for my days as a pilot?

If I didn’t contact Outpost 60 right away, I’d have to explain why I’d waited. Vos’s cock and tentacles were pretty great, but I doubted Proos or his superiors would consider them a good reason to go AWOL for however long it took for me to get restless. That meant either a dishonorable discharge or prison, orboth. Certainly no bonus to fund my relocation to a planet where I could live and work until I’d saved enough to travel the galaxy. That had been what I wanted most when I’d enlisted, besides a roof over my head, food in my tummy, and the promise of someday sitting in the cockpit of a long-range fighter.

I had a third option, too. If I did stay here for a while, I could always leave later and do something else. Plenty of opportunities in the cosmos for an experienced pilot. I’d be up for whatever job paid well, as long as it didn’t involve becoming a mercenary raider. I did have principles, after all. Even being a cargo ship pilot didn’t sound too bad, only lonely.

If I contacted Proos, he’d immediately arrange for my rescue and I’d likely never step foot on Iosa again until I finished my enlistment. While on active duty, I had very limited free time.

I had a measure of camaraderie with my squadron. I wanted to help defend the Alliance. I loved the adventure, danger, and prestige of piloting a fighter, and the gig paid well. But very few pilots retired out of the Defense. Most left after their first enlistment to do other things, and many died before they had that chance.

Vos had assured me I could find work here, or we could live comfortably on his savings. I had good savings too, which I was sure I could get my hands on thanks to shady friends who’d transfer the funds and keep my secret for a percentage. And Vos seemed willing to consider leaving Iosa, if that was what we wanted to do. Whether Poe could come with us, I wasn’t sure, but maybe we could keep this home and visit often.

As I thought about leaving my squadron and the Alliance Defense behind, I expected to feel grief and regret. Instead, I found myself looking forward rather than back. Even my flight suit, painstakingly cleaned and mended by Vos, felt less like my identity now and more like a utilitarian piece of clothing.

As much as I still yearned to put my fist in the middle ofProos’s face, when I thought about sending a distress call to Outpost 60, my stomach twisted with nausea.

But when I pictured myself with Vos, I felt…peaceful. And when I thought about him wrapping me in his tentacles and kissing the back of my neck as I slept beside him, warmth and happiness spread from my heart all the way down to my toes.

The more I sat and thought and sipped my tea, the more clear the answer seemed. I had so little to gain if I made that call, and so much to lose. I didn’t want to stand alone in the rain anymore. And I didn’t want Vos out there either. I wanted to be his shelter every bit as much as he was mine, and wherever we were and whatever we were doing, that would make me happy.

“I’m Calla Wren,” I murmured, holding my mug in both hands as I drained the last of the tea. “Nothing special. Just…Calla.”

That didn’t sound like quite the right answer either, but it felt closer to the truth than what I’d said yesterday.

I set my empty cup on the little handmade table next to my chair. “Vos?”

A moment later, his human arms wrapped around my shoulders as his tentacles coiled once more around my legs and the chair. He must have waited at the window, listening for my voice. Of course I hadn’t heard him come up behind me. My beautiful monster. My lover.

Maybe someday, my…mate. Whatever that might mean to someone like me.

“Yes, Calla?” Vos rested his chin on my shoulder. “You have been thinking a long time.”

He’d clearly tried to keep his tone neutral, but I caught the note of hope in his voice. I didn’t have much experience being anyone’s cause for hope. The thought made my stomach flutter as if I’d swallowed Ngaran moths.

“I had a lot to think about.” And still did, but I didn’t make him wait for me to tell him what I’d decided, since he’d alreadywaited several hours. Or a lifetime, depending on how I looked at his situation. “I think I’d like to stay with you. No, I don’tthinkI want to stay,” I amended. “Iwantto stay.”

Vos came around the chair and knelt in front of me, his tentacles around my lower legs as he took my hands. His expression was very serious. “My Calla, I will not cage you, and I do not demand any promises you do not want to give.”

“I know you don’t.” I took his face in my hands so I could look into his beautiful glowing eyes. “And I don’t make any promises I don’t intend to keep, so that works out just fine.”

He did something entirely unexpected then: he straightened and bowed his head. That pose must hurt like crazy with all his weight on his knees on the stone terrace.

Something like panic bubbled up inside me. “What are you doing?” I demanded.

“Showing my respect,” he said, his gaze on my feet. “Fortusians show their respect to their mates during courtship by kneeling.”

---