She snorted at his unexpected competitiveness. “Love you too, Danger B. Let’s do this.”
Life wasn’t without problems, but it was small potatoes. She had been sold at auction, stuffed in a freezer, and woke up years later on the other side of the galaxy. Somehow, she found the love of her life in a grumpy red alien. They were good together. Better than good. They were better together.
You reap what you sow.
Thalia hoped so. They had a lifetime of love and laughter to harvest.
Epilogue
Havik
One Year Later
A frail male shuffled into the room. With his shoulders bowed and deep lines on his face, he appeared sunken into himself.
This was the male who tormented his mate?
“He looks so…old,” Thalia said. She made no move to enter the visitors’ room.
The guard made an impatient sigh, and Havik tossed the male a glare. He made a small squeak and muttered about taking all the time they needed.
“I thought I wanted to talk to him. I don’t know. Brag. Show him that he didn’t destroy me,” she said.
“I believe you wanted to gloat.”
“I want to stick a knife in his heart. He shot a man right in front of me. The blood sprayed on me. Who does that?” She shook her head, as if clearing unpleasant memories. “I want him to suffer.”
He did not understand Terran justice. They wanted criminals and wrongdoers to suffer but they had so many rules regarding fair treatment, housing, and food. Had he found the male before the Terran authorities; his mate would not be agonizing over whether to speak to the male who tormented her. They would be standing over a grave.
Well, he’d probably be pissing on the male’s grave, but that was a small detail.
He did not want to visit the correctional facility, but Thalia claimed she needed something called “closure.”
Ridiculous concept. He happily let the desert take his father’s body. He did not require a ceremony to get on with his life. He had his clever mate and a good position in a thriving clan. While he and Ren had been the first of Rolusdreus to join the Judgment, they were not the last. The clan had a healthy mix of warriors from every Mahdfel-allied planet, but the majority were Sangrin-born. While Kaos had been tearing his clan apart, Paax had been building his. He would have enjoyed boasting about this to Kaos, but he could not, for obvious reasons.
He ran a hand down his braid. Perhaps closure was not such a ridiculous concept.
Mais remained on Rolusdreus, continuing her wildlife rescue mission. She sent the sporadic update, complete with a video of the egg hatching and photos of infant kumakre. The best video, in his opinion, captured the young kumakre wrestling and tumbling in the sand with the fully grown Stabs’ tail. Ren continued tracking poachers and smugglers. The auction house raid disrupted one cell in a network. There were many more cells to uncover. As for him, he was recruited as a pilot. The Judgment had many crafts that lacked the necessary headroom for the horns of the Sangrin-born warriors. Sometimes he flew Ren on a mission. Other times he patrolled in the depths of dark space.
The solitude suited him, surrounded by starlight.
He was a fortunate male. He had a mate he loved and a position he enjoyed in a good clan. Every day, he saw the outcome of his work. He protected his family and all the families in the system.
The male sat at a metal table; his hands bound by chains to a fixture on the floor. He looked toward the door, waiting.
“Can he see us through the glass?” Havik asked the guard.
“No.”
Thalia stirred. “Fuck Nicky. We have better places to be,” she said.
He agreed.
Thalia
A cold wind blew. A light layer of snow covered the ground, and the heavy gray clouds promised more snow. Havik adjusted the woolen scarf wrapped around his neck but did not complain.
She laid the bouquet of colorful spring flowers in front of the memorial. It took some research, but she determined that her mother had been buried in one of the Invasion-era unmarked mass graves. Specifically, this one.
Hip high, the memorial curved around the site like arms outstretched for an embrace. Tidy rows and columns listed the names of the fallen engraved in stone. A brief search brought her to her mother’s name.
Stephanie Fullerton.
Her fingers traced the etching, the cold of the stone chilling her.
“I don’t know what to say,” she muttered and glanced over her shoulder to Havik. The wind picked up strands of his hair, blowing it into a mess around his face. She knew he felt the cold keenly, but he stood patiently, arms behind his back, a soldier at rest.
“Mom, you weren’t a very good mom. I know you tried, and I don’t know what you had to deal with.” Thalia swallowed a lump in her throat.
A year ago, she might have railed about always being second-best, about how angry and lonely she had been growing up, and how she still felt unreasonably angry. According to the dates etched under her mother’s name, Stephanie had been barely more than a child herself when she had Thalia.
“You did the best you could. It sucked. Sucks. I’m sorry I never got a chance to visit you before. The guy that took me in…Well, he didn’t allow this sentimental stuff, but I could have snuck away if I wanted to.” Thalia hadn’t. Teenage anger and angst kept her away. “Anyway, I’m okay. I thought I should tell you that.”
Thalia pressed her hand to the polished stone. The sun broke through the clouds, creating a sheen across the surface.
She stepped back and grabbed Havik’s hand. “One more,” she said.
Edward “Doc” Mitchell was buried in an old pre-Invasion cemetery, interred in a plot next to his wife, who preceded
