Chapter 9

Venus

Iwoke up the next morning from a surprisingly pleasant sleep… under the circumstances. As bland as all the white was, the furniture screamed luxury. The mattress was sinfully soft. Normally, I leaned towards something a bit firmer, but this truly felt like lying down on a cloud. The silkiness of the blankets against my skin easily rivaled the gentle touch of a lover. My only complaint was how light it felt on top of me. I liked a heavy comforter weighing me down.

I stretched loudly before hopping out of bed. The occluding shades automatically reduced their opacity on a timer in the morning so that the room wouldn't be pitched in complete darkness. A single flick of a switch fully opened them, allowing daylight to flood in.

As I headed into the hygiene room for my morning routine, the recent events replayed in my mind. This entire situation still felt unreal to me, but as I loved a challenge, I bubbled with excitement at the prospect of tackling this issue.

I brushed my hair and rubbed some leave-in moisturizer in the tight locks before deciding to leave it natural instead of braiding it. For a split second, I considered going to check if Atlas was already up and see if he wanted to share breakfast with me. A glance at my laptop sitting on the desk by the large arched window overlooking the garden reminded me of the chore I had already delayed for much too long. With a groan, I settled at the desk and connected to my messaging application.

Although the Prometheans achieved connectivity technology, it was still very basic and limited. The UPO allowed me to temporarily piggyback through their relay communication satellites. Sadly, with my current device, the connection remained much too slow and made live videos with an off-worlder impossible. Naturally, I would request an upgrade as part of the list of things I needed them to send me. But this minor setback actually played in my favor.

Very few things scared or intimidated me. I had no problem giving a tongue lashing to anyone acting like a smart ass to me. The only people who could make me squirm were my parents. Sending them a long offline message meant I didn't have to deal with their wrath in real time. I was fine with that making me a wuss.

Initially, I considered merely typing the message as it would transfer a lot faster, then thought better of it. Knowing them, if they couldn't see my face, they would immediately assume the worst, including that I was somehow being mistreated, or maybe even bruised and battered. My mother could be quite the drama queen. At the same time, a part of me loved their overprotectiveness. Dad turned into a real dragon whenever anyone threatened his baby girls, and my mom put to shame even the most rabid of mamma bears.

"Mom, Dad, just sending you a quick message to let you know that I'm fine and that everything is under control. I know you're currently making a major stink everywhere and harassing the hell out of everyone over me. Please stop it. As much as I didn't plan on landing here, I'm actually honored to have been chosen for this. This connection is too crappy for me to go into great details, but just know that this project is probably one of the most impactful for an entire species that I will ever be given a chance to partake in," I said.

I then proceeded to give them a short summary of what I encountered so far as well as request they get in touch with a couple of our contacts to start putting together a summary of the type of data and information I should gather. Despite my scientific background, I didn't know anything about nuclear physics. As we couldn't simply take things into our own hands, I needed to learn enough to be able to drop the proper types of hints so that the Prometheans themselves would be able to solve their problems.

After sending the message, I exited my room and stopped by the boudoir to check on the Prism. His chrysalis remained still on the hovering platform in front of the fireplace. Its soft color immediately translated to me as him being content and comfortable. It felt strange to be watching over a cocoon. A part of me wondered if I should spend time with him and talk to him. But Atlas said Xarin would call upon me when needed. Still, considering we'd met after he'd been kidnapped once, making sure he remained safe and sound seemed like the right thing to do

Satisfied, I made my way to the kitchen to silence my growling stomach. As I crossed the living area, movement through the tall windows caught my eyes. I stopped dead in my tracks and stared in awe at Atlas performing some impressive battle moves in what had to be his morning training routine.

With a will of their own, my feet led me to the patio doors, and I slid them open, careful not to make any noise that would break his concentration.

Wearing nothing but the usual loincloth they called a tarp—which vaguely reminded me of an ancient gladiator skirt—Atlas was leaping and jumping, spinning on himself while thrusting a double-bladed staff at an invisible target. The way he would suddenly pull back with a single flap of his wings almost gave the illusion a powerful force had suddenly yanked him back. The control he displayed spoke of years of experience and true mastery.

I stood there drooling at the perfection of his body, each muscle lean and defined, bunching during a powerful attack, then relaxing and rolling beneath the shiny scales on his arms and legs. To my shame, I caught myself too many times feeling disappointed that, despite its shortness, his loincloth did a fantastic job of hiding the goods.

My jaw dropped when the eyespots in his wings began to glow at the same time he thrusted his hand forward, his palm raised in an arresting gesture. A gasp escaped me when half a dozen silver darts shot out of his palm to bury themselves into the ground with the piercing sound of a bullet.

Startled, Atlas spun around to face me, instinctively taking a defensive stance. Although it would be deemed menacing, I didn't feel threatened. With bone deep confidence, I knew he possessed enough self-control not to harm me in surprise. I raised my hands before me in a surrendering gesture, an air of wonder plastered on my face.

Atlas immediately straightened and took on a non-threatening posture with an air of guilt. I smiled and clapped while descending the few steps into the garden. He frowned at my hands with an air of confusion.

"What is that noise you are making?" he asked.

"We call it applause," I said, stopping a few steps in front of him. "It's how humans express admiration for someone's exceptional performance, or to congratulate them. Occasionally, it can be used in a sarcastic fashion to mock someone. For example, if they do something really stupid, you could clap your hands to say: way to mess up."

He seemed amused, his gaze locked on my hands as if he was picturing me clapping them again.

"So am I to understand you think I did something really stupid?" he asked.

I snorted. "If you are fishing for compliments, you're about to get served. I was definitely applauding because your performance was amazing."

The way his scales darkened made me instantly want to smoosh his face. I didn't think he had been trying to get me to compliment him. I suspected that behind his reserved exterior, Atlas had a pretty self-derisive sense of humor. But seeing him this embarrassed to be complimented made him even more adorable than he already was.

"Thank you," he said while scratching the fur below his clavicle.

It dawned on me that this gesture was some sort of nervous tick. But staring at his hand reminded me what had taken me aback during his performance.

"I didn't mean to break your concentration. But how did you fire those darts or needles from your hand?" I asked with genuine curiosity. "I thought Blacks didn't possess any magic?"

"We're not entirely deprived of magic," he conceded. "We have very little, and it is extremely weak compared to other colors. In our case, our wings' eyespots are the only color we're able to draft. Since the surface is very small, we cannot channel enough color to cast more powerful magic. The others can draft from the entirety of their colored wings."

"I see," I responded, fascinated. "But what you did was still really awesome. I'm impressed."

"You're too kind," he said with a boyish shyness that made me melt inside. "However, I am way more powerful today than I was yesterday, thanks to you."

My brow shot up. "Thanks to me?"

"By choosing me as your mate, you made the Prism bless me. It opened my wings' eyespots and expanded the spectrum of color I can draft from. It used to only be silver and pale gray. Now, my eyespots have a pure white inner ring that enables me to draft from any color. Too bad it is in such a limited quantity. But I'm still incredibly grateful."

I stared at his wings with wonder before glancing back at him. "I have no merit in you receiving that blessing. The Prism bestowed it upon you because of who you are. You made him want to bless you the same way you made me want to choose you. Do not underestimate what a powerful aura of honesty, reliability, and honor you project. Xarin sensed it the same way I did."

He shifted on his feet and scratched his fur again. The poor thing didn't seem to know what to do with himself, visibly unused to receiving such positive comments.

"Then I'm glad you and he felt that way," he mumbled, before glancing back at me.

Despite the absence of sclera or irises to make it clear where he was looking, I knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that he was examining my hair.

"Your hair is completely different from yesterday. It's quite beautiful," he said with an air of fascination.

I smiled and unconsciously ran a hand over it. "Yeah, I decided to leave it natural."

"I've never seen that texture before or such tight curls," Atlas said pensively.

"It certainly is different. Do you want to touch?" I surprised myself by offering.

He seemed just as taken aback. "You don't mind? That would be acceptable?"

The hopefulness in his voice made me smile. "It is entirely acceptable if the person offered for you to do so. It's also fine to ask for permission. But you should never touch someone's hair without asking first or receiving their consent."

He frowned. "That seems obvious."

I rolled my eyes. "You'd be surprised how often people have done this to someone like me. And then they have the nerve to be upset when we reprimand them for just reaching out and touching our hair. The most infuriating part is that if they see someone walking around with their pet, they will ask the owner if it's okay to touch their animal. But they feel entitled to touch us without asking. It's quite offensive that they should show more deference to animals than to us."

My cheeks heated as he stared at me with a stunned expression, looking unsure how to respond.

"Sorry for going off on an impromptu rant," I said sheepishly. "It's just a sore spot for me. But yes, I'm happy for you to touch my hair."

He chuckled and approached his hand timidly. The powerful thrill of anticipation that surged through me took me aback.

"So incredibly soft," he whispered under his breath, looking mesmerized.

I almost chuckled when he gently pressed on it, only to see it bounce back when he released it, and then repeat the motion a few more times.

"So fluffy," he whispered again before sinking his fingers in my hair.

The part of me that wanted to shout at him not to mess it all up was instantly silenced by the other part that wanted to purr in reaction to the borderline intimate touch.

With much reluctance—and to my great chagrin—Atlas slowly removed his hand before looking at me with awe.

"Your hair is amazing. I have never seen or touched anything like it before. On Sylvar, everyone has hair like me. Even the humans I have seen so far all had hair like the male who accompanied you earlier, Tedrik."

"Human hair has a great variety of textures and colors," I conceded before gesturing at his chest with my chin. "But your fur looks just as fluffy."

He glanced down at himself. "It is indeed fluffy, but not as bouncy and light as your hair. You can touch, if you wish."

"Really?!" I asked in an overly eager tone that made him smile.

"Yes. So long as the person offered," he added with a glimmer of mischief in his obsidian eyes.

I snorted and made a face at him before reaching for his fur. I gently ran my palm over it and barely managed to repress a moan.

"Oh, wow! It's so incredibly soft! I thought it would be coarse."

His brow shot up. "Why would you think that?" Atlas asked, baffled.

"Because Prometheans physically share many similarities with the moths on Earth," I said sheepishly, hoping he wouldn't take offense at the comparison. Some of the tension in my shoulders faded when he merely nodded while waiting intently for me to continue. "On those creatures, what people think to be fur are actually spiky scales made of chitin."

"It's the same for us, but our spikes are softer," Atlas replied. "I suspect they serve the same purpose of thermal regulation to help us control the heat of our bodies in flight. Our fur also helps detect environmental changes like air current, temperature, and even the presence of a predator."

Atlas's voice deepened on the last words as I sank my fingers into the fur covering his chest. The deep vibration instantly turned me on. To my shock, the sensual expression that gradually settled on his face hinted that my touch was also arousing him.

That messed with my head in the most inappropriate fashion.

Forcing myself to behave, I reluctantly pulled my hand away from him and shifted my attention to the small scales covering his arms.

"Now those definitely look hard," I said.

He pursed his lips as if pondering how to respond. "Yes and no. It is difficult to explain. But you can touch them as well."

He didn't have to say it twice. Truth be told, I made that comment hoping he would offer.

The moment I ran my fingertips over the shiny scales, I immediately understood what he meant. The scales were indeed hard and yet pliable. Or rather, their small size allowed them to be flexible whereas one large chitin plate would have been unyielding. I traced the pattern of his scales with my index finger all the way down to his elbow before flattening my palm on his arm, and running it first in an upward caress, and then repeating the gesture downward. While the latter had been completely smooth, the former gently scraped my palm in a way that I found rather titillating.

"The texture is really cool," I said, giving his scales one last caress before dropping my hand.

"Cool?" he echoed, surprised.

I chuckled. "I didn't mean it in the literal sense. Humans sometimes use the word cool to mean something really interesting, pleasant, or appealing."

"I see."

I pressed my lips together to refrain from smiling when he cast a less-than-subtle look at my arms, left exposed by the sleeveless short summer dress I had donned.

"You can touch as well," I said, extending my arm towards him. "As you can see, humans are soft all over."

His smile confirmed he indeed hoped I would return the favor. He no sooner caressed the upper side of my forearm than a shiver coursed through me, and my skin erupted in goosebumps. Atlas recoiled, yanked his hand away, and stared at me with a panicked expression.

I laughed and raised my palm in an appeasing gesture.

"All is well, Atlas. This is a natural phenomenon. Human skin does that sometimes. We call it having goosebumps," I explained.

His shoulders slumped with obvious relief although he continued to stare warily at my arm. "So you're not having an allergic reaction to my touch?"

"Oh, God no! Not at all!" I exclaimed, forcing myself not to laugh for fear he might be offended or think I was mocking him. "This normally happens in response to a powerful but pleasant emotion."

His eyes widened, and he stared at me for a second. I could see his wheels spinning as he digested my words. My stomach dropped when he slightly flicked his antennae. As I understood it, they behaved in a fashion somewhat similar to how snakes used their tongues to gather information about their environment and people near them. Serena's husband could deduce far too many intimate things about my sister simply by sticking his tongue out. Apparently, it could tell him with scientific accuracy just how aroused she was, when she was ovulating, or even if she was pregnant.

I flinched inwardly even as that thought crossed my mind. Serena took far too much pleasure making me cringe as she described these things to me. Nobody wanted to know about their sister's state of arousal.

But whatever Atlas's antennae revealed about me had the strangest expression fleeting over his handsome features—a mix of awe and confusion. He knew I was turned on. To my shock, I was fine with that.

"My touch doesn't displease you," he whispered as if to himself.

"It doesn't," I replied in a factual manner.

He stared at me for a few more seconds. I didn't know what I expected him to say or even what thoughts were coursing through his mind. How would he react if I told him that it was normal I should have positive reactions to his touch considering he was my soulmate? I was meant to crave intimate physical contact with him.

"I'm glad to hear it," Atlas finally said, with an unreadable expression that had a million questions firing off in my head.

Before I could respond, my stomach emitted the least discreet growl, broadcasting loudly that I was way past my breakfast time.

Atlas's scales turned almost as dark as his wings while a mortified expression descended over his features.

"Apologies, Venus!" he exclaimed. "I'm a terrible mate. Please, come. Let me feed you."

"It's okay," I said with amusement. "You did nothing wrong. I was on my way to get food when I spotted you training. It was such an amazing spectacle I couldn't resist but to come out and admire your skills."

He gave me that timid smile I was growing accustomed to and scratched his fur even as he gestured for me to proceed back inside.

Like last night, Atlas made me sit at the table while he brought various plates of food from the cooling unit. I could only assume the caterer dropped by while I was still sleeping. It was an impressive spread of cold cuts, fruits, dried breads, nuts, and cured meats that were part of their traditional breakfast.

All of it suited me just fine. However, to my chagrin, they didn't have an equivalent to coffee—another item I needed to add to the list I'd send to Linsea and the Enforcers.

"I'm free to be your guide today, if you wish," Atlas said after swallowing a mouthful of cured meats.

"Actually, now that Xarin no longer restricts my ability to move away from him since he knows I'm not going to abandon him, I was wondering if it would be possible to meet some of your scientists," I said carefully.

Atlas stiffened. Thankfully, it appeared to be out of surprise rather than outrage. "Our scientists? Why?"

"I want to get a better understanding of Thaudras. As I mentioned last night, our conversation gave me some leads I would like to pursue and validate with your experts," I explained. "Later tonight, I intend to send a list of things I require to Tedrick. Speaking with your scientists first would help me identify everything I will need."

"Things like what?" Atlas insisted, tilting his head to the side.

"Quite a few human research tools," I replied honestly. "But I also need personal care products for my hair, my nails, and my body in general," I added before casting a discouraged glance at my hands. "I can't believe I'm going to be stuck with a manicure bot."

"A manicure bot?" he repeated.

"A machine that can take care of my nails. It's nowhere near as good as a real esthetician, but under the circumstances, it will have to do," I said dejectedly.

"Is that something essential to your welfare?" Atlas asked with a concerned expression.

"If by essential you mean helping prevent me having an emotional breakdown, then yes, it is absolutely essential."

"What?!" Atlas exclaimed. "Then we must have Tedrick send this machine at once!"

I burst out laughing before giving him a guilty expression. "Relax, Atlas. All is well. I'm just being overly dramatic. I'm what humans call superficial or a high maintenance diva," I said with self-derision.

He looked confused. "Why do they call you that?"

"Because I can be borderline obsessive about personal care and having an impeccable appearance," I said sheepishly. "I hate dirty and broken nails. I normally get a mani-pedi every week and visit the hair salon every two weeks. My sister would laugh if she could see me right now."

He slightly frowned. "You do not get along with your sister?"

I smiled and shook my head. "No. I absolutely adore her. She just thinks I have all the wrong priorities on that front."

To my surprise, he gave me an intense and serious look. "There is nothing wrong with wanting to feel good about yourself and how you look. It's especially true if you actually have control over it. If you need your bot, then you should have it."

All of a sudden, I truly felt superficial. Although he spoke those words in a supportive and encouraging fashion, it didn't take a genius to realize his underlying meaning. Atlas didn't feel good about his appearance because his society made sure to let him know he was bad for being Achromatic. If he had any power to change it, if somebody allowed him to modify it, I believed he would have done so without hesitation.

Oblivious to my inner turmoil, Atlas smiled. "As for the scientist, I can take you to Kyrene. She is our greatest nuclear and optical physicist. She devoted most of her career to studying Thaudras. If anyone can provide you with the answers you seek, it is she."