THE SOLARIUM

Stellan could shapeshift into anything—except a good partner. His nine ex-wives were evidence of that.

Maybe it was time to try a husband.

A wall of floor-to-ceiling windows displayed the Earth below in all its majesty, but Stellan had his back turned. He was watching Okubra.

Amber light flashed on his curved horns, swirled in his six slit-pupiled eyes, and settled gently on his pale golden fur as he conversed with a group of alien ambassadors. He wore a bronze tunic embroidered with red leaves—a traditional garment of his species, the ivekenaa—which obscured his lithe figure. He looked as staid as you’d expect the head of an interplanetary embassy to be, but Stellan wasn’t fooled. He’d seen Okubra shirtless. There was nothing boring about those pecs.

Stellan’s heart raced at the thought of his and Okubra’s weekly sparring sessions, but he forced himself to turn away. That was his best friend, after all. He couldn’t afford for Okubra to become yet another victim whirled through his romantic orbit.

Stellan met his own weary eyes reflected in the window. He’d tried to liven them up by turning them electric green, but, even with his nagging crow’s feet shifted away, they still looked old. And pained. Shifting his fifty-year-old face into a suave mask that passed for thirty gave him a headache. If he had any sense, he’d have blown off the museum gala stayed in his penthouse—more specifically, in bed, with the lights off, his massager mattress on, and enough Lullian-down feather pillows to get him sanctioned by animal rights activists across the galaxy.

But Stellan Ersetz had an image to live up to. He was the shapeshifter who’d been defending the Earth since his teens—a celebrity, a hero. He didn’t look old, or sad, or sick, and he certainly didn’t pine after someone with zero interest in him. That would just be pathetic.

“Enjoying the view?”

Stellan’s heart fluttered—barf—at the sound of Okubra’s voice. He’d been too lost in thought to notice his approach.

“I’ve seen it all before,” Stellan replied, turning with practiced carelessness.

Okubra towered over him, and Stellan couldn’t help but feel miffed. He could make himself taller, of course, but then Okubra would know he was bothered and get adorably smug.

“Really?” Okubra’s eyes glittered playfully. “I assumed something fascinating was keeping you away from the conversation. I know nothing interests you more than transgalactic tax policies.”

“I always pay attention to tax policies—how else would I do such a great job evading them?”

“Your civic commitment is an inspiration to us all,” said Okubra in the snarky tone he only ever used around Stellan.

“You sound like my ex wives,” said Stellan.

Okubra laughed. “Which ones?”

“Four and seven,” Stellan replied. “Four especially. Her passive-aggression was an art form.”

“What about Cori?” Okubra asked, naming Stellan’s earliest ex.

Strangely enough, Stellan and Cori were on decent terms these days. She mostly put up with him for the kids, but it meant something that she invited him to her museum’s charity gala every year, right?

Stellan glanced toward the dais on the opposite end of the ballroom where Dr. Cori Halcyon was holding court. She was speaking to a delegation of many-legged Pothuul, the species who made first contact with Earth. From a distance, she was a mouse of a woman, small and gray, but, like with Okubra, Stellan knew better than to trust her appearance.

“Cori prefers aggressive-aggression.”

“I thought that was wife number five.”

Stellan groaned. “The Godqueen of Galorthak was sixth, and that was a mistake, okay? I’ve got the claw marks to prove it.”

Okubra nodded. “And it was a terrible shame about the moon.” He reached out and straightened the lapels of Stellan’s heinous green tuxedo. Stellan tried not to react to the gentle brush of those soft, long-fingered hands on his chest. “I imagine Cori will go on a similar rampage when she catches you in this.”

“She specifically asked me not to wear it,” Stellan replied with a grin. “You know what that means.”

“That’s my Stellan, always so accommodating.”

My Stellan. Okubra was only teasing, but Stellan longed to hear those words in earnest. With Okubra, the pressure to be someone or something else faded into the background. He saw the wreckage in the wake of each failed marriage, not the glib asides tossed off on intergalactic talk shows. He was at Stellan’s bedside when he woke up from back surgery five years ago—a procedure Stellan had taken great pains to keep from the general public. Stellan wondered what it would be like to be loved for who he was as opposed to what he could be.

But Okubra deserved better. So did most of Stellan’s exes, for that matter. Especially Cori. Not only was she the founder of the galaxy’s greatest museum, she also had full custody of the kids. That was what happened when the father was late to court due to the launch of his latest fragrance line. Back then, Stellan had been too self-centered to realize what was at stake, chasing fame at the expense of what mattered.

The kids loved Okubra, though. Stella, fascinated by other planets, drilled Okubra with questions about his home world, and Cody constantly begged for martial arts demonstrations. Young ivekenaa played many war games; since moving to Earth, Okubra had become wickedly adept with a bo staff. Even Cori liked him.

Cori and Okubra. Okubra and Cori. Stellan’s ex wife and best friend, together. Now, there was a thought. Not a thought that would cross any rational person’s mind, but Stellan operated on a dangerous cocktail of caffeine and pain pills, an average three hours of sleep, and the pathological confidence of a man who’d saved the world at age sixteen. To him, hooking them up seemed like an excellent plan.

Okubra was practically family already—why not make it official? If he was married to Cori, if he became a parent to Stellan’s children…

Are you seriously trying to baby-trap your best friend?

“Oh, shut up,” Stellan told his conscience.

Okubra turned quizzically. “Pardon?”

Stellan pointed. “Look, canapes!”

Drinks and canapes were laid out on elegant tables carved from pale wood, luminous resins, and extraterrestrial stones. Stellan and Okubra crossed the ballroom, catching snatches of conversation along the way. A few extraterrestrial visitors were discussing the pirate problem—the solar system was notorious for it. Stellan was more concerned with the drinks. His eyes lit up when he spotted flutes filled with a frothy red substance smelling of pomegranate juice and battery acid.

“Arcturian wine,” he whispered to Okubra, snatching a flute. “You know how fast the Boötesians metabolize alcohol? One of these would barely give them a buzz, but you and me could ride this wave for a week.”

Okubra tended to be on edge at big events, but a sip of Arcturian wine would drown his inhibitions in a heartbeat. That should loosen him up for—

“Cori,” said Okubra, “thank you for the invitation, my dear. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

Stellan swiveled, fumbling with his flute. He turned his hand into a tentacle and wrapped it around the stem, just barely keeping the wine from spilling. “Hey,” he said, pasting on his best greeting-an-ex-wife smile.

Stellan was waiting for a sudden change to make Cori’s face unfamiliar, that way it wouldn’t fill him with so many might-have-beens, but it hadn’t come yet. She had the same black eyes, blade-sharp and glinting in her round, brown face, and the handful of wrinkles that had cropped up over the past year only emphasized her stern beauty. She was still wearing her hair in a high ponytail. Her outfit was new, yet familiar; her white, fur-trimmed boots and fringed black-and-white cape decorated with formline ravens recalled pieces of Tlingit regalia she’d worn at galas past.

Tracking Cori’s gaze to the wine in his hand, Stellan reverted his tentacle into a human hand, ignoring the stiffness in his fingers, and set the flute back on the table. “I was just telling Okubra not to mess with that stuff!” he lied, throwing an arm around his friend, who rolled his eyes. Having six of them, the effect was almost psychedelic.

Cori tilted her head, her hand-carved cedar earrings swishing disdainfully. “Don’t let me stop you from getting wasted at a charity event,” she said drily. “Why break tradition?” Then she turned to Okubra with a smile and pressed her forehead to his. Typically, the ivekenaa greeted one another by touching horns. “Okubra, darling, I’m so glad you could make it!” She took his arm. “You’ve got a seat of honor, of course—right up on the dais with me.” She tossed a contemptuous glance at Stellan as if to say, “You, too, I suppose.” As one of the museum’s top patrons, he paid handsomely for the privilege.

Stellan followed Cori and Okubra onto the dais. While Okubra tripped lightly and Cori was soundless in her boots, Stellan’s footsteps clunked against the metal stairs. He decided to take it as a sign—see how well-matched they were? See how out of place he was by comparison? With a little push, they’d be in love before the salad course arrived. But, first, Cori had to give the opening address.

Stellan sighed, settling into a chair as Cori approached the podium. “This again,” he told Okubra. “At this point, I could give the speech myself.”

“I find the museum’s history fascinating,” said Okubra mildly, picking up one of the vivid pamphlets fanned out in a starburst on the center of the white damask tablecloth. “And it’s always interesting to hear about the new acquisitions.”

Stellan winked. “Makes you think about making a new acquisition yourself, huh, pal?” He winked again. Then his eye twitched. That was the caffeine pills.

Okubra stared at Stellan as if he’d grown a second head. Actually, if Stellan shapeshifted into an alien species that happened to have two heads, Okubra would have been less surprised.

“What are you talking about? What’s wrong with your eyes?”

Stellan nudged Okubra in the ribs. “You know!”

“Stop that,” said Okubra.

Stellan held up his hands in apology. “I’m just saying, you’ve been single so long. Don’t you think it’d be nice to have someone to share your life with? Someone else who cares about—” he glanced at Okubra’s pamphlet “—the silk-weaving techniques of the spider-people of Satharnax?”

“I hardly consider a partner an ‘acquisition,’” Okubra replied.

“See? That’s why you should have one!” Stellan exclaimed. “You’re thoughtful, you know? You value people.”

“And you don’t?”

Stellan shrugged. “Enough to risk my life to save them, not enough to let them cut me off in traffic.”

Okubra laughed, and Stellan couldn’t help but smile.

Suddenly, Cori’s voice filled the ballroom, and her image, magnified, was projected on the wall behind the dais.

“Honored patrons, emissaries, and guests from stars beyond, welcome to the Museum of Reclamation.”

Polite applause rang out. Stellan joined when Okubra elbowed him.

“I am Dr. Cormorantha Halcyon of the planet Earth—”

Stellan stifled a snicker. When he learned Cori’s full name for the first time, he’d been scared to laugh. He’d had a crush on her from the moment she pulled him, dripping and spitting, out of Icy Strait onto her family’s fishing boat, and, for all he knew, Cormorantha was a traditional Tlingit name. But, no, Cori’s parents were just weird.

As Cori went over the museum’s history—starting with the well-worn tale of first contact—Stellan mused over their first meeting.

“The Pothuul lost their home planet to greed, living unsustainably. From then on, they became wandering stewards, protecting the beauty of nature in its many guises from world to world.”

The funny thing about saving the world was that Stellan could hardly remember doing it. The moment of triumph was a haze of pain, every nerve fiber in his body stretched taut, his bones semi-gelatinous from being forced into new configurations with dizzying speed, his skin smoking. He couldn’t recall a single detail about the mothership he snuck aboard to stop the armada, but he did remember Cori.

“They sought out my people, among others—humans within whom the Pothuul sensed a kindred consciousness—and revealed themselves.”

Stellan revealed himself to Cori without meaning to. He’d been cast from the sky, his dragon-body shrinking around him, shedding scales. He’d never changed into anything so large before, but desperation pushed him into an unsustainable transformation. One of the little fighter ships he’d been battling blasted him out of the sky, blasted right through his armor, and then—

“My people knew loss, as the Pothuul did. Land and other sacred things had been stolen from us. We were stewards, but we were few. Oil slicked the waters, and oil stained the skies. The oceans that fed us gasped for breath, and the raven, our creator, foraged in dumpsters in cities of strangers.”

—smoking and cometlike, Stellan rushed to Earth in ruin—

“Our fellow humans ignored our plight, as if they would not share our fate, but the Pothuul saw their past in our future, and reached through darkness.”

—he plunged into an icy blackness—

“Together, as allies, we could face an indifferent universe.”

—and two warm hands pulled him out.

“We reclaim the beauty that is the birthright of every living being.”

Gasping, Stellan marveled up at a round-cheeked girl with the severest ponytail he’d ever seen, who said, dazed, “I think I just saved your life.”

That brought Stellan back to himself. He could not lay around mooning at his newfound guardian angel. He was the protector, the hero.

“I’ll see you again,” he promised her, “but, first, I’ve got to save yours.” With that, he turned into an eagle and took to the sky, letting out a caw that hopefully sounded noble and not like every cell in his body was fighting reconstitution.

With a meet-cute like that, was it any wonder he’d married her? Shame it hadn’t worked out. Stellan knew it was his fault. He lapped up adoration from fans but refused to be seen by those who knew him best. No wonder he’d driven Cori to her wit’s end.

Really, the only question was why Okubra, of all people, had put up with Stellan through everything. Their friendship had outlasted every disastrous marriage Stellan ever had.

Cori went on to explain how reclaimed Native artifacts joined over a thousand alien relics in the museum’s exhibits, which guests would be free to explore after dinner. Stellan tapped his foot under the table until she finished.

“What do you think they’ll have for appetizers this year?” Stellan asked Okubra. “If they serve that Uloquian jellied squid again, I’ll throw myself out the airlock.”

“What’s this about the airlock?” asked Cori, arching an eyebrow as she took her seat beside Okubra.

Stellan faked a laugh. “I was just saying, if we don’t get more of that delicious Uloquian jellied squid, I might have to throw myself out the airlock!”

Cori narrowed her eyes. “Last year, you said making you eat that should be a war crime.”

“People change,” said Stellan with a winning smile.

Cori looked him dead in the eyes. “No, they don’t.”

Ouch. Well, Stellan wasn’t trying to win her back, anyway.

“Hey, Okubra, why don’t you tell Cori about that stupid table of yours?” Stellan prompted.

Okubra bristled—literally, his fur stood on end. “There’s nothing stupid about my artisanal honey-resin table.”

Okubra, who was usually annoyingly responsible with money—he wouldn’t even gamble on the casino planet of Zarkon during Stellan’s eighth bachelor party, for crying out loud—spent ridiculous sums on imported furniture from his homeworld.

“It seats twelve and you live alone,” Stellan pointed out.

“Of course it seats twelve—that’s a sacred number to the ivekenaa,” Cori cut in, giving Stellan one of her patented “Why did I ever love you, you uncultured swine?” looks.

“To represent the twelve harvest spirits, exactly!” Okubra beamed at Cori, who smiled back.

Now they were in business, Stellan thought. He could think of a dozen ways to move the conversation from tables to all the hot, sweaty things that could be done on top of them, but Okubra never pivoted. Instead, he described the historical significance of the vine patterns carved into the table’s legs, and Cori ate it up, asking questions like a student angling for extra credit. It occurred to Stellan that maybe they were too evenly matched: they were both equally boring.

It was up to him to bring the spice.

“It’s getting hot in here, isn’t it?” he exclaimed, tugging at his tuxedo. “Okubra, you must be suffocating in that tunic of yours, especially with all your lush, gorgeous fur.”

“Not at all,” Okubra reassured him. “It’s light and breathable.”

Stellan decided to ignore that. He leaned over, fingering the low neckline of Okubra’s tunic. “Don’t you just want to…take it off?”

Surely if Cori caught a glimpse of Okubra’s sculpted, glistening chest, she wouldn’t be able to help herself.

Cori wrinkled her nose, and Okubra regarded Stellan with concern, setting a hand on his shoulder.

“Are you huffing Akaxian fungal spores again, because I know an excellent rehab center—”

Stellan was offended. “I tried those spores one time, and I told you about it in confidence! I’m not high!”

“I believe you,” said Cori.

“Thank you,” Stellan replied, flashing her a charming smile.

Cori turned to Okubra. “Stellan’s brain is more than capable of producing stupidity organically.”

“Hey!” Stellan protested as Okubra stifled a laugh.

The salad course arrived. Okubra, a herbivore, enjoyed it immensely, and Cori seemed equally pleased to let him know which planet each of the greens had been sourced from. Stellan picked at it, wishing for some cheese, dressing, or, better yet, booze. He would even settle for a cherry tomato Okubra could pop flirtatiously into Cori’s mouth, but, no, all he had to work with were unsexy space leaves. The only pick-up line Stellan could come up with was “lettuce see what’s under that dressing.”

It was a relief when harpoons pierced the doors and thick purple smoke curled through the ballroom.

Guests succumbed to unconsciousness. Stellan quickly expanded his neck, making way for a gland that could metabolize the gas. His throat swelled like a bullfrog’s as he took in the toxin. His head swam, and tears stung his eyes, but he stayed awake. Still, he dropped his head on the table, drooling to sell the bit.

The doors were wrenched open with a metallic shriek. Heavy footfalls boomed through the ballroom.

“Isss that everyone?”

“Almost, captain,” a gravelly voice replied. “We’ve got crew headed to the engine room to neutralize staffers there as we speak. Everyone else is headed to the Royal Exhibition Hall, all according to plan. We’ll have this place plundered in no time.”

Stellan fought back a grin.

Pirates. Hell yeah.

If there was one thing Stellan’s decades of heroism taught him, it was that life-or-death situations were prime romance fodder. If Okubra saved her museum, Cori would find him irresistible. Now all he had to do was wake the two of them up, kick some pirate tail, and let nature run its course.

The captain’s voice rang out once more. “And Ersssetzzz?”

There was a scampering noise, and Stellan felt a wet nose snuffling the back of his neck. A meaty paw dragged him out of his seat. Yipping laughter filled his ears. “Look at ’im, cap’n—droolin’ like a babe! And he’s got a fat neck on ’im, too, Warty or summat.”

“He’s definitely uglier in person,” said the gravelly-voiced pirate.

“Leave him,” the captain snapped. Stellan was dropped back into his seat. He bit his tongue to keep from crying out as the fall jarred his back. “We mussst move the artifact before the gasss wearsss off.”

When the footsteps faded, Stellan got up, stretched, and transformed into an alien insect the size of a fist. The gambrafly, a sentient species capable of producing thousands of chemicals within their proboscises, was one of his more useful transformations. He synthesized an antivenom to the pirate’s gas and bit Okubra and Cori in swift succession.

Okubra was larger; he was the first to shake off the bleariness. He squinted at Stellan’s hovering body. “Stellan?”

He reverted to human form, resisting the urge to rub his shoulders, which ached where his wings used to be. “Who else?”

Cori rubbed her temples. “What happened?”

“Pirates,” said Stellan, trying not to sound too excited. “They said something about the Royal Exhibition Hall.”

Cori cursed. “I knew that Gilthornian fertility sculpture would be nothing but trouble!”

“How do you know that’s what they’re after?” Stellan asked.

Cori ran a hand over her ponytail and sighed. “These sculptures are very…mobile. Let’s just say, I don’t think the pirates intend to use it for display purposes.”

Stellan whistled. “I want a pamphlet about that!”

“Gilthornian females eat their mates,” Cori snapped.

“Been there, done that,” Stellan muttered, thinking back to the Godqueen of Galorthak. “So!” He clapped his hands and turned to Okubra, grinning. “What’s the plan?”

Okubra’s three sets of eyes blinked in rapid succession. “Why are you asking me?”

Stellan stifled a groan. So much for letting Okubra rise to the occasion. Whatever. He’d just have to come up with a plan that made Okubra look cool. Surely this museum had some kind of stick-adjacent weapon Okubra could whale on pirates with. He imagined Cori watching Okubra crack a staff over the pirate captain’s head. Stellan would definitely want to get swept up in Okubra’s strong arms and kissed after that.

If he was Cori.

“We need weapons,” he said to Cori. “I assume you know where we can find them?”

Without another word, she sprinted off the dais and through the ballroom. Stellan and Okubra followed. Cori led them down one corridor, then another.

“If anyone has any burning declarations to make, now would be a perfect time,” Stellan called from the rear. Cori all but flew down the hall, and Okubra kept up effortlessly on his long legs. Stellan wondered if it was worth the pain to shapeshift his muscles—he didn’t do much cardio these days, and his calves burned.

Neither Cori nor Okubra responded.

“I mean it,” Stellan continued. “Do you know how awkward it is to profess your love with a bunch of pirates gawking at you? I was in a similar situation when I proposed to wife number three—long story. Wouldn’t recommend it.”

At this, Okubra stopped in his tracks. “Profess your love?” he repeated slowly. “Stellan, what are you talking about?”

Before Stellan could reply, Cori whirled around, eyes burning.

“Would it kill you to take this seriously?”

“Take what seriously?”

“My ship, my museum—my life’s work—is under attack,” said Cori, her voice so rigidly controlled it trembled. “Priceless artifacts might be stolen and defiled. Innocent people are in danger!”

Stellan waved her off. “Typical pirate stuff. Any crew stupid enough to attack a ship I’m a passenger on ought to be easy pickings.”

“Not everything is about you, Stellan!” Cori exploded. “You’ve always been like this,” she continued, turning away. “If the fate of the universe isn’t at stake, you don’t care. Nothing matters to you.” She lowered her voice, and her shoulders slumped. “No one matters to you.”

“Hey.” Stellan reached out and laid a hand on her back. Cori half turned, glowering. “You, the kids, our family—” he hesitated. “That matters to me.”

Cori brushed his hand away. “Prove it.”

“I’m trying, all right?” Stellan held up his hands helplessly. “I’m a bad dad and an even worse husband. You deserve better. I know that! Why else do you think I’ve spent the whole evening trying to hook you up with Okubra?”

“You’ve been what?” Cori cried. “Pardon?” exclaimed Okubra at the same time.

Stellan sighed. “You two are the strongest, smartest, best people I know. You’d be good for each other—better than I’d ever be.”

“That makes it sound as if you’ve thought about…being with me,” said Okubra, his gaze fixed on Stellan.

Stellan’s face burned. Now would be the time to make a joke and deflect, but nothing came to mind, and he was tired. Tired of fighting, tired of shapeshifting, tired of running from the truth.

“You mean being with my tall, shredded, ass-kicking best friend, who has somehow stuck by me through everything? Yeah, it might have crossed my mind, but then you’d be stuck with this.”

Stellan reverted to his true form: short, paunchy, and graying. His face was scarred from decades of fighting, the skin loose from constantly being pulled into new configurations.

Okubra placed a hand on Stellan’s weathered cheek, studying him closely.

Stellan pulled back. “And looks are the least of it,” he continued with a bitter laugh. “I’m a wreck. Cori here can tell you some stories if you haven’t seen enou—”

Okubra pinned Stellan to the wall and kissed him. Hard.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for twenty years,” Okubra breathed.

Stellan couldn’t stop grinning. He didn’t even care how goofy the expression must have looked on his true face. “Only twenty?”

Okubra laughed, and Stellan pulled him in for another kiss, but before their lips could meet, Cori interjected: “Priorities?”

“Gay love isn’t important to you? That’s homophobic,” said Stellan.

Cori rolled her eyes. “I’ll sign up for your wedding registry later, Stellan. For now, can we focus on getting the pirates off my ship?”

“Okay,” Stellan groaned, reluctantly letting go of Okubra. “Pirates first, steamy makeout in the museum later.”

“Steamy makeout outside the museum,” Cori insisted.

“You’re no fun.”

Cori pressed her hand against what appeared to be an ordinary light switch. The floor sunk underfoot, bringing herself, Stellan, and Okubra into a hidden chamber. The ceiling clicked shut. Halogen lights buzzed to life overhead, revealing wall-to-wall weaponry.

“All right, that was fun,” Stellan admitted. He examined a laser gun. “Do these actually work?”

“Some do,” said Cori, sliding an ivory-handled knife off the wall. “That gun won’t fire without solar cells, but you’ve always said you’re your own best weapon.”

Stellan nodded. That was one of the fifteen catchphrases programmed into his latest line of action figures.

“Really, I came down here for this.” Cori pointed to a gleaming, reddish-orange staff.

Okubra’s eyes gleamed, and he touched his horns reverently to the staff. “An ivekenaa war staff from the Kishkaran Dynasty! Even our modern weapons aren’t as durable.” He reached for it, then turned to Cori. “May I—?” She nodded, and he brought the staff down from the wall. He twirled it so fast, the air whistled, and dust flew off the relics on the walls. Okubra laughed, delighted, and Stellan grinned ear to ear.

Cori led everyone to the Royal Exhibition Hall, where a dozen pirates were in the process of stealing the massive fertility statue. Stellan was pretty sure the wolflike alien was the one who’d grabbed his neck. Another behemoth seemed to be made of living rock—that could be old gravel-voice—and Stellan would bet the serpentine alien with gold-capped fangs was the captain.

Cori held up her knife. Okubra brandished his staff. Stellan winked at the pirates.

“If you thought I was ugly before, you sure won’t like me now.”

He dissolved into a puddle of liquid potential, surging across the marble floor. Tentacles writhed upward. Gaping maws snapped at pirate’s legs. Fibrous spikes thrust outward in a ring around the statue, keeping enemies at bay.

Okubra leapt nimbly around pools of Stellan. He brought his staff down on the wolflike pirate’s skull. Unconscious, it slumped to the ground. He and Stellan cleared a path for Cori, who soon had her knife pressed to the captain’s throat.

“Do you surrender?” she snarled.

“Yesss!” whimpered the captain.

Crack!

Okubra knocked the captain out.

“Never trust a pirate,” he said.

Stellan was glad he was an amorphous mass of flesh, otherwise he probably would have swooned into Okubra’s arms. Then he reverted to human form and did just that.

Everything hurt. Stellan’s heart was racing, his breathing harsh, and he knew he’d feel even worse once the adrenaline faded. Okubra laid a cool hand on Stellan’s perspiring forehead.

“You weren’t lying—your fur really is light and breathable,” Stellan muttered.

Okubra shushed him. “Deep breaths, now. You must be exhausted after a shift like that.”

Stellan groaned in agreement. “Might’ve overdone it with the whole Eldritch thing.”

“You never could resist showing off,” said Cori, a hint of a smile in her voice. She extended a hand to Stellan, who clasped it in both of his. “In case I’m too busy putting out fires to talk to you again tonight…thank you.”

“What are ex-husbands for?” Stellan replied.

Cori strode off, and Stellan’s breathing gradually returned to normal.

“Do you think we’ll be like that when we’re divorced?” Okubra asked.

Stellan nestled against his chest. “Marry me and find out.”

“You should probably take me to dinner first.”

“Done,” Stellan promised. “I’ll get us reservations anywhere in the universe. Just say the word.”

Okubra hummed, trailing a hand down Stellan’s spine. He rubbed his back, and Stellan melted into his touch with a sigh.

“Another night,” Okubra whispered. “Now, you need to rest.”

With no further encouragement, Stellan threw back his head and snored, leaving his aching body behind and dreaming of Okubra.