Page 17 of Survivor
When Lucy exited the bathing room, wrapped head to toe in a drying cloth, it proved a battle to keep my eyes off her slender frame. My cock twitched at the idea that only a thin layer of fabric separated her nakedness from my gaze. I wanted to go to her, rip the drying cloth from her body, and feast my eyes on her pale, supple flesh. If my hands and tongue followed with the feasting, all the better.
Instead, I mumbled something rather unintelligible and stumbled my way into the bathroom. It took several blasts of cold water to wrangle my cock under submission.
After calming lustfulness, I luxuriated in the running water, letting it wash away the remnants of my battle with Seibring. The water cascaded over me, cleansing away the grime and sweat, as well as the bandage on my chest. The wound had healed remarkably well, now merely a pale pink line tracing a path across my skin.
Several changes of clothing were among the supplies I’d brought from the ship. I changed into a loose-fitting tunic and drawstring pants, the soft fabric brushing against my skin and leaving me feeling instantly refreshed.
I found Lucy on the deck with my father. She, too, had changed, donning similar attire to mine. However, she opted to forego the pants, as the tunic was long enough to serve as a dress on her tiny frame, leaving her lower legs and feet bare.
Human toes were adorable.
My father prepared a sumptuous feast, the table groaning under the weight of platter after platter of roasted vegetables, spiced meats, and an array of ripe fruit. Each plate and utensil were exquisitely carved from fine wood and polished to a deep, lustrous shine that reflected the flickering candlelight. Even the cups, brimming with the rich, ruby-hued offering of Vysar’s homemade wine, were a testament to his craftsmanship.
“I must say, I’m impressed by how remarkably well you’ve thrived in exile, Father,” I said, my voice soft yet filled with admiration.
Vysar let out a low laugh that mingled with the cool evening air. “I’ve forged a life for myself here,” he replied, though his tone soon shifted to one of melancholy. His gaze drifted as if recalling bitter memories. “The queen was a poison that infected my soul more deeply than I ever realized. Once I was away from her—even in solitude—I became stronger... happier.” As he spoke, he slowly extended his arm, the soft rustling of his scales whispering against the silence. “Yet, I still lack the ability to shift my scales,” he added, his dark blue eyes locking onto mine in a steady, searching stare. “Can you?”
I lifted my hand in a dismissive gesture toward the vibrant cascade of color that stretched from my shoulder to my thigh. “No,” I admitted.
Vysar sighed, a deep, resonant sound that carried the weight of regret. “I can only imagine how harshly your mother must have treated you for what she saw as inadequacy.” He placed a large, warm hand on my arm, his touch both comforting and heavy with sorrow. “I am sorry, my son. Your mother took something sacred and warped it for her whim. I despise I was never strong enough as king to stop her.”
“What do you mean by sacred?” Lucy glanced up from the large pink fruit she nibbled, her bright eyes brimming with curiosity. “From what I’ve seen, the ability to shift your scales seems to transform you into an asshole.”
A rich, genuine laugh escaped Vysar, his deep blue eyes holding affection as he gazed at the human female. My father liked Lucy—a fact that, strangely enough, brought a warm glow to my heart.
“A long time ago, the gift of shifting one’s scales was bestowed by the goddess alone, intended solely to help Zarpazians protect their true mates,” Vysar began, his voice weaving the threads of myth and memory. “The Zarpazian mountain people—warrior folk, the queen’s bloodline, who saw themselves as stronger than most—refused to wait for the goddess’ blessings. Over centuries, through relentless training and sheer force of will, they learned to force the shifting of their scales. But this power came at a steep price,” my father shuddered. “Forcing a shift demands a price. It changes who you are on the inside. To take the shape of another requires even more sacrifice—the life force of the creature being mimicked.”
Lucy, her eyes alight with a mix of intrigue and grim understanding, ventured, “So, you actually kill whoever you shift into?”
“It is precisely why the mere touch of a Zarpazian shapeshifter is considered deadly,” Vysar replied, his tone heavy with regret.
Lucy turned her gaze towards me, her eyes shimmering with gratitude and a hint of something else. “Is that why you warned me not to let Seibring touch me?”
“Yes,” I confirmed, my voice barely above a whisper, but it wasn’t the whole truth. The thought of Seibring touching her was unbearable, although I knew the queen forbid him from harming her—too much.
Vysar continued, his voice imbued with a mix of nostalgia and sorrow. “Legends say that if a Zarpazian receives the blessing of shifting scales by meeting their true mate, it makes him or her stronger. Shifting for one’s true mate grants power without the need to steal another’s life force.”
Lucy, clearly enchanted by the romantic allure, mused softly, “Do Zarpazians no longer shift their scales for their mates?”
A shadow crossed Vysar’s features as he admitted with a pained sigh, “Not for centuries now. Not since our people began forcing the shift. It is an abomination—a perversion, and the goddess punishes us for our defiance.”
Lucy’s eyes darted between me and my father, her smile impish and adorable. “Personally, I’ve never been fond of the somber all-black look. I like color.”
Vysar chuckled warmly, a spark of amusement in his eyes. “I like you, little human.”
I liked Lucy too. A lot more than I was ready to admit.
Chapter 9
Lucy
I had a physician tell me once—as he was jabbing a needle into my spine—that the first minute was the worst part of anything.
Up until now, I thought that was true. And while there had been moments when I felt like a fish out of water—I honestly couldn't say there wasn't a time when I didn't love it on Eden.
The jungle was hard work. Everything we did, even the smallest task, contributed to our survival. Yet I had never felt more alive, as if every fiber of my being was perfectly aligned with the world around me. Happiness radiated through my veins like warm sunlight on a crisp morning.
The jungle was a vibrant quilt of blue and purple foliage, with an abundance of beautiful plants that seemed to paint the landscape with blossoms in every bright color imaginable. The air was thick and rich, infused with the earthy aroma of damp soil and the sweet scent of blooming flowers. I couldn't get enough of its beauty.
