Page 37 of Legacy for the Alien Warrior

“There you are,” she said, her voice warm with affection. “It’s getting late, Rory. Time for bed.”

Rory didn’t move immediately, his fingers still tracing their pattern, and he felt an unexpected swell of pride that the boy seemed reluctant to leave his side.

“Go with your mother,” he said gently. “The stars will still be here tomorrow.”

Rory slid from the seat and padded over to Kara, who ran her hand through his hair. She looked over him, her expression unreadable in the dim light.

“Thank you,” she said. “For everything today. What you did for that child…”

He nodded quickly and turned his attention to the control panel, afraid that if he looked at her, she would see too much.See the longing, the fear, the confusion roiling beneath his disciplined exterior.

“Anyone would have done the same,” he said gruffly.

“No,” she replied. “They wouldn’t have. Most people would have walked away.”

She stepped closer and placed her hand on his shoulder. The warmth of her touch seeped through his skin, and before he could control it, his tail betrayed him—curling around her wrist in an unmistakable gesture of affection.

He froze, mortified. Among his people, such a gesture was intimate, possessive. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her, afraid of what he might see in her eyes.

“Goodnight, Thraxar,” she said softly, and if she was disturbed by his tail’s behavior, she didn’t show it.

His tail reluctantly unwound as she stepped back, taking Rory’s hand. “We’ll see you in the morning.”

The door slid closed behind them, leaving him alone with the hum of the ship and the weight of his conflicted emotions. He remained in the cockpit for hours, running unnecessary diagnostics, checking and rechecking their course—anything to keep his mind occupied.

When he was certain enough time had passed for Kara and the children to be asleep, he finally left the cockpit. The ship felt different now, with others aboard. Not just the sounds—the soft breathing from the crew cabin, the occasional rustle of movement—but the very air seemed changed, charged with potential.

He made his way to the lounge, intending to review the ship’s logs before attempting to sleep. The room was dark, illuminated only by the ambient glow from the corridor. He didn’t bother with the lights; his eyes adjusted quickly to the dimness.

He sank into his favorite chair, the one molded perfectly to his body after years of use. The datapad felt cool in his handsas he began scrolling through the day’s records. His mind, however, kept drifting back to the marketplace, to Rory finding the cage, to Kara’s determined face as she said, “We can’t leave her here.”

The door to the lounge slid open with a soft hiss. He looked up, his night vision easily picking out Kara’s slender form in the doorway.

“I thought you’d be asleep,” he said, his voice low.

She stepped into the room, and the door closed behind her. “I couldn’t sleep.”

He set down the datapad, suddenly very aware of her presence in the darkened room. She wore the sleep clothes he’d given her—altered to fit her smaller body, but still recognizably his. The sight of her in his clothes stirred something primal in him.

“Is everything alright?” he asked. “Are the children?—”

“They’re fine,” she assured him. “Sleeping soundly.”

She moved closer, her bare feet silent on the deck. In the dim light, her features were softened, her eyes large and dark.

“Then why are you here?” The question came out harsher than he intended, defensive.

She stopped a few paces from his chair. “Because I wanted to talk to you. Alone.”

His tail twitched nervously, trying to reach for her. “About what?”

“About what happens when we reach the Patrol station.” She took another step forward. “About what happens after.”

His heart rate increased. “I told you, I’ll ensure you’re safely processed. You’ll be returned to your homeworld, or wherever you wish to go.”

“And if I don’t know where I wish to go?” Her voice was quiet but steady. “If Rory and I have nowhere to return to?”

He clenched his hand on the armrests of his chair. “The Patrol will?—”

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