40. Kira

40

Kira

I wake up with a choked scream, my heart racing, my body drenched in sweat. For a moment, I'm disoriented, the remnants of the nightmare clinging to me like a shroud. I take a few deep breaths, trying to calm myself, but my hands won't stop shaking.

"Fuck," I mutter under my breath, cursing myself for overreacting.

I can't afford to be this weak.

I force myself to lie back down, closing my eyes and trying to will myself back to sleep. This is my opportunity for rest. It might not be the best accommodations, but my belly is full of whatever mysterious meat Drasuk brought back.

This is as good as things get here.

I squeeze my eyes shut and tell my heart to slow. It's no use. The image of that monster, a twisted version of the past and present, is tattooed on the back of my eyelids. Mixed in is the remembered terror and the pain in my arm that was once a constant companion. It's all too vivid.

Sleep won't come.

The sound of footsteps splashing through the water reaches me, and I roll my eyes, remembering Drasuk's superior hearing. Of course, he heard me.

He reenters the cave, his massive form silhouetted against the faint light of the waterfall.

"What's wrong?" he asks, his voice low and rumbling.

"Nothing," I mumble, turning away from him and trying to go back to sleep. "Just a bad dream. I'll take your watch."

He doesn't move. I can feel his eyes on me, expectant, probing. Damn it. I let out a frustrated sigh and sit up, glaring at him.

"I said it's nothing."

Drasuk doesn't budge, his expression unyielding. "It's obviously not nothing," he says calmly.

I resist the urge to throw something at him. Instead, I slump back against the cave wall, my anger draining away, replaced by a deep, gnawing weariness.

"Fine," I mutter. "You want to know? I was dreaming about my battlegroup."

Drasuk listens silently, his eyes never leaving mine.

"I was supposed to protect them," I continue, my voice trembling. "But I couldn't. I watched as they were torn to pieces. And I couldn't do a damn thing to stop it."

The memories flood back, the horror, the helplessness. I feel the familiar wave of shame and guilt washing over me, choking me. "I wasn't strong enough," I whisper. "I'm not a warrior anymore. Not after that."

Drasuk steps closer, his gaze intense. "You're wrong," he says firmly. "You are a warrior, Kira, even now. We're being hunted on an alien world by some of the most violent species imaginable, and you're still here. You're still fighting. Still looking for civilians to protect."

A bitter smile tugs at my lips. I quickly hide it, looking away.

"I was only protecting one person when they took me," I whisper, "and they were a terrible excuse for a human. I can't sleep well anymore. Every time I close my eyes, I see their faces. I see them dying all over again."

Drasuk's expression softens. "I understand," he says quietly. "I see the faces of fallen Maj'Ras every time I close my eyes, too. It's a burden we both carry."

There's a moment of silence, heavy and loaded with unspoken pain.

I meet his gaze, and I see a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes. "Would you stay with me?" I ask, the words surprising even myself. "Just... hold me? But it doesn't mean anything," I add hastily.

Drasuk makes a rumble of agreement, understanding. He lies down beside me on the mat of moss, wrapping a rough-skinned arm around me, pulling my chest to him and squeezing gently. It's comforting, though the peace doesn't last long.

My skin itches, and I scratch at it absently, trying to ignore the persistent irritation.

I'm not ready to face what I think it means.

"Thank you," I whisper, more to myself than to him.

His presence is grounding, a small anchor in the chaos of my mind, but sleep remains elusive, and I know this is just one more battle I'll have to fight on my own.

As my mind wanders, so do my hands. They hit a ridge of scars I've seen many times now, but never found the time to ask about.

"Where did these scars on your back come from? They're equidistant."

It almost looks like he was one of those stuffed toys you're supposed to try to get in that claw machine game that rips everyone off. As if he was the easy target nestled next to the sought after expensive gadget and someone used far too much force pulling him up in their rage over having to settle for a stuffy.

Well, if the machine used giant knives and rattled him around until it left two massive wounds and...

Okay, the comparison isn't holding up to scrutiny.

I don't come up with something better before he answers me.

"Those were my proto-wings."

"What?"

"Proto. Wings."

"I got that, damn the thing. Just not what that has to do with scars. Did you lose them in battle? That's terrible."

"No. I cut them off."

My jaw drops. "Say that again?"

"I. Cut. Them—"

"No. Don't say it again."

"You just—"

"It's just a figure of speech."

"As in writing?"

I blink, not getting it at first, then see how the translator fucked up again.

"No. Bad translation. What I meant was: why did you cut them off?"

"Then just ask that, Kira. Say the words you mean."

"I do say the fornicating words I mean," I hiss.

I let out a growl and refuse to admit that I just underscored his fucking point.

Dammit.

"To answer you, now that you have decided to make sense, the Maj'Ras cut them off because they are useless as soon as we grow too heavy as adults. They get in the way. Most civilians keep them as drapings and a show of prestige."

So, there are rich dudes getting to waltz around with the equivalent of fancy suits made out of their useless wings because drak like him fight.

Sounds familiar.

"Wait. You could fly as a hatchling? Uh, kid?"

He lets out a grumble, but answers. "Yes."

I absorb that new info as I try to wrangle the giant surge of jealousy crowding my chest and throat into something more manageable.

Draks have all the damn fun.

"You don't miss it?"

"No. Jet packs are more responsive and don't come with an energy drain."

I absorb that new information, confused.

"Let me see if I have this right. You're advanced enough to make fornicating jet packs, but a surgeon can't amputate your outgrown wings without making it look like an animal gnawed them off."

"As usual, you aren't listening to my clearly communicated words. I. Cut. Them. Off. But you are somewhat right, it did partially involve claws."

Holy shit, Batman .

"I have no words."

"Is that all it takes? If only I had known before. Go to sleep, Kira."

"But why would you—"

"Sleep."

"—do that to—"

"Kira."

—yourself?"

He turns to stone beside me and refuses to speak anymore.

I briefly consider poking at him some more, but just the mention of sleep has me yawning.

I can't help myself from reaching up and running my hands along the scarring again. I assume their wings aren't bullet proof either, if he was able to slice them off with his fucking claws.

Weird.

It makes zero sense why he would've cut them off himself, unless it's ritualistic, but I've got to give it to him.

That takes a brass pussy.

That reminds me. I haven't spied any balls on him, not that I've been looking or anything. He's stark naked but without any sign of genitalia.

I guess other species recognize what human women have always known: keeping all those important bits on the inside is a great fucking idea.

He lets out a long sigh as I continue to run my fingers along the dips and grooves of his mutilated skin.

Since it's clearly soothing for both of us, I just keep going, enjoying the vast variety of textures and the rumbles of appreciation he makes as I stray close to his spines.

The feel of his rough skin and the intermittent evidence of how battle-hardened he is sends a thrill through me, but I'm too tired to resist it or to be shocked by it. Right now, we are just two people who had a really shitty day.

Besides, I like touching him, so I just tell my brain to stop analyzing or freaking out over it.

Soon after, he shifts his giant body so he can return the favor, running one of his large, chameleon-like hands down my back in repetitive, soothing sweeps. Starting at the base of my neck with a gentle squeeze, then with steady pressure down by back, and over my ass before starting again.

I let out a long sigh of contentment on the fifth pass and keep moving my hands, mapping the spines and scars along his side.

As the long minutes tick by, the weight of our journey presses down on me. We can't stay in this cave, not with the genali still out there and a bunch of defenseless women to help. But for now, in this small moment of respite, I allow myself to find a shred of peace in Drasuk's steady presence.

The thrum of the waterfall lulls me into a semi-conscious state where dreams and reality blend together. I see flashes of my squad mates, their faces twisted in pain, their bodies broken. I see the cyborgs, merciless and unyielding. And then, I see Drasuk, standing between me and the darkness, a silent guardian.

His words echo in my mind. 'You are a warrior, Kira.'

Maybe he's right. Maybe there's still a part of me that's capable of taking up that role again. It's not like my body is a limit anymore. Maybe there's still hope.

I take a deep breath, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I allow myself to simply believe in something.

***

Sunlight streams through the gap in the rocks above the waterfall when I wake up, painting dancing patterns across the damp cave walls.

Unlike the previous night, a sense of peace has settled over me, and for once sleep wasn't a battlefield of nightmares. Hell, even before that, I couldn't get any rest.

It feels... wrong. Suspicious even.

With a hesitant groan, I crack open my other eye, blinking away the remnants of sleep. The weight of my combat fatigues feels strangely foreign, a constricting layer against my skin.

Wait. I'm not wearing fatigues.

I shake the sleep from my mind and focus on my body. I had just started to get used to the new way the thick hide on my stomach moves compared to my skin. Now it feels like it's extended to my back, up the back of my neck, and down to my knees.

When I shoot into an upright position, it startles Drasuk, and he rises with a hiss, which makes me tumble off him. So much for a relaxing morning using him as a giant pillow.

He is sniffing the air and swiveling around trying to figure out where the threat is.

"Sorry, it's alright. It isn't a hunter. I think I changed again."

He lets out a grumble. "Your communication is as deplorable as always."

"Back off, man. I was still half asleep, and I panicked."

I raise a shaking hand to the side of my neck. The skin is thicker than it should be, but the texture is different than my stomach. I keep sliding my hand around to the back, and then I feel the spikes.

They extend up and continue to the crown of my head, mixed in with my hair, which has grown quite a bit since my last haircut. A quick pass over my face and the front of my neck feels normal, but when I lift my arm so I can feel behind me, I can tell the nubs and spines continue downward.

I let out a puff of air. "Let me guess, I've got your blue spikes?"

"I can't tell from this angle."

Might as well get it over with. I stand up, pull the hair that has grown a couple feet so it lays over my chest, turn my back to him, and tell my suit to fully recede.