Chapter 6: The Growing Family

One Year Later

Vance stood in the doorway of the nursery wing, coffee in hand, watching organized chaos unfold.

Kayla—now thirteen months old and walking with terrifying confidence—was trying to climb the bookshelf. Again. Zarya had discovered she could make the bioluminescent light panels flicker by touching them, and was doing so repeatedly while giggling maniacally. Marcus was engaged in what appeared to be a wrestling match with one of the nursery staff—a patient Valtharian male named Theroux who handled the toddler with practiced ease. And Theron was sitting quietly in the corner, disassembling a toy with focused intensity, trying to figure out how it worked.

“They’re fine,” said Mira, the head of their nursery staff, appearing beside him. “Kayla won’t fall—her hybrid reflexes are too good. Zarya will get bored in five minutes. Marcus is just practicing his warrior skills. And Theron is going to be an engineer.”

“They’re thirteen months old.”

“Valtharian-human hybrids develop fast. You knew this.”

“Knowing it and living it are different things.” He took another sip of coffee. “Where’s Zanera?”

“Medical appointment. The twins are due in three weeks.”

Right. The twins. Babies five and six. Because apparently thirteen months was long enough recovery time in Zanera’s opinion.

He’d tried to argue for more time. She’d countered that Valtharian females were most fertile in the two years following their first successful pregnancy, and they were “wasting valuable time.” Then she’d used her very effective persuasion techniques, and nine months later, here they were.

Pregnant. Again.

“Director Riker?” His comm unit chirped. “You’re needed at the Institute. We have a situation with one of the new bonding pairs.”

He sighed. “On my way.” He turned to Mira. “If Kayla actually makes it to the top of the bookshelf—”

“I’ll catch her. Go. We’ve managed quadruplets for a year. We can handle one morning.”

The Human-Valtharian Reproductive Compatibility Institute had been operational for eight months. The facility was state-of-the-art—part medical center, part counseling facility, part cultural exchange program. They’d processed forty-three human volunteers and matched twenty-seven with Valtharian partners so far.

Eighteen successful pregnancies. Three bondings that didn’t work out (incompatibility happened). Four couples still in the “getting to know you” phase. And one massive headache named Princess Kyra.

Vance found her in Conference Room Three, sitting across from a human male who looked simultaneously terrified and aroused. The man—Lieutenant Jake Morrison, according to his file—was built like a tank, covered in military tattoos, and currently trying very hard not to stare at Kyra’s deliberately revealing outfit.

“Director Riker,” Kyra purred. “Perfect timing. Lieutenant Morrison and I were just discussing compatibility protocols.”

“Princess Kyra,” Vance said wearily. “What did we discuss about appropriate conduct during initial consultations?”

“You said to be honest about expectations and biology.”

“I also said don’t terrify the volunteers.”

“I’m not terrifying him. Am I terrifying you, Lieutenant?”

Morrison swallowed hard. “Uh ... no, ma’am. Your Highness. Princess.”

“See? Not terrified.”

Vance pulled up Morrison’s file on his datapad. Combat engineer, thirty-one years old, three tours in hostile territory, psychological evaluation showed adaptability and stress tolerance. Good match on paper.

“Lieutenant Morrison, can I speak with you privately?”

“Yes, sir. Please, sir.”

They stepped into the hallway. Morrison immediately exhaled. “Is she always like that?”

“Yes. Princess Kyra is ... intense. She’s also brilliant, deadly, and completely sincere about finding a compatible mate. But she comes on strong.”

“Strong is an understatement, sir. She spent twenty minutes describing Valtharian mating practices in graphic detail, then asked if I could ‘handle her in combat and in the bedroom.’”

Vance rubbed his temples. “That sounds like Kyra. Here’s the thing, Lieutenant. If you’re not genuinely interested in bonding with a Valtharian warrior princess who will challenge you constantly, test your limits, and probably beat you in hand-to-hand combat on a regular basis, now is the time to withdraw. No judgment. This program is voluntary.”

Morrison was quiet for a moment. “Can I ask you something, sir?”

“Go ahead.”

“Is it worth it? The bonding, the cultural adjustment, the whole insane process?”