by Webster, K
Weglo-what?
As he continues, I try not to think about Draven staring at me in such a vulnerable position. He’d come with me to Avrell’s office and exam room—grudgingly. The moment we’d stepped over the threshold, he’d taken up residence in a corner of the room, crossed his arms over his chest, and hadn’t stopped glowering since.
“Did any of them take?” I ask again, my voice growing shrill.
“We’re not certain,” Avrell finally answers. “The first embryo we implanted in Aria, Commander Breccan’s mate, didn’t take,” Avrell continues as he positions the wand in different locations on my stomach. “We’re still not sure why. Propagating a species, even same species, is a delicate process. Cross-species, well, I’m not going to say it’s impossible, but it takes time.”
“But I thought you said they just had a baby?” My throat closes around the word.
“They did, but their mortling was conceived—ah, in the more conventional sense.”
My cheeks burn even though my eyes are closed. “Right! Well, of course.” So, if I wasn’t pregnant, I was going to have to have sex with one of them. No wonder they were all giving me gifts. In the abstract sense, I understood what they’d meant when they said they wanted me as a mate. It just didn’t sink in until now.
Next to me, Avrell gives a disappointed sigh. Unbidden, my eyes fly open and my gaze darts to the screen. The visual there isn’t that much different from the ultrasounds where I’m from, and it doesn’t take a doctor like Avrell to tell me what I already know.
I’m not pregnant.
For some reason, I glance in Draven’s direction. He’s also studying the screen with an intensity that makes the hair on my arms stand on end. What is he thinking about? Then his gaze meets mine.
I don’t need fancy gifts from Draven.
All it takes is a look.
The raw emotion in his eyes reaches down deep inside me where I’m empty and wanting, taking root.
He shakes his head, taking a step back. I know he feels it, whatever it is, because he meets my gaze once more then shakes his head again, slowly. Whatever he sees in my expression, he’s telling me no.
“No matter,” Avrell says blithely. “Like I said, it’s a delicate process. This will give us time to test your compatibility with each mort and find the best viable candidate. We really should have done this with the others, but circumstances being what they were, we never got the chance.” Avrell looks up from the screen where he is recording data and finds Draven staring at me. “Oh,” Avrell says.
“Doctor,” I say, turning to Avrell, who is glancing back and forth between Draven and me with a frown pulling at his lips. “Wouldn’t you say reproduction is more successful with willing mates? In humans, it’s been beneficial for the couple to be in a happy, healthy relationship before procreating. Don’t you think the same would be true in our case?”
“I—don’t follow,” Avrell says haltingly.
“If I’m going to be required to have a mate, to give them a child, don’t you think it’s only fair that I get a say in the matter?”
Avrell leans forward, panic in his eyes. “Now, Molly, the science of it all—”
“I don’t give a fig about science. You brought me here against my will. I recognize your position, but it was against my will,” I say before he can object. “Successful conception would be more easily attained if I were on board with the whole thing. A willing mate, if you catch my drift. Either you let me pick my mate, or I’ll do everything in my power to thwart your attempts.”
My shoulders heave from how hard I’m breathing. Avrell looks as though he wants to throw his fancy clipboard and wand-scanner into the air. Draven hasn’t looked at me since I announced I wanted to choose my own mate.
“I’m fearing we may have gotten ourselves in over our nogs,” Avrell says, and relief fills me at the humor in his voice. “Who knew aliens would be so much trouble?”
“So, we have a deal?”
Avrell sighs. “I’m willing to propose the option to the commander. Did you have a mate in mind?”
I meet Draven’s eyes and nod in his direction. “Him.”
4
Draven
I rekking think not!
My panicked eyes leave the alien, who seems so sure of her choice... Of all morts, she chose me. The broken one. The damaged one. The one The Rades nearly destroyed. I find Avrell frowning at me. He’s disappointed in her choice. Probably because he wishes she chose him.
Unwanted images of him with his filed down teeth near her golden flesh has a growl of warning rumbling from me. I clutch onto a table to keep from doing something horrible like rip his rekking throat out.
Plink! Plink! Plink! Plink! Plink!
I stare down in confusion as I realize my claws have punctured the zuta-metal table in my fury. When I snap my stare up to Avrell, his expression has changed. The disappointment is gone, and determination has settled in his black orbs.
Does he want to challenge me?
Before I can unhook myself from the table, he holds his palms up.
“Stand down, Lieutenant,” he says in a calm voice that usually works to get my mind sorted. “Aria wants the female aliens to have choices. This is her choice.”
I’m drawn back to the brown eyes of Molly. She, too, wears determination in her expression. Something sad flickers in her stare, but she quickly masks it with a bright smile.
Emery and Aria never smile like that.
Not toward me.
Not toward anyone.
I’m stunned for a moment, warmed by her smile. Is this how Breccan feels when he stands in front of the big windows in the command center letting the UV rays burn into his flesh? Her smile doesn’t burn me, though. A thundering inside my chest has me gasping for breath. So many solars my heart would race to the point of pain. This feels different. Controllable.
I have control.
Once I’ve calmed myself, I try to smile back. Testing it out on my lips. Both she and Avrell cringe. It makes me wonder if I showed too much fang. Quickly, I chase it away with a scowl.
“I don’t want a mate,” I utter to them.
Avrell sighs. “I know, but as Lieutenant, there are certain duties expected of you. Consider this one of them.” With those words, he exits the room.
Molly slowly approaches me the same way I sneak up on armworms, but instead of running a magknife through my nog, she gently grips my wrist.
“Listen, buddy-o,” she says in her bright voice that lights up dark shadows inside of me.
Buddy-o?
“I’m gonna be real straight with you,” she says. “My life was giant pile of manure before I woke up here. Huge pile. Stunk to high heaven.”
I frown, cocking my nog to try to make sense of her words.
“Things are a little blurry, but the important parts are still there,” she tells me, tapping the side of her nog with her finger. “This Star Wars planet is a total step up for me. Like sweet baby Jesus was throwing me a bone. Lord, did I ever need a bone.”
I’m blinking rapidly at her because she may as well be ronking like a rogcow. I don’t understand any of what she means. “You want a bone?” I thought Oz was the only one who liked to chew on the beasts’ bones after the meat has been cleaned off.
“Keep up, Alien Scissorhands.” She gestures at the scars on my arms as if this explains her words. “Anyway, all I’m saying is we’re in this boat together. We can either sink or swim. I’ve always been afraid of drowning. So, this whole mating gig? It’s our oar. We can take turns and do our part. Coast along.”
She makes an exaggerated effort to bob her nog up and down.
I mimic her action because her expectant eyes plead for me to.
“Whew!” she cries out. “I was sure you were going to turn me down, and I’d have to take that Sayer guy. He was nice—”
A loud growl rattles in my chest, stopping her words.
“Oh, you’ll do, honey,” she says, flashing me an
other one of her brilliant, sunny smiles. “You have that intimidation thing down pat. We can look out for each other. I’ll make sure they leave you alone about this whole mating business, and you can make sure no one tries to mate with me.”
“If they touch you, I will rip their limbs from their bodies,” I snarl, overcome with a fierce need to protect this babbling alien.
“Okay, Rambo. You’re getting a little too into the part. We’re just going to act. Understand?”
I think back to the time Hadrian made me “act” as though I were Breccan and he was Aria. To please Aria for the commander. Aria calls it a movie. I know how to “act.”
“I understand,” I say slowly. “We will not physically mate.” I refuse to look at the manuals explaining how mating is performed. The idea of someone touching me without my minnasuit between us makes my skin itch. Absently, I claw at my forearm.
“Right,” she agrees. “We just tell them we do.” Her eyes drop to where I’m scratching my arm, and she stops me with a gentle touch. “We’ll protect each other.”
“I don’t need protecting,” I growl.
Her smile falls and her brows bunch together. I don’t like when her eyes look sad. “I think you do. Your monsters are just different than mine.”
What monsters does she possess?
The door opens, and Hadrian pokes his nog in. “Commander says—rogshite!” His eyes roam over my mate and hunger gleams in them. My growl of warning is fierce as I step in front of her, shielding her from his stare.
“Mine,” I snarl.
His features fall, and he looks as though he might drop to the floor kicking and screaming like he used to do when he was a little mortling. Instead, he straightens his back. “I’m Hadrian. You must be Draven’s mate,” he addresses her, his voice dry. “Everyone is visiting the mortling. Come on. They’re expecting you.”
He stalks off, clearly envious over the fact that Molly is my mate. Pride thumps inside my chest. She’s a mate in name only. It brings me great relief that I won’t be expected to do more.
“Come,” I bark out to my mate.
She grabs my bicep, stopping me. “I-I can’t.”
Turning, I look at her over my shoulder. Her brown eyes are watery as though they may leak at any moment. My mouth waters. Breccan wrote in explicit details in the alien manual about the sweet taste of their tears. It makes me curious.
“I, uh, I don’t want to see it,” she mutters. “Can’t we like go hang out at your place? Take a nap? Shoot the breeze? Count freaking stars for all I care?”
“You want to go to The Tower?”
She nods rapidly. “Sure. Take me there.”
Indecision wars within me. As much as that idea intrigues me, I refrain from doing just that. Hadrian was sent by my commander to take me to view the mortling. So, view it we will.
“Not now,” I bite out. I storm out of the room, and the sound of her bare feet slapping the floors behind me is the only indication she’s following. I stride through the facility on a hunt for Breccan and Aria. We follow the sounds of excited voices until we are at the doorway of Breccan’s chambers.
“Draven is here,” Hadrian says from within the chambers.
Breccan calls for me. But as I enter, I realize my alien remains rooted to the floor just outside of the room. I cock my nog in confusion.
“Come, mate.”
She shakes her head, backing up farther into the hallway. “I’m good right here.”
“The commander wants to look at your face,” I tell her. “And we are to see the mortling.”
Her face pales, and she swallows. “Please don’t make me.”
Make her?
The panic in her brown eyes reminds me of my own when I’m trapped in a room full of morts. Does she share this same fear as me? I step closer to her and peer down at her. “I will never make you do anything that hurts you.”
She tilts her head up bravely. “That will hurt me.”
This, I understand.
“Stay, mate,” I instruct.
“Molly.”
“I know.”
Her eyes roll in that annoyed way Aria does often. “I’m saying you should call me Molly, not mate. It’s so alpha.”
“Breccan is the alpha,” I state.
“Oh, Jimminy Christmas! Never mind. Go see the…thing. I’ll be right here.”
I give her a slow nod, confused at her words yet again, before turning and pushing into the room. The other morts move out of the way to give me my space. I stand in the middle of the room, face-to-face with Breccan.
I’ve never seen him smile like this, showing all his teeth like he’s succumbed to the madness of The Rades. Something moves in his arms, and I tense. My eyes drop to the bundle. As soon as I see the thing, my chest hurts. Why does it hurt? The thing is no mortling I know of. It’s different.
Furry black hair like its father.
Speckles on its tiny nose like its mother.
It opens its eyes, and those too are like Breccan’s.
But then my eyes travel along its exposed flesh that has a pink hue like Aria’s.
Breccan lets out a chuckle. “Sokko has claws like me. See?” He pulls the mortling’s hand from inside the bundle. “And these? These are mine.” His finger pushes back the dark hair on its nog to reveal flat ears like all morts have. “His tongue is like Aria’s, fat and useless.”
“Hey,” Aria grumbles from the bed. She’s paler than usual and appears to be exhausted, but she’s smiling happily. “You didn’t call my tongue useless the other day.”
Breccan growls, and the mortling startles. I take a step back in case the thing jumps out of that bundle at me.
“Can it speak?” I ask.
Several morts laugh nearby, and I feel ashamed by my question.
Breccan doesn’t ridicule me, he simply shakes his head. “Not yet. Like morts, alien young don’t speak until nearly a whole revolution has passed.” His thumb pulls down the tiny creature’s chin. “But look at this.” Tiny fangs barely puncture the otherwise toothless gums.
“It is unusual,” I utter.
“I think you meant the most beautiful thing you have ever seen,” Aria chides.
I don’t open my mouth to argue, but the most beautiful thing I’ve seen is my mate. I may not want to touch her, but I enjoy looking at her. Especially her mouth.
“Your sub-bones,” Breccan says, dragging me from my inner thoughts.
“About that,” Avrell says. “Molly has chosen Draven as her mate.”
Aria sits up and gapes. “She chose someone? Already? We barely got word that the cryotube malfunctioned, and we have a new human here, yet you’re telling me she’s already chosen someone?” She scoffs and points at Hadrian. “Bring her in.”
Before I can stop him, Hadrian is out the door. Molly’s distressed scream pierces the air. Like a contagion, the mortling in Breccan’s arms wails in response. I become focused only on getting to my mate, slinging morts out of the way as I charge to get back to her in the hallway. When I see Hadrian’s hands on her shoulders as he attempts to guide her toward the room, I lose my rekking mind.
“DO NOT TOUCH MY MATE!” I bellow, yanking a magknife from my belt along the way toward him.
Hadrian’s eyes grow wide in shock as I raise my arm, ready to send him to The Eternals for hurting my mate. I promised her I would protect her. I’ve already failed, and we’ve barely established that she is to be mine. Before I can smash the sharp tip into his skull, someone strong grabs my arm and jerks me back. Jareth.
“What are you doing?” he hisses, wrestling the magknife out of my grip. As soon as he takes it from me, he lets go of my arm.
Hadrian has wisely removed his hands from Molly. As soon as she’s free, she rushes over to me. Her spindly arms wrap around my middle. I freeze as terror claws up my spine. Last time she grabbed me like this, I succumbed to the darkness. But now? Now, the urge to gut Hadrian keeps me drawn into the light. To protect her.
&
nbsp; “Thank you,” she murmurs, her hot breath tickling my chest over my minnasuit.
I bring my nostrils to the hair on her nog and inhale. My eyes remain locked on Hadrian in warning. He glowers back but stays far away from me.
“This is your wish, little one?” Breccan asks, no longer holding the mortling. “You wish to mate with Draven?”
She nods but refuses to look at him. “Yes. Now can we please leave? I’m tired. We can talk about all this later.”
Breccan frowns at me. He knows me better than any mort here. He knows I don’t want to mate. Not at all. My commander is intelligent, and I can see the questions dancing in his eyes. For now, all he does is nod his approval. It’s enough for me. I pry the alien away from me, giving us much needed space, and point next door to where my chambers are.
She doesn’t need to be told, she simply rushes over to the door and waits for me to open it. Before I follow her, my eyes catch Sayer’s. He’s amused as he watches me. Jareth stands close to him and leans in to whisper something. Those two and their rekking secrets. Normally, it doesn’t bother me, but when I think they are whispering about my mate, I don’t like it.
Ignoring the morts of our faction, I wave my bracelet that grants us access into my chambers. As soon as the doors close behind us, she lets out a gasp.
I relax as I take in my view. My windows remain uncovered. I slathered the glass in sabrevipe blood long ago to keep out the harmful UV rays without obstructing the view. The windows take up the entire far wall and give unobstructed views of the vast wasteland that is our planet.
She walks over to the glass and touches it. When I come to stand beside her, she looks up at me and gives me what she must think is a brave smile. It’s anything but brave, though. My mate is terrified.
“Toto, it doesn’t look like we’re in Kansas anymore,” she whispers.
I fist my hands because the urge to twist my fingers in the messy yellow and brown strands on her nog is becoming too maddening of a thought. “I will keep you safe. From them,” I rumble, indicating the other morts. “And from that.”
She shivers when my claw plinks on the glass. “We have a deal.”
