Galaxy Dynasty — Season 1. 18

Luma: The Thing She Had Already Named

Luma had already named the puppy.

That was the part she would never tell Cipher.

She had imagined something small and ridiculous. Something soft enough to disappear beneath the folds of her gown. A little female creature with feathered ears, perhaps, or translucent wings that fluttered when she dreamed. Something that would climb into Cipher's lap without permission and force tenderness out of him.

It wasn't really about the puppy.

It had never been about the puppy.

Luma wanted to know whether there was still room in Cipher for something helpless.

Because once, there had been room in both of them.

Before the Dawns.

Before the Silver Mines.

Before the running.

Before the child they never got to hold.

Before death had separated them and resonance had put them back together inside bodies that could survive almost anything except remembering who they had been.

So when Cipher walked onto the balcony dragging an enormous animal beside him, Luma simply stared.

Lean. Muscled. Dark. Beautiful in an unnerving way.

Male.

Of course.

“Cipher.”

He looked delighted with himself.

“What is that?”

The creature looked at her.

And something strange happened.

Not recognition exactly.

Something nearer to it.

Its eyes held hers for one beat too long.

Luma felt a faint disturbance move through her field.

Then it was gone.

Cipher slapped the animal affectionately along the shoulder.

“A guardian.”

“I can see that.”

“He thinks.”

“So do several people I dislike.”

Cipher grinned.

Luma turned toward the glass.

Beyond their balcony, the galaxy spread in quiet ribbons of silver and distant color. Somewhere below, the city resonance moved through its evening cycle, slipping almost imperceptibly into the walls.

She had wanted something tiny.

Something they could raise together.

Something that might need them.

Instead, Cipher had chosen something capable of protecting itself.

Again.

“You got yourself a dog.”

His grin faded slightly.

“Luma.”

“Don't Luma me.”

“He'll protect you.”

“I don't need protecting.”

“I know.”

That made her turn.

Cipher was watching her differently now.

“He'll protect us.”

There it was.

That damned word.

Us.

Then he made it worse.

“One day, when we have a child, he'll already know who he's protecting.”

The old wound opened so cleanly she almost admired him for finding it.

Luma said nothing.

Perhaps Cipher realized too late what he'd touched, because he looked away.

The dog didn't.

It crossed the space between them slowly.

Luma stiffened.

One enormous head settled onto her knee.

Warm.

Heavy.

Alive.

Her hand hovered above him.

She could have pushed him away.

Instead, her fingers sank once into the strange resonant fur along his neck.

A pulse moved beneath her palm.

Not his heartbeat.

Something else.

Far away—impossibly far away—a girl she had never seen turned suddenly toward a sound that wasn't there.

Luma jerked her hand back.

The dog lifted his head.

Cipher hadn't noticed.

But the animal had.

For one impossible second, they simply looked at one another.

And Luma forgot entirely that she had wanted a puppy.