What He Needed
Grash sat on the edge of the bed and ran a hand over his head. In the moonlight, his scales glowed brightly – emerald green layered with blues and reds that seemed to pop, and a swath of golden yellow across the back of his shoulders bisected only by a line of royal purple. In his previous life, the beauty of his scales would fill him with comfort. His beauty was natural. But here, on Earth, the glow from his scales only gave him further reminder that he was different.
He looked behind him and watched the sleeping human form of his bedmate. Her short, dark hair was matted against her skull, and her bare, pale skin glowed white in the light of the moon. She had kicked off the blankets in her sleep, which revealed the dark shadows of scars on her person. The worst was the raised, twisted, puckered line that ran down her neck and disappeared on her back.
He sneered at her form. She was nothing like Varn. His beautiful, beloved, intelligent, caring Varn. Varn was everything to him. Varn was the breath in his body; the blood in his veins. Varn was life itself.
But Varn was dead. And what was left of him remained in this pitiful human.
Grash sighed heavily and stood, walking over to the window. Thanks to the Valdairian Task Force, and their zoning laws, he and every other Valdairian in the city were restricted to the ghettos that formed the outskirts. The buildings were falling apart, but they managed. Right now, there were only one or two houselights on, signaling that they, like him, couldn’t sleep. This happened too often now; ever since the invasion of Earth, and the eventual peace between the two species, he could never sleep the night through.
Before . . . before, Varn was there to comfort him. Like Grash, Varn’s scales were deep emerald green and sapphire blue, but his back was completely and totally purple (bisected only by a line of yellow on the shoulders, mirroring Grash’s purple), signaling his status of royalty. But Varn was kind, and wise, and . . . perfect.
In every way. He cared about these filthy humans, and about setting up the peace between Earth and Valdair.
And that was his undoing.
He was walking towards Grash, finally free of the so-called scientists who performed un-needed tests and hurt him in ways unknown to Valdairians. The girl, Amelia, with her white hair and body piercings, walked towards the humans on the other side of the meeting. An exchange of all prisoners of war; that was the agreement.
Varn was so close now; Grash could feel his mind in his own, feel Varn’s joy as his own, his happiness and ecstasy-
BLAM!
-and out of nowhere came a sound that hurt Grash’s ears. Varn’s chest exploded with a spray of purple blood, and he collapsed.
Grash rushed to him, grabbing him and peering at the wound. He knew already, without a doubt, that there was no saving him. His chest was torn open; he could see all the inner workings of Varn’s chest as they continued to pump and go as if nothing had happened.
“Varn,” he whispered, clutching the dying body to himself. “Varn. Oh Varn . . . Oh, Ortha, I’m so sorry.”
Amelia rushed over as well and threw herself at Varn. “OhmyGod!” she whimpered. “Oh God! I . . .I feel it!”
He knew what the human was talking about. He could feel it too – Varn’s pain, coming in over the psychic link they shared. The pain of having one’s chest blown apart. This was only possible with mates who had accomplished kishnedaid – a pooling of the consciousness of the two.
It was a mistake that Varn had accomplished kishnedaid with the human. An accident. Varn had put his mind into hers to gain information about the planet. It was a simple method, but something had gone horribly wrong – or Varn had a change of heart in the middle of the procedure.
But now Grash could feel the girl’s panic through the shared link. She was crying over Varn’s form in his arms, and shaking, and her feelings of loss and desperation made him want to weep as well.
“I’m so sorry!” she kept repeating over and over.
Varn was shaking his head at her, and placed on hand against her cheek.
It’s not your fault, child of my heart, he said through the link. This world has its demons, and I have not guarded myself against them.
“I’m still sorry,” she whispered. Then, her eyes lit up, and she looked towards Grash. “Kishnedaid. Two minds as one. Can they . . . can they inhabit one body?”
No, Amelia! Don’t! Varn struggled against Grash’s arms. His mouth was coated in blood, and his wound was bleeding torrents. People surrounded them, but none of them did anything.
Grash had other ideas. “Yes,” he said. “They can.” He turned to Varn and said, “You can-”
“He can go into me,” Amelia said quickly.
Grash stared at her, abashed. “You would do that for him – for us?”
She stared back at him with level eyes and said, “I would create, save, and destroy entire worlds for him.”
Now, the only living piece of Varn lived in her. In the six months since it had happened, Amelia had let the white hair dye grow out of her hair to return to its natural dark brown, but she still had rings in her ears – and a patch of scales on each of her hands.
Her left was purple – Varn’s, after he had passed. Grash knew that it was what his mate would’ve wanted. Her right was green – from him.
He looked down at his own hand. On his right palm sat a patch of her skin shaped like a cross, where it had been tattooed to be black.
“It’s for my brother and sisters who died,” she told him. “No one else will remember them, so this way I always will.”
It was strangely sentimental, the idea of a tattoo to recall one’s hatch-mates. But stupid. Completely stupid. If this girl wanted to recall her hatch-mates, then she should have done more than put a cross on her hand. There was no point to it.
He did not love this girl as he did Varn. By Ortha, he barely liked the girl. She was too soft, and short – only five feet compared to his eight feet. She had bad moods from out of nowhere, and she was lazy.
But she housed what was left of Varn, and this changed her mannerisms. She turned pages the way he did, sat like he did, and even spoke in the soft, careful tones he did (sometimes, anyway). And how could he hate what was left of the only one he ever loved?
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Amelia stirring. Fantastic. This was exactly what he needed right now.
She turned her eyes to his form silhouetted against the window, and sat up. “What are you doing?” she asked.
“Leaving,” he quipped. “You have told me that I could not stay, so I am heading back to my lodgings.”
This was not the first time he had come to her in need. Nor would it be the last.
But she had laid down the law after the second time.
She stared at him from across the room, a shirt in one hand and her other on her hip.
“Look, Grash, I don’t appreciate you coming over for a fuck and then griping at me in the morning. If you’re gonna act like a total asshole, then you gotta get your ungrateful ass outta my house before I get up.”
He sneered at her and stood to his full height, towering over her. “I will not take orders from one such as you,” he growled. “And who says that I will come back to
you?”
With a dirty look, she held up her hands to show her palms covered in scales. “You’ve made me your mate,” she said. “By Valdairian law, if you do go to someone other than me on your lonely nights, then you can be executed.”
He knew she was right, on both accounts. He’d be back. He’d always come back.
“You don’t have to, tonight,” she shrugged. “You look tired. Come back to bed.”
Grash bared his teeth and hissed, “And who said I would want to stay?”
Amelia’s eye grew hard, and she got up from the bed. She walked over to him, grabbed his hand, and pulled him back to the bed. After pushing him so he was sitting on the mattress, she sat astride his thighs and grabbed his face in her hands. Her hands were soft against his scales, and he could feel himself relaxing under her touch, as much as he didn’t want to.
Look at me, she said through their link. Look. At. Me.
He trained his eyes on hers. Her face was a mask of determination, and her pale green eyes were flashing with hidden anger.
And keeping her eyes on his, she opened her mind to him as wide as she could, and he could feel every thought in her head. He had to close his eyes against the
overwhelming feeling.
-(have all the respect for you in the world and sometimes I totally freaking hate you because you’re so pig-headed and sometimes I can’t help but love you and the strength you have and everything that you stand for and I’m hurt when you say those things to me because I know that deep down you don’t mean them you’re just still hurting from Varn and you’re scared that this means that you’re losing your race and your culture but you’re not so just calm your ass down)-
Grash could feel himself falling back onto the mattress. The feelings she was emitting were taking over his mind, but he was strangely fine with it.
“You’re tired,” she repeated, this time out loud. “There’s a bed here. Take advantage of it.”
She draped herself over him, finally letting go of his face and relaxing the link.
Grash was finally able to open his eyes. The warmth on his chest was comforting, and he could feel his mind drifting off.
Amelia smirked to herself as she felt Grash fall asleep. He was in total denial. Thanks to their mind link, she knew him better than she knew herself. Deep down, he actually cared about her, but refused to say anything about it because he was still mourning Varn. But through persistence, he’d be able to see the truth.
Varn was what he (thought he) wanted.
Be she was what he needed.
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Hey guys, look what I wrote!
