Chapter 12

Wyn:

“Haunted amusement park.”

Wyn dropped the tablet into Lorran’s lap.

“Careful,” he said, adjusting himself to protect his vulnerable bits.

“Well, wear pants. Also, good morning. Also, put on some damn pants.”

“I hear no complaints,” he said.

Wyn threw a pair of wadded-up trousers at his head. Lorran reached up and snagged them before they could hit. He grinned, fangs peeking out over his bottom lips and his eyes bright with mirth.

No one had a right to be that gorgeous, all silvery lavender in the morning sunlight. It almost hurt her heart to look at him, let alone realize how quickly she was falling for him.

In the two weeks, they’d spent a fair amount of time together. From her understanding, with the shuttle as repaired as it could get, there was nothing to do but wait. During the first days, they scavenged a spare mattress, pillows, and linens from the empty bedrooms. Usable pieces had been cycled through the sonic cleaner in the shuttle to sanitize, as the cleansing units in the facility no longer operated.

Carrying out multiple loads had been a pain, especially with the rain, but it was better than beating it against rocks down by the river, so to speak. Any washing with water would have to be done by hand in the bathtub. No thanks. She’d happily cart out loads of laundry to the shuttle. It’d be just like going to the laundromat in college, only this time she didn’t have to scrape up the credits to run the machines.

With no network, entertainment was strictly do-it-yourself. She had her watercolor set, but only so much paper. The last she saw her art supplies, they had been packed up in boxes, ready to ship. They were probably already waiting at Lorran’s place.

Rain limited exploring outside. During the brief breaks in the rain, they walked the beach. Well, she walked. Lorran patrolled. It wasn’t exactly a romantic hand-in-hand stroll, but she appreciated the chance for her toes to dig into wet sand. Using sticks, she carved designs into the sand. The spider web bridge had a firm grasp on her imagination. Her creations stood for a moment before being erased by waves.

Shells were particularly interesting. She had an art professor obsessed with the golden ratio, a mathematical concept that could be seen in the spiral of a nautilus seashell and the seeds in a sunflower. She wondered if the same principle held true on this planet, if the golden ratio’s appearance was a design feature of carbon-based life and the rule held the same, regardless of gravity or atmospheric conditions. Particularly interesting specimens were scrubbed clean and decorated their room.

When it did rain, however, she was stuck inside that room. Only a few areas of the facility were deemed safe. Much of it was a no-go zone. Just as well. She didn’t mind Mylomon, even if he was too quiet and sulky, and Mikah never stopped asking questions, which could be exhausting. She wanted to avoid the other two, Saavi and Caldar, which meant hiding out in their room.

Lorran had a reader. She expected to find it full of adventure and military story, maybe military history, but instead found a boggling number of novelizations of a soap opera.

That’d teach her to make assumptions.

“Endless Hope and Suffering is a classic program. Venerable. A touchstone of Sangrin culture,” he said in a lofty tone. Apparently, his sister-in-law got him hooked. He’d read out loud to her, which was great, and she loved the sound of his voice, especially when he read the kissing bits, when he got all low and rumbly.

Yeah, especially then.

But it had been a week since they made out and Wyn knew what she’d like to be doing to pass the time on what was technically their honeymoon, but Lorran slept on a mattress on the floor. He kept making noise about doing this correctly and being a responsible mate. While all of that was sweet and reassuring the first week, they were coming up on two weeks now and Wyn was ready. More than ready.

She needed to move this business to the next level.

“You. Me. Date night,” she said.

“To this location?” He shielded the tablet from the sun with one hand and read. “A disused recreation zone.”

“Haunted. Amusement. Park. This will be the greatest date ever.”

“No. It is unsafe.”

“Did you or did you not drag me to a haunted ghost ship, which caught fire, and called it our first date?”

He nodded. “I was careless. You are too precious to risk again.”

Oh boy, this was not going how she wanted. Not that Wyn had her heart set on a haunted amusement park—okay, she did—but the rain finally let up and she wanted to do something. For all of his meditating in the buff, Lorran’s behavior was remarkably chaste. They kissed, yes, but he always seemed to hold himself back. Sure, being too precious to risk sounded good, but so far it had just meant sexual frustration.

Every time they came close, when kisses turned heated and she could feel how hard he was, there came a knock on the door. Mylomon, wanting to whisper about their super-secret mission.

She would have her date, she would flirt with her new husband, and she would get laid. No interruptions.

“I dare you to go on a date with me,” she said.

“Bronwyn…”

“I mean, if you want to lose a dare, fine.” Wyn took the tablet back and headed into their room.

Lorran scrambled behind her. “What happens if I lose?”

She shrugged, not having planned this far ahead. “Dunno. Nothing good.”

He licked his lips. “Will there be a kiss at the end of this date?”

“One kiss.”

He stepped forward, a hand on her hips. “Three.”

She leaned into him, soaking up his warmth. His arms went around her, pulling her tight. Enjoying how delicate she felt against him, she said, “Unlimited kisses.”

“Your negotiation techniques leave much to be desired. I would be without honor if I were to accept your terms.” His eyes sparkled with amusement. “But I am no paragon of virtue.”

His patience and fundamentally decent behavior spoke otherwise.

“I won’t tell if you don’t. Get your fancy duds on. Let’s go while the sun is still out,” she said. The rain would be back before long.

Lorran:

“This is ah-may-zing,” his mate said, dragging out the word.

The recreation center had not been properly shuttered before the base was decommissioned. A cluster of outdoor activities surrounded a central building. The first had swallowed most of the grounds. The rusted remains of an attraction or ride poked through the spring growth. Rain pattered on leaves because this planet rained constantly. He understood how a fungus could take hold.

Lorran scratched the base of his horns, then thought of fungal spores and jerked his hand away.

Cocooned in waterproof and hooded overcoat, his mate happily stomped through puddles. Delighted at her unrestrained joy, he allowed himself to be pulled by the hand to the central building.

Built of the same material as the main facility, the structure appeared sound, even if it crumbled at the edges. The main doors were secured, prohibiting entry.

Wyn tugged on the handles. “Not fair. There’s something amazing inside, I know it.”

“Mold. Fungus. Rotten floorboards. Rodents.”

“Stop trying to sell it. You’re trying too hard,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“I am familiar with Terran sarcasm.”

Yet he opened the door. The locking mechanism had corroded, jamming the tracks. Nothing more than brute force was required to work the doors open.

“The building smells of dampness and despair,” he said.

“Or is that mystery and adventure?”

“Despair. Definitely despair.”

His mate swept the beam of the portable light along the wall until she found a control panel. “Do you think the power still works?”

She pressed the controls before he could caution her about rodent-chewed wires and electrical shorts. With a loud whirr of electronics powering up, lights flickered on in a wash of colors and music, distorted through damaged speakers, flooded the building.

Wyn gasped.

“You have been electrocuted. I knew it.” Lorran reached for her hand, searching for damage.

“It’s beautiful,” she said.

Lorran inspected the recreation center again, trying to judge it from the perspective of his mate. Electronic games were sequestered to the left in a dark room. Screens flickered with ancient games. To the right was a concession area. He could smell the decaying remains of packaged food. No scent of rodents, fortunately.

Directly ahead was a rink, surrounded by a half wall. A silver ball spun overhead. Colored lights reflected off the orb, casting a spangle of colors across the floor. A possible dance floor.

“The decor is from the last century.”

“Doesn’t look Mahdfel.”

“Sangrin. It was a very…loud era.” He could not think of another word for it. His mother had family photos of her parents, who were youths during this time. Their clothes appeared garish, with excessive fabric for shirt collars and wide trouser legs. Apparently, they never met a color or print they did not appreciate. Worse still was how all clothing seemed to have been manufactured from an indestructible fabric. “I once wore my mother’s father’s clothing for a theme celebration at the Academy,” he said. Then added, “It was very itchy.”

Wyn pointed to a counter and the equipment stored behind. “Are those?”

“No,” he said, recognizing the equipment.

“They are!” His mate went around the counter and held up a pair of silver air skates. The iridescent material, still somehow shiny after sitting abandoned for years, sparkled in the light. “These were banned on Earth, so you know they’re fun. I always wanted to try air skating.”

“No. Those contraptions were banned for a reason. They are dangerous,” he said.

“Please. That ban was more about xenophobia than safety.” Wyn sniffed the boot. “Smells dry. What size do you take?”

“No. The maglev will be faulty. You will fall and hurt your—”

“Delicate little human feet?”

Yes, but he would not admit to it. Instead, he said, “Pride.”

“My pride has plenty of cushion. It can take a tumble.” She tossed him a pair of silver skates.

“A tumble?” He enjoyed the way the word rolled off her tongue. He especially enjoyed the way her face flushed when he repeated the word.

She fumbled at the boxy control panel on the counter. Electronic music, bright and bubbling, blared from ancient speakers. The flashing lights changed speed and colors to match the music. Her eyes went wide. “This is amazing!”

“It is loud!” he shouted.

“Don’t be a music snob.” She turned dials randomly. The volume decreased to a tolerable level. She nodded her head to the rhythm. “Come on. Show me your stuff,” she said.

When he opened his mouth to reply that she did not need an elaborate scheme to get him to display his stuff, she added, “On the dance floor. I’m all about the haunted discotheque vibe right now.”

Wyn:

Lorran’s arms cartwheeled as he frantically struggled to keep his balance. Hovering an inch off the ground, he reached for the half wall surrounding the rink. He clung on as if it were a life preserver and he adrift.

“Oh, look, you’re an expert,” she said.

“This is not a sport. It is torture.” He tried to right himself but tilted too far, nearly falling back. He clawed at the wall, holding himself upright.

Wyn shouldn’t laugh, knowing she wouldn’t do any better, but his face, the pure grumpy deliciousness on his face? She had to laugh.

“Join me. Then we will see who laughs,” he said in a totally non-threatening tone.

She finished lacing up her boots and stepped onto the rink.

Air whooshed up her body, somehow going under her pant legs and right on out her shirt collar.

That wasn’t right.

She held her arms out, letting her body balance and adjust to the boots. They worked through magnetic levitation and air pressure. Even if she fell, she was an inch off the ground. The worst that could happen was a bruised behind.

“This is just like roller skating,” she said, not knowing if that was true. She pushed off, and she sailed forward half a foot.

Oh. It really was like roller skating. She hadn’t been in ages. The last time she went was a church field trip, and that was pre-invasion. After, when the world patched itself together and places like roller rinks opened again, Wyn had to cart around a canister of oxygen. Sports and physical activities became a thing of the past for her. Hunting with her dad only happened because it involved sitting in a blind for hours, waiting for deer to wander their way.

Still, her body remembered how to move. She glided past Lorran, still clinging to the half wall, and did a lap around the rink.

“I guess I’m still laughing at you,” she said as she finished her lap, pulling up to a stop.

“I am a highly trained warrior,” he huffed.

She hummed in agreement. “Punching, stabbing, shooting. Sure. Come on.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him into the center of the rink.

“Do not.” His feet shuffled back and forth, doing nothing to slow their progress.

“Use your whole body, not just your feet.” She moved backward, facing him and holding his hands. “Relax. Lean into it. There ya go.”

The wobbliness disappeared, but he lurched forward, bending forward as she pulled him. They moved in a large figure eight. Speed made staying upright easier. Colorful lights flashed and danced around them.

“You are going too fast,” he warned. Blue and gold squares of light moved across his face.

“Going too slow makes you fall. You’re getting better,” she said, and he immediately stumbled, tightening his hold on her hand. Okay, a little better. “Relax. Did you ever do winter sports? Skiing? Skating?”

“Ice fishing.”

“Walking on ice probably took a minute, huh?” You’d never find her behind out in the freezing cold, but whatever.

Gradually, Lorran’s rigid posture melted into something more fluid, and he moved easier. He’d never be a roller disco champ, but that was fine. Neither would she. In the center of the rink, she broke free of his grasp. He waved his arms but stayed upright.

Wyn skated back and twirled. The room spun, a riot of color and music with static fraying at the edges. Her head continued to spin even after she stopped, and she felt herself tilting.

A strong pair of arms caught her.

Lorran held her close. With their height difference, she had to crane her neck back to look him in the eyes. They sparkled, full of mirth.

“Having fun?”

“I am enjoying this part.”

He pushed, and they spun in a slow, wide circle. Music and lights swirled. Her arms went around his neck, and his arms went around her waist.

Call her shallow, but she liked how his body made her feel. All her life, she’d been tall. At six feet, people made one of two comments: how’s the weather up there, or some snide remark about good birthing hips. Oscar had been two inches shorter than her. While he never said anything about being the short one, Wyn unconsciously slouched when they stood side by side.

How wonderful to be the smaller one in a pair, to stare up and feel herself be surrounded by strong arms. On the ghost ship, Lorran picked her up and carried her like she weighed nothing. She didn’t have a chance to revel in the sensation, but now, with static tinged music and garish lights, she loved it.

She loved him.

It was way too soon to think something like that, but now the notion wedged itself in her brain. Attraction and friendship? Yes, they had that. Whatever this was—lust, infatuation, love, or even a delusion brought on by alien fungal spores—it warmed her right down to her soul.

“Lorran,” she said.

“Yes, my mate?”

Damn if the way he said that didn’t make her shiver.

“I think you should kiss me now,” she said.

“Is this the end of our date? I won the dare.”

“Unlimited kisses,” she said, despite thinking that they both won.

Lorran lifted her up, her feet drifting out from underneath her like she had her own set of rules for gravity. Warm and consuming, they shared so many kisses over the last week, but this one had a new element: promise.