Page 30 of A Mate For Matrix
“Great,” she had muttered, rolling her eyes. “Now you look like a hot model biker had sex with a hot bad-boy biker and created a hot alien bad-boy model biker.” She paused and looked thoughtful for a moment before she shook her head. “I don’t even know if that is possible—though I have read a few male-preg stories. Those are total mind-blowers.”
He watched as she lifted her hands and wiggled her fingers as if her mind was actually about to blow up. He had no idea what a biker was, so he just nodded solemnly and repeated the phrase for future research.
Now, the vehicle wheezed its way down a cracked stretch of pavement, and Jana was chatting cheerfully beside him—completely unfazed by the dire state of their environment.
“The last animal to ride in this van was a pot-bellied pig named Sir Trots-a-Little. Get it? He was pot-bellied, so—" She paused and looked at him before looking back at the road. “Anyway, someone dumped him on the clinic’s doorstep. We took him to the animal sanctuary down the road. He’s living his best life now—has a mud puddle, a girlfriend, and everything.”
Matrix blinked, trying to process ‘pot-bellied’, ‘sanctuary’, and ‘girlfriend’ in the same sentence.
“Before that,” she continued, “we had a calf in here. Born premature. Mom wouldn’t accept him, so Doc and I bottle-fed him until we could find him a foster cow. He pooped everywhere, by the way. Hence the stains.”
Matrix’s stomach lurched. That explained the smell.
And the fossilized brown patch.
Still, he held his tongue, focusing instead on her voice. He wasn’t sure why, but listening to her talk—about animals, the town, and the weird rituals of this world—soothed something in him.
He glanced over, watching her face glow as she spoke. Her hands moved when she told stories, her laugh burst out of her without hesitation, and her eyes sparkled like she’d bottled starlight and forgotten to tell anyone.
They passed a dozen squat, odd-shaped buildings. Some were weathered, leaning like tired soldiers. Others gleamed with false brightness, all glass and metal and flashing signs that made his HUD sputter with confusion.
Matrix sat forward in his seat, fascinated. Primitive transports buzzed past on four wheels, honking or belching exhaust. A group of humans emerged from a narrow structure labeled ‘The Donut Hole’ carrying steaming cups and bags that made his stomach growl.
Jana turned the wheel, and the van rumbled into a small lot next to a rectangular building with the words Farmers & Citizens Bank stenciled in fading gold across the glass door.
She shifted into park and turned to him. “Okay, it might take a few minutes. I’ve got to close out my account. Stay here, alright? It’s not hot out, so you won’t roast.”
Matrix nodded, eyes scanning the street, rooftops, and pedestrians. “I will remain close.”
“I’ll be right back.” She reached for the door, hesitated, then smiled. “And don’t lick the windows.”
“I wasn’t going to—” But the door shut with a soft thunk, and she was already walking away, laughing.
Matrix exhaled through his nose.
She was gone. Still in sight—his gaze locked on her through the tinted glass—but no longer within reach. Unprotected.
Unacceptable.
He clenched his hands on his thighs. His internal sensors buzzed with an edge of warning: heart rate up, tension spiking. His HUD kicked into overdrive, overlaying distance readouts and threat assessments. Every person within visual range was tagged and color-coded based on proximity and observable weaponry—which, in this case, appeared to be handbags, coffee, and a yippy dog wearing a tutu.
Still, he didn’t like it.
A small, sharp growl escaped before he could stop it.
This wasn’t like earlier, when it had just been them—just him, her, the kittens, K-Nine. He had been fine then. Confused, maybe. Protective, yes. But not this. Not this instinctive, bone-deep need to track every heartbeat near her, to memorize the smell of everyone who walked within five meters, to leap out and claim her every time a stranger looked at her.
His father had warned him. When you find her, he’d said once, you won’t need anyone to tell you. Your instincts will scream it.
Matrix had dismissed it as nonsense. He was a warrior. A protector. A scientist. His instincts didn’t scream.
Now?
He was twitching.
Especially when the tall man in the blue jacket nodded at Jana as she held the bank door for him.
Matrix’s fingers tightened on the edge of the seat. He leaned forward, his sunglasses slipping slightly as his eyes narrowed.
