Dreamhearth (Dreamhealers 3)

Jahir and Vasiht’h have earned their licenses as xenotherapists at last, and they have their hearts set on starting their practice in one of the Alliance’s most exciting and cosmopolitan destinations: a sector starbase. But dream therapy is a revolutionary treatment modality, and as esper practictioners they will have to work hard to win the trust of their community. Not only that, but they have a deadline: if they can’t prove themselves an asset to the starbase within six months, they’ll have to leave! It’ll take hard work, compassion, and a dollop of luck to navigate the pitfalls of this challenge… but surely two such extraordinary friends can find a way to claim their dream hearth.

Genre (setting): space opera (Pelted)
Tags: found family, space opera, pastoral, new adult, low conflict, asexual, furries, elves (space)
Rating: PG for emotional situations

Excerpt from Chapter 1

                The todfox had never seen anyone like her. Like a fairy: delicate, fragile, with the bloom of roses on her lips. Her furless skin seemed to shine like polished marble, and yet, she breathed! He couldn’t see her and not love her: love her as one loved a fair maiden goddess, pure and not of this world.

                Would she? She did! She turned that perfect face and met his eyes across the crowded lobby. Such a gaze! So limpid, a pellucid blue, to be so wise! His heart raced in his breast. If only he could be brave enough to talk to her. Would she answer? What would her voice be like?

                Would he ever recover?

 

                Vasiht’h put the data tablet down on his forepaws and touched his fingers to his brow. He couldn’t decide whether to laugh or hack the taste of the lurid prose from his mouth; what he was sure of was that his mouth was twitching. When his sisters had assured him they’d taken care of his entertainment for the trip back to the starbase, he’d assumed they’d bought him a book or two. But this? He brought up the cover and stared ruefully at the Tam-illee foxine holding a swooning Eldritch woman in his arms. HEALED BY HER IMMORTAL HEART. What in the worlds had they been thinking?

Paging away from the novel, he sent a group message to his sisters.

 

                This book is terrible!

 

                He was close enough to the world to be certain of an answer soon, but while he waited he returned, reluctantly, to the story of Thaddeus WeavesDNA and the Eldritch woman who was either a statue or a sprite, depending on the paragraph. It was hard to concentrate, though (and not just because the story was ridiculous). He couldn’t believe that he was finally a graduate, with a degree and a license to practice xenotherapy with a partner of his choosing. That he had that partner, a real and rare Eldritch, who had chosen him as the other half of a mindline out of legend. And who was, Vasiht’h glanced at the novel and managed a grin, not at all as pure and innocent as a maiden goddess. Though he could grant the polished marble as the sort of metaphor that would occur to someone who’d only read about Eldritch and never seen one. Jahir was pale, yes, but not like stone. Like a pearl, with veils of color and shadow and the blood flush of a living man beneath it.

                And now he was beginning to sound like a romance novel. But he loved Jahir. And he was—apparently—no more eloquent than this particular author. With a sigh, Vasiht’h applied himself again to the narrative. The woman had the voice of an angel, apparently. Of course.

                Having left notifications on, he was interrupted at length by his sisters. Not just one, but several of them, leaving him messages. Ranging from his eldest sister Kavila’s “HA HA HA” to Sehvi’s more coy, “We thought it would help you with your relationship.”

                He scowled at the glowing letters and tapped back: I’m completely sure this author has never been within a sector of an actual Eldritch.

                Sehvi, responding: She’s writing about a woman! Maybe their women are different.

                Vasiht’h lifted his fingers, paused, then wrote: I am not walking into that trap, ariishir.

                He could imagine her delighted giggles. What page are you on?

                Goddess, what page was he on? Vasiht’h made himself look. Twenty-six.

                Keep going! It gets better!

                Better good? Or better worse??

                No response to that, naturally, but he hadn’t expected one. He looked toward the window alongside his seat and his reflection was grinning. Well, maybe the book was serving its purposes—would continue to serve its purposes, since he would soon be at the edge of the solar system and the Well drives would take him beyond his family’s reach. He’d have to imagine their merriment as he dutifully slogged through their offering, comparing it continually and unfavorably to the reality he was on his way to meet.

                Jahir Seni Galare. His very own Eldritch. His best friend in all the worlds, with whom he had survived grief and terror and trial. In whom he had found a joy he somehow doubted the well-meaning author of his romance novel would understand, owing nothing as it did to sexual attraction. What had drawn him to Jahir was better than that—to him, anyway. He had found a soulmate, and he was going home to him.

                And home, for now, was a starbase neither of them knew at all. Vasiht’h had stopped there on his way to join Jahir on the capital world Selnor for the Eldritch’s residency period… and that layover had been long enough enough for him to decide it would be the perfect place for the Alliance’s newest xenotherapists to set up their practice. Jahir had left a week ago to start scouting a likely place for them to live. Had he found it by now?

                Silly question. A more likely question was had he found a place that was within their means, and what exactly was their means? Because the two of them were still feeling their way through questions like ‘who should pay for things, even though you’re possibly rich enough to buy anything you want.’ Exactly the sort of questions, Vasiht’h thought ruefully, that he most needed advice on… and that he probably wouldn’t find any answers to in HEALED BY HER IMMORTAL HEART, Sehvi’s hopes notwithstanding.

                Still, it was something to do while he was en route. Vasiht’h resumed his reading, and in his breast, his heart stretched out toward the man awaiting him a sector away.