Page 26 of Alokar
“Your disguise.” Her grin deepened, transforming her features into something luminous and breathtaking. “It’s whyI brought you in here, so you could get some rest without scratching all night.”
“Oh, thank you.” I felt touched by her thoughtfulness, yet a little disappointed that the invitation wasn’t born from the same longing that consumed me. I reached into my pocket and clicked off the cuddwisg device, my eyes drinking in every nuance of her expression as the disguise evaporated from my form. Her eyes widened, pupils dilating in the amber glow of the small lantern, but she no longer carried the scent of fear—only wonder, and something deeper that made my pulse quicken.
“My true form no longer scares you,” I ventured, my voice barely above a whisper.
“No,” she smiled, keeping her voice low. “I don’t think it ever did. Not really.”
“You acted scared,” I snorted softly, unable to keep the playful accusation from my tone.
Hannah rolled her eyes, a low, melodious chuckle breaking over her lips. “You will never let me live down shooting you, will you?”
“It stung,” I pouted playfully, reveling in the way her smile broadened, illuminating her face with an inner radiance that made my chest tighten with longing.
“You survived,” she shot back teasingly, reaching out to poke at my chest with one delicate finger.
The instant her fingertip made contact with my flesh, the very air in the tent seemed to transform—thickening, charged with an electricity that made every nerve ending sing. Time itself seemed to slow, each heartbeat stretching into eternity.
“The Arapaho believe that a person’s spirit is more important than the physical body,” she whispered, her voice like velvet. She did not move her hand away from where it lay against my chest, her palm pressed flat against the thunderous hammering of my heart. “You have a good spirit.”
“I’m glad you think so,” I murmured, my voice rough with emotion. Unable to help myself any longer, I laid my hand over hers, marveling at how perfectly her fingers fit beneath mine, how right this moment felt despite all the impossibilities that surrounded us.
Our eyes met and held, a moment that felt both infinite and fragile, with only the sound of our breathing and the wild symphony of our hearts daring to encroach upon the sacred silence.
I could have remained suspended in this perfect moment forever, but Hannah slowly withdrew her hand, the loss of her touch leaving my skin aching for her warmth. She cleared her throat uncertainly.
“Can I ask you a question?” Her voice was soft, threaded with vulnerability.
“Anything,” I breathed. In that moment, I would have given her the stars themselves if she’d asked.
Her cheeks bloomed with warmth, and her gaze fluttered away from mine, settling on the tent floor as if the answers might be written in the shadows there. “Why didn’t you come swimming with me?”
The memory of her disappointment haunted me, though I’d hoped my revelation might have overshadowed that earlier wound. With infinite tenderness, I touched the tip of my fingerbeneath her chin, guiding her gaze back to mine. “I cannot swim,” I confessed, feeling heat rise in my cheeks. “My species is too physically dense to stay afloat.”
A melodious giggle escaped her lips. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
I lifted one shoulder in a helpless shrug, swallowing back the tide of my own vulnerability. “I didn’t want you to think me weak.”
Her smile deepened into something radiant and knowing, those storm-gray eyes catching the lantern’s amber glow like captured starlight. “I would never think you weak, Ewok.”
The weight of her words settled over me, carrying a meaning that reached far beyond my inability to navigate water.
“We... um... better get some sleep,” she whispered, her voice growing soft, though the air between us still hummed with unspoken possibilities.
Hannah had arranged our bedding with my heavier sleeping bag transformed into a cushioned foundation while hers draped over us like a blanket. The arrangement was intimate and cozy, and my considerable frame left no room for distance between us. A fact I was not that sad about.
Hannah turned off the lantern as I settled onto my back, my knees drawing up slightly to prevent my feet from breaching the tent’s opening. Hannah curled against my side like she belonged there, her body fitting against mine as if we were two pieces of a puzzle finally finding their proper spot.
Sleep remained elusive. Her nearness ignited every nerve ending. I felt more awake than I had in years. The night air carried a myriad of scents—the sharp clarity of pine, thewild tartness of mountain berries, the sweetness of alpine wildflowers. But threading through it all was something more intoxicating. The subtle perfume of her arousal was a fragrant confession that I was not alone in feeling this pull between us.
A delicate shiver rippled through her body, the tiny tremor traveling from her skin to mine. The mountain night had grown teeth, the thin nylon walls of the tent offering little protection against the wind dancing through the trees.
“Are you cold?” I abandoned any pretense that either of us had found sleep, my voice a low rumble in the intimate darkness.
“A little,” Hannah admitted, and I could hear the delicate chatter of her teeth despite her attempt to suppress it.
My heart swelled with a mixture of concern and barely contained joy at the excuse to draw her closer. “Kerzak run hot,” I murmured, my voice thick. “I can offer you warmth if you’ll let me.” I shifted, opening my arm in invitation for her to cuddle against me.
Hannah hesitated for only a heartbeat before melting into my embrace, her head finding its home against my chest with a contented sigh that seemed to echo through my very soul. My arm encircled her shoulders, pulling her deeper into my warmth, and I felt something fundamental shift in the universe—as if this was how we were destined to fit together.
