Page 10 of Deserted

I watched as she sat on the edge of the bunk, her shoulders slumping with fatigue. The medical pod had healed the worst of her injuries, but her body still needed natural recovery time. She needed rest. Food. Protection.

The urge to provide these things was overwhelming—not just as a duty, but as a need buried deep in my bones.

“Rest,” I said, the word emerging gentler than I intended. “I will bring additional sustenance when you wake.”

She looked up at me, fatigue softening her features. For a moment, her guard dropped, and I glimpsed the vulnerability beneath her bravado. It hit me like a physical blow, that trust, however temporary.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “For saving me out there. I would have died if you hadn’t found me.”

I inclined my head, unable to trust my voice. What could I say? That finding her was the most significant event of my existence? That the thought of her death hollowed me out in ways I couldn’t articulate?

She stretched out on the bunk, not bothering to remove the gray jumpsuit we’d dressed her in after the medical treatment. Her eyes were already closing, her breathing slowing. Thecombined effects of the healing, the food, and her ordeal were pulling her rapidly toward sleep.

I should have left immediately. Instead, I found myself lingering, watching the rise and fall of her chest, the way her hair spilled across the pillow. My fate mate. Here. Real.

When I was certain she was deeply asleep, I reached out, allowing myself the smallest indulgence—one finger lightly tracing the curve of her jaw, feeling the warmth of her skin against mine without the barrier of the medical pod between us.

“Kassari,” I whispered, the Rodinian word for fate-chosen falling from my lips like a prayer.

Then I withdrew, locking down every instinct that screamed at me to stay, to curl around her, to guard her sleep with fang and claw. Instead, I stepped back, securing the door in its open position so I could hear if she called out in distress.

I would not sleep. Not tonight. I would maintain my vigil from the monitoring station, keep the necessary distance, retain control of the primal urges that threatened to overwhelm me.

For now, she was safe. Fed. Resting.

It would have to be enough.

She was soft,warm, and utterly unaware that I was five seconds away from flinging myself headfirst into madness. Not that I would show it. On the outside? Controlled. Stoic. Reaper-trained. On the inside? Ferality. Pure, uncut. I stood near the water recycler, arms crossed, pretending to inspect the condensation levels when really, I was trying not to watch the sway of her hips as she bent over to check her boots—now half-melted by the heat but somehow still clinging to her tiny human feet like stubborn parasites.

My tail, traitorous bastard that it was, had attempted three separate times last night to wrap itself around her waist whenever she was near, and when she’d fallen asleep, I’d had to physically restrain it with my hand. I’d snarled at my own appendage like a deranged predator. Which, to be fair, I was. Sort of.

She’d woken an hour ago, seeming refreshed despite the circumstances. Now she moved through the small space of the outpost like she owned it, examining everything with those curious fingers and asking questions I answered in clipped sentences while my inner voice composed elaborate sonnets about the curve of her neck.

“These are toast,” she muttered, tossing her ruined boots aside. “Any chance you’ve got human footwear in that magic storage unit of yours?”

“Negative.” What I didn’t say: I could carry you everywhere. You wouldn’t need to touch the ground again. Just wrap your legs around my waist and?—

“Guess I’m going barefoot then.” She wiggled her toes, oblivious to the effect her simple movements had on me. “These floors are cold.”

I adjusted a control panel without looking at it. “Temperature increase initiated.”

She glanced up, surprise flitting across her features. “Thanks.”

I inclined my head, not trusting myself to speak. Did she remember our shared Unity dream? Where I’d tasted every inch of her skin, heard her cry my name in pleasure? Did her subconscious remember me?

Perhaps no. Fate mates were so rare; rarer still to have humans familiar with Rodinian culture to even know what was considered normal. Yet, for me, every molecule in my body strained toward her like she was gravity itself.

She stirred from her inspection of the room and blinked up at me with those wide, dark eyes that were currently ruining my ability to remain sane.

“Why are you standing like a gargoyle over there?” she asked, yawning.

“I am meditating,” I said, voice calm, unbothered.

Lie.

I was imagining biting her neck and claiming her in seven different positions.

“Oh. Okay. You do that. I’m going to find a snack. Again.”

---