Page 56 of Invasive Species
“Have to get to the door.” More banging from outside proves our intruder still imposes.
“I'm coming too, but, oh fuck. Where's the condom?” She points at my knotting cock, where the inferior human prophylactic is nowhere to be seen.
I cast about and spot a crumple of plastic on the floor underneath her legs.
She picks it up, but it disintegrates. “Holy fuck.”
The doorbell chimes again, and she shakes her head. “Never mind, we’ll sort it out later.”
She throws her shirt on. It's stained green by the paint we mated in, as if she's trying to match my coloring. Warmth shoots across my skin, shading me to match. Maybe she is mate binding, even if she doesn't know it.
As she dresses with shaking hands, she orders, “Change your scales to be a white shirt and hi-viz. Bright yellow on your chest and back.”
“Like this?” I think of her face as she came on top of my knotting cock, the feeling of being enclosed and safe at last. Happy yellow spreads across my chest and stomach.
“Yes. Neaten up the edges here.” She runs a finger over my shoulders, and an ache from my knotting cock reminds me it's still sore and repairing.
“Good work. Now, let's get this guy to piss off and we'll get back to where we were.”
I let Arra-bellah go ahead to the door in the kitchen, following close behind. The nanosecond he threatens her will be his last. My complex feelings have settled to one overriding compulsion: keep my mate safe, even if she's not my mate yet.
Arra-bellah opens the front door. “Can I help you?”
Outside in the porch is a scrawny looking human male with a flop of hair obscuring his face.
He blinks down at her. “Is Ellen in?”
“She's away on vacation. I'm taking care of everything until she gets back.” Arra-bellah puts her fists on her hips. “You shouted something about Ellen being in trouble. Care to elaborate?”
“Only that I saw a post on Photogram, and now I've come here and seen it for myself. That old barn doesn't have planning permission for extensions like that.” Rather than reporting as if he is upset by the news, he sounds positively joyous.
I lean over Arra-bellah's shoulder, and he gapes at me. “Another one? Who are you?”
“The project manager,” I say, putting my hand on Arra-bellah's shoulder to reassure her I’m here.
She shoots me a concerned look over my hand, and faces our adversary. “Yes, this is the project manager for the site. I'm the designer.”
The human pulls something out of his pocket and my muscles flex, poised for danger, but all he does is hand a small carbon-based rectangle to Arra-bellah. “You? What qualifications have you got?” The knave eyes my mate—my soon-to-be mate—with a derisive lip curl.
“This isn't a job interview, I don't have to trot out my life history.” Arra-bellah flips the card over. It displays his name, Terry Fassbender, and his contact details. Perhaps this is a human custom.
Arra-bellah says, “Now, the discrepancy with the permissions has been noted and will be addressed.”
“What does that mean?” He glares.
“It means I'm on top of it, and you don't need to worry about Ellen's permissions. You take care of yourself now.” Arra-bellah smiles sweetly, sliding the door closed.
The male shoves his hand flat against it, halting her with a bang that makes my buried fighting genes switch on.
With a snarl I move in front of Arra-bellah, ready to putmy weight into shutting the door. I'd probably smash it, risking injury to him.
Good.
Terr-ee’s eyes widen. It seems I'm physically imposing enough to provide a deterrent.
But then he gapes. “Are you… topless? You're fucking half naked! What the hell is this stuff, paint?”
“Yes,” Arra-bellah chirps, doing a spin in the kitchen to show the paint daubed down her shirt from when I laid her down to subject her to pleasure. I hate the way his accusing eyes scan over her, especially her pert backside. She’s mine to protect.
