Page 8 of Jorax
As we glide across the deserted country toward the falls overlook, Syrryn chatters excitedly about her childhood love for astronomy and meteor showers. Her passion is contagious, making me eager to see the falling rocks in a new light rather than just debris burning up in orbit. I find myself getting caught up in her enthusiasm despite my usual pragmatic nature.
By the time I grab a blanket from the back of my hover and spread it on the grassy overlook, the first meteors are streaking overhead. Syrryn gives a little gasp, green eyes round with delight. “This is amazing! It reminds me so much of the summer meteor showers back home. My sister and I used to sneak out on our roof to watch.”
I settle on the blanket beside her, allowing myself a moment just to enjoy her presence. In the silvery starlight, I can almost imagine she wanted to be here with me, not just because Icaron disappointed her.
“When I was little, my father told me that flashing meteors were the spirits of departed loved ones bidding us farewell from the heavens. It’s silly, but I still kind of believe it whenever I see one streak by.” I tilt my head back, tracking a bright flash. “Like that one, maybe someone’s spacefaring aunt is winking at us as she passes on to the great beyond.”
“That’s beautiful.” Syrryn’s shoulder nudges mine. “Not silly at all.”
I chance a glance at her profile highlighted in the gloom, the stars reflecting in her eyes as she watches the spectacle in awe. Even if this is all I ever have with her, just being here together under the falling stars feels special. I tuck the memory away, a talisman against lonelier times.
The meteor shower continues, more spectacular than I anticipated. I expect Syrryn will ask to leave soon. She must be exhausted after working all day.
But she makes no move to go, snuggling deeper into her jacket as her eyes track the glittering streaks overhead. I’m hyper-aware of her shoulder pressed against my arm, her thigh a hair’s breadth from my leg. My pulse thrums faster than the flashing meteors.
Eventually, she gives a jaw-cracking yawn.
“I should let you get home,” I say reluctantly. As much as I’m savoring this stolen moment with her, I don’t want to be selfish.
Syrryn shakes her head, blinking heavy-lidded eyes. “I’m happy right here watching the show with you.”
She lays her head on my chest with a contented sigh. I freeze, pulse roaring in my ears. Ever so slowly, before I can overthink it, I bring my arm around her. When she doesn’t pull away, tension leaks from my frame. I breathe her in and mentally label the scent cinnamon and stardust.
Gazing down at her lovely face limned in starshine, affection swells inside me. I consider brushing back a silken strand of chestnut hair that’s come loose from the fancy bun that was low on her nape that she wore when she changed into that pretty dress for Icaron.
My fingers twitch with the urge to trace her petal-soft cheek, to span the delicate wings of her shoulders. But I don’t dare disturb this miracle granted me.
As Syrryn’s breathing deepens into sleep, I guard her slumber, keeping vigil through the darkness. I’ve never felt so needed, so whole. Here under the rain of light with Syrryn close enough for me to hear her heartbeat, just for this sweet instant the monster fades away and only the male remains.
Chapter Ten
Syrryn
I drift awake, enveloped in warmth, the solid bulk of a muscular chest rising and falling steadily beneath my cheek. For a disoriented moment, I tense, confused about where I am and how I ended up using this hulking beast as a pillow.
Then memory filters back—stargazing with Jorax, oohing and ahhing over the meteor shower, laughing over his surprisingly profound comments about the meaning behind the streaking lights. Sleep overtook me at some point, along with the insane urge to snuggle against his sturdy frame as if he were a humongous version of a favorite stuffed toy from childhood.
As I awaken, my first impulse is to jerk away in embarrassment, but the weight of his arm around my shoulders is undeniably comforting. Now that awareness has returned, I have to admit… I feel safe here. Protected.
I breathe deep, catching traces of cedar and harsh soap wafting at me from Jorax’s warm bulky frame. The scent triggers a swell of affection in my chest. I can’t remember the last time I awoke feeling so content.
My mind drifts back over the past weeks: the easy camaraderie between us in the lab and Jorax’s shy smiles when I asked him to join me exploring the falls or little cafes around Arixxia Fields. So different from Icaron’s polished charm and bold invitations to fancy restaurants and cultural events, yet so much more genuine—and comfortable.
When did I start looking forward to my humble outings with Jorax more than the prospect of lavish dates with my striking supervisor? The realization hits me like a thunderclap: I haven’t missed Icaron at all these past weeks. Truth be told, I was relieved when he canceled, even though it pissed me off that he did it last minute, and by comm.
With Jorax, I feel completely myself, appreciated just as I am without the makeup and slinky dresses. We connect on a deeper level, built on trust and understanding rather than attraction.
I lift my head carefully from the steady rise and fall of his chest, peering up at Jorax’s craggy profile, silvered by starlight. He looks almost peaceful in repose, the tension that usually tightens his shoulders is blissfully absent.
Unable to resist, I reach to smooth my fingers over one perpetually furrowed brow, marveling at the texture of his skin under my fingertips. How can it look so harsh and yet be soft as rose petals?
Overhead, the meteors continue to blaze across the sky in brilliant flashes. I watch their glittering trails reflect in Jorax’s eyes when they blink open to meet mine. My breath catches at the emotion laid bare there: hope, longing, and perhaps a glimmer of fear that I’ll pull away now that this dreamy interlude has ended.
Impulsively my gaze drops to his full lips, chapped from anxious biting but infinitely gentle when he speaks with me. I wonder how they would feel pressed to mine, if he tastes as earthy and wild as he smells.
Forcing those thoughts to the far reaches of my mind, I start a conversation. Instead of the intimacy of kissing, I pursue a different type of intimacy—emotional.
“I never told you why I’m so passionate about curing Eryxi.” I may not have the nerve to kiss him, but I courageously wind my fingers through his. Though his eyes flare wide in surprise, he doesn’t yank his hand away, in fact, he grips me tighter.
