The Mountain Man’s Curvy Trick-or-Treat Bonus Scene
Eden
Another pristine Sierra Nevada morning hums with starlight.
I hunch over the kitchen counter, sprinkling powdered sugar over half a dozen cooled loaves of pumpkin spice bread. The smell of cinnamon and vanilla hang heavy, filling the fire-warmed cabin with late-fall warmth.
After coffee, pumpkin spice is now considered one of Everett’s favorite human inventions.
“I can’t wait for you to try this with coffee. You’re going to be sold,” I call to my alien mountain man.
From the living room, deep in his robotics work, he chuckles, brushing a hand through his thick, brown hair. “Barely weeks together and my little Earthling is ready to auction me? Do I not please you?”
Idioms. Still a work in progress. I let my mind wander back to early this morning, caressing his mind with memories of the pleasure he gave me. Licking remains one of his chief pastimes. His cheeks glimmer, and his eyes glow.
You do please me. Exceedingly so.
He grins, returning to his work. “Then we have that in common, Eden. Now I’ll add coffee—and your new confection—to the list.”
I laugh, cutting thick slices, dusting them for good measure. He works barefoot and bare-armed, soldering something that glows faintly beside a half-dismantled comm cradle.
Outside, the forest breathes: slow wind through tall pines, a steady pulse from Mother Tree that resonates beneath our cabin like a heartbeat.
“You ever think about the others?” I ask.
Everett looks up, the light in his eyes deepening. “You mean Torin?”
“I mean all of you. The ones who haven’t found this yet.” I gesture to the room—to warmth, to calm, to him.
He’s quiet a beat. “Somewhere out there, the ones who chose freedom are learning how to live in it. Torin most of all.”
A spark of static hums between us—half memory, half intuition. I cross to him, setting the plates down beside steaming mugs of coffee. He stands, wraps me in his massive arms, his heat seeping through me like sunlight.
Grabbing one of my hands, he licks the sweet powder from my fingers, slow and greedy, like the last crumb of Star-honey. I moan against the feel of his velvety tongue, letting him taste the temptation surging in my core.
His head descends, nips at the pulse point of my neck. “Careful, my little Earthling,” he growls. “Or I’ll take you back to bed.”
“More like above the bed,” I tease, remembering how we levitated when pleasure and the resonance overwhelmed us in the early morning dark.
He laughs, the sound a low vibration against my skin. “That, too,” he promises, devouring the powder from my other hand.
“You know, human food’s only so-so. We really need to get back over to Torin’s greenhouse for more star fruit.” Not the grocery-store kind—the off-world kind he’s cultivated for centuries.
Everett nods, the light in him softening. “He’s been very busy. Very preoccupied.”
“Do you think he’s safe?” I ask, knowing full well he’s as much a part of this rebellion as we are.
“No,” he admits. “But he’s strong. And he’s listening.”
Outside, the dragonflies shift their orbit around the cabin, forming spirals of turquoise and copper against the brightening expanse of sky. Far beyond their orbit, another frequency hums faintly—someone else reaching across the same stars.
And somewhere in the Range, a forgotten Guardian lifts his head to answer.
Melody & Maveryk
One kiss sparks a bond older than stars—something my kind was never meant to feel. Melody isn’t just temptation; she’s resonance. Harmony. Home.
But the moment we give in, the constructs built to hunt my people rise again.
To protect her, I’ll have to stop hiding what I am and let the hum inside me become the weapon it was always meant to be.
Some men are born cowboys.
Others are Wildbloods, carved from starlight and fate.