Page 39 of You're Not My King!

“Johnny’ll do,” he said with a sweet smile, his accent quick and kinda fluctuating. Up close, I could tell he was older than me; not by much, maybe only a few years, but it was obvious by the age in his hands. He seemed confident yet shy—or at least less sociable than Beatrice—and had chubby, freckled cheeks with a hint of stubble on his chin.

They were both obviously really friendly, but because of my ingrained wariness, I would stay cautious, at least until I knew them better.

Fiona tapped my back, urging me forward. “I’ll leave you kids to it and I’ll get those tonics made for Damon.” She pointed between the two newbies, fixing them with a stare worthy of a doting grandma scolding her grandbabies. “Take care of yourselves, d’ya hear?”

“Yes, Fee,” they drawled in unison, tutting, though it seemed fond.

The doc smiled, patted my arm once more before trotting away and leaving me like a lamb among wolves. Beatrice wasted no time in budging up the log, offering me a seat with an impish grin.

“Come.” She tapped the space beside her, and I obliged, angling myself so I faced them both. And the way out. “Reuben, right?”

“Yeah.” I shrugged. “Or Roo. Whichever’s fine.”

“You’ve been the talk of the town for days,” she said, like a golden retriever with a bone. “It’s why we’re here—to pay respects to the leader and his mate.” She gave me a nudge and a wink. “But mostly for you.”

I huffed a nervous laugh. “I feel special.”

“So you should,” Johnny chipped in, throwing me a wink of his own. “How’re you settling in?”

“Um…” Shit, I wanted to say, but I made a seesaw gesture instead. They both hummed in understanding.

“It’s a lot to take in,” Beatrice said, and I nodded absently, blowing out a breath.

In more ways than one.

I squirmed in my seat. “How long have you guys been here?”

“Two years for me,” she answered before jerking a thumb at Johnny. “Eleven months for him.”

Two. Whole. Years?! Fuck, that sounded like a lifetime, and from what I’d already gathered, days lasted as long here as on Earth, so I’d feel every goddamn one. I mean, I shouldn’t really have been shocked; Fiona had been here for eight, but part of me had hoped for the sake of my escape plans that she was a special case, and everyone else had found a way out within the year.

I guessed not.

Well, Johnny still has time.

And to think, if I was destined to be stuck here, eventually it would be me sitting in their place, placating the newest abductees, answering their twenty questions while putting on a brave face. That, for sure, was not in my skill set. I wasn’t adept at talking to strangers on a good day, never mind lying to them, too.

“Are there any other humans in your clan, or just you two?”

“There’s Damon,” Beatrice said, her brows pinching in sympathy. “But he’s a little poorly. He was so bummed that he couldn’t make it.”

Damon. The guy Fiona was making potions for. Was it rude to ask what ailed him? Because if there was some type of contagious alien bug drifting around, I was hotfooting my ass back to bed.

As if reading my mind, Johnny snorted. “No need to look so spooked. He just ate something that didn’t agree with him.” He held up his wooden ladle. “Not from anythin’ I made, I assure you.”

I relaxed a fraction. “Is that your job, then? To cook?”

“Aye. I was the head chef at a pretty notable spot back in Belfast, so I was. It was more about the science of food than just cooking.” Shrugging, he added another pinch of something to the pot. He could have been poisoning it for all I knew, giving it a little kick of arsenic. “Made sense to take up the same position here. And I actually like it a lot better. Less stress, and I get to travel around.”

I could see the appeal in that. “And what did you do?” I shifted my gaze to Beatrice. “Back wherever home is for you?”

“The arse-end of England for me, and I was an engineer,” she said, casually, as if it was nothing. I definitely wasn’t gonna be admitting my severe lack of skills now. Oh, you design buildings and shit? Pft, well, I can crochet a mean cardigan, how’s about that? “So, if you need anything fixed or created, I’m your gal.”

Would a self-driving spaceship be too much to ask?

I cleared my throat. “You’re both content, then?”

They nodded, and it seemed genuine. “Yeah,” Johnny chirped. “Happy as clams.”

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