by Amanda Milo
For the very briefest of moments, her smile slips and she nearly rears back—but she catches herself, affecting a very convincing show of what she calls cockiness or sauciness. “Of course I am. You’re just realizing this?”
I peer at her. “I’m thinking, not for the first time, that you’re perfect for me.”
Creator. I believe I’ve managed to render Gracie speechless.
As I watch, warm color spreads up her throat and along her cheeks and the rushing blood must shock her, because her eyes widen and she presses her hands to her face. “What’s happening to me? You’re doing something to my powers!”
My brow creases. “You have powers?”
She scoffs. “I did, yeah! I’m untouchable. I don’t blush. What the hell—Helsinki is this?”
“I don’t know,” Beth says, “but I’m so happy to say we got it on camera.”
We glance over and find she’s focused on a tiny screen while one of her husbands aims the large camera equipment in our direction.
Gracie places her hand on my chest and applies pressure until I step backward. When Beth’s in her view, she chokes, “You mean the cameras really are running footage? The whole time?”
“The whole time,” Beth nods enthusiastically.
“Gryfala are going to be quite pleased,” I muse.
“Yes they will,” Beth agrees. Her voice holds a definite note of pride.
Gracie’s hand absently reaches for my shoulder; I press the curve of my talon into her palm, and she tugs it down until my wing extends low enough she can comfortably walk hand-in-talon with me. It never fails to make my hearts feel as if they’re contracting with pleasure.
To Beth, she exclaims, “Hold up. You made a deal with them, didn’t you? To film us in our,” she holds up her fingers, motioning with the first and second digits nearest to her opposable thumbs, “‘native habitat?’”
Beth grins. “You’re damn right I did.” She delivers this with a strange amount of intensity before she relaxes and adds, “Actually, it was a group effort. I just couldn’t waste the opportunity to use a great movie line.”
“A Few Good Men?”
Beth sharply brings up her hand as if to strike Gracie—but she halts. She holds her fingers flat, not unlike the motion for ‘stop.’
Gracie snorts before she abruptly collides her palm to Beth’s.
I have seen this performed by humans many times—Gracie herself with the children in fact—so no part of me was alarmed. “This is the human version of friendly wing slapping,” I say to no one, but Gracie spares me a fond look before Angie interrupts with a confused, disbelieving-sounding, “It doesn’t bother you? The cameras?” She looks back and forth between us, and spreads her hands. “And I’m not just talking right now. You two seem so cool with them watching you… allll the time. Really? It doesn’t bother you at all?” she repeats.
Gracie’s brows lift and her expression becomes one of profound amusement. “You’re talking the sex thing?”
Angie’s head-bob is most definitely an affirmative. “Yes, yes I’m referring to the sex thing.”
Gracie’s lips tip in a display that would near the vicinity of arrogance, if she weren’t being completely truthful. “Are you kidding? It’s so good, it deserves to be filmed. We are that fucking hot together.”
“Not to mention humble,” Angie adds with nearly convincing sincerity.
One of the human women stowaways (as Gracie is choosing to refer to them as) giggles.
Reminded of their multiplying presence, Gracie’s face transforms to a glower. “Okay, we need to wrap this the smuckmothers up and get back home.”
Angie snickers. “‘Smuckermothers?’”
“That’s ‘smuckmothers’ but yeah.” She holds up her hands in a gesture of clear defeat. “I’m working to curb my swearing before Akita beats the ability to cuss right out of me. Plus, I’m just a considerate fucking person like that. I don’t want to corrupt a kid. Honestly, if anyone’s in danger of doing that, you’d think it’d be the guardian who’s going around abducting women—but who am I to point fingers at the way he runs his little stolen family?” She drags a chocolate out of a compartment on her suit. “Besides, this best-behavior deal is all good practice for when we get back home and Callie has her baby.”
Our group’s mood noticeably plummets. Callie’s baby was sired by one of the males that brutalized her. Her mate, Zadeon, has done all he can to aid in her recovery—including the dismemberment of her rapists. Being that he is a Rakhii, he is exceedingly welcoming of the chance to lovingly rear Callie’s offspring, regardless of the other half of the babe’s parentage.
Glaring around, Gracie declares in a hard voice, “Knock this gloomy-pity attitude out right here, right now. Do not let her see this, we clear? Callie’ll be okay. And hey,” she brightens. “Speaking of, we still need to swing by her old place.”
Beth checks and refastens her infant’s diaper, growing distracted. “Where’s she from again?”
Gracie’s grin makes me suspicious. So does her sly look in my direction before she says, “Moose and mosquito country. I can’t wait to show the aliens.”
“Ha!” Angie bounces on the balls of her feet. “That’ll be fun. It’s great to show them new things. I can’t wait to show Arokh the wonders of a bubble bath.”
Gracie blinks at her. “Are you seriously going to cram your giant alien into a bathtub full of bubbles?”
Angie whips a bottle out of her pocket. “Oh yeah. We’re going to be soaking in Cinnamon Cran-Rakhii Mango Madness bubbles the size of Tokyo before the night’s out.”
Gracie’s neck straightens and her eyes widen. “I’m not sure if that’s good or bad but I think I have to see this.”
I bristle despite the fact that I myself am curious to view this. I need to control my baser impulses.
“Right? But is it just me or does it feel too decadent? I still haven’t gotten used to running water. It’s funny what a few weeks of severe H2O rationing will do to you. I feel weirdly guilty about turning on a tap and letting it run, you know?”
Gracie’s light dims, but she doesn’t lose her smile. “Our situations were a little bit different, but I follow you.”
Angie gasps. “Oh, shit, sor—”
Gracie points a warning finger at her friend. “Do not finish that. I’m fucking fine.”
A little voice from nearby whispers, “She swore!”
Hotahn’s growl makes Gracie’s smile return to her natural one—dangerously mischievous—and even amps it up a little. “Aw, sorry about that, Akita.” She spins towards the girl. “Cricket! There you are. What heinous words would I utter without you?”
CHAPTER 9
GRACIE
It’s dark outside when Beth and I stand on the loading dock and gaze at the contents in the well-lit interior of Brax’s ship. Earlier today, a brilliant soul by the name of Serena mentioned the need for bacon (how could we have planned for waffles without bacon?) and coffee creamer, so we’ve got that packed in here too. Essentials: CHECK! “Cluck me, I think we’re doing it.”
“Cluck?”
“I said I’m working on the cussing. Be grateful for your daughter’s sake and shut your… actually, I got you something for your mouth.”
Beth casts a wary glance over me. “What is it?”
I pull out the candy bar. Boldly printed on the label are the words Take 5.
Beth doubles over, howling with laughter. “I’m going to punch you in the junk!”
In a bit of poetic cosmic timing, her five husbands appear, and they’re loving her reaction as much as I am.
I toss it to her. “Imagine how I handled seeing it in the store. I thought of you and I started braying like a jackass. I scared Dohrein. He almost didn’t want to be seen with me.”
“You’re some kind of ass,” she wheezes, wiping tears from her eyes.
I help her up, and it’s like we have this moment. Part of me wants to say something just to fuck with her, b
ut for once, I keep my trap shut because this is nice.
Instead of letting the moment pass she recovers enough of her breath to manage, “We did good. I think we got everything on our end of the list.”
“Plus some extras,” I grumble, taking a step back.
“I thought you said we weren’t to speak of them.”
“Yeah, well, I tried that too and look how many we have now.” I scowl at the women, allll the women I can’t see. “Seven circles of hells,” I complain, borrowing one of Dohrein’s phrases. “You realize this is our haul and its only day two?”
The hobs and Rakhii hovering around the stowaways aka mate-hopefuls look ready to throw down in case either Beth or I get ideas about tossing anyone off.
Beth bites her lip. “We’re gonna need a bigger boat.”
We do the ominous “Duhn-duhn-duhn-duhn-duhn-DUHN!” shark theme, and I get the urge to say something with some swear.
It’s like flair, but for a vulgarian.
“Hey, ‘Kita!” I wait for the big alien to slowly turn and acknowledge me. “Can I use alien cuss words?”
“No.”
“Is that like your favorite word?”
Is it or is it not almost all I hear from this guy?
“No.”
I roll my eyes. “Now you’re fuddlehucking with me.”
His mouth slants in what I think is his version of a small smile—and I feel awesome once more. Add another ‘I-made-a-Rakhii-smile-and-I’m-alive-to-tell-about-it’ hatch mark onto my scoreboard, please.
And that’s pretty much how the next hours left on Earth go. Crispin and Laura have already hit the success jackpot and have been bringing loads of literal tons of our magic beans—as well as a couple dozen of the best damn apple pies in the world and it’s hilarious that Crispin struggles to share, even while he refers to it as ‘dead-fish-finger pie.’
There’s a story there. Man, I look forward to nagging them for it.
We pick up everyone’s stuff—all the women who ended up leaving things behind on Earth when they got abducted have their chance to grab their things and take said things to our new home—and Dohrein and I make a pitstop for Callie’s belongings.
When we get back, I survey and take a mental tally… and I think we’re about set. “It’s time to wrap it up. Let’s blow this popsicle stand,” I declare.
“What about you?” Beth asks. “Did you get any of your stuff?”
“Yeah,” Angie pops up next to us. “Don’t you want anything?”
Not a fucking thing.
I give myself a moment to rein in the impulse to snap out these words and instead say, “Nah. I just want wish-fulfillment stuff now, so we’d better go while the going is good.”
“What sort of ‘wish-fulfillment stuff?’”
This question comes from Dohrein. I could smell him when he stepped beside me. Fluck, I love how he smells. I love it so much, I’m genuinely smiling when I answer, “I want a library they can sing the mermaid song about.”
Angie blinks in confusion. “Mermaid song?” She shares a bewildered look with Beth. “What mermaid song?”
I wave my hand. “You know. Look at my books, aren’t they all neat? Wouldn’t you think my collection’s complete? Wouldn’t you think I’ve got everything—yadda yadda.”
“You—” Beth loses her baby to one of her Stable. They love her kid like she’s their own. Beth barely misses a beat, turning back to me with curiosity. “You want books? You like to read?”
I love to learn. “What, you telling me that your heart didn’t go pitter-patter when the beast takes Belle to the library that first time? Tell me you didn’t and I’ll eat my kleeping shoe.”
“Kleeping—?”
“SHUT IT. I tole you I workeeng on it!”
Dohrein glances sharply at me. “Did your translator just malfunction?”
“No, I’m messing with her. This was my bad attempt at an accent.”
“Really?” she butts in. “What one? I couldn’t tell.”
“Fuck you backwards with a spoon,” I say before I whirl around, expecting Cricket’s bodyguard to be ready and waiting to toast me. I breathe a sigh of relief when I don’t see them. “Giving me a complex…” I mutter.
Dohrein’s soft chuckle has my heart feeling all weird and summersault-y. “The Rakhii is managing to alter your vocabulary through threat-conditioning.”
I press my hands on his chest and lean in. “I pucking love you when you bust out the science.”
“Mmm,” he purrs warmly. “What’s your reaction to particle-arly poor puns?”
***
It’s a good thing we’re wrapping up, because our group has drawn kind of a lot of scrutiny, and there’s no way to hide the trace of heavy vehicles hauling products, produce, seeds, and women-I-can’t-see to an empty clearing in the middle of nowhere outside of town.
No one questions us though, because who’s going to suspect that it’s aliens rushing to buy up tons of coffee and cocoa beans?
Exactly.
CHAPTER 10
DOHREIN
As I wait for Gracie to finalize this venture, I lean against the wall, my shoulders pressing against my—bless the Creator—unbound wings.
I’m enjoying some unobtrusive observation. It’s one of my favorite pastimes—it was before Gracie arrived in my life, and it’s only strengthened with her fascinating presence.
In short: she is ‘fun to watch.’
It’s disconcerting then that I’m ogling my female only to have a female’s hand land on my side… and stroke. Not my female. There are so many scents, but I don’t recognize this one. This does not smell like any of the women I have come to know: women who respect the boundaries.
Hobs are reared with a few absolutes governing their lives, one of which is the fact that Gryfalas do not tolerate males that stray. The mere scent of another Gryfala on their hob can be enough to throw his loyalty into question.
The Gryfala that is roused to question her hob’s loyalty will often do the simplest thing: she casts him out.
I belong to a human, and while humans do not perceive scents with acuity, they are quite capable of proprietary feelings when they see they have reason, and it’s a concern so deeply embedded it causes a small flare of anxiety to bite at me, manifesting into the odd sensation of thousands of tiny insects walking on my skin.
Outwardly, my frown of cool disapproval collides with a beguiling smile.
Not the beguiling smile I know and cherish.
“Remove your hand from my person,” I instruct the human. I feel the imaginary rap of a wing at the back of my skull for not adding the word please when addressing a female.
Unlike most hobs, I’m adept at ignoring this feeling.
Perhaps this female is woefully unaware it’s inappropriate to touch another male. Regardless of her motivations—and despite the fact that having my wings wrapped was an exercise in claustrophobic vexation—the memory of strangers ripping open my wings and stealing what’s meant only for my female is so fresh, with much horror I find myself wishing for the bindings once more.
Irritation pricks sharply, and the fringe running along the bottom edge of my wing begins to rattle in warning.
Gracie appears as if summoned.
Or as if she were watching me like I was her. The thought heats my hearts.
I can’t say the same for the human. She seems decidedly less pleased.
Gracie’s glare holds such venom, she rivals an actual Gryfala. Without a word vocalized—which, for Gracie, it must be said is rather shocking, not to mention concerning—the challenger human shrinks back. Gracie moves directly in front of me, so close our clothing brushes.
I’ve viewed Gracie exhibiting an inclination to share food items, jewelry, and even her clothes with other females. But she is aggressively possessive over me.
This renewed confirmation pleases me deeply.
Unlike the other humans, she doesn’t use light deflections and covert signaling
to convey that we are an established monogamous mated pair; no, Gracie does not employ even the thinnest veil of subtly.
She is so like a Gryfala.
Instead of allowing her adversary to slink away, Gracie advances on the other female and informs her that I belong to her alone.
Specifically, she growls, “Back off, you greedy skangk! Or we’ll find out if your blood doubles as spaceship floor polish! Dohrein’s MINE.”
Skangk, I swiftly log into the file of human slang words. Gracie will go over this latest with me tonight so that we can enter the definition into the translator database.
She never fails to be entertained at what I collect each day.
When I glance up to inquire if she would like to start now, I see she’s cornered the hobs and Rakhii assembled near us. “Who brought this one? Is this the kind of woman you want for yourself? No. You deserve better! Get a girl who doesn’t go looking for anyone but you. I’m going to introduce you to the catch and release principle. Take this one back and dump her in a lake.”
“Umm, Gracie…” Angie starts.
Gracie makes an exasperated sound. “Alive. I meant alive, okay? And that’s being generous—” she pauses her tirade to pose a question to her friend. “What would you do if she’d just walked up to Arokh like that?”
Arokh appears understandably affronted at the very idea.
Angie however bristles to a considerable degree. “Good point. I’d drown her myself.”
“Whoaaa,” Beth says, handing her baby off to one of her husbands and rushing forward. “Let’s watch the words we use around the aliens who take away very, very literal interpretations, okay?”
The juvenile female that Hotahn adopted tugs on Gracie’s tunic. In her other hand, she holds Hotahn’s tail. It should be noted that Hotahn is looking rather unimpressed—but not at the youngling.
At Gracie.
The mature female that Hotahn captured stands behind them, an odd mix of amusement and trepidation on her face.
Gracie takes in the group with confusion she doesn't attempt to mask. “Cricket,” she tips her chin to her in greeting, then raises her brows at Hotahn. “Cricket’s abductor—I mean adopter. What’s up?”
