by Amanda Milo
Jonoh’s face screws up. “He managed to smear you with his pungent pheromones quite effectively.”
I look back to Dohrein and Gracie to see Gracie grinning—and the thing on her lap by the way is a doll. It’s a little winged person. A hob. She’s got her sewing needle stuck in it like a pin. (Like a Voodoo pin; I knew it!) “Congratulations, Isla,” she says. “You’re taming the quarry’s beast.”
My melancholy feelings shed off of me like I’ve unzipped a suit. “He gardens rocks instead of roses, but he so is the beast!” I clap my leg happily and open my arms up for Jonoh to give me a congratulatory hug.
Jonohkada declines with a decisive shake of his head. “No—I thank you for the offer of a platonic friendship-reinforcement touch, but the next time your Rakhii greets you, I don’t want you scenting of me.”
Dohrein’s eyes narrow thoughtfully and he makes a note on his tablet.
I clap my hand to my forehead, almost slumping in relief at the scenario Jonoh’s words conjure. “Oh, man, I love that you call him my Rakhii. Now here’s to hoping he still wants to be mine.” I turn to the rest of the room. “Okay, team, thanks. I’m feeling loads better.” I look to Laura. “But we still get ice cream, right?”
Crispin shifts his weight and looks over his shoulder at his woman. She pops a kiss on the side of his face before she grins at me. “We still get ice cream.” She winks at her man. “With dead fish finger pie.”
“Count me out of whatever that is,” I tell them. “And show me where the frozen sugar’s at.”
Dohrein’s voice is his version of enthusiastic. “There is an ice cream stage of healing, how fascinating.” Tap, tap, tap goes his tablet.
Mandi rolls her eyes and gets more comfortable on her couch. It draws my eye. And then she has all of my attention. Because what she doesn’t know is her cat has left his corner, and he’s peering over the couch back, staring down at her like a predator. Like, well? Like a cat watches a mouse.
I grin.
Gracie doesn’t spare them a glance. She waves to get my attention. “Yo, come over here.” She pats the sofa cushion opposite Dohrein’s side of her body.
Dutifully, I flop down next to her. Then I snatch her doll from her and hold it up as I lean around her belly and give Dohrein a mock wince. “Do you feel any pain in your ribs?”
His eyes drift down to the doll, then back up to me, his face plainly confused but also intrigued. “I do not. Why?”
He’s still holding his tablet and pen. He’s so going to write this down. “Because this,” I shake the doll by the wing, “is what practitioners of dark, dark magic use when they want to punish the object of their attentions.”
Gracie pinches me on the arm. I yelp and drop the doll.
Gracie catches it, cradling it in her hands. “It’s not a Voodoo doll, you numpty.”
Jonohkada appears as curious as Dohrein. He sinks back down to the floor, folding his long legs crisscross-style. But he’s careful to look to Dohrein for permission before he reaches out and asks Gracie if he can examine the doll up close. Gracie huffs in her mate’s direction before he can give verbal permission (he does nod though) and hands it to Jonoh.
“What is a Voodoo doll?” Dohrein asks, tapping his tablet.
“It’s a doll that’s bespelled so that whatever damage you deal to it, the human likeness experiences the same damage,” I explain.
Dohrein lifts his head from his tablet, and he looks to his wife.
Gracie growls and snatches back her doll. “It’s not Dohrein! It’s Jonohkada!”
It’s not immediately apparent from Dohrein’s expression whether he’s feeling relieved or usurped to learn he isn’t the recipient of his mate’s dangerous attentions.
Jonohkada looks confused. His fingers are still held aloft where he was cradling the snatched Voodoo doll. “You made a doll of punishment in my likeness?”
Dohrein releases a puff of breath that I realize is very quiet laughter. He takes the doll from Gracie and holds it up for Angie and Arokh to see. “I feel compelled to test this. Would you care to singe this for me? Just an edge or two. For science.”
“Stop saying that,” Gracie warns.
Arokh’s hand strokes through Angie’s hair, making her eyes close in bliss. When he reaches her nape, he clamps her neck possessively, his alien eyes glittering as he smirks at Dohrein. “Only if the doll is you.”
“Ooooh,” I goad, chuckling.
Dohrein tips his head to him, smiling good-naturedly. Gracie yanks the doll from his fingers. “Knock it off,” she orders through bared teeth, beginning to look as serious as a badger. She sends me a glare that promises a painful death. To Jonoh, she assures, “There are no stupid spells. It’s just a doll. Nothing will happen to you. I’m making it for Kaylee.”
“Little Kaylee!” Jonoh says, brightening. “She will be pleased.”
I squint. “Kaylee’s the mouthy kid? The cute one that comes with her own Rakhii guard? Maybe you should have made her a little Hotahn doll.”
“She’s not mouthy,” Gracie contends. “She’s just got a mind of her own. And Akita—”
(This is Gracie’s nickname for Hotahn.)
“—is her dad; she has him as much as she wants. But she’s declared that Jonoh is her best friend so I’m making her a doll of him so she can take him everywhere.”
“Sweet,” I say, meaning it.
Gracie pins me with a haughty look that tells me I’m about to be back on the cushions on the floor. “I thought so.”
Dohrein’s wing talon eases up and down her back, which causes her expression to melt to something a little less deadly.
I make a popping sound as I drag my lower lip from between my teeth. “So you brought me up here to say something; say it. I’m ready for the ice cream stage to begin.”
Gracie takes a big breath. Her fingers worry the edges of the doll’s wings, picking at some loose threading. “You said Bash thinks you’re going to be like the Gryfala he knew.” Her gaze meets mine; hers solemn. “What do you know about Gryfala and Rakhii?”
“I’ve heard that your Gryfala-in-law finds your pregnancy mood swings endearing and her Rakhii guard hasn’t killed you yet because he’s looking forward to raising a grandbaby even if it is half you.”
A smile tugs at the corner of Gracie’s mouth. “Those rumors are true, and the Rakhii’s name is Tink and he won’t admit it, but he’s ecstatic. He never got to raise any babies, and he’s looking forward to meeting ours. Rein and I are never going to have a shortage of free babysitters.” She shakes her head. “But I mean, what do you know about the relationship between a Gryfala and the average Rakhii guard?”
I growl a little. “I really can’t think about this without getting angry. Can we have ice cream before we get to the yelling?”
Dohrein holds up a questioning finger. “Is that one of the official stages? Yelling?”
“Sometimes,” I tell him.
“Not always,” Gracie says at the same time. She skates her palms over her knees before dragging her hands back up her thighs like she’s agitated. “About the Gryfala Bash used to—”
“You’re hurting me,” Jonohkada points out.
Gracie’s eyes fly to his, then drop to where he’s pointing, at the doll being strangled and dragged over her leg by her clutching hand.
Gracie laughs. “Shut up,” she tells him, shaking her head. But then her eyes widen and she pins him with a serious look. “I don’t really mean that. You can still talk.”
I glance between them, shocked. “So it’s true then, that hobs have to do what Gryfala and humans say? I thought that was a rumor!”
“Some hobs,” Gracie corrects.
“And you’re one of them?” I ask Jonoh.
He looks a little sad when he smiles. “Unfortunately.”
A couple other people filter into the room: Amy and Grake, Tara and Brax and Tac’Mot (without their kids hanging off of them, giggling like angels—their twins must be asleep.
My other clue is the baby monitor clutched in Amy’s hand). They all start grabbing gamecards and sitting down at lounging locations close enough to allow them to do what this room is designed to allow everyone to do—socialize.
Gracie puts the doll away with her sewing supplies before she looks back at me. “Did Bash tell you what happened between him and his Gryfala? I mean, from his Rakhii perspective.” She glances to Arokh, former gladiator and very much a Rakhii, who’s moved so that he’s comfortably seated with Angie, cuddling with her on the couch. I glance to Mandi’s couch and—
Wait? Where’s Mandi? My gaze darts to the wall where her cat was standing, then the door. Mandi and her cat are gone. I start to point, wanting to share this amazing news byte with Gracie, but she grabs my pointing finger, staring at me until she has my full attention.
“Talk,” she orders.
My eyes narrow just thinking about Bash and this winged siren. “Apparently, the alien witch popped Bash’s cherry then dumped him once she was bored. While he was falling head over heels for her, she was putting on the breaks. She accused him of smothering her.” Anger burns through me just thinking about it. “I hope he ate her. Like the real eating, not the—” Yep, time to stop that thought train. “Definitely the real eating. We should sick Hotahn on her.” (Yes, we’re all still a little concerned that Hotahn will eat someone if he goes too long without food. It’s amazingly easy to get used to, and it’s not scary at all, as long as you always carry snacks in your pocket to toss his way every once in a while.) “No wonder Bash hates Gryfala. I haven’t even met her, and now I hate Gryfala!”
To my surprise, Gracie sobers even more. “Not to play the devil’s advocate, but there’s a chance his Gryfala—”
“Not his.” I think of Bash as mine. Not this faceless alien woman’s, no matter how much her actions warped him.
Gracie waves her hand, wordlessly acknowledging my claim on Bash. “There’s a chance a lot of these Gryfala aren’t twisting these Rakhii up maliciously. Think about it. These are barely-legal women leaving the rookery, leaving her sires and her dam for the first time, all by herself. She falls in love with a bunch of great hobs, gets bowled over by a hot young Rakhii, so she takes him on too. But suddenly he starts to get scary-possessive. Scary aggressive. It’s not natural for a Rakhii to share his mate and biologically he’s compelled to take out his love’s competition. So real quick it becomes a situation of all the other men she loves or him…”
I reach over myself to cup my smaller limb in my hand. My way of protectively crossing my arms over my chest. “So she cuts him loose. Dumps him. Kicks him to the curb.”
Gracie grimaces and tries to rub the bulge that her stomach has become. “It sounds harsh, and believe me, I’m not saying I approve of a lot of the treatment I’ve seen between Gryfala-and-males, but I am saying that I can understand being a kid in love and being scared out of my mind that if I don’t do something fast and drastic, something real bad is going to happen.” She points to Tara, who is cutting a stack of cards. No, she’s pointing to Tara’s mate, Brax, who is beside his woman, too far away for us to hear what we’re saying. He’s bending over her, his sunset-yellow scaled tail swishing lightly behind him, his face in Tara’s neck, his arms wrapped around her, keeping her spine plastered against his front. It’s a super affectionate clutch. But Tara’s other mate, a half-man, half-kangaroo guy—a kangaroo centaur, basically—he’s approaching Tara with a gameboard, and when he gets near her, Brax bares his teeth.
No longer looking gentle and happy. He’s deadly and possessive.
Tara twists so that she can glance up at Brax, a frown on her normally smiling mouth.
The kangaroo centaur doesn’t frown. He just raises a spray bottle and squirts Brax full in the face.
Brax only looks like he might snap the other alien’s head off for a few seconds—then whatever is in the spray takes effect, and he straightens, still keeping an arm around Tara, but not nearly being as aggressively threatening.
“That Rakhii’s brother?” Gracie says, her voice lowering even though they have to be too far away to hear—I think. “Killed his Gryfala’s hobs. Thirteen of them. Strangled each and every one of them one day.”
Umm, whoa.
Gracie’s eyes cut to me, taking in my sobering expression and she nods. “He felt really bad about it after. Apparently some of the hobs were guys he considered pretty close friends. But it didn’t stop him from breaking his chain and wringing the lives out of their necks.”
I let that sink in. I don’t have any choice but to let that sink in. That kind of imagery sticks with you. After a few moments where Gracie is uncharacteristically silent, I clear my throat. “So this Gryfala may have had some valid concerns about Bash. Maybe she had reason to cut loose and run. But now Bash has trust issues. Bash has reason to have his trust issues. I need to reassure him that I’m not going to joyride every Tom, Dick, and hob, and that I won’t be telling him to get lost as soon as we're done doing it all for the nookie.”
Gracie’s smile is a thin, commiserating slash. “That about sums it up.” She brightens. “But hey, you’ll be great; he has feelings for you. You can do this. Get in there and get Bash!” She widens her eyes. “We’re all pulling for you, because we’re hoping to God that sex on the regular will make him nicer.”
CHAPTER 29
ISLA
I get to the quarry the next morning feeling some hope. I hit the coffee station, where Jonohkada has been roped into playing barista because it turns out he’s got serious skills with making heavenly drinks. He’s not wearing his work apron yet so when coffee splatters him, one of the women suggests that he should take off his shirt.
Jonoh’s wings flush daffodil yellow.
Gracie, of course, launches into protective mode. She threatens everybody to basically stop objectifying Jonoh unless one of us personally wants him, and she adds a stream of colorful but incomprehensible British insults, including calling us a bunch of minger slags and thumb-stuffing twats.
But Dohrein’s got his thoughtful face on, and I’d swear, I’d swear he turns the quickest glance on me before he cocks his head, his wing talons slowly clapping together above his shoulders like villain hands, and then he tells Jonoh, “Remove your shirt.”
Jonohkada looks shocked.
Gracie tosses her mate a confused—and pretty disgruntled—look. She’s been working hard to guard Jonoh’s chastity from women who would otherwise only want him for an FWB situation. As far as Gracie is concerned, you touch Jonoh, you buy Jonoh. So far, despite how amazing Jonoh is, nobody’s put a ring on it.
I’d love to say the women here are crazy for not grabbing him up, but I don’t have room to judge. As much as I like Jonohkada and want him to be happy, I don’t want him for myself. Life would be so much easier if I did. He’s such a nice guy. Instead, I’m hung up on an alien Ebenezer Scrooge who needs relationship rehabbing—and he’s mine, mine, mine.
Dohrein stares down Jonohkada until poor Jonoh lets himself be bullied and strips off his shirt.
The women scream catcalls. Whistles ring out—making all the Rakhii in the area flatten their ears. I don’t scan the area to see where Bash is at, and surely he’s here by now. I stare straight at Jonoh’s (admittedly really nicely defined) pectorals and wait my turn for coffee until I make it to the front of the line, where I’m now level with Jonoh’s bare-skinned abdomen, and I give his midsection my java order.
Before he can turn to make it, Dohrein’s wing swoops around and whips Jonoh in the back—which flattens Jonoh half against the counter—
And half against me.
“What the hell, Rein?” Gracie explodes.
“It’s okay everybody; no coffee was harmed in this collision,” I call out. The skin of my cheek is sticking to Jonoh’s chest. My gawd this hob is hot—both figuratively and quite literally. I’m getting a contact high from being pressed to the little upside-down triangle depression that sits between Jonoh’s sculpted pectoral
s.
“I am so sorry,” Jonohkada tells me as he peels his torso away from my face where we’ve collided. His hands are wrapped around my short arm and upper arm and he shoves against Dohrein’s wing—which Dohrein drops and retracts easily, folding it back up behind him. Jonoh leans down to stare into my eyes. “Are you hurt?”
I open my mouth to say that I’m fine, but a murderous snarl rings out.
That’s when I’m ripped right out of Jonohkada’s hands.
CHAPTER 30
ISLA
...By Bash. He plasters himself to my back and surrounds me as he leans into Jonoh’s face and bares his big teeth.
Jonohkada looks unimpressed. To no one, he says, “I see what you did there.”
Dohrein grunts, “It was necessary.” I can’t tell if he’s answering Jonoh or talking to Gracie.
Gracie growls, “I cannot believe you risked Jonoh’s life!”
I’m looking at the underside of Bash’s chiseled jaw, enjoying the sight of his heavy-muscled scaly throat, and in general his alien hotness as he stays pressed to my back. “I’m really glad to see you,” I admit. I poke him in the arm.
Bash snaps his crunchers closed with a dangerous noise that’s not unlike the sound of heavy-duty 1960’s Fiskars slicing their blades together.
Before he can be distracted, I take him by his wrist, my hand only wrapping around half of this smallest part of his arm, and tug on him, hoping he’ll follow me away from the queue of innocents, including poor Jonoh. (And Dohrein, who is so not innocent.)
He does.
My heart leaps for joy. I break eye contact just so I don’t scare him off with my influx of manic excitement.
“Isla,” Jonoh cluelessly calls. “What about your chocolate cookie crumble over white chocolate mocha frappuccino with extra heavy hand-whipped cream?”
That’s some heaven in a cup right there.
At the sound of Jonoh’s voice as the poor boy merely expresses a valid concern about the collection of my custom drink, Bash bristles all over again, nearly pulling free of where I have him by the wrist.
