Page 107 of Shadows of Stardust

“It doesn’t hurt.” Reaching a hand down, I thread my fingers into his hair and make him look at me. “Really.”

I’m pinned in place by swirling silver. Harsh, concerned, not at all how I want him to be looking right now. I drag my nails over his scalp until he closes his eyes and sighs.

“I still should have been more careful.”

I huff a laugh. “Seriously, Zan. No complaints from me.”

He grumbles a bit more, but swipes the cloth over his cock and tucks it away before he joins me back in bed.

It feels natural as breathing to roll onto his chest when he settles beside me. To drape myself across him and find the spot just under his jaw where my head slots in like a puzzle piece. To nestle there while he wraps an arm around my back and starts rubbing slow, gentle strokes over my skin.

Claws trailing lightly over me, a deep rumble of satisfaction echoing in his chest, I almost forget.

I almost fail to notice that hand of his skating higher, up my back to my shoulder blade and the tangle of scars and ink there.

I stiffen beneath his touch, and Zan freezes.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s alright. It doesn’t hurt. I just… it’s just weird, you know?”

A soft, understanding noise breaks in the back of his throat. He moves his hand like he’s going to pull it away, but something in me can’t let that happen.

“Don’t.”

He freezes again, pulling back a few inches so he can meet my gaze.

“I…” I begin, throat tight. “You can… touch me. There. I… I don’t mind.”

Maybe I should be more direct.

Maybe leaving the decision up to him is the coward’s way out.

I’m just about to speak again, try to figure out exactly how to say it, when the soft brush of Zan’s fingers over my scars steals the breath right out of my chest.

So light, that touch. Just a whisper of skin on skin. Experimental, tentative, like he’s not sure how much is okay.

“If you ever want to talk about it, I’m more than happy to listen.”

The offer is gentle, given in a way that lets me know it would be alright if I didn’t answer.

And I don’t, at least not right away.

For a few long moments, I simply concentrate on the brush of his fingers against my skin. I let myself feel each touch, breathing through the slight pulse of panic that rises in my throat over having his full attention on my scars.

I’m not ashamed of the scars, or the tattoos which now cover them, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy to have them so exposed. Memories of the day I got them rise to the surface, though for once it doesn’t feel like too much.

With a Revexoran mercenary’s touch—a male who’s likely seen the same kind of violence that gave me these marks—all that panic is kept at bay. It doesn’t overwhelm me. It doesn’t drown me. And for the first time in as long as I can remember, I’m able to breathe through it.

“We were supporting the Jurvians in a skirmish with the Vrosri,” I say finally. “They attacked a Sol Alliance fortification in the Merixir system.”

“You were injured,” he says, a soft nudge to keep me talking.

I nod my head where it lays against his chest. “I was the only one. My unit was in a supply depot on some little backwater outpost moon. I was working on the defense monitoring systems that night, and had enough time to raise the alarm and help everyone get out in time.”

Zan makes a low noise of understanding in the back of his throat. “And this was the price you paid for ensuring others made it out alive.”

“A piece of burning ceiling,” I murmur. “I still see the sparks sometimes when I’m dreaming.”

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