Weaving Fate

by Octavia Kore

  And if he found Clara?

  Zaheer felt his chest tighten at the image of his little alien in Pumo’s clutches. No, he needed to pull himself back and stay focused. His guardian might hate the idea of limiting his contact with Clara, and shockingly so did he, but Zaheer wasn’t sure he could live with himself for the pain and suffering these new feelings would bring to the ones he cared for.

  Chapter 8

  Clara

  Clara’s cheeks burned as embarrassment washed over her. She ducked behind the huge black creature her alien morphed into, recalling her suit and praying a hole would open up beneath her and swallow her. At least then she wouldn’t have to face the consequences of her stupid actions. She’d considered the possibility that the two aliens she’d met after waking up that first day were related, but with the way the female was looking at the male now, she was wondering if they were much more than that.

  Good job, Clara. You’re an alien homewrecker.

  If he really was with the female, he should feel much worse than Clara.

  God, why had she let it get so far out of hand? Before her alien—no, he was clearly not hers—had shown up and lost his mind, Clara had busied herself with unraveling the threads of web that covered the woven baskets so that she could braid them into rope sturdy enough to help her escape, but she’d been interrupted. The other male had stepped through the wall and startled the hell out of her when he rushed forward. He’d barely had time to press his face into her neck before this male showed up and scared him off.

  When Mr. Big-Bad-and-Shifty touched her, Clara lost every shred of common sense she’d ever possessed. After she and the others crashed on this planet, Clara finally had the chance to ask just how much time had passed since her abduction from her home on Earth. Jun and Brin were the nearest arrivals, and if what the other woman said was true then nearly an entire year had passed since the Grutex snatched her as she headed home from her doctor’s appointment. Nearly a year had passed since she’d felt the kind of freedom this alien male had offered on the floor of the treehouse she was being held captive in.

  Clara glanced up at him as the female spoke, the tuft of hair around her neck lifting as all four of her fists clenched at her sides. She was obviously pissed. The male above her bristled and she stared up at him. In this form, he looked like something you’d find in a cryptozoology book under “hellhound,” but where she’d always seen those creatures depicted with fur, this beast’s body was covered in leathery-looking black skin that reminded her a lot of the Grutex suit she wore.

  He was huge, standing a little taller than he did in his two-legged form. His black hide was stretched over a sleek frame, highlighting the lean muscle just beneath the surface. Clara couldn’t see it from her current position, but when he’d transformed earlier, she’d watched in stunned fascination as the overlapping ridges running from the base of his skull to mid-back flexed and shifted with his movements.

  The lips on his canine-like muzzle were lifted in a fierce snarl that made Clara shiver. Small glowing tendrils shaped like little aqua-colored beansprouts arched from the frill on top of his head. His tail—which was by far the most unnerving thing about this form—whipped around behind him, glowing the same aqua color as the things on his head and tipped with three stingers the size of her hand.

  The female’s eyes widened, tears shimmering around the edges, before she spun around and disappeared through the wall. Shit. Clara was a sucker for tears—even the alien kind, it would seem. When the male above her made no move to follow, Clara shoved him. His massive head swung toward her, and he buried his snout in her hair, sniffing and purring as he nuzzled against her.

  “Seriously? Go fix that!” Clara pushed him away and gestured toward the entrance of the room. “I hope you’re good at groveling because she looks beyond pissed at the both of us.” The beast tilted its head as if he were trying to figure out what she was saying. “Go. After. Her.” She punctuated each word with a nudge, hoping she wouldn’t have to go as far as shoving him through the wall like she’d done in the bathroom.

  His head swiveled toward the entrance, and he took a step forward before glancing back at her. There was something in his gaze between shame and desperate desire. She was sure both were reflected in her eyes because even now, the need he’d stirred within her still burned in her belly. Her fingers itched to trace the lines of his face and comb through the soft fur that covered his body.

  The beast’s nostrils flared as if he could smell her arousal, but Clara shook her head and pointed at the wall. “Go!” She waited until he’d passed through the barrier before letting her shoulders sag. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

  With a heavy sigh, Clara scrubbed her hands over her face. Not exactly making friends here, are you, Clara? She positioned herself so she could keep an eye on the entrance in case anyone decided to come back and slipped her rope materials from the space between the baskets where she’d shoved them when Mr. Creeper, the other male, had surprised her. It was surprisingly easy to work with and far sturdier than she’d originally thought.

  Rope making was supposed to distract her from the mess she’d made, but it did very little to help keep Clara’s mind from replaying the entire thing. You might have just let someone’s mate give you one of the best orgasms you’ve had in a longtime—maybe ever—and you can’t even try to pretend to feel awful about it?

  It wasn’t that she didn’t feel awful, because she really did, but when he’d growled those unfamiliar words along the bond, Clara’s body had felt more alive than she could ever remember.

  Wait… He’d spoken to her inside her mind. They’d all acted as if they couldn’t hear her when she spoke to them, but how could he not have heard her if he also had this ability?

  “Clara? You okay over there?” Layla’s voice broke through her thoughts.

  Was she okay? She had practically begged one of their alien captors to fuck her. No, she was about as far from okay as a girl could get. “I’m fine. Why? What’s going on?”

  “There’s yelling outside. Sounds like a big argument, but I can’t make any of it out.”

  Oh, she knew what it was about, but she wasn’t about to have that conversation right now. “I’m sure it’s fine, Layla. Have they been nice to you? Are they feeding you?”

  “I’m not sure what the hell is in those sacks they’ve given me, but it’s way better than what the Grutex forced us to eat.” There was a pause, and Clara could imagine Layla sitting with her back to the wall, staring up at the ceiling the same way she’d done in her cell inside the lab. “Still wish it was pizza.”

  “You keep wishing for pizza, and I’ll keep my fingers crossed they’re hiding space food trucks somewhere in the forest.” Layla giggled as Clara continued to braid the threads together. “Hey, if you hear the shouting quiet down, can you give me a heads up? I’m attempting to put my camp kid skills to good use by making a rope, but I don’t want to be caught with it.”

  “I’ve got you.”

  Clara pulled down another basket so she could unravel the webbing. This one contained the roots she’d found earlier, and when her stomach rumbled dramatically, Clara eyed them. None of the aliens had brought her anything to eat or drink since her first run-in with the broth sacks. The Grutex might be a lot of things, but even they had fed her regularly. If these roots were edible, they might be enough to stave off her hunger until they brought her something more filling.

  Digging her nails into the skin, Clara sniffed at the flesh inside and rubbed a bit of the sap on the inside of her elbow like they’d shown all the kids at summer camp. When no rash appeared on her skin, Clara moved it to her mouth, dabbing the sap onto her lips and crossing her fingers that she wouldn’t feel any tingling or burning sensations.

  After breaking off a piece, Clara popped it into her mouth and let it sit for a few more minutes, tamping down the temptation to chew the little morsel. When there was no reaction, Clara bit down, coughing in surprise when water sprayed against the back o
f her throat. The texture was odd, like chewing on a piece of raw ginger, but there was hardly any flavor at all to it. It wasn’t bitter, soapy, or even sweet. It was almost like popping one of the Grutex water packets into her mouth.

  When she’d gone a few more minutes without any negative reaction, she reached out to Layla. “Hey, are there baskets in your room?”

  “Yep. I’ve looked inside and there’s pillows, blankets, roots of some kind, and a couple daggers I would consider pocketing if I had pockets. Should we ever meet up with the Grutex again, I’ve got some design enhancements for these suits.”

  Clara smiled, thankful that if she had to be stuck here with anyone that it was Layla. “The roots in the baskets are filled with water. Break off bite-sized pieces and chew slowly.”

  “Thanks for the tip. Have you gotten a tour of their bathrooms yet?”

  “The potty bloom? Yeah, the flower and I got to know each other really well.”

  “I’ve decided to dub it the bloom room,” Layla said. “Honestly though, I’d kill for some kind of toilet paper. I about jumped out of my skin the first time it spit water at me.”

  Clara smothered the laugh that bubbled up her chest and shook her head at the ridiculous name. The bidet-like feature was… interesting, to say the least. “Do you still hear them out there?” she asked, wishing she didn’t have to rely on Layla like this.

  “I hear voices, but the shouting has stopped. I wonder what the hell got them riled up.”

  Minutes and hours passed as she worked without interruption. Layla kept her company, chattering as Clara’s mind drifted. None of the aliens returned to her room with food and by the time the light outside began to dim, Clara had given up hope of dinner ever arriving. She finished off the root she’d started on and then carefully hid her growing rope and the rest of the supplies. If they weren’t going to come back and check on her then she might as well get some sleep before morning.

  Gathering up the pillow and blankets from the baskets, Clara made herself a pallet nest on the floor and settled in.

  The next few days crawled by. Mr. Big-Bad-and-Shifty stopped by once a day to bring her a meal—under the watchful eye of his could-be mate. The look he gave her each time he ripped open the sack and tipped the contents into her mouth led her to believe he was furious, but she couldn’t tell if it was directed at her or himself. To make things even more confusing, he’d brought her a beautiful purple bloom the day before. It had been laid at her feet like some sort of offering, and even though she probably should have thrown it back at him, Clara had tucked it beneath the pillows in her nest.

  Clara spent most of her time with the angry female and Mr. Creepy, a massive black male with red and teal stripes. As it turned out, Mr. Creepy wasn’t so bad. He tried his best to communicate with her using hand signals. If he could hear her in his mind, he showed no sign of it. She still didn’t care for his idea of introductions, but he was far friendlier than the female.

  Do you really blame her for not wanting to spend time around you? No, but that didn’t mean Clara enjoyed being on the receiving end of those death stares. It wasn’t like she knew he was mated, or whatever it was these aliens called it. She wanted to apologize, even if the female couldn’t understand.

  Despite the guilt she felt, Clara woke up each morning drenched in sweat and panting, clinging desperately to the fading threads of her dream. Her body throbbed with the memory of his mouth and finger working her into a frenzy and of the way he’d touched her like she was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen. And when she recalled the sound of his voice in her mind, it did things to her that she wasn’t exactly proud of.

  During her free time when the aliens left her to her own devices, Clara worked on the rope. Each time the female left, she bound Clara’s wrists and ankles, and each time Mr. Creepy returned, he severed the threads before tossing them into a basket. Before she knew it, a week had come and gone and her rope was slowly coming together.

  She thanked every deity in existence for the wonder that was her suit. Even without bathing, Clara hadn’t noticed any foul odors, which meant the material was doing its job. That wasn’t to say she didn’t want a bath. The memory of the river she and the others in the group stopped at to gather water teased her. What she wouldn’t give to be able to wade in and let the water wash away every horrible moment of the last year.

  “What are you up to?” Layla asked.

  Clara almost laughed aloud at the absurdity of the question. “Thinking.”

  “About what?”

  “How nice it would be to take a bath.”

  “Oh, man, that sounds nice,” Layla responded. “I’d settle for a bucket of water and rag at this point.”

  “Are you alone over there?” Clara asked. They hadn’t figured out where they were in relation to each other, so they used “over there” to refer to the other one’s treehouse.

  “Yeah. The female was here a little bit ago, but she’s out now.”

  “I wish I could hear them speaking so I could at least attempt to learn some of their language,” Clara mused.

  “Sometimes I wish I couldn’t hear them when they talk. The things I’ve been able to decipher aren’t exactly nice.”

  Clara worried her lip. “What have you heard? Have they said anything about harming us?”

  “No. I don’t think that’s their intention, but… I don’t know. The female rants sometimes about a stupid male when she thinks I’m asleep. She doesn’t talk around me when I’m awake.”

  “Do you think that’s why you aren’t learning the language as quickly as you expected?”

  “It has to be. I’ve never taken this long to learn one before.” Layla’s ability to quickly learn languages was something that could be incredibly useful, but she couldn’t learn if they were refusing to speak around her.

  Mr. Creeper stepped through the wall, a friendly smile sliding across his face when their eyes met. Clara was tired of being ignored. Up until then, she’d chattered to him, not expecting the male to respond, but today she was looking for some proof that not only could they hear her, but that they could understand her.

  “Hey there. Busy day?” Mr. Creeper crouched down in front of her and cut the threads binding her before tossing them into the only open basket. “Thanks for that.” She watched him cross the room and when his back was to her, Clara gasped. “Watch out! There’s something on your back!”

  Mr. Creeper spun around, all four of his hands swatting at his fur before he froze suddenly.

  “Busted.” The male turned toward her slowly, and Clara almost lost her battle to suppress her triumphant grin. “You’ve been able to hear me this entire time and you can understand what I’m saying?”

  The muscle in his jaw ticked, and he begrudgingly inclined his head. The deep timbre of his voice echoed in her mind, something that even with a cochlear implant Clara had never been able to experience before. One of the biggest issues with the implant was that pitch and timbre were hard to relay. Even just isolating individuals talking in a crowd was difficult to do. She couldn’t make out anything she recognized as words, but she wouldn’t have understood them anyway. She couldn’t wait for Mr. Big-Bad-and-Shifty to return so she could give him a piece of her mind.

  “My name is Clara. What’s yours?”

  Mr. Creeper tilted his head before responding. This time, Clara made out a few distinct sounds.

  “May you?” The male shook his head, repeating the word a few more times. “Maylu?” she said, trying to wrap her tongue around the last part of his name. A grin tugged at his lips and he nodded, obviously pleased that he’d taught her something, but that seemed to be as far as he was willing to go with the conversation. Despite her best efforts, Maylu ignored her for the rest of his shift. His frown at her obnoxiously off-key singing was the only indication he heard her at all.

  Vibrations carried across the floor of the treehouse, and Clara looked at the entrance, her heart racing as she waited to see who would st
ep through the barrier. She shouldn’t be this excited at the prospect of seeing the male again, and yet she couldn’t stop the anticipation bubbling up inside of her.

  When the female stepped into the room, her face already drawn into a mask of anger, Clara’s shoulders slumped. There was a quick exchange of words between Maylu and the female, and Clara didn’t miss the pity in the male’s face when he glanced back at her before leaving the treehouse. Great, of course he knows I fucked up. The female’s twin tails whipped side to side behind her as she moved farther into the room. In her upper hands sat a strange little animal. Its bulbous eyes were milky white, and the long slender nose wriggled as the blue fur on its back bristled.

  Clara’s gaze followed the movement of the female’s tails as they wrapped around the front of her body. A delicate thread shot out of the tip of one tail and the other took it up, weaving a web around the animal as the female lowered her hands. Was this some sort of alien magic trick? One of those “now you see it, now you don’t” type deals? The little animal didn’t even put up a fight, and within seconds it was completely encased within the sack.

  For the first time since they’d met over a week ago, the female looked at Clara and smiled. What the hell was she doing? Was this an intimidation tactic? The orb rolled from one hand to the other, and only then did it occur to Clara that this sack was incredibly familiar. It was just like the ones Mr. Big-Bad-and-Shifty brought her for dinner. Her eyes widened as she stared up at the female, her stomach churning.