by K. Webster
Imagining the female with Hadrian or Theron has more anger rippling through me. I don’t rekking care... So why am I ready to knock the rogshite out of one of those two?
“I prefer to be alone. Let someone else have her.” I narrow my eyes at him. “You?”
He shifts his eyes away. “I don’t want her.”
“Sayer?”
“He doesn’t want her either,” he snaps sharply at me.
We both grow quiet. For a moment, I feel a pang of protectiveness over her. Why do they not want her? Because she is more solidly built than Emery or Aria? Are these morts so insecure that they need a fragile mate to feel better about themselves?
“She was chasing after you when we found her,” Jareth says with a sigh. “This one is much friendlier than the other two were. Healthy, too. I think, perhaps, she found comfort in you somehow.”
I snarl from behind my mask. She made me a weak, blubbering mess. Her simple, harmless touch sent me hurtling into the madness of my mind.
But then…
I try to ignore the memory.
I will survive.
Somehow, sweetly spoken words that felt like they moved and tickled my skin dragged me from the vast void inside my nog. When I came back to, I fled from her. A shudder ripples down my spine.
“Think about it,” he says. “Now come on. I’ll help you get the armworms decontaminated.”
“Careful,” I tell him, ignoring his earlier words over about the female altogether. “The female armworm has eggs in her.”
He makes a loud sound of excitement before grabbing up the bag. We make our way back inside, the crushing, trapped feeling when I’m indoors nearly suffocating me. Just inside the doors, we step into a mini decontamination stall and take the time to clean off our suits first. Then, we wash the armworms before transferring them to a sterile bag. We exit the decontamination stall and carry on our way. The descent is filled with Jareth’s voice as he talks about some book Sayer is working on. I’m only half listening.
My mind is back on the female.
“Molly.”
I look at him in confusion as he pulls off his mask at the bottom of the stairs. “What is this strange word?”
He laughs, baring his double fangs at me. “It’s her name, mortarekker. Your mate.”
I growl as I yank off my mask. “She is not my mate. Take care of that tongue, or I’ll take care of it for you.”
“Oooh, I’m rekking terrified,” he says, feigning fear. It makes me want to thump him right between his eyes.
“Leave my presence, pest.”
He snorts. “You’re lucky we’re trapped here with you. Otherwise you wouldn’t have any friends.”
His choice of words has my sub-bones cracking in my neck and my ears flattening against my nog. The smile falls from his mouth as he realizes his misstep, and I relax once more.
“Enough with the amusement,” he says, growing serious. “Remember what I said about Molly. She needs a good mate. Someone who doesn’t want to use her to breed like a rogcow. As much as I’m looking forward to our race thriving again, I don’t think the same way as Breccan. He may be our commander, but he sometimes gets so set in his ways. Molly needs friends, not five morts hovering over her just waiting for her to bend over so they can spurt their seed in her.”
I whirl around, fury rising up so quick I swear my vision turns crimson. “They threaten to take her against her will?” The roar that erupts from me vibrates off the walls.
He flinches and quickly shakes his nog. “N-No, Draven. I’m only saying they want her for a mate.”
As I follow him through the doors and we shed our zu-gear, I can’t help but replay his words. Five morts. Not myself. Not Breccan or Calix as they already have mates. And not Sayer and Jareth. Because they don’t want mates either for some reason.
Hadrian, Galen, Oz, Avrell, and Theron.
Hadrian may be the youngest mort, but I see the way his eyes linger on Breccan and Aria, jealousy flickering in them. Galen, our faction’s botanist, always seems to be sneaking peeks at the females. Ozias may have his nog down tinkering on his projects, being he’s our mechanical engineer, but I’ve watched him on more than one occasion licking his lips whenever Aria is near, his projects easily forgotten. Theron, our rekking crazy pilot and navigator of the Mayvina, has been quite vocal about taking a mate. And then there’s Avrell. He may be our doctor and looks after the health of these alien females, but I’ve felt the longing coming from him in waves. I know he desperately craves a mate.
I stride past Jareth down the corridor on a path to anywhere but near him and his maddening words until voices in the sub-faction have me halting. Jareth chuckles as he passes with our bag of armworms. Ignoring him, I peek my head into the sub-faction. The new female—Molly—sits on the lounger in the middle of the room with Sayer at her side and with Oz and Galen standing nearby. Both Oz and Galen seem enraptured by whatever it is she’s saying. I watch as she speaks with her hands. Big gestures. Wild movements. And she doesn’t even need to use them because her voice…
She’s so loud.
The constant buzz inside my nog is silenced because her unusual, boisterous voice drowns it out. She’s no longer naked but instead now wears a minnasuit that is tight on her chest. I’m struck, staring at how the material seems to hug her breasts. It’s then I realize both Oz and Galen are admiring her there, too.
Molly needs friends, not five morts hovering over her just waiting for her to bend over so they can spurt their seed in her.
A growl of protectiveness bellows from me, yanking all their attention my way. The cool, open air of the doorway behind me keeps me calm. With the most threatening glare I can muster, I tell Oz and Galen wordlessly to back off.
She’s mine.
The thought has me pausing.
I don’t want her for a mate.
I simply want to protect her from those who want to mate with her.
“Leave,” I bark out. I am second-in-command at the facility, and I’m not afraid to use my position over them.
Sayer snorts, and Molly lets out a huff.
“Rude much?” she grumbles.
Snapping my eyes to hers, I check her over to make sure she is not distressed. If anything, she looks fairly comfortable. Far more comfortable than Emery or Aria ever were. Her brown eyes assess me with a mixture of curiosity and annoyance.
Not fear.
Not like earlier when I inadvertently let her out of her cryotube.
“I was just bringing her a gift,” Galen says as he sets down a bag filled with what I know are goldenroot candies.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
One by one, my sub-bones crack in my neck as I rise to my full, intimidating height. I have twenty-eight sub-bones, and I crack them slowly, my eyes full of fury as I glower at Galen. My ears flatten so tight against my nog I can hardly hear anything besides the burning rage roaring inside me.
Goldenroot candies are something he created for the humans. For when Breccan was trying to please his mate. Is Galen trying to please Molly?
Galen slinks away wisely, but Oz’s attention is still on Molly. He holds out a zuta-metal necklace. Another gift the female aliens are known to enjoy.
Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop.
Oz nearly trips over his own feet when he realizes I’m approaching and snarling. Our eyes meet as my final sub-bone cracks into place.
Pop.
“We were just leaving,” Galen says, grabbing Oz’s arm and dragging him away.
Turning my body, I shoot my vicious stare at Sayer. Instead of scrambling away, he grins at me.
“We were just explaining to Molly about our planet’s future. Our race’s future.”
“Leave,” I bellow.
The piece of rogshite doesn’t flinch a muscle. “I’m not a threat, Draven. I don’t want to mate with Molly.”
Molly.
Finally, my a
ttention turns back to her. Her brown eyes twinkle with amusement, and then she starts laughing. Laughing and laughing. And laughing.
I blink at her in confusion.
Maybe I found another being on this retched planet who’s just as mad as me.
And as much as that should terrify me, it doesn’t.
Rekk, why doesn’t it?
She’s mine.
I don’t want to mate with her!
But protecting her gives me a feeling of purpose. Something I haven’t felt in more revolutions than I can remember. I will keep her safe from Oz and Galen. And that empty-nog Hadrian. Avrell is no threat to me, even though I am sure he would love to have a mate. But Theron is. He’s the one who procured these females in the first place. He may think he has ownership over my Molly.
Over my dead rekking body.
3
Molly
At Draven’s harsh words, the rest of my visitors exit the door, leaving me alone with the imposing alien who still looks as though he’d like to eat me alive. Being someone’s dinner is most definitely not on my bucket list.
“You didn’t have to scare them away,” I chastise. “We were just getting to know each other.”
His nostrils flare, and his neck cracks ominously. “You have no need to get to know them,” he answers.
“Oh, honey,” I say with a dismissive wave of my hand, “I may have been brought here against my will, but that don’t mean I have to be inhospitable. That’s just bad manners. Besides, aside from you, the other aliens have been downright gentlemen.”
“Morts are not gentle,” he growls. “And you are the alien.”
I hold the curious necklace the one named Oz gave me out for inspection. I’ve always had an affinity for pretty things. Gesturing to Draven, I say, “Isn’t this just darling?” Sounds of pleasure escape my chest. “The others have been explaining to me about how I ended up here. I have to say, I was as nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs at first, let me tell you. I mean, you have to agree it was a shock.” I chuckle a little as I turn the necklace this way and that. “I think we both may have given each other quite a scare. I may still be a little out of it, but I pinched myself hard enough to give me a heck of a bruise, so I guess it can’t be a nightmare.” I’m babbling, I always babble, but I can’t seem to stop. “Sayer explained about your race and the disease. I just can’t even imagine. Bless your hearts.”
“Sayer explained,” Draven says through gritted teeth, “about needing a mate?”
I lift a shoulder dismissively and clasp the necklace around my neck. “He did. I haven’t quite wrapped my head around it all yet. How could I? But they were very kind. Is this candy?” Before he can answer, I pop one into my mouth. The sugar-sweetness bursts over my tongue, causing me to make a sound of pleasure. “Mmmm! This is just like butterscotch. Well, don’t that just beat all?”
“What else did they explain about mates?” Draven takes a step closer. I eye him warily. I haven’t quite decided if he’s dangerous or not. He doesn’t seem as unstable as he did when we first met, but there’s still a wild energy around him that reminds me of an untamed animal—like the first provocation will send him nipping and kicking at anyone in his immediate vicinity. I’d rather not be there when that happens.
“Sayer and Jareth brought me to the sub-faction—Is that the right term?—Anyway, they told me how you are the last of your kind, that you found me and the others, and have decided to take us as mates among you. How does that work—exactly? Are we assigned one of you?” My tone is blithe and uncaring. Better to get the harsh realities over with as soon as possible, so I can deal with them. I’ve never quite been in this situation, but I’ve dealt with life-altering changes before, and I will deal with this, too.
I have to.
As I wait for his answer, I begin to hum another tune. This one is “I Walk the Line” by Johnny Cash. Draven reminds me a bit of Johnny Cash. Rough around the edges. A rule-breaker. If his scars and brash demeanor are any indication, he’s not the gift-giving kind like the others. Not that it matters. I haven’t decided which alien I’ll let woo me, for now, but Draven doesn’t seem like the mating sort.
The sliding door behind him opens, and another alien—one I haven’t met yet—walks through, his pace brisk and no-nonsense. He’s draped in a thin gown over his suit—like the one I’m wearing—except his is covered in smears of blood. Draven snaps to attention, his ears flattening, and long, dangerous looking claws extend from his massive hands.
“Aria?” Draven barks at the newcomer.
With a sigh of relief the other alien says, “She’s well. All is well. Their son is also. They’ve named him Sokko, after Breccan’s father.”
I freeze, the butterscotch-like candy sticking in my throat. My tongue seems to have swollen in size, and I wonder if I’ll choke on them both. The two aliens don’t seem to notice my distress.
“A son,” Draven says, almost breathlessly. “A son.”
A baby. There’s a baby here.
“Yes, it’s incredible. But first, Breccan was wondering what the alarms were earlier. He sent me to check. Is everything—”
It’s then he notices me. I lift a hand in welcome, swallowing the last of the candy, even though it scratches my throat on the way down. “Hey there,” I say with what I hope is a friendly smile. “I’m Molly.”
“Mortarekker,” the new alien says. “What is the meaning of this?” he demands of Draven. “Breccan will have your nog for waking a female early. We were supposed to wait until Calix returned to run more tests. Aria’s delivery was successful, but we still don’t know if that will always be the case. How could you be so reckless?”
As the other alien berates Draven, I watch as Draven’s ears press closer and closer to his skull. The slits of his eyes pinch closed until only the barest glint of black is visible. I’m reminded of a puppy I once owned when I was a girl. The poor dear had been abused by her previous owner, and even though she was only a few months old, she’d already learned to make herself as small as possible whenever she encountered loud sounds. What had happened to Draven to make him react the same way?
I launch myself to my feet and across the room before I know what I’m doing. “It wasn’t his fault!” I interrupt. “The other ones—Sayer and Jareth—they told me a magna-something hit the building and fried the thingy I was in. It made it malfunction, and Draven saved me.” Save is a loose interpretation of what he did, and I expect him to interject, but he’s quiet behind me. I can feel the waves of anxious energy buffeting against my back. He’s practically vibrating. “It wasn’t his fault,” I repeat firmly.
The alien in front of me purses his lips. Despite his harsh words toward Draven, he doesn’t seem like the malicious type. His eyes—black though they are—seem kind. His fangs aren’t sharp and imposing like the others, they’ve been filed down to look somewhat normal. He holds up a hand, which I clasp with my own, and gives me a benevolent smile.
“Forgive me,” he says, “I did not mean to frighten you. My name is Avrell. I’m what you would call a doctor here at the facility. You’re…Molly, you said?”
My shoulders slump in relief. “That’s right.”
“Why don’t you come with me? Breccan and Aria could use some time to bond with their mortling before the others demand to shower them with well wishes. While they rest, I should do some tests on you.” At my horrified look, Avrell hurries to explain, “Don’t worry, standard procedure. Since your cryotube was damaged, we’d be remiss to neglect an exam. If you’ll follow me.” He gestures to the doorway he came through.
I hesitate. “Do you mind if Draven comes with me?” The only reason I manage to lock my arm around Draven’s before he can escape is because I catch him off guard. Any one of the other guys would throw themselves at my feet to go with me, but Draven is the only one who would rather be anywhere else—which is exactly why I want him. As much as I enjoy their attention, Draven won’t expect anything from me. In fact,
I can guarantee that as soon as he’s able, he’ll be running in the other direction.
And I’m counting on it.
I hiss as Avrell helps me onto the cool surface of the table. My eyes are clenched tightly. “How long will it take?” I ask, trying to keep my teeth from chattering. It’s not the cold that’s making me shiver. It’s fear. Fear worse than waking up in a strange place, trapped.
“We implanted all the females once we transferred them safely to the facility,” Avrell explains. Am I mistaken or was there a thread of apology in his voice?
“Did—” I grit my teeth, then force myself to calm down. “Did any of them take?” Please say no. Please say no. I’ll worry about the injustice of being implanted against my will later. Can’t think about that now.
There’s a pause punctuated by the sound of fingers against a keyboard, then I feel the blunt head of some sort of scanner against the lower portion of my belly. Avrell had me change into a thin gown for the general health exam—which I passed with flying colors—then he had me sit on an exam table with a blanket on my lap with the gown pulled up over my belly.
“I apologize for this dated technology, but the wegloscan is under maintenance. Oz is adding some new features to it,” Avrell mutters. “For now, we must run this test the old way.”
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.”
