Page 88 of Invasive Species
“That must be it.” He cocks his head, blue gaze pinning mine. “Tell me truthfully. She reacted as if she'd lost a mate. I'd think it was preposterous if I hadn't seen her misery for myself. Are you her… mate?”
There's a note of cautious incredulity in his voice. A female choosing a clone seems so unlikely, especially with how they're spinning Ilia's story.
“I am,” I say simply.
His eyes flash. “How interesting.”
Putting a hand over my chest, I confess, “And, despite all evidence saying formation of a bond is psychosomatic, I… I've come to believe it's real.”
Now true doubt settles on his face, one eyebrow rising in subtle interrogation.
“I feel it.” I tap my chest, two fingers against my sternum. “Like a shift in gravity. Toward her. I… I used to be able to feel when she experienced strong emotions.” Such as her pain, fear and loss when she'd been disoriented in the field.
“And now?” Ezla inquires, voice low. Reserving judgement.
I rub my chest. I feel nothing now. Nothing except… the tiny spark of hope, like a single organism, fighting for life.
“She's not giving up. Even though she thinks I'm gone, she's fighting.”
“There's no basis for the bond’s existence, no physio-chemical markers—” Ezla begins reciting.
“I know, Ezla. I was fed the same training.”
He holds up a hand to forestall me. “But as I said earlier, I've seen the effect the psychosomatic can have. What if this whatever it is eludes measurement because it can't be measured? What if this is her body's reaction to the bond? This could be a neuroimmune synapse response.”
He sounds delighted to find an avenue of investigation, and I understand the impulse.
But he's talking about something deep, something precious between me and my mate.
“What?” I choke out. “No. No, that can't be. I know of another human who has one with no ill effects…” Cruel logic intercedes. I blow out my cheeks. “But that's a sample size of one.”
I glance at the print outs on the wall. All of them the same as before, full of knowledge but empty of understanding.
My scales tremble. What if he's right? Putting my hand over the warmth pulsing in my chest, I close my eyes. It seems benign, and…I want to believe in the bond. I want to be connected to my mate, constantly feel the warmth of her joy seeping across a bond. I want her to know without words how much I admire and adore her.
“The bond… could be what's killing her,” Ezla suggests, and my eyes pop open.
He frowns, rubbing his chin as if this is an interesting problem and not devastating to me. “But how do we test that?”
How indeed. “And if it is hurting her, how do we break something with no physical presence?” I screw my hands into fists. As romantic a notion as a bond is, if it's real and it's hurting her, it must be destroyed.
Whatever it takes.
TWENTY-NINE
ARABELLA
“Arra-bellah.”
I’m having a lovely dream. Gara is alive and well, swimming next to me in Ellen’s lake, strong arms cutting smoothly through the water. I’m working hard to keep up with him and we’re neck and neck, subtly pushing one another, when he wraps himself around me, surrounding me with warm love.
We drift to the bottom of the lake, the shattered crystal of the water’s surface glittering above us, bathing him in a rainbow of colored light: soft greens, blush reds, pale pinks and vibrant orange. As soon as his lips touch mine, I jolt awake.
I’m not wrapped in his warm arms, I’m half-sunk in the jello bed, and instead of the kaleidoscope of sunlight on the water’s surface, it’s a soothing sweep of colors across the ceiling. And instead of Gara, there’s someone in a full mask standing over me.
I scream and scramble back, or at least try to, but the bed keeps me stuck in it. I heave my ass out of it with a pop, but now my legs and arms are submerged.
The scaled alien reaches down and my panic intensifies. “Who are you? What do you want?”
