Page 65 of The Pregnancy Pact

She was direct. To the point. I nodded warily, unsurprised that she knew.

“Let me guess. You had something to do with it?” I questioned a little dryly.

Sirena’s silver skin was paler than Ellax’s. Her hair was even darker. Almost black. Her eyebrows were carefully colored in, I noted, and my attention was drawn to them when she raised them at my remark.

“You think I have the clout within the Interstellar Coalition to summon Ellax?”

I couldn’t tell if she was trying to be coy or evasive. Asterions weren’t that good at being evasive. Too forthright, plus their language didn’t allow it in the way English did.

“Didn’t you just imply that?” I asked.

Rather than answer, she drifted towards a slim green vase, whose glossy exterior reflected the overhead lights almost painfully. Luscious pink blooms burst from the vase in a riot of color and scent. Coming from a planet of cold and ice, the contrast again, with the warmth and abundance here in my new sitting room, was stark. While I appreciated the pink flowers for their beauty and hope and life, I didn’t think Sirena felt likewise as she reached out to stroke the petals with a forefinger.

“I implied nothing,” she said. Her silver finger slid down a petal. “I ascertained that would be the case, which is why I am here. I wished to speak to you alone.”

I felt my brow pucker in confusion. Had she wrangled for Ellax to be called away so she could come here and confront me? Did she have that much clout?

Before I could ask, she said smoothly, “This is a frin. It grows very well when cultivated and managed by skilled gardeners. However, left to itself, with no maintenance, no oversight, what do you think befalls it?”

“Um…” I shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. We don’t have many flowers left in my section of Earth. It’s too cold, so I don’t know much about them. What happens?”

She pinched a pink petal between her silver thumb and forefinger. “It dies,” she said, and pulled the petal, dropping it. “One by one…” She pulled another petal. Then another. “They die. Some species simply need oversight…” This time, she grasped the denuded flower head by the stem and, with a quick twist of her fingers, decapitated it.

“Or they die.”

It was a flower, but her careless disregard of its life, its beauty, left me chilled.

“Wh—what are you trying to say?” I demanded, clearing my throat to get rid of the catch in my voice.

With the one flower thoroughly dismantled, she allowed her fingertips to drift to the next. “Humans were left alone far too long. Like these flowers, with no oversight, they destroyed themselves.”

“But they have oversight now,” I pointed out, subtly shifting my stance, determined to conceal my discomfort.

“Those inside our greenhouses, our colonies, do.” Another petal plucked. Dropped. Discarded. “Those outside our protection, our cultivation… Well…”

This time, she didn’t even pluck all the petals before snapping the head off the flower. Half-naked, half glorious, it dropped to the floor with a soft thunk.

“Then why not let them ruin themselves, if that’s where you think they’re headed? Why intervene? Why murder them if they refuse to comply?”

“Weeds choke out the gardener’s success,” she shot back.

She was reaching for another petal. All of the sudden, I couldn’t bear to see one more beautiful bloom desecrated. In two quick steps, I’d stepped forward, snatched up the entire vase, and rescued it from her grasp.

“I get it,” I said, clutching the vase to my hip where the flowers didn’t shield my face but were still protected from her. “You’ve already said it. You think humans need oversight, and those who don’t comply should be killed. That’s not a secret. You didn’t have to ruin my flowers to make your point.”

“Your flowers are worth nothing,” she hissed back, her golden eyes flashing with rage. “Just as your wild humans are worth nothing. They are less than nothing. They should be exterminated like the weeds they are.”

There it was. Her calm, cool demeanor had dissipated like fog in the sunshine. I saw hatred. Real hatred. It shocked me. I knew many Asterions looked down on us—including Ellax—but hate us? Most didn’t waste their energy on that. They needed humans as breeders to rebuild their population, so wasting time hating potential half-human offspring was silly.

“What is wrong with you?” I demanded, shrinking back a step, clutching the vase as if protecting the flowers could protect my fellow humans back home. “Why do you hate the wild people so much? What could they have done to you?”

“I hate all humans!”

The cold words, practically spat at me, were enough to freeze my body in place. I’d never seen an Asterion, known for poise and reserve, this worked up about anything.

“I recognize them as a necessary evil,” she went on. “I know we need the females to breed. The rest? Those who won’t comply? Cull them, like sick animals from a herd. Destroy them. We need no rebels in our bloodlines.”

I wasn’t shocked, per se. Her stance had been made clear yesterday. Nevertheless, her abject hatred was truly astonishing.

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