by Stacy Jones
He searched her face just in case he was wrong, but no. That look of confusion made it very clear to him she had not been demonstrating her desire to receive the mate kiss.
“Macero damn me, Mira,” he choked out. “I am… I— I did not… I thought.” He stopped, too shocked and horrified by what he’d done to speak.
He started to withdraw from her, sure she would not want to touch him, not after what he’d done. Her eyes went wide at what he was sure was an expression of horror on his face to match what he felt. Reaching out, she lay a hand on his arm before he could move any farther away, freezing him in place.
“Zaek, stop. Wait! I’m not angry. I didn’t expect… ” she trailed off and shook her head, her curls bouncing around her face. “But I’m not mad, I promise. I do have a lot of questions though,” she warned, her expression serious but, true to her word, she did not appear upset.
Only because she does not understand.
He was angry with himself, shocked and appalled down to his bones that he could have done such a thing without explaining the consequences and aftereffects to her in explicit detail beforehand, without telling her the changes her body would go through. It did not matter that she scattered his wits, that he desired her more than he wanted air, and he could barely think past it. It did not matter that he had not acted with malice or with the intention to deceive her. There was no excuse.
Throughout all these centuries he’d lost so much—friends and comrades in the crash, his purpose in life, even some of his fucking sanity—but he always had his honor. He had never killed a human, had stayed in hiding to follow the Prime Directive even after the loneliness became excruciating. He’d built a base of operations, followed survival protocol, and constantly monitored for rescue. He’d done everything right… until now. Without his honor he was nothing. She was worth any sacrifice, even that of his honor, but without it he was unworthy of her. And, once she knew, he would not have her anyway.
When the rescue ship arrived he would have to submit himself for punishment. There was no other option.
The consequence for delivering the dassa without consent was severe, as it should be. It was so rare as to almost be unheard of, but the vile urkrez to commit such a crime were forced into the duramna for centuries and given an injection so they were aware for every second and made to experience the helplessness they’d inflicted on their victim.
“Zaek, are you okay?” Mira asked nervously, watching him like he had truly gone crazy.
No. No, he was not okay. That she still cared enough to ask was only because he had not explained.
Realizing that, he shoved down his devastation and locked away the horror he felt toward himself. She was more important. She came first, always. He forced his limbs to move and returned to her, but he sat without touching her. He would not do so again, not until she knew and not unless she desired it.
The chances of that were small.
Keeping his voice steady and calm by sheer force of will, he told her everything. How his people had true mates, Hondassas, and that she was his. That when a person found theirs, a specialized gland would produce fluid, and when shared, it modified the recipient’s genetics to allow them to be reproductively compatible.
“That’s the gland you mentioned in the cabin. The one that gave you a speech impediment,” she interjected, looking staggered.
“Yes. I reacted to you the moment I caught your scent in your laboratory.”
“That’s… wow,” she whispered. Some of the focus returned to her gaze. “Why do your people need it, though? There must have been something limiting the availability of breeding partners for it to have evolved.”
“Khargals have different breeds within our species and those breeds are not naturally compatible. Without the dassa—the mating fluid—couples from different breeds cannot have young.”
“So, it works on other species, as well? Not just Khargals?” she asked cautiously.
He nodded and swallowed hard. “When we discovered space travel and made contact with inhabitants of other planets, we discovered almost immediately that the gland reacted to other species, as well.”
“How, exactly, does the dassa affect the recipient?” she breathed.
He could hear her heart pounding rapidly.
Feeling sick, he told her of the changes her body would go through now that he had done what he’d done.
“The changes do not become permanent until many doses have been delivered over the course of years, but you will be stronger, faster from the first. Eventually, your lifespan will extend to that of a Khargal’s. You will heal more quickly, and your senses will be somewhat enhanced.”
At that her gaze became even more unfocused as her attention turned inward. She cocked her head, then drew in a deep breath through her nose. Blinking in surprise, she whispered in shock, “I can hear the refrigerator compressor all the way in the kitchen. I can smell you, us.”
“If you do not receive regular doses your genetics will eventually revert, but not completely. You will always hold a piece of me,” he rasped, meaning that in more ways than one.
He expected the horror he felt to show on her face by this point, but it didn’t. She looked stunned, but he could tell she was not truly considering what he was telling her on a personal level. She was thinking about this as a scientist, and a dazed one at that, but his next words would change that.
“It is also possible for you to become pregnant now. You may be so already.”
He could not detect the shift in her scent that would suggest she was carrying young, but it was early.
There it was. Her expression slowly lost all animation, and she went very still. She sat there in silence for a long, long while, before she finally mumbled something he couldn’t quite make out, then moved woodenly, scooting off his bed and padding slowly to the bathing room as if in a trance.
He felt his heart crumbling to dust with every step she took away from him. He watched her come to a stop next to the shower and look around as if she didn’t know how she got there before she twisted to turn the water on.
When he could not take it any longer, just sitting there watching her get farther and farther away from him, Zaek got up. Gathering her a new set of clothing, he laid them carefully on the bed then retreated to the kitchen to prepare her a meal. There was a chance she would not trust him to make food for her, but he had to try. She may hate him now, but it was still his duty to care for her, to protect her, and make sure she had anything she wanted or needed.
A voice whispered in his mind, noting she had not called him a monster or attacked him or broken down into heartbroken tears of betrayal.
Perhaps, it whispered seductively, perhaps we can win her back.
31
Mira
When she emerged a long while later from the bathroom and made her way to the kitchen, she didn’t even notice the food Zaek had made and set out on the table. Not at first.
She was blown away by what she’d learned, by the incredible, unbelievable things he’d told her. She just thought she had a lot of questions the day before. Now, there were too many spinning around in her mind, and she couldn’t focus long enough to pick one to ask first.
Under the layer of stunned disbelief making her feel like she was in a daze, there was a giddy, effervescent feeling growing in her chest. The idea that there were actual soulmates out there, quantifiable by science, and that hers was Zaek was… insane. And amazing, shocking, so damned heartwarming her inner romantic was squealing with glee, and so many other emotions that it left her feeling overwhelmed.
After realizing, distantly, that he was sitting down waiting for her, she took a seat. Eating mechanically, she let her mind go wild. Questions, speculation, theories, varied emotions, each as intense as the one before, filled her thoughts.
Finally, his last words, the ones that sent her into a tailspin to begin with, rose above everything else.
Blinking, she looked around and became aware they
were sitting on the couch watching a documentary about baby seals, of all things. She didn’t even remember what she’d eaten, let alone finishing and following him into the living room.
Mira gazed down her body, and almost of its own accord, her hand slowly moved to settle over her lower stomach.
The idea of having children had always filled her with a strange mix of dread and longing. She wanted kids, wanted a family more than almost anything else, but the fear that something would happen to her and her husband, and her child would be forced to go through what she’d gone through, was terrifying.
Anyone could die at any time. There were no guarantees in life. She knew that. Everyone else knew that too, and, yet, they had children all the time. But for Mira, that knowledge, and the fear it caused, was crippling. What if she died and her daughter or son wasn’t as lucky as she’d been? What if they suffered the abuses she’d seen others endure?
She couldn’t do that. She just couldn’t. So, slowly, bitterly, she let go of her dream for a family.
But this is different.
Turning her head, she peered up at Zaek’s profile. She traced his alien features from his horns to his wings to his tail lying on the couch between them. She took in his tough grey skin, his claws, his huge size, and the thick muscle that covered every inch of him.
He wasn’t human. He was stronger, tougher. He could protect himself. He could even turn his skin to stone like some kind of exoskeleton. She’d heard the shots, felt the impact as he took heavy fire from the security team at Area 51. And he was still here, unharmed, perfectly fine.
Alive.
He didn’t die.
He’d kept her alive. If he could protect her, he could protect their children.
He’d said the mating fluid he gave her would make her stronger, too. She would heal faster.
They were mates. He’d said that, too. It was such a primal word, but he said it like a human would say marriage or wife.
The progression of their relationship was really fast, faster than she was completely comfortable with, but she couldn’t deny that, while sudden and unexpected and more than a little unusual, the strongest emotions she felt were a tentative, fragile kind of wonder and excitement.
If they were mates then they would stay together. He wouldn’t leave her heartbroken and alone on Earth to be killed by the security team while he returned to his planet. Zaek would never do that. She knew he would’ve done something to help ensure her continued safety, even if they weren’t mates and he did leave. But if they were, he would either take her with him or stay here with her.
Did she want to stay here, on Earth? Or did she want to go to his planet with him? That was a big question. A life-changing decision. One that required more information about his world, his society, his culture. Most importantly, though…
“Are your people monogamous? Do you mate for life?”
She held her breath. The answer would change everything.
He startled a little at her question and whipped a wide-eyed look down at her, like she’d either scared the hell out of him or her question threw him for a loop. Both were fair. She’d been a zombie sitting next to him, and from his perspective, both her speaking at all and those questions in particular, came out of left field.
His words came out slightly strangled and in the wrong order as he replied, “Both. Yes.”
Mira nodded and faced forward again, her heart beating a little faster as that wonder and excitement got a little stronger, a little less fragile. She took that information with her as she fell silent again and retreated back into her thoughts.
It took Mira the rest of the day before she emerged enough to become aware that something had changed with Zaek.
They didn’t have sex that night or the next, but the tension she felt from him didn’t seem sexual in nature, so she didn’t think that was the problem. Besides, Zaek was perceptive. Obviously, he could see she was playing catch up. She needed all the information she could gather before making such a monumental choice. He said the effects of the mating fluid were reversible, and she needed to be sure of that choice before she had another dose. Her first instinct, in complete contrast to her usual methodical decision making process, was to say yes, climb him like a tree, and lick that salted caramel tasting fluid off his tongue. But this was too serious, too important to approach with such impulsiveness or to allow her libido to sway her. She wanted to have sex with him again, badly, but she controlled herself, as did Zaek, and she appreciated his thoughtfulness immensely.
She asked him what was wrong, repeatedly, over the course of that day. And again the next and the next. Every time, he deflected by encouraging her to ask him about his world, his people, his culture.
But that tactic became less effective over time. He was withdrawn, and there was tension between them, strain. At first, she thought her reaction to his news had pushed him away, had hurt him. She tried to make up for that by peppering him with more questions, showing him she was interested.
Her focus began to steadily shift from them—from possibilities and family and children and exploring an alien world and making a life together—to him.
It hit her like a slap one day, what was different about him.
Zaek wouldn’t touch her. She touched him, and he never pulled away, but he didn’t return her touches.
He was always ready to put aside whatever he was doing and give her his full attention when she asked him questions, which was often. He cared for her in any way he could, eagerly and without ever once giving her the impression he did it because he thought she was incapable or helpless. It was like caring for her was something he genuinely enjoyed. He stayed close to her, never venturing far unless it was unavoidable.
And he watched her. She felt his gaze like a comforting weight, though he always turned away before she could catch him.
But, he wouldn’t so much as graze a claw over her curls.
Mira had become more than just accustomed to his habit of touching her, she loved it. He’d done it from almost the moment they met. The lack, now, made her feel like she’d lost something—a constant feeling of having forgotten something crucial, something precious.
She was so confused. He was acting like he’d hurt her, like he was trying desperately to earn her forgiveness, but she wasn’t upset.
She tried to gently pry it out of him, whatever it was that was bothering him, but the more she pried, the more he shut down.
Finally, a horrible thought occurred to her.
What if he regrets mating me? What if he doesn’t want me?
That day, like some kind of horrible, heartbreaking, cosmic sign, she turned in time to catch him staring and saw an expression of such intense remorse and shame in his eyes before he quickly hid it behind a smile.
Mira felt that fragile wonder and excitement fracture, and her heart with it.
She stopped asking questions after that.
32
Mira
They worked side by side in his basement workshop, day in and day out, focused on fixing his beacon. They’d been at it for just under a week when they finally succeeded.
Mira thought she should have felt some sense of accomplishment or excitement that, after two years, she finally got to see the stubborn thing work, but, she didn’t because it meant she was one step closer to losing Zaek completely.
To avoid being a completely horrible, selfish person she focused on what the beacon being operational meant for all the Khargals stranded on Earth. This was their way home, back to their lives and families, and that was something to be happy about.
She clung to that thought instead of allowing herself to consider that Zaek would be leaving with them. He hadn’t said it, but she felt him retreating inside himself and further from her a little more every day. Why would he choose to stay with her or ask her to go with him when he so obviously regretted what they’d done? He wouldn’t. He didn’t have to say it, she already knew.
They stood in silence for a
long minute after it came online before he activated some kind of 3-D hologram display and entered code too fast for her to track, then read the message that appeared. When he was finished, he sighed and said, “It is done. It sent the correct coordinates to Duras, and I have relayed their return message to my brethren’s sigils.”
From the pocket of his sweatpants he withdrew an oblong, jeweled medallion. The large ruby gem in the middle shimmered, seemingly with a light of its own, and the gold-like metal it was set in was engraved with what she recognized as Durassian symbols. It activated at his touch, and a hologram, similar to the beacon’s, appeared in the air above it. Some text and a depiction of a mountain range showed with a marker hovering over a specific peak.
“Retrieval is set for October 31st in what looks like the Northern Territories in Canada. I will have to consult a map to determine which range this is and the name of that peak.” He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “I will have to go on a supply run. We are low on food.”
She didn’t know if that meant he planned to leave her here and didn’t want her to starve, or if he was talking about acquiring supplies to take with him when he left.
She stayed silent and nodded her head. He sighed, so softly she probably wouldn’t have been able to hear it before receiving the dassa, but the effects were still present. She heard the sadness in it, the defeat, and her throat immediately tightened.
He turned and started walking toward the stairs leading to the house above. The sound of his footsteps reverberated in her ears, each thud a sound of finality, of loss.
She hadn’t asked him directly if he regretted it, hadn’t been able to bring herself to do so, terrified of hearing him say what she already knew. But, she couldn’t take it anymore, the tiptoeing around each other, the not knowing. If he was planning to abandon her here like an unwanted puppy, she needed to know. She needed to stop being a coward and face it, so she could make a plan to survive without him.