by Amanda Milo
I open my hand to see the chocolate has broken through the package and changed forms; it’s no longer a solid. As she warned, it has melted into a runny substance.
Worse? I can smell it.
And this is what I’m craving.
A growl builds in my throat, making Gracie sit up and lean back.
“Dohrein? What’s going on with you?”
I feel as if I’ve been ensorcelled. I turn accusatory eyes on her. “I never would have eaten the chocolate if I’d known it was an addictive substance.”
“Dohrein.” She has the audacity to roll her eyes. “It’s not bad for you.”
I nod slowly, examining the abjectly unattractive brown smear in my hand. “This is what I would expect an addict to say,” I explain logically. “Creator. All of the coin spent to amass the fleet of ships to retrieve—is this even a necessary nutrient? Or simply an addictive indulgence?”
I think of who funded the bulk of this project. An odd mixture of dread and amusement swirls in my innards. I murmur, “You allowed us to believe—you led us to believe you required coffee and chocolate to survive.”
Gracie turns wide eyes to me. “Oh, but I DO need it. For the safety of everyone else, I need both, I promise.”
Spoken like a true addict indeed. “Gracie, grant me one vow.”
“Anything.”
Her eyes are steady on mine, so steady that it gives me pause. She means this. Not caring what I ask, she means her promise. My hearts swell. “Don’t… don’t ever let this information get to my dam.”
Her relief is plain in the way her body deflates its defensive puffery. “Thank fuck! I was half afraid you’d ask me to quit cold turkey. It was bad enough when we were abducted without them, believe me. But that’s fine, we’ve known to keep a lid on it. We get to keep the good stuff? We won’t tell a soul.”
She places her hand around the back of my neck and tugs my mouth to hers.
***
The moment we disembark, we begin preparing the lab for Hotahn’s charges, and excitement rushes through my hearts.
I’m surveying the space when Gracie moves behind me and places her hands on my shoulder blades between my wings. “You’re like a kid at Christmas.”
I’m aware that Christmas is a confusing holiday with divided factions over religious and pagan celebrations, but the aspects that have stood out the most to me are the traditions involving snow and animals with large branching antlers.
Apparently, humans are incredibly fond of animals with antlers. There are nine that are held in such esteem that generations of humans have sung odes about them.
It’s an odd tradition. They don’t sing of their beauty, or their battles, or their wit, or their keen intelligence.
The songs Gracie taught me reference the clamor their cloven hooves make when they’re driven across the structure that forms the uppermost covering of low, squat-built human dwellings.
The other song, which Gracie claims is most popular, revolves around the greenbroke lead animal and his exclusive-sounding herd members.
I desperately wish I’d been able to see these animals in person when we were visiting Earth. I’m having difficulty imagining them, and each time I attempt to picture them, all I spy in my mind is a Rakhii wearing a belled leather harness and pulling a male with a mane running down his chin in a sleigh.
“Dohrein?”
“Hmm?”
Gracie moves around to my front and her hands go to my chest this time. “Where did you go?”
“This rotation?”
She closes her eyes for a beat before she smiles up at me and shakes her head. “Just now. You spaced on me.”
Spaced: two (or more) items’ position from the other.
My translator supplies a second, recently-entered definition: to be distracted.
Her smile widens, making her eyes shine brighter. “What were you thinking?”
I peer down at her. “Why does the ninth reindeer have a red nose? Why would the other reindeer shun him? Is it a genetic mutation, or the result of a contaminant spill? The latter would make more sense, as there are some chemicals that leach—”
Gracie’s unrestrained laughter cuts off my question.
The laboratory door slides open, letting in a terrible wail.
It’s little Cricket.
“This female requires an N-A-P,” Hotahn informs us somewhat irritably. “Can we inhabit this space now?”
“Yes,” I confirm, and I take Gracie’s elbow and steer the both of us to the side so he can carry in the young female, who by some feat is more irritable than even Hotahn at the moment.
Behind him is the young male, and following him is the frazzled-looking Jennifer, or Doc, as Gracie calls her.
I step forward to cut her off from the group. “I’ll show you to your room.”
She looks startled. “I get my own room?”
I don’t immediately answer her because my focus is fixed on the tailblade that’s swiped between us.
“She stays,” Hotahn informs me.
“I need popcorn for this. Does anybody know if we grabbed popcorn before we left?” Gracie asks.
The boy answers, “Amy did.”
“I love Amy,” Gracie declares.
This momentarily distracts me. Gracie has declared her love of me to me, but she has also declared her love for chocolate, coffee, sleep, sex, and now Amy—who I feel it important to note, she barely knows.
“Is that my room there?” Doc asks, stepping around Hotahn’s tail to the sleeping area we prepared for her.
“It is. Go on in,” Gracie confirms, and when Hotahn takes what could be construed as a punitive step in Gracie’s direction—clutching the dainty angrily-sobbing human on his shoulder or no—my wing fringe rattles in warning.
Gracie glances back at us and chuckles. “Somebody needs a nap.”
“Nooooo!” the child wails while Hotahn growls, “Levi said you are supposed to spell it!”
“Akita, I meant you. You sir, have become crabby.”
“Yeah,” the boy chimes with a grimace.
Gracie indicates the tiniest bed in the room. “Put her down, and then take five. Or fifteen. Or twenty-five. You’ll feel better, and no one will die. It’s really a win-win for everybody.”
“It’s not that easy,” Hotahn’s tail raps on the floor, blades gouging the tile. “She fights sleep even when she needs it—”
“Stop talking about me like I’m not here!” the child cries, and my ears ring from her shrillness.
Gracie claps sharply to get the young female to quiet, and then she waves in my direction. “Haven’t you seen what hobs can do for Tara’s twins?”
“No.” His harried gaze cuts to me.
He hasn’t seen it, because Hotahn has been keeping his charges from Tara’s offspring, a fact I find I (nearly) can’t wait to examine further. I could have inquired directly, but I’ve enjoyed the process of extrapolation too much.
I begin to purr. Gracie’s covered her ears and is motioning for Doc to do the same before she moves to stand by the boy. Predictably, the female youth falls unconscious—
But the male remains standing
“How cool!” Gracie exclaims. “Do you feel anything?” she asks him.
He’s watching his sister, his mouth hanging open in awe. “No, why?”
“You don’t feel sleepy, or tired, or anything?”
What a very interesting development. “It doesn’t affect male humans.”
Hotahn releases a sigh midway between aggrieved and relieved as he carefully sets his charge on her bed and tucks the blanket around her.
Then Hotahn glances at his bed. It’s positioned against the far wall, with nothing obstructing the view.
At any time, he can perform a visual scan of the environment’s safety—something Rakhii prefer strongly—with the only blind areas being the B.C.U. (the bathing and cleansing unit, or the ‘loo,’ as Gracie refers to it, or the restroom as the other humans call it, which makes no sense
at all considering that one doesn’t rest in either the cleansing unit nor the elimination station) once the door is closed, and Doc’s room.
Rather than retreating to his own area to recuperate, he patiently herds the boy to take the bed next to his sibling’s despite the boy’s light protest.
Watching this unfold causes memories to fall like languishing feathers—myself as a fledgling, being cared for by my dam’s Rakhii, Mabahote.
The broadside of his tailblades thunking me in the back of the skull when I needed it, and his heavy knuckles scrubbing across the top of my head in praise—treated just like a Rakhii pup.
I’m distracted from thoughts of him when Hotahn moves nearer to Doc’s room, and lightly paces outside of her closed door.
When he notices us staring, his brow lowers.
I drop my hand from where I’d been cupping my chin in thought. “We’ll leave you now. Let us know if you need of anything.”
Clearly distrait, Hotahn nods.
Gracie nudges me. “I want to see Callie. Check in on her. Be the chocolate and coffee fairy.”
An image of tiny, shiny wings forces its way into my mind. “Say again?”
Gracie waves a hand. “You know. Cheer her up with chocolate. Pull a Fairy Godmother and make two of her dreams come true.”
This I must see.
Allowing my attention to be temporarily pulled from our new laboratory subjects, I follow Gracie as she leads the way in search of her friend.
CHAPTER 13
GRACIE
We aren’t back five minutes and instead of being so grateful she’s kissing the ground I walk on, Mandi’s talking shite about Callie. “Oi, titfeathers!” I snap my fingers to get her attention. “I don’t have the fucking foggiest what you just said because it better not be what I heard, feel me?”
We’d barely started our hunt for Callie when we got mobbed by masses of choc-and-coffee starved women.
Being that most aliens still believe it’s necessary, and being that they need to go on believing this, we’d look like major arseholes if we just shoved them aside and walked on by.
So, we start passing out chocolate and bags of beans, and everyone’s acting like grateful beggars.
Save for one.
Mandi sends me an ugly look, and instead of doing the smart thing and retreating, she instead repeats herself, just in case I hadn’t heard her the first time.
I don’t know why everyone thinks I’m a hothead. I do fine, stay perfectly even-keel, most of the time. Until someone tries to fuck with my friends. “I’m going to eat that girl alive.”
Dohrein’s alarm is plain. “Humans are cannibalistic?”
“No,” Beth tries to say just as I bite out, “Watch me.”
If Mandi would just fall in line and pack that mouth of hers with food like everybody else is doing, we’d be fine. But she can’t keep her shite—and by that I mean issues—to herself. She needs to learn a lesson.
Right before I jump her, I notice the feline-looking alien in the corner. It’s not out of the ordinary to have aliens walking the halls. Every alien here has undergone an intense vetting process so he’s safe enough—but he still bears watching. Some males are mighty protective of women and I don’t want to get my arse beat when I’m the one that’s supposed to be dishing it out to the deserving.
Cussing a blue streak and using an open hand instead of my fist, I slap the ever-living shite out of this girl. Not her face, just everywhere else. My goal isn’t to humiliate her—that’d be an indirect result—it’s to teach her who’s boss. Sometimes the only way to do that is to make the other person fear for their life.
So I make it really convincing.
Unfortunately, when Mandi goes submissively limp, it looks so convincing that Dohrein does fear for our lives—because the cat alien is making a beeline for us.
The cat seems to catch himself though, and slowly melds back with the shadows.
Dohrein peels me off Mandi. Frowning severely, he tries to check me over, overreacting about the smell of blood even though I tell him I’m fine.
Dohrein gets growlier when he gets overprotective. Not worth the risk of you being injured, growl, growl, growl, if you can’t play nice, no more free ranging with the other females, growl, growl.
Free ranging. Like we’re chickens and these aliens are keeping us for eggs.
...Ha.
Meanwhile, Mandi scrambles up and darts away.
I want to chase her, but I’m a fucking adult.
Plus, Dohrein’s not letting go of my arm. No trust, geez.
But it’s cool. I’ve hopefully made my point. I need to walk away.
I have every intention of storming off, when the hand on my arm transfers its clamp to my hip.
I’m spun around, my arse going airborne a split second before my diaphragm is flattened by the beautiful muscle of Dohrein’s broad shoulder. “Oof! H-hey! You d-dick!”
Stretchy warm wing membrane wraps tightly around my butt.
His arm clamps over my knees.
He’s lucky I know that his overreaction comes from a place of deep concern.
He’s lucky I like him.
He’s lucky I find the fact that he can pick me up and carry me kind of hot.
I grab the edge his wing and my plan is to shake it to vent some aggression—but it lifts up…
And swats me.
Powder puffs up between us, the contact leaving more marks on my clothing. “Mother of f-frogs! What was that?” I choke out a shocked laugh. “Hobs aren’t supposed to have a spanking kink!”
I try to lever myself up enough so that I’m not flopping against him with each of his steps. “Gotta say: this is a nice surprise,” I struggle to say without wheezing. “So many possibilities…”
“Are you growing aroused?” Dohrein growls at my derriere.
The faded denim color that snakes over his wings turns electric blue.
“Definitely yes, let’s fuck,” I confirm.
“I can’t reward you for this. You’re being punished.”
“That’s ridiculous.” I grab his belt with both hands and brace myself so I can wriggle my hips a little. “But I’m so fine with this plan. You should punish me.”
“Don’t tempt me,” he mutters—but his wing markings go even brighter.
The last thing I see as he carries me from the room is the feline alien casually stand from the wall where he’d been leaning, and silently stalk after the retreating Mandi.
CHAPTER 14
GRACIE
“Ugh, he’s infuriating!”
Dohrein’s curiosity gets the better of him. “Who are you talking to when you do this?”
Each of his steps aren’t painful so much as they’re uncomfortable. I time my words so I don’t lose my breath. “This is basically open communication. I’m complaining about you to you.”
“Ah. I surmised as much. Thank you for confirming.”
Aren’t we polite. “You’re ever so welcome. Put me down.”
“Not yet.”
“ARRRGH.”
“You rile without effort. Without intent, either.”
“If I see that cuntwaffle again, I’m going to smack her just to make up for my inconvenience.”
“You’re unnecessarily violent.”
“That a problem for you?”
“No. It reminds me of Gryfala.”
“I’m trying not to be insulted.”
He hitches me up on his shoulder, stealing my air again before he answers. “You’ll have to try harder: I meant none.”
I crane myself over enough to grip onto one of his wings so I can lever up and see around his side. He’s carried my arse all the way into the commons. I pat his arse. “This wasn’t where I envisioned us bumping uglies, but I can improvise like a boss. You’ve managed to surprise me and make me proud: I’ve trained you well.”
He grunts.
“Look, this view is nice, but it’s getting old. I can walk myself. I want to see Calli
e—”
His wing squeezes around me tighter. “I’ll escort you.”
His voice doesn’t sound like he’s teasing. “You’re not actually mad at me,” I point out.
Again, he grunts.
“Dohrein,” I sigh. “Use your words.”
“I’m attempting not to misuse my words,” he informs me. “When I feel I have better control of myself, we can revisit the topic of your freedom. Now perhaps I could suggest that you refrain—”
“From WHAT?”
“You argue for the sake of arguing.”
“I do not!”
For a moment, I watch his head move back and forth, shaking it like he feels I’ve proven his point.
In a steady voice, he offers, “I apologize. I’d agree with you if you were right.”
“Seriously, put me down.”
“Seriously: no.”
I gape at the back of his head, only minimally aware we’re approaching Zadeon and Callie and Arokh and Angie. “Are you serious? Cujo over there gets to bite people all day, but I bite one time and I’m on lockdown? This is bullshit!”
His voice is the textbook example of male strained patience: perfectly reasonable words, totally growly tone. “This is what happens when you can’t behave.”
“Cut the sanctimonious, self-righteous crap. You wanted to bite her too. I saw your fangs, Dohrein!”
“Yes, of course, my princess,” he says, but he doesn’t say it very nice. It’s a little fucking patronizing. “But you might have noticed: I restrained myself.”
Did he not see me being careful? I was careful. I deserve a fucking twenty-four karat medal. “I did restrain myself—I didn’t kill her!”
Dohrein drops to one knee, carefully easing me down until my feet can reach the floor, whereupon I manage a dismount and stand on my own. When I pull back enough that our eyes meet, we glare at each other, full out mongoose-and-cobra style.
Callie’s voice breaks in, and it’s obvious she’s biting back a laugh. “What did she do? Who?”
I look around Dohrein, meeting Callie’s eyes, but I don’t want to tell her. Callie can handle it, but she shouldn’t have to. That was the whole point of me stepping in.
From my expression, she guesses exactly who.