by Webster, K
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 another 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.
“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.”
“We have a deal,” I agree, understanding her meaning. I try her name on my tongue again. “Molly.”
A smile tugs at her lips on one corner, drawing my attention there. “You can call me mate in front of the others if that, you know, helps them understand I’m yours.”
Heat wraps around my heart and clenches it tight in a way that actually feels good.
I’m yours.
My mate. My Molly. Mine.
5
Molly
My hands still tremble, but I hide them in the pockets of my suit, so Draven can’t see. For all my bravery so far, it had only taken the thought of hearing the alien baby to bring me back to the shivering thing I’d been when I’d woken up in the cryotube. I’m beyond grateful to Draven for bringing me to his quarters, away from the prying eyes of the others.
I don’t even mind the rust-colored blood smeared all over the large windows that cover one wall. It removes some of the light coming in, but it makes the space feel cave-like, cozy. That’s not the only thing different about his place.
A nest of pillows and threadbare blankets are piled atop the bedding area, and what look like claw marks mar the walls. Had he done those, or had some sort of wild animal gotten loose? Considering their extreme germaphobia, I’d put money on the former. The marks go almost from ceiling to floor, the ragged edges punctuated by blossoms of dark, red blood.
His rooms remind me of the den of some rabid animal. One who’d attack with the slightest provocation.
Oh, darlin’, what happened to you?
I erase those thoughts from my mind. I didn’t choose Draven because I wanted to be closer to him, I chose him because of all the morts, he’s the one who won’t want to be closer. He’s got more walls than a prison, and I have no interest in scaling them.
“Is there a bathroom?” I ask, gesturing down to my clothes. “Do you have somewhere I can get cleaned up?”
He nods toward the wall opposite the windows. “The bathing facilities are through there.”
Draven moves when I do, as though he’s going to offer to wash me, and I cut him off with a raised arm and a laugh. “Thanks, sugar, but I think I can handle it.”
I close the door behind me after a moment of confusion when I merely find buttons on the walls. My shoulders slump, and I press my face into my hands at the first moment of privacy since I stepped out of the cryotube. Tears want to come. I almost wish they would. A good cry would wring me out like an old wash-rag, but they don’t come. I’m simply too tired. Too hopeless. I may have limited protection linking myself to Draven, but what happens when I don’t immediately get pregnant?
The thought has me stripping out of the suit they provided me as my skin prickles with an uncomfortable heat. The shower is little more than a closet, and it takes me several minutes to figure out the buttons that activate the spray. I step under it and moan in delight as the water cascades over my skin, washing away my fears, if only for a moment.
When I step out, I find clothes waiting for me on a basin. Draven. Touched, I dry off with the thin towel provided and dress in the T-shirt-like apparel. The sleeves have been torn off, and I wonder why as I slip the material over my bare skin. Undergarments must not be one of their priorities.
I find Draven waiting, perched on his nest of blankets, one hand propped on his updrawn knee. A small light buzzes from the ceiling, but it, too, is filmed over with dark, red smears. Whatever had happened to him must have affected his senses. Vision, hearing, touch. The way he held himself separate from the other morts had stood out to me before, but the realization comes back to me now as I watch him watching me.
The others had been so open, friendly. A big family, considering each other is all they have left on this lost planet. But not Draven.
Draven is always apart, other.
An outsider.
And now he’s mine.
I cross the room to sit next to him, and he drops his knee, tensing, his hands in loose fists by his sides. The scars on his arms stand out in sharp relief under the dim light.
“What happened to you?” I ask. I consider touching his scars, wondering what caused them, if they still hurt. He always has this look in his eye, like he’s in constant pain, tortured.
I don’t want to relate to him, to feel the beginnings of affection warming my heart, filling my chest with the soft glow of sympathy, but I do. I, too, know what it feels like to be in pain. To ache with fear.
“The Rades,” he grunts, those squinted, black eyes on me.
Tucking my legs up under my body, I angle toward him. Story time before bed always made me sleepy, but I’m too wired to sleep. “Is that like a disease or something?”
He nods. “It took the lives of many morts.”
“And that’s why there’s only ten of you left,” I clarify.
“That is correct.”
That must have been awful. Probably still is. I guess neither of our lives have exactly been a pile of roses. “How did you survive?”
“If it hadn’t been for my commander, I wouldn’t have. The disease, it devastated our race. Better morts than me had succumbed to the delirium, the madness. The fever, it’s unendurable. Breccan had to lock me in a reform cell to keep me from harming myself or others.”
I reach out to take his hand, but he dodges my touch.
