She gives me a Molly mate hug. The sort of hug that seeps deep inside of me. It chases away the lingering shadows. Brightens places that have never seen light.
“Your anguish is a part of you, Draven. Just like my anguish is a part of me. I’m not crying because you upset me. I’m crying for you, Draven. For all you’ve gone through and what you lost,” she says, her voice shaky.
I rest my visor’s glass against hers, so I can see her lovely face. We share a moment before I pull away and hunt for my rope. After tethering us together, I clench my jaw as I worry about the travel through this channel.
“Stay behind me, and cut anything that comes near us,” I instruct. “I’ll cover us from the front.”
“We’ve got this, boo.”
I don’t know what a boo is, but my mate likes to make up names for me. I think of them as her hug words. Like verbal squeezes to my heart. They affect me all the same. Lift me up and power me to continue on.
With my mate, I’ll always keep moving forward.
The shadows don’t own me anymore.
I have my very own sun in the dark, chasing away the monsters.
11
Molly
It’s like trying to walk through a tornado.
Impossible.
But, somehow, with Draven leading the way, anything seems possible.
I tuck my chin down and force one foot in front of the other. My thighs tremble under the strain, and I’ve given up trying to moderate my breathing. I’m sure Draven can hear my heaving over the comms, but if he does, he doesn’t mention it.
The red-orange dust obliterates most of the light, and what little is left is hazy-red, battering my protective visor. It amazes me how the morts have survived on this brutal planet for so long when every inch of it seems designed to wipe out life instead of help sustain it. I grasp the tether more firmly at the thought and keep pushing forward. One step at a time.
That’s how I’ve survived so far.
One step at a time.
Thinking the word survive has the memory of meeting Draven for the first time springing to the forefront. I begin to hum the song again without thinking as we trek on, the journey seemingly endless. I don’t realize it for a few minutes, but Draven begins to sing along with me, his voice sure and baritone.
Of course, it doesn’t take long before the exertion is too strenuous to keep singing, but I hum along with Draven with every step, focusing on the words, the melody, instead of the endlessness.
“Watch your nog!” Draven shouts suddenly, then reaches back, shoving my head down between my legs. Exhausted from the strain, my legs buckle, and I fold into a crouch.
“What is it?” I yell once I catch my breath.
Once the danger has passed, Draven carefully helps me to my feet. As he checks my suit and gear for damage, he explains, “Rocks, debris from the mountain that broke off during the geostorms. We must be careful. If I tell you to get down, you get down without hesitating. Will you do this for me?”
His voice is urgent, pleading. Recognizing his desperation as fear for my safety, I nod. “Of course. As long as you don’t put yourself in any danger either.”
Draven leans closer to press the face of his gear against mine. I close my eyes and imagine him holding me like he had the night before. “I have no desire to meet The Eternals, Molly. Not anymore.”
I read the gravity of his words in his eyes and tears spring to mine before I push the rush of emotion down and back. Not now. I couldn’t save my own child, but I will save Aria’s. “Later,” I tell him. “Let’s get out of this mess, and then we’ll do the dirty.”
Draven winces comically. “Dirty?” he asks with a shudder. “Must we?”
Despite the precariousness of our situation and the constant howl and threat from the flying rocks, I laugh. “Sex, Draven. Sex.”
He quirks his head then turns around. “We morts do not like getting dirty. Dirt contains germs and can be dangerous. But I agree that mating can sometimes be so.” He glances over his shoulder and gives me a heated look. “I’ll get dirty, but only for you, my mate.”
“Then, let’s get going and get to the other side.”
We travel for hours more, dodging missiles of jagged rock. Out of nowhere, Draven is struck by a boulder the size of a small squirrel. He flips, ass over tea kettle, and lands some dozen feet away, still for a few long, heart-wrenching moments. Still holding the tether, I inch my way toward his still body, my heart in my throat.
When I reach him, I huddle down and shake his shoulder. “Draven?” I say over the comms. “Draven, are you okay?”