by Amanda Milo
“You didn’t see her eyes,” I say hollowly. Fully aware he can hear us, I start, “How is he bonded? He never even touched—”
Grake holds up a hand. “It’s thought that Brax’s family line had—or, has, rather—a genetic propensity to bond. His brother is rather… infamous on our home planet.”
“I know this much,” I inform him, “But it seemed impossible. I mean, it’s BRAX for galaxy’s sake!”
His nod is agreeable. “He took every precaution not to end up this way, as far as I can tell.”
“She was frightened.” My skin hurts. I’ve never felt this before and it sets me on edge. I want to charge in to comfort her.
Grake looks appalled. “Tac, you honestly believe he would hurt her? He won’t. I can confirm this much at least: if he becomes aggravated, it isn’t the Gryfala he will harm. You should let them… finish bonding.”
I stare at him, neurons exploding in colorful bursts behind my eyes. “How much damage are we talking?”
His brows slowly climb. “‘Damage’? You mean… If you attempt to take her from him? What level is dead?”
I concentrate on drawing air into my lungs, hopping in place a moment to drain some of excessive buildup of adrenaline and nerves. Crite! Crite! Teveking bond! Having to force Tara to go in to save Brax’s miserable hide… And the timing could not be worse—for Creator’s sake she’s about to nest! Grake said stress is bad for nesting Gryfala. She was certainly looking stressed when I had to leave her!
Though, she rejected the nesting site. I’ve no idea the effect that will have on her. She’s been struggling with anxiety aplenty already; of course she’s irrationally upset over being locked in with her bonded Rakhii. Which Grake did warn me of.
He also warned me she’d be exacting when it came to that nest! He told me she would want to do most of the preparation herself, but I had wanted to surprise her.
Oh, I had. But she didn’t seem to have any interest in designing one herself, either. Maybe all of this will disrupt her need to nest entirely. I’ve no idea if she’s literally filled with eggs now or… I scrub my face with my hands. And I pace.
I pace for spans. I should go to work, but I can’t concentrate. Grake left me long ago, so I warble in anguish alone. I’m trying not to, but I keep replaying the scene from earlier: when I’d opened the door to where Brax had locked himself down, and she gave me this heartwrenchingly wide-eyed look of unadulterated alarm. On the way here, I’d tried to explain that Brax wouldn’t harm her. That was my rational side. The other part of me, an uncharted, newly awakened part of me—that part wanted to clutch her to me and never let her go, much less share her. And ‘share’ her, with Brax? He’s a Rakhii: they don’t know the meaning of the word! The concept seems to be completely foreign to them. To him!
As evidenced by the situation I’m facing right now. I’m standing in the doorway—I don’t even know exactly when I made the move to enter—but there they are. He’s holding her close, watching her sleep.
Well... at least he was, until I stepped inside. Now, in an obvious effort not to disturb her, he’s releasing a bone-shivering growl that’s so low, I can barely hear it.
But I certainly can feel it.
So can she. She shifts a bit, and when he glances down, he must see something in her expression because he ceases that awful noise and instead, turns to silently showing fang at me as his body hunkers over her form protectively.
The idea that he’s protecting her from me… preposterous!
When I manage to pry my gaze from the way her cheek is pressed onto his forearm, when I manage to drag my eyes away from the sight of him lying half-atop her, and when I’m finished glaring at the way his tail is fanning all its blades at me in a warning display—my thoughts divert and sputter to a halt, confusion complete as I take in the mess all about the floor. I peer closer. Soap?
The floor is absolutely covered in pulverized soap. Just the dry crumbles. No water added, not that it would make any sense to mop with this extreme amount of cleaning product anyway. Brax is normally so meticulous—this is totally aberrant behavior for the male I know. It’s looks like he has taken a case’s worth of the soap bars, dashed them to the floor, then stomped on top of them as if he were making wine. The crumbles are extensive and everywhere. Why…?
And what would she have thought, seeing him do this? I’m disgusted with his crazed behavior, as well as deeply questioning Grake’s assessment and assurances of the situation. I’m incensed that she was put at risk—just as she feared—just as I’ve feared as I’ve paced outside this door!
“Calm yourself, machaai,” he dares to warn me. And I see that my skin is flushing with threat-splotches, and his words do nothing to calm me at all.
Then his actions manage what his words cannot. He leans back—backing away from her body—with only his arm remaining trapped under her. He’s preparing himself to get dosed with toxin, but he’s also ensuring his weight won’t flatten her when it happens.
Seeing this sucks the fearful ire right out of me.
“There you go,” he says quietly, and I recognize it for what it is. He’s been employing this same voice to talk to her for spans now. “It’s not what you think. I gave her the soap. Some rotations ago, I found out by accident that it calms her. She’s the one who committed this massacre.” He eyes my skin again, relaxing a little. “Good. That’s it.”
Dumbly, I blink at him. “You’re crooning to me too?”
He smirks faintly. “I thought it was worth a shot. Seems to work on divas.”
“Shut up!”
“You’d better shut up,” he snarls, serious again. “If she wants to sleep, you’ll let her sleep.”
Too late, we see our bickering has already roused her. And instead of the welcoming smile and warm eyes that I’ve come to crave as if they’re morsels for my heart, she looks at me dully; no pleasure in her countenance at all.
“What have you—” I’m about to shout, ‘—done to her!’ but that’s when she raises up enough to roll over, turning her back to me with a deliberation that can’t be misconstrued.
And, she moves deeper into Brax’s arms.
Owwww…
I didn’t know my heart could compress to the size of a dratsum seed, but it certainly is feeling like it’s attempting to do just this.
The bottoms of my long feet ache to pound out my frustration and dread, but in this mood, I’m afraid I’ll break through to the sub flooring. I knew it. She was as blindsided as I me. She seemed to have no comprehension.
Bonding. Unlike Grake, this was all a surprise to her. She doesn’t know it’s why I had to leave her with Brax. Now, my mate is hurt and angered with me, and I can’t explain the reasons—valid reasons—that I had to take her to Brax. Brax, who is no longer suffering from the effects of touch-deprivation from being apart from his bonded. If not for me, Tara would never have gone to him willingly; she didn’t, and still doesn’t understand that for her to be apart from him now will make him gravely ill—Grake was very clear on this point.
I’m startled when she speaks. “Juss goh Tac. Leev meh. Yoo ahhr goood et thot.”
I don’t even understand what she said but it pains me so much I feel it crushing my soul.
Now I do thump my heels into the floor. Tara, unaware my outburst was coming, jumps.
Brax reacts like I’ve attacked her. “GET OUT.” He’s careful not to deafen her by using the resonance chamber in his nasal crest, despite his obvious feelings of aggression towards me in this moment.
Unsure what else to do, I grant her what she is clearly desiring: space. But she will only get this from me, because Brax has no such intention of giving her any—of this, I am certain.
CHAPTER 41
TARA
Never let the sun go down on your anger. I make a shrill sound of disgust; for the stupid things men do—and for the doubts that are creeping into my mind. Remember: Tac is an alien. Not a man. Just because his actions upset me doesn’t mean he didn’t have
honorable motivations, good reasons. A good cause, even. Is there ever a good cause to walk out on someone, time and time again? I wiggle deeper under my favorite blanket, the one that Brax tugged over me earlier.
Yeah, guys leave, but I’ve never liked it. I shouldn’t have to like it. Why is it so hard for men to just stand up and be reliable? Decent? Stand by their partners, do their best by them and their children—and for goodness’ sake by, ‘do their best’ I don’t mean perfection: just friggin’ TRY.
As I kick out, using my momentum to shift to my other side, I realize I’m angry about the male species lack of effort.
As a subject. As past deeds. As irresolvable hangups.
...Not necessarily about Tac specifically.
I pick up my head so that I can thunk it down on my pillow in both frustration as well as confusion.
Unfortunately, my pillow is not a pillow.
It’s an alien’s arm.
#WhyCan’tIHaveNormalPeopleProblems
I was handling normal-people problems: I was handling them like a boss. Rent due? Car falling apart? Daycare costs going up? Handling it, walking everywhere, and I cut corners like a… I don’t know. Like a single mom, living on a single income, because MEN LEAVE! You deal: just like my mom did. Just like her mom did. Gah, why do men walk out when crap gets hard?
My stupid conscious has to break out a contentious opinion like it enjoys giving me the equivalent of whiplash: Is this even what’s going on here?
I groan in frustration and try to think. That first night on the ship, I begged Tac not to lock me up, but he did it and walked away. Or, or hopped—I guess, but bottom line: he left me. I was begging him not to go, and he freaking left me. But what else was he supposed to do? He obviously knew it was going to take me some time before I was willing to trust him and yeah, okay, my bad trying to run in the first place. He even took a bullet—um, laser-shot—thanks to my foolish attempt to make a break for it.
Then tonight, I’d lost it over the whole I-meant-infant-child-baby and you-keep-thinking-I-want… dead tree limbs? Show an alien ‘rock-a-baby’ and he assembles a beaver dam? It was so frustrating. It is so frustrating. I’m trying so hard not to lose it, but this isn’t an issue that can just wait to resolve itself. And his answer to that is to dump me on a chained, insane, basically ‘stranger’ of an alien when I was begging him to stay? And he. Walked. Away.
...But. My subconscious keeps at me. His expression did not match his action. His motivations here are a mystery. He’s so alien!
As I heave another breath, I notice that I’m sounding less like ‘nice, human Tara’ and maybe a little like an infuriated—albeit majorly confused—dragon.
Because I was handling normal-people problems: but throw in a couple of aliens and now I don’t know why they do what they do, I don’t know what their doings mean, I don’t know what roof my kids are under, I don’t know if…
I quickly back away from exploring any further on the actual topic of my girls’ well being. For my own sanity, I hadn’t meant to go there. I prematurely pat myself on the back when my mind picks up a safe, sane, gripe. I don’t know what they’ve done with my damn car.
This, this I can vent about all day or night and I’ll be fine. I almost had that POS paid off—that is… if they don’t repo it, and that interest was killer so depending on how long I’ve been gone…
My thoughts stutter and my throat closes.
I’ve been trying really hard not to count days. I’ll go insane.
I try to tell myself I can’t make myself get home any faster. That dwelling on it won’t get me home faster.
But I’m fooling myself. I’m not thinking about it because I know I’ll break. I’m so fucking scared. So fucking scared.
If I don’t make it home, I’ll never see Mona and Meg again. I’ll never tuck them in again. I won’t be there for their life milestones. They’ve been growing so fast—how many moments have I already missed? How many more will I never get to see? First-loves, proms, graduations—babies of their own?
I will break. I have to be able to get back or I will lose it.
I feel Brax’s exhales like it’s soft clouds of steam from a cooling teapot. I know it’s coming from his nose. (This alien steams from his nose!) He’s watching me. Since he’s awake, and I can’t keep this all inside anymore, I try to figure my issues out out loud. I ignore that my voice comes out squeaky and shaky, like my voicebox is being squeezed right along with my heart. “Brax, I have to be able to talk to you guys. It is so, so, extremely important. You don’t even know—and that’s the problem!” I cover my face with my hands, desperately trying to think.
This alien that wouldn’t touch me unless it was with the help of a household (...spacehold?) cleaning product slowly begins to drag the curve of a claw along my wrist in a measured, reassuring movement.
I sigh and relax against his arm/my pillow. Pillarm. Armillow. Armillow: that works. I nod and decide to run with that. “Okay, the communication issue aside—at least as ‘aside’ as I can make it for now, since it’s still all related—” I take another deep, shaky breath, and shake out my trembling fingers. Brax draws back his claw, staring down at me like he’s not sure if I’m mid-seizure or if I’m just melting down some more. Since he’s no longer afraid of my germs, I pat his chest. He tenses all over.
...Then it’s like he realizes it feels good. He leans into my hand a little—for him—which is a lot of weight on my hand. I drop it and his body jolts a bit at the loss of contact.
I laugh a little to myself. Aliens.
“Anyway—communication issues aside—I don’t understand Tac. I don’t get why… he just doesn’t seem like he’d…”
Hurt me.
“It doesn’t seem like he’d have left me if he’d known what I needed.” I groan, causing Brax to twitch. “You know what? Saying that out loud, I know he wouldn’t. He may be an alien, but I know he’s a good…” Man? Male? “...guy.” I sigh, and thunk my head against his arm once, twice, thr—
Brax swiftly inserts his free hand behind my head, cupping me so that I can’t bang it down anymore.
I convulse once in a silent, mini-laugh.
Then I shake my head at this crazy situation—and at him. Actually, mostly at him. I can’t laugh at my circumstances but this alien? Him I can laugh at; he’s a nut. I sigh. It’s a long, tired, baffled hum-dinger of a sigh. I look up, and search his face. “Hey. Before I forget to say it: thanks for not being scared of my germies anymore. You were honestly starting to give me a complex.”
In the low light of the room, I watch his eyes darken as his pupils expand from slits to rounds. His irises have little flecks of lighter, tawny amongst the deep cherry-cognac. I never noticed before.
Mesmerized, I whisper, “Pretty.”
Then he leans in, and covers my mouth with his.
CHAPTER 42
BRAX
Let the Gryfala set the pace.
That’s the advice fed to Rakhii that are hoping to attract a princess. I confess I hadn’t paid much attention when I was young, and after Gelert…
I grit my teeth. I wouldn’t go near anything having to do with Gryfala after Gelert’s demise, certainly not information on the care and wooing of one. My gaze jumps to my Gyfala. The one I’m… bonded to.
She’s pacing, looking decidedly uncomfortable. She’s been stealing glances at me, and her troubled look tells me I have made an error in judgement.
She’s been deeply agitated since the moment I attempted to kiss her. Either she doesn’t want me, or I’m so lacking in skill that she doesn’t see any benefit to training me.
I can be trained!
...What in the hells am I even proclaiming?
Frustrated, I briefly turn my back on her, running a hand through my quills.
If my hearing weren’t so keen, I’d never have turned in time.
I capture her just before she reaches the door, hooking her thigh with my tail, clutching it. Just touching her se
ttles something in me.
“Eye haff too takk to Tac.”
Tac. Of course she wants Tac. I wait, but she doesn’t meet my eyes. I tug my tail, which in turn gets her focus on my tail’s behavior, which is akin to her paying attention to me.
Just—not nearly as satisfying.
“Lemme gess. Not wiffowwt yoo? Fyyne.”
Tara grabs the safe area right behind my tail’s closed blades and pries back my reluctant-to-slacken grip. She allows it to transfer its greedy clasp to her hand instead, letting a loop close around her fingers. Shaking her head, she stalks to the iron ring in the floor.
It’s a standard feature in every Gryfala ship. Yet, this Gryfala is grimacing, appearing slightly ill, or horrified, or perhaps amounts of both.
I stare down at it too, about to sneer; then I consider my position—as a Rakhii requiring chaining down in a Gryfala ship—and sober my expression and my errant, curling lip instantly.
I’ll concede that it's a wise installation. Still: I can teveking despise their cold, infallible logic.
“Haff kee?”
She’s pointing to the manacles around my wrists. We may not be able to speak each other’s language, but neither of us are dense. I shake my head.
Her features pinch in concern. “Duz Tac haff kee? Or Grayyk?”
I nod. Also standard: three keys. One for the Gryfala, and one to each of her top hobs.
“‘Kay. Bee bacch.” And with that, my tailblades thud to the floor: she managed to loosen my coil without me noticing!
Alarm makes all of my hearts race.
I immediately snag her with another loop, this time around her midsection and—slowly enough she isn’t toppled backward—I reel her in towards me. She doesn’t precisely struggle, but neither do I trust this silence to be true complacency. I convey her back to our bed, but her open, easy manner from before is completely dispelled. She almost seems more wary of me now than she was when Tac joined her to me to begin with.
When she gets tired of sitting up, stiff-backed and chary-postured, she carefully lowers herself to get more comfortable—yet she doesn’t decrease the space between us. I regret that she feels the precaution is a necessary one. I also regret and worry that if she as much as sneezes, she’ll fall off the bed. She is riding that close to the edge in order to stay as detached from me as possible.