by Amanda Milo
Predictably, Zadeon doesn’t take this news well. Steam comes out of his nose and he braces his big clawed hands on the table, ready to do damage if Callie will let him. She won’t though; she’s got too big a heart and she’s trying to lightly encourage Zadeon to share her overload of empathy or something.
No worries, Z-man, I’ve got this taken care of.
“Welcome back!” Callie calls this out while trying to put the brakes on Zadeon’s ragey response with a simple touch.
It works.
It’s kind of cute how Z wraps his tail around her wrist, and it’s definitely cute the way Callie beams as he does it.
She looks so damn happy.
When we left her, she… it was rough. She wasn’t in the best place.
Seeing her now? I grin huge, but my skin tugs weirdly. I swipe at my face, and I feel something sticky under my eye.
“You are bleeding.” Dohrein’s voice is frosty because he’s working himself up to a good case of worried. Again. “I told you I scented it.”
That little hellcat got me. Mandi, not her alien pussycat. “It’s fine.”
Callie stops cramming chocolate into her mouth. “Mandi hurt you?”
I bare my teeth—a move that earns me absolutely no points with any of the aliens in the room—and I tap them to let Callie know she needs to lick hers off.
I’d tell her to take it easy on the chocolate, but she’s like ninety months pregnant and has had to suffer through cravings with no relief in sight; I’m not telling her jack shit. I want to live. “She clawed my face. Don't worry. We had a real good come-to-Jesus moment.”
Zadeon breaks in with a reluctant declaration of, “I can heal her wound.”
I back up and smack into Dohrein, who’s not-so-accidentally blocking my retreat. “Whoaaa. No tongue.”
Rakhii have magic spit. It heals and disinfects, and I’m not against that part. It’s the applicator I’m not keen on being against.
It’s more than a little unnerving to be the focus Zadeon’s direct stare. I nearly buckle under it—me!—until he says, “I can just spit on you.”
“That’d be… great? Thanks?” I laugh. “My life is so fucking weird.”
Suddenly, he’s looming over me, and my skin prickles everywhere on my body. It isn’t the good kind of awareness. If I had ears, they’d be pinned flat right now.
Zadeon does have ears, and his are easing forward as he inhales.
I bet I smell scared.
I despise the fact that I’m starting to feel scared. For crying out loud, this is Zadeon. We’ve sort of played life-or-death games together from the beginning—wherein I baited him, ran for my life, and he didn’t give me death. We’re almost-basically like besties who don’t get close and never touch. This alien wouldn’t bother with me unless I lost my mind and went after Callie. Even then, he’d probably just flambeau my body to a crisp—no touchie necessary.
“Hey Z? Spit on my hand,” Callie chirps, and saves the day by pushing her baby bulge between Zadeon and me.
I’m not sure who looks more relieved, me or Zadeon. But relieved isn’t how I feel about the light shivers that’ve started to travel up my body.
Thankfully, Callie draws my attention from my untimely physiological response when she makes a face. She’s pulling it in reaction to the saliva she’s smushing into my scratched cheek. “Well, this is gross.”
“Says the mate of the alien who’s currently smearing her mate’s spit into my face.”
She narrows her eyes and leans in. “To answer the two little words that are right on the tip of your tongue: you’re welcome.”
This tiny dancing pregnant woman is trying to intimidate me? I’ll admit: I’m amused. “That’s your answer for ‘Fuck You?’ Huh.”
She pats my cheek—hard—making me wince even as I laugh—
A soft stretch of sound—like plastic wrap being pulled taut—is the only warning before my view is diffused by dark, nearly opaque membrane.
I’m staring through Dohrein’s wing.
He’s swept it around me, cutting between Callie and me.
Callie immediately backs off, holding up her hands in surrender.
I give his talon a shake. “It’s fine, I deserved it. Thanks, Weepy.”
I’m about to say more, but I cut myself off when Callie’s body almost vibrates. “Oh, that reminds me. Thanks for the nickname. Guess what everybody knows me as here? I’ll give you a hint: it’s not Callie.”
I give her a cheeky smile and pair it with a shrug as I suck a breath past my teeth. “Yeah well, you didn’t talk—I almost called you Sphinx but that’s way too cool a nickname for you.”
I pause—because damn it is a good name. “Hell, maybe I’ll stop talking and take that one myself.”
She widens her eyes. “Please do.”
I nudge the air near her in deference to her alien (who, almost-besties or not, wouldn’t hesitate to snap me and use the leftover halves of my body as his toothpicks) and her heavily pregnant state. “Come on. I bet it made you think of me lots while I was gone.”
“It made me curse you lots,” she corrects.
I ignore the tremble in my fingers when I hold my hand up for a high-five. “Same thing!”
CHAPTER 15
DOHREIN
Callie provided a wonderful distraction after Zadeon spooked Gracie. Gracie’s trauma response caught up to her though, and her teeth started to chatter.
It happens sometimes if she experiences particularly vivid memories or triggers.
She brushed off her friends’ concern, employing the excuse that she was chilled. I took that as my cue to wrap her in my arms and fly us to the highcliffs.
I’m lying on my front, with my wings stretched out on either side of me, sunning. Gracie’s in her customary position on my spread wing, stomach-down and also sunning herself.
“It feels like the edge of the world up here. Nothing but blue sky for as far as the eye can see,” she says almost softly—as soft as one can manage when they must force their voice over the sound of the whipping currents of air.
I don’t take my gaze off the skyline.
She spreads her toes, using them to brush along my wings, then wriggles to get more comfortable. “Thermal pockets to glide on in the clouds, and the wind in my hair. It’s not suffocating.”
What she means is this is nothing like the hell of her watery ocean prison.
The pressure.
The smell.
The sea creatures.
I’ve been seeking out information on the aquatic species that would likely patron at the Underwater Pleasure Dome. Barbs, toxins, strangling appendages. Creator, I wish she’d never had to endure time there. “How do you feel now?”
Her voice has a lightness—as well as a sass—she doesn’t even have to force. “You know, I’m glad you asked. One minute, I’m giving free lessons to a troubled youth on the importance of hierarchy and etiquette,” she looks over at me slyly, waiting for me to take issue with either her deflection or her word choice for the dominance lesson she meted out to Mandi. “And the next thing I know, you’re staring at my ass but it’s all wrong, because as it turns out, you weren’t hauling me to the nearest room to let off some steam with a sexy spanking session—you were hauling me to Zadeon so that he could spit on me. Very unsexy.”
I snort.
She skates her fingertip over the surface of my wing. “Everyone probably assumes we fly off to fuck.”
At this, I smirk at her.
She rolls to her back, grinning. “Sure, we do that too, but this… I’m serious.” She turns her head, and her gaze locks on mine. “This is the greatest gift. Up here, you give me… peace.”
I reach out, carefully sifting my fingers through her mane, trailing my touch down her neck, along her shoulder, watching her muscles relax instantly under my ministrations. “I’m glad.” I drag my tablet in front of myself. “And you’re correct, everyone likely assumes we’re up here trading the most sca
ndalous favors. Would you care to grant me a... definition?”
“Oooh,” she teases. “So hot!”
I send her a glance; her voice didn’t sound as teasing as I expected, actually. Nor does her expression. I peer at her until she puts her hand over my face, cutting off my scrutiny.
I lewdly kiss her palm, making love to it, enjoying the way she snickers and the way her scent intensifies in reaction before she pulls away. Her snickering increases when I adopt my studious expression and return to my tablet as if lessons are in session. “On Earth, when you were purchasing your emergency sack of chocolates, you bestowed upon me a new endearment. What’s a flittermouse?”
She grins softly before she grazes her fingers over my wing. “It’s a very affectionate word for a bat.”
***
Her mind settled, her spirit rejuvenated, we return to the human sanctuary, with Gracie fully restored to her mischievous brand of humor—evidenced by her meticulously rearranging my collection of chemical compounds.
I have my own system but she takes the initiative to change it to nearly alphabetical—she isn’t yet entirely fluent in written Gryf, so she declares she’ll get creative.
I point out this defeats the purpose of arranging them in the fashion she’s attempting.
Thus, she happily wrangles me into helping her—a fact that causes her peals of laughter to ring out because I’m essentially assisting her in disturbing my own space.
I indulge her because her happiness is beautiful.
After she finishes causing the maximum amount of disarray and havoc she feels up to creating, we share a companionable silence while I look over my projects, both those I left behind when we traveled to Earth, as well as the ones we brought back with us.
I’m so engrossed in watching Hotahn’s group, I don’t realize Gracie had left me until she presses a bowl into my hands that smells quite delicious.
“Rein, you know that cool thing the Rakhii can do?”
“I take it you’re referring to an activity outside of killing and maiming?”
“Yeah, though I’m picking up on your condescending tone.”
I wrap my wing around her back, pulling her in close. “I’m rather pleased you were able to do so.”
Her sensual grin spreads slowly, her eyes dancing. “You’re so lucky I find dicks hot.”
I tighten my winggrip. “Just my dick,” I seek to clarify.
“Oh, just you.”
I’m basking in this when she adds a goading, “I don’t have a Rakhii to make taffy treats.”
We recently learned that when Rakhii blow fire on liquid sweetener, it transforms to a chewy candy. The humans are enamored.
“What cool thing can hobs do?”
I believe I give her the look she was hoping for all along. You did not just imply that hobs aren’t as ‘cool’ as fire-breathing gladiator aliens.
She hip-checks me, escaping my winghold and stealing the bowl she’s just bestowed upon me. She carries it to the door of the lab containment unit and interrupts our viewing subject by knocking on his door. “Hey, Akita?”
In a nearly amiable mood ever since she demonstrated we can assist with Cricket, he appears mildly entertained as he looks down at her. “Yes, my… queen?”
My eyes shift to Gracie and I stare at her so hard she tosses me a glance over her shoulder. It isn’t apologetic in the least. She shrugs. “He wanted to know what he could call me.” To him, she queries, “Can you breathe on this for us, please?”
Looking nonplussed, he opens his mouth and the scales along his throat flex.
She holds up a finger. “These kernels are already popped, so I only need hot air—we already had a grease fire in the kitchen when we tried to mix Rakhii and popcorn oil.”
He has no idea what she’s talking about—neither do I—but he reheats it to her satisfaction.
She observes her popcorn, looking quite pleased. “Many thanks, handy alien.”
He bows a little. “You are welcome, strange human.”
Directly behind her now, I mutter, “‘Handy alien?’”
Gracie’s eyes appear far too innocent when she slowly spins to face me. “It’s an expression. Meaning he’s useful.”
“Hobs are useful.”
“Yes, dear.”
“This is from the list of endearments you provided me with, yet your tone is approaching supercilious.”
Her brows rise and she bobs her head. “I’m really proud of you for picking up on that.”
“You’re still doing it.”
She gives me a challenging tilt of her chin that might as well shout, Remember when you were being superior with me? She smirks. “I know.”
CHAPTER 16
GRACIE
We sit, companionably munching popcorn, watching Rakhii-telly through one-way glass, and it’s nice. Live telly is cool. We try not to interrupt the subjects, and the doc pretends they aren’t being viewed. Typical of Rakhii, Hotahn could not care less.
The kids think it’s neat and especially at first, they hammed it up a little. They’re aware they’re being viewed but it’s sort of one-way glass, so they feel a semblance of privacy.
This is fun, more fun than I thought it’d be, but it gets me thinking about the future. About our future.
I don’t want to stay here forever.
I mean—yes, Dohrein’s winged arse is mine; I’m not letting him go or leaving this planet, so on and so forth, but I don’t want to live in this guinea pig cage forever.
I set down my popcorn, take his popcorn, grin when he snarls a little, and I set it aside too. I gain all of his attention when I plant my hands on his thighs and lean my weight on him when I say, “When you go to work tomorrow, I want to visit your dam.”
Dohrein’s so shocked, he doesn’t successfully mask his alarm. “Not alone?”
“Alone,” I confirm. I don’t say that the way his sire snipes at him makes me ragey and this isn’t the approach I can afford to take for this conversation. “It’ll be fine.”
I cop a feel until he’s successfully distracted, we bang, we nap, and when we wake up, we find out Callie’s in labor—by the time baby Baskian is born (seriously the tiniest, cutest baby I have ever seen and I’m so in love), Dohrein hasn’t brought it up again so as far as I’m concerned, the matter is settled.
Therefore, I’m a little fucking disgruntled the next morning when Dohrein doesn’t want to let me out of his sight. “Rein, she’s my mother-in-law.”
His eyes widen. “You say this as if it grants you protection.”
I actually think it does. But clearly, he’s not going to believe this. I march into our room—I often call it a room inside my head, but I force everyone else to refer to it as a castle just to screw with them—and I snatch up the spray bottle. “Hold still.”
“Gracie—”
I squirt him.
His eyes turn to slits.
I soak him.
His wings’ blue streaks start to burn very, very bright.
Idly wondering if he’d be open to exploring more corporal punishments using his wings on my backside, I proceed to spray down myself—again—too. “There. Happy?”
He sighs in exasperation. “I wasn’t feeling the effects of bonding. I’m worried about your safety.”
“I could be carrying the cutest half-hob, half-human grandbaby passenger with tiny, completely adorable wings as we speak. Your mum’s not going to do anything that would potentially cause harm.”
He can’t disagree with this, yet he’s still not convinced.
If it were anyone else I was planning to meet, I’d say taking this tall, strong alien who’s willing and capable of fighting the battles I physically can’t fight would be a smart play.
But I know it down to my cuticles that if I have to listen to one more snide comment from Father Nine about his disappointment of a son, I will lose my shite. There will be an intergalactic incident. Judging by what they intended to do to their own citizens when they
killed other citizens, I’m gonna guess they’d put me down by way of a wicked sharp blade.
Or—and this is a big or—Dohrein could stay here, I go alone, and we could avoid that scenario entirely.
Besides, we both know if his mum wanted to dissect me, she’d have done it already. Technically, nobody here is powerful enough to stop her. “It’s going to be a piece of cake. She’s not plotting to harvest my organs today, I’m betting my life on it.”
His brow flattens. “How I wish you didn’t mean that in the literal sense.”
I raise up on my toes, tug on his shoulder until he gives in and leans down, and when I plant my lips against his cheek and whisper that he’s a good male, I watch his color darken. Before he can go all surly in reaction to his embarrassment, I jerk him closer and nip his ear—which makes his wings half-snap around us. “Relax. I’ve got skills.”
Dohrein pulls back, eyebrows taking a hike right to his sexy hair. “I don’t think my dam will appreciate your skills quite the way I do.”
The horror in his tone has me braying.
***
What I didn’t take into account were the number of stairs. Gom gosh almighty, cheese and crackers, this is a lot of stairs. No wonder Rakhii have leg muscles for days.
And those funny toes. I wonder if their three-toed feet give them some sort of advantage.
When Dohrein has taken me here, it’s an easy couple minutes of flight time.
When I manage to arrive on my own power, it feels like weeks have gone by, I’m thirsty, sweaty, and I’m bitching about blisters.
Dohrein’s mum—or dam, as they refer to their mothers—Dohartaigh has a Rakhii in her service. He lets me in, which is good, because on a normal day I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be strong enough to push open the high-arched door by myself, and right now, I sure as horseapples can’t manage it.
His ears flick when he hears me complaining. Without a word, he strolls to a shiny cobalt serving tray and plucks up a gel packet, ambling over to offer it to me.
I suck the whole thing down, thank him, airplane it into the wastebasket he holds up for me, and realize I’ve seen this guy a handful of times now and I still don’t know his name. “What’s your name?”