Page 34 of Survivor
Lucy pulled back slightly, her eyes meeting mine without a trace of sadness. Instead, they sparkled with hope and affection, like twin stars guiding me home. “We’ll just have to consider this place our vacation home,” she suggested with a smile.
I had no idea what the wordvacationmeant, but I liked the idea of thinking of this planet as a home. It was, after all, where I’d discovered my mate. I lifted her soft hand to my lips, tenderly kissing each precious knuckle. “Come,” I whispered against her skin, “we must find my father.”
We found Vysar at the edge of the jungle behind our treehouse, carefully harvesting the plump, green-veined roots that Lucy affectionately calledalien sweet potatoes. He’d heard the arrival of the ship piercing the atmosphere but had mistaken it for one of Terk’s experiments. Apparently, the Peecha chief liked to blow things up from time to time.
When we explained about Diarvet’s skip and my theory regarding his restoration to the throne, my father’s reaction wasn’t the elation I’d anticipated. A shadow of something—perhaps reluctance? —crossed his features. Nevertheless, he insisted we return to the treehouse to prepare a proper welcome for my cousin.
By my calculations, Diarvet’s ship had touched down several clicks to the north, but my cousin was an excellent tracker. I knew he would find his way to us soon enough.
We arranged ourselves around a table and chairs at the base of the tree—a small nook Lucy called ourpicnic spot,layingout an array of refreshments as we settled in to await my cousin’s arrival. The waiting stretched longer than expected, the shadows growing as time passed. I had already savored two cups of the rich, amber Peecha-brewed wine when the telltale rustling offoliage announced someone approaching from the tree line to our left.
But instead of Diarvet’s familiar silhouette, a Peecha warrior named Sivet emerged from the undergrowth. My father greeted him warmly, raising the special finger greeting Lucy taught us—the one that always brought that adorable giggle to her lips. Yet something felt amiss. Sivet didn’t return the customary gesture as he should. Instead, confusion flickered across his features before he awkwardly nodded and raised his hand in a wave.
Icy fingers of dread traveled down my spine. “That’s not Sivet.” I surged to my feet, took a few strides forward, and positioned myself between my family and the fake Peecha.
“How did you find us, Seibring?” I didn’t see the point of pretending to be obtuse.
Neither did Seibring. A vicious, hateful laugh tore from his throat as pale brown fur twisted into black scales. I seized the distraction of his shift to whip a desperate glance over my shoulder at Lucy and my father.
“Run,” I snarled, locking eyes with my father. “Protect her.”
My father gave a sharp nod, then seized Lucy’s hand and hauled her toward the tree line. She fought him with every step.
I spun back to Seibring, watching as his shift completed. His clawed hands caressed his blackened scales like a bird preening its feathers.
“It wasn’t easy to find you,” Seibring admitted. “We tortured Diarvet for days, but he remained loyal to you, the fool.”
Diarvet. The thought of what had been done to my family—my friend—tore through me like a blade. My voice cracked as I forced out the words, “Does he live?”
Seibring’s shoulders lifted and fell, lackadaisically, indicating he didn’t know and didn’t care. “You know, your cousin Diarvet’s coloring is a lot like your father’s. It’s what made your mother realize that you might have come here. You always preferred the weaker among us.”
As if to punctuate that he wasn’t among the weaker, Seibring shifted again, growing larger still. “We will deal with you and your worthless father, as we should have dealt with you before. And….” A slow, malicious smile curved his lips. “We will take your little human back to Zarpazia to suffer the aakdani as vengeance for Vreses.”
When Seibring's words about Lucy sliced through the air, something primal and ancient erupted within me. The transformation wasn't a conscious choice—it was as inevitable as my heart's next beat, as fundamental to my existence as the burning need to shield my mate from harm. Power surged through my veins like molten fire as I matched my cousin's shift, my body expanding and strengthening. The raw shock that crashed across Seibring's features was intoxicating as he witnessed what he—until now—deemed impossible.
"How?" The word tore from his throat, his fury now a palpable, suffocating force.
"A gift from the goddess." The words rolled off my tongue with quiet reverence as I allowed myself the luxury of a casual shrug.
"Impossible," he snarled, his voice dripping with disbelief. "That is only legend—ancient myth. Only the very strong among us can shift at will."
"And yet here I stand, transformed by the sacred bond with my true mate." I spread my arms wide, turning in a slow, deliberate circle, ensuring he bore witness to every inch of my shifted form. Not a single scale of my original coloring remained, my body now a testament to the goddess's blessing.
For one fleeting moment, pure shock flickered across Seibring's angular features before it twisted into something far more sinister—cold, calculating disdain. "The human female?" A sharp, cruel laugh erupted from his lips, the sound like breaking glass. "Oh, when your mother learns of this abomination, she will make that pathetic creature suffers in ways you cannot imagine."
The words against Lucy settled over my skin, strengthening me. “No one will hurt my mate.”
“You will die, Cousin,” Seibring promised. “And the female will scream in agony.”
We lunged at each other, the fury escaping my lips in a roar. This time, Seibring and I were evenly matched—two predators locked in mortal combat. We collided with bone-jarring force, razor-sharp claws slashing through humid air while fists hammered for any opening, our savage roars and the wet crack of impact drowning the jungle in a symphony of violence.
Seibring fought with the languid confidence of an apex predator, his movements fluid and calculated, accustomed to being the superior force in any battle. But when my claws raked across his chest, tearing through flesh and muscle to paint crimson streaks across his torso, his eyes widened with the sudden realization that he had finally met his match.
He bellowed in anger, tackling me to the ground and raining punches at my head. The shift came naturally, without thinking, and instinctively protected me by raising sharp spikes across my shoulders and along my spine. Impaling his fist on a spike ended the torrent of blows. Seibring staggered to his feet, grunting painfully as his hand dripped blood on the jungle floor.
I jumped to my feet, my fist connecting with his face. The satisfying crunch of cartilage and bone reverberating through my knuckles as his nose collapsed under the impact. Blooderupted from his nostrils in a crimson spray. With a bone-deep howl that echoed off the walls, Seibring staggered backward, his hands flying to his ruined face.
I watched with predatory satisfaction as every muscle in his body coiled and rippled, veins bulging beneath his skin as he fought to harness the shift. His frame expanded with violent, jerking motions—bones lengthening, muscles swelling to grotesque proportions, his very essence straining against the confines of his flesh as he transformed into something far more monstrous.
