by Amanda Milo
Her lips tip up slowly as if she’s weighing this new development. “I guess I always wanted to learn another language.”
I roll my shoulders. “Ha! Wish granted. Many times over because I believe Ekan said you’ve got access to something like fifty planet’s worth of languages and dialects.”
“I’m not sure what the etiquette is for this situation, but I think I should thank you for shooting me then?”
I laugh, she laughs, and as we enter the Livestock area again, Meesahrah smarls. It’s an unsettling snarling smile, and it gives me pause. I wonder exactly why and what she’s so happy about all of a sudden. Not taking my eyes off of my animal, I set the not-Gryfala on her feet and hold her shoulder until she’s gained her balance.
My staring draws Meesahrah’s attention. Her almond-shaped eyes shift their gaze to me, but because I say nothing and give no command, her stare goes right back to the not-Gryfala. Or her companion.
Creator, I hope Meesahrah doesn’t try to eat either of them. I do need new footwear this winter but no matter what I’ve said to her in passing threat, she makes a much better cart animal and mount than she would winter pakkluks.
Softly, the counterfeit Gryfala asks, “What’s going to happen to us?”
I consider her a moment before admitting, “With a Na’rith—but especially Ekan—you can assume that he has plans for his purchase. Unless his plans interfere directly with you or—Creator forbid—involve you, it’s best not to concern yourself.”
When this only seems to unsettle her, I assure her, “He won’t let his not-Gryfala come to harm.”
“Not-Gryfala?” she repeats with a tinge of amusement.
“You appear remarkably similar to a race of beings.”
She raises a finger. “How do you know we aren’t the same race? Where are they from? Is it from Earth?”
“Are your kind naturally born with wings?”
She blinks. “Okay, so you might be onto something. We might not be exactly the same.”
At this, I snort.
She relaxes by a few degrees and lets out a breath. “You tell me I shouldn’t concern myself with your friend’s plans. But what are your plans?” Her brows pinch, and she seems to gather courage to rush out her words. “I heard him make that little reference about me being your slave wife...”
I gently tug her so that she’s fully facing me, both her hands grasped in one of mine. “I doubt you feel much like becoming a slave or a wife to a complete stranger.”
She doesn’t raise her eyes to mine, but one of her brows slowly inches high on her head. “It wasn’t what I woke up intending to do today, not really.”
Surprised that she can make light of her situation, I chuckle softly. “I’d imagine that’s not often in your daily itinerary.”
“Right?” Her hands are no longer cold as ice. I take this as a sign she’s feeling an increment less stressed. Her breezy words seem to confirm it. “I only pencil stuff like this on Mondays.”
I grin. “And what day is it today?”
She lifts her shoulders up to her ears, but she doesn’t roll them back—she just drops them straight down again.
I stare at her thinking, How alien.
“I don’t know.” She puts a hand up to her forehead, her fingers poised like she can extract the memories if she only concentrates hard enough. Almost in frustration though, she drags her fingers through her mane. “Kota’s wearing her harness which means she was working for me, so we were taken some time during the day, but what day? How long did we travel through space? All I remember is waking up in that pen.”
I cast around for something else to say. I don’t want her to dwell on what can’t be altered. If possible, I want to see her happy despite her circumstances. “It’s probably for the best. Especially if you were regularly penciling in marriage on this itinerary of yours. I can say with some authority that I don’t think your Kota approves of you acquiring husbands. Krit but she has sharp teeth! Your harem of Monday-married males must be few in number and have no legs.”
She grins before she breaks into full laughter, and it’s like merry bells; clear notes stroke my ears before she tries to speak. “Try nonexistent harem! Sorry about your legs.”
“They’ll grow back.”
She loses her smile. “Seriously?”
“No. I’m joshing you.”
“Oh!” Her voice sounds a bit high, and a little bit weak. “Today I was given to an alien to be his bride, so you just never know.” Her lips quirk, and although she’s delivered this without lifting her gaze to mine, I feel connected to her with her stare fixed warmly on my chest.
I brush her ridiculously soft elbow with my thumb. “I wasn’t intending to buy a slave, or a wife, let alone be gifted one. This is wildly unprecedented territory for me,” I offer. “Could we pretend that we are alien to each other, and circumstances allowed us to meet by happenstance?”
The side of her mouth curls up even higher, which I take as a positive sign.
She confirms it. “I’ll be so good at pretending that. You just watch.”
I tsk. “One of us has to.”
Her mouth opens slightly before she bursts with shocked laughter. “You didn’t just say that!”
Pleased with myself for making her happier, I squeeze her hands again and let her have them back. “I did. And I’m glad you laughed; I was only teasing and meant no insult. I’m Breslin. Who are you, and where do you and Kota hail from?”
Much to my dismay, her face loses all traces of easy levity. “We’re from Earth. I’m really hoping you might recognize the sound of it. It’s a blue planet in a solar system of nine—well, eight, depending on who’s theory the world is following—”
“Ah,” I nod.
Her voice fills with hope. “Sounds familiar?”
My heart plummets for her. “I apologize: I said ‘ah’ to indicate I heard, not because I recognized it.”
“Oh,” she says, her mood changing like a lit wick doused by ice water.
To my great relief though, she doesn’t retreat into herself. She offers, “My name is Sanna. I’m a human. As you know, my dog’s name is Kota.”
“Kota is your dog,” I say slowly. “Is a dog a pet?”
Her smile comes quickly now. “Yes, and more—Kota is my eyes.”
“Symbiont,” I murmur and move my gaze to Kota who stares back, and the gleam of intelligence is plain to see. She’s Sanna’s eyes. “Ekan wondered.”
“Symbiont?” She chuckles. “No one’s ever called it that before.”
“I’ve heard rumors of great tribes that use symbionts,” I say thoughtfully. “I’d never met a set.” I wave to Sanna through Kota’s sight.
After a moment, Kota grudgingly sits and raises her paw in return.
“It’s nice to meet you, Sanna,” I say into Kota’s gaze.
Sanna blinks and moves her head to the side, following my voice which is pointed at Kota. “Uh… Nice… to meet you too—are you talking to Kota?”
“I’m talking to your eyes,” I tell her.
Sanna peals with laughter, and Kota tips her head, her lips lifting up in a smile.
CHAPTER 6
BRESLIN
“She uses her eyes to guide me—I rely on her reactions to the world to navigate mine. I can’t actually see out of Kota,” Sanna explains in a shaky voice as she wipes tears of mirth from her face. “Ahhh, thanks. I needed that.” She sniffs and uses her wrist to mop at her eyes once more. “So Breslin. You seem like a nice alien—”
“Thank you. I’ve received the same impression of you.” I walk to a small trough and press my thumb over the livestock tonguepresser, a mechanism that provides the leverage needed to open the inner valve; water trickles out and fills the basin. It sits low enough Kota will be able to reach it. I wonder if Sanna drinks and eats through Kota. Or perhaps it works vice versa.
Aliens. I roll my shoulders back. You never know.
Sanna’s gaze is fixed low, but not, I don�
��t think, for the sole purpose of listening to the water. She bites her lips but the ends quirk higher. “Right. What, ah, sort of alien are you?”
I kick the lever of a quad-leg seat to release it from the lock it had on the floor and drag it in her direction. “If Kota can’t show you, and your eyes don’t show you, then me telling you isn’t going to be of much help is it?” Once I have the seat where I want it, I kick the lever back into the lock position and the sound of the suction gripping the floor has Kota sharply cocking her head, her teeth catching on her tongue.
I glance at Sanna to see her head cocked in the opposite direction with her lips slightly parted as she concentrates on the sound too, and I’m charmed beyond words. I sit down facing her, giving her space but staying within reaching distance. I close my eyes and imagine a blackout world. I hear everything, but it’s difficult to perceive the space around me.
So much would be unknown: especially my ‘alien’ host. I clear my throat. “Earlier, you started to feel out my features. Would you like to learn me by feel?”
Her hand tightens its grip on the handle of Kota’s harness rig, and I wonder if she’ll decline. But then one of her brows rises as if I’ve issued a challenge—and when she takes a step forward it’s a little hesitant, but it’s not afraid. She holds out her hand. Kota, who had moved with her like an extension, watches us raptly.
I gently close my fingers around Sanna’s small ones. “Avoid either side of my forehead but the rest of me is free for touching, so don’t be frightened. In fact, there’s no need for alarm—I’m a lot like you. Two arms, two legs, eight eyes—”
She nearly jerks from my hold, and I double over at the expression on her face.
Her lips purse in mock disapproval—but I see the edges of her lips trying to twitch up. “Did you just… are you ‘joshing me’ again?”
“I was,” I confirm, “but bah! I could have eight eyes.” I grin down at her and tweak the tip of her ear. “It’s not as if you’d be able to tell.”
The back of her hand lightly connects against mine and I guffaw. Kota makes a noise that distinctly sounds like a warning—until Sanna joins me in laughing.
I compose myself. “There, there. I’m done having a go at you—”
Sanna blinks.
“—and you can have a feel of me now.” I lean down far enough that she can reach.
Instead, she surprises me by softly catching my hand between both of hers and she goes about examining my fingers, my nails, my wrist, my thick silver cuff. To signal when she’s ready for more, she raises our hands a fraction, almost a friendly challenge in the gesture.
Still smiling, I set her hand on the bridge of my nose.
Her fingers stay well away from my temple dijjü, but the bases of them end at the corners of my eyes, and although I don’t feel any special sensation whenever I’ve touched them, they react very, very differently when Sanna’s fingers run over the length of the left one.
My body jerks in shock just like when she’d brushed them earlier. I thought I’d be better prepared this go around, but I was mistaken. My voice is hoarse when I explain, “That ridge you feel belongs to my dijjü, which expands depending on the…” On the activity I’m partaking. “Depending on the way I’m feeling.”
At my words, her fingers seek out my matching and formerly unfeeling dijjü ridge on the right side, and I feel answering heat zip over my loins.
I quickly raise my head high enough that she can’t unwittingly fondle them further.
My breath evens by the time her fingertips sweep impersonally over my heavy brow, my deeply set eyes, my cheeks that are set sharply enough to rival a Narwari’s, and now she expands her map of my face by including the line of rough nodes trailing down my jaw, and finally, she drags her thumb across the edge of my chin.
When her touch slides down the muscles of my throat, my breath stops. For some reason, I was under the misguided notion that it would be uncomfortable for her to touch me. I never gave it a thought of how I would feel under her hands.
Lesson learned; I’ll be doing this to every new Narwari that’s brought to me. Right now, I’d follow Sanna anywhere, and I don’t even know her.
Kota whines.
“Sit,” Sanna says.
I twitch, and her hands stop.
“What’s wrong?” Sanna asks.
It takes two tries to clear my throat, and it still comes out sounding so rough I barely recognize myself. “If my hindquarters weren’t already planted on this seat, I’d have dropped to sit the moment you asked.”
“Ha,” she says and her hands smooth over the expanse of my incredibly sensitive shoulders. Until this moment, I didn’t know they were sensitive.
Her palms land on either side of my chest, no fear this time as she touches me, only blatant curiosity and trust.
It’s the trust that does me in. Because very suddenly, this session is losing its innocence where I’m concerned.
I rush to my feet, startling her. “You’ve learned me—are you two ready to learn your surroundings?”
Startled at my abruptness, she nevertheless recovers quickly. “We’d really like that. Thank you.”
I take four swift steps back, and for good measure, increase it to two more. “Good. Quite welcome, and please allow me to show you around.”
CHAPTER 7
SANNA
When he’d let me take his hand to trace it, I’d gulped. It’s so BIG compared to mine. One swipe and it’d be like getting pawed by a bear. His fingernails are thick and rounded though, so not like a bear. He’s recognizably humanoid, with just a couple surface differences. And bigger. By a lot.
He’s got a strong throat, and I knew the moment I’d started to span it that my fingers wouldn’t get close to meeting.
And I could lay across his shoulders. He’s massive. Impressive. Very rawr-sized. I was gifted as a slave-bride to an alien giant. The thought had started to make me smile—but then Breslin had jumped to his feet.
I hadn’t even had a chance to check out his ears or the back of his head. “Do you have hair?”
Breslin’s steps slow.
I’m not sure why he’s not answering, but then his steps bring him to me again. “Here,” he says and if I’m not mistaken, it sounds like caution in his voice as he bends down for me. “Feel.”
And I wonder if I imagined the reluctance in his voice with this word because as soon as I reach up and put my fingers on him, he seems to ease into my touch.
Rows of bumps cover the back of his head from forehead to nape. They’re short, and when I press on them, they respond like they’re fleshy: flexible but fixed in place. The tops seem tapered, like they’re small spikes.
I balance on my tip-toes, trying to reach more. I hold one between my thumb and finger. “Is this part of you?” I ask. “Or decoration?”
“Part of me,” he answers, not offended in the least. “Your males have hair?”
“Yes. Unless they shave it. Or unless their genetics stop hair growth.”
“Does the difference disturb you?”
“Believe it or not, your lack of head hair doesn’t even rank on the scale of strangeness I’ve encountered today.”
At this, he grunts.
I carefully bring my fingers along the sides of his head, seeking out ears. When I encounter a thing on each side that feels stem-like, I follow them, bumping into flared edges and I think, “Success!” until they crumple under my touch.
I don’t move, absorbing the sensory input I’m getting and not sure if it’s bothering him to touch them.
Slowly, they unfurl under my fingertips and they feel so soft compared to the rest of him, with rippled edges and a fluted pattern, that I think of flowers.
A giant alien with flowers for ears? Instantly, I’m fighting back ridiculous giggles.
I think he knows it because he hums—but he doesn’t stand up, so I keep going. When my fingers graze the underside of the curves, hot breath hits my forehead as he shifts, and
I freeze, only to feel pressure on my hands as he relaxes deeper into my touch. To keep his head from dropping, I automatically cup his jaw. The heft of it surprised me before, and I give in to the curiosity I wasn’t brave enough to explore the first go-round: I slide my grip so that I’m cupping him just behind his chin, and I drag my thumb over his bottom lip.
It’s silky-soft, but firm—and inexplicably, my inner thighs clench. My body is obviously confused on why we’re touching a man’s face. On a typical day, I don’t go around feeling people’s faces. Truthfully, I haven’t done this since my last relationship. It’s far too intimate.
But this is an alien, and it’s not every day I get the offer to learn what an alien looks like.
Holding him—touching him—like this, I sense a peculiar change. Which is odd, because he doesn’t move, and neither do I. It’s more of a silent arrival of energy, and it freezes me in place.
“Sanna?” Breslin asks, and the rumble of his voice shakes me all the way down to my core. I lift my thumb off his lip, and ease a step back.
“We’re standing in a livestock stall,” he says, the subject seemingly out of nowhere until, with a jolt, I remember his plan—one that only moments ago, I readily agreed to carry out—was to make me more familiar with our surroundings.
“That would, ah, explain the shavings I thought I felt under my shoes.”
“Allow me to show you the rest.”
That’s all he says before he backs away from me.
Kota right at my side, we fall into step behind him as he leads us around the ship’s bay. Our location makes me curious. “Why are we in a livestock stall on a spaceship?” I ask, hoping that Breslin doesn’t think this is where Kota belongs. If he does, then fine—but I’ll be right beside her, and he better think twice before trying to seperate us.
“The Na’riths agreed to transport my livestock with me so that I could make a sale. Meesahrah is my mount and she pulls the wagon we’ll ride in to reach my home—she stays here, so I stay here. I don’t feel right leaving her alone for too long.”
“That’s neat,” I say. “I’m the same way with Kota—and not just because we’re trained to stay together. I’d be wherever she was welcome, even if it wasn’t necessarily as comfortable for me.”