Page 20 of Challenged

I close my eyes. Try to think with more force.

It’s not real.

I am not on an alien planet.

It’s impossible.

It’s…

The door clicks open, snapping me back into the present moment. Soft footsteps sound as someone enters the room, and I freeze in place, willing whoever it is to turn around, walk back out. I don’t want anyone to see me like this. Don’t want to see anyone. Don’t want to face the possibility that Liv and Brooks and Lorna weren’t lying to me.

They have to be lying. Have to be.

I hear shuffling, the soft thud of clothes falling to the floor. Then a low voice, male, starts a tuneless hum. That sound cuts through all of my panic and fear, my head going silent, the humming the only thing I can hear.

Humming, and then the gentle sound of running water.

One of the actors has made a mistake. He’s come to wash the costume off. If I confront him as the green body paint drips to the floor around him, as the glue holding the prosthetics in place disintegrates, there won’t be any more trying to convince me. No more opportunity to plant seeds of doubt, for the clever location choice to burrow underneath my skin, for their impeccable acting to make me start to believe the impossible.

All I have to do is step out from behind these lockers, catch this guy in a compromising position, and it will all be over.

I move slowly, my bare feet whispering against the tiled floor. Each step roots me more firmly in my body, my focus narrowing down. Carefully, I creep round to the front of the lockers. Look out from behind them to where he’s showering. He’s still humming to himself, apparently oblivious to my presence.

Good job, too, because for a long moment I just freeze. Stare.

Watch as the water runs over his perfectly toned, muscular back, down his firm, pert butt. The tail is a little distracting, mostly because I can’t see any visible seam or join where it’s attached, but there’s no failing to notice the physical perfection of this specimen. Not overly muscled, but strong, lean. Broader shoulders, narrower hips. His arms move as he lathers up some soap, wiping it over his chest, giving me a perfect view of all his musculature rippling under his skin.

My mouth goes a little dry. Other places get a little damp.

Breed with an alien.

I’d be down for a little role play with this guy.

In any other circumstance.

He tips his head back, turning his face up to the hot water. I jolt back behind the lockers, heart hammering in my chest, cursing myself for my momentary idiocy. I’m not here to enjoy the view. If that guy sees me before the costume starts to come undone, this chance is lost.

I need proof, irrefutable proof of their lies. I need to hold it in my hands, tangible and undeniable.

And I don’t need to wait for the paint to start to run for that.

I take a steadying breath, count to five in my head.

Then I dart round the lockers into the shower area.

Grab his tail and pull.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Rardek

By the time I get back to the fire, the preparations for our evening meal are not only done, but the meal itself is being served. Paskar gives me a dry look.

“Showing up just in time to eat?”

“Perfectly timed,” I say, grinning.

I am given a brief sneer, but Paskar knows that, while I am many things, I am never lazy.

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