Page 65 of Invasive Species
We walk, Arra-bellah’s breathing hitching. I pace slowly, hoping for a break in the weather, but the storm rages on. I can’t risk a fall while carrying her. This is the most high-pressure field exam I’ve ever faced, more so than all the field injuries I’ve treated. If I lost a clone it was devastating to me, but as long as my patient success ratio stayed within tolerance levels, the matriarchs did not care.
I hate feeling this helpless. If only I were a Gerverstock, with their sharp sense of direction, or even a Parthiastock, with their endurance. But no. I’m just a Selthiastock—a fool stuck in this storm, trying to keep her alive while all my instincts scream to get her to safety.
My arms twitch. She deserves better than me, but I’m all she has out here. I squeeze my arms around her, giving in to my selfish desire and protecting her from the cold and rain with everything I have, which isn’t much.
A sharp light suddenly razes across my back, flooding us and our surroundings in a blinding pool. I crush Arra-bellah tight against me, her body limp. My hearts race, but not only from terror. I curve over her, bracing myself for a blow, banding her in my arms, ready to take whatever comes.
They’ll have to go through me before they lay a hand on her.
TWENTY-ONE
ARABELLA
The light is sobright it stings, but I fight through it. When I can see again, I wake up in my bed in Ellen’s farmhouse, and standing over me is one of my favorite women.
“Ellen!”
She smiles, ash brown hair in a long braid down her back and cheeks pink in a post-vacation glow. “You’re awake. Thank heavens.”
I sit up and open my mouth to ask where Gara is and what happened to her and when she came back and a hundred million other things running through my brain when Gara drops out of the chair next to the bed and kneels beside me. His huge fingers engulf my wrist to feel my pulse, and he frowns down at the bed like it had better give him a good answer.
His presence quiets my mind like laying a blanket over it, and I rest back against the pillows.
The green alien looks up at me at last, bloodshot eyes softening. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine. A bit stiff.” My muscles throb like I went for a ten-mile swim rather than a one-mile run, all my muscles aching. Clearly, I’m not as fit as I think I am.
Ellen looks between us, a small smile spreading across her face. “Cute.”
I lob a pillow at her. Gara grunts, a ‘what the fuck’ Gara sound, so I reassure him, “It’s okay, Ellen and I show love like this.”
He blinks slowly as he absorbs this. “I see.”
Ellen asks, “Gara, can you get Ilia for me?”
“At once,” he replies, but he doesn’t seem too eager to move away from me. Warmth spreads through me as he paces away with many a backward glance, like he wants to make sure I’ll be okay without him.
I give him a little wave and ease up to sitting.
Once the door clicks closed, Ellen tilts her head. “Well? What went on here while I was away?”
“Nuh-uh, you first.” I pat the bed for her to sit.
She hops down, folding her legs underneath herself, just in time for my barrage of questions. “Where the heck did you go? Did you really visit space? How long did it take? What did you see?”
“Whoa, slow down. We went to another planet entirely.” Her eyes sparkle. “To Oloria.”
Ellen tells me all about a desert planet with a dictatorial matriarchal culture and a city that caters to a female’s every whim.
“Tubers are basically slaves,” Ellen says with a scowl. “All natural resources have been stripped away by men in wars, apparently, so the women are rebuilding. Most of the guys are Tubers and any of their actual sons are called True Born. Ilia is the first Tuber to ever get into the Mating Games, and he killed it, beating their games and then giving them the alien equivalent of the middle finger before he left. Serves them right.”
There’s a new ring in her voice to the way she says the big growly alien’s name. “So. Uh. You and Ilia returned here together, but, like, are youtogethertogether?”
Her flush is the only answer I need.
I whoop. “You go, girl! Look at you, snagged the winner of these Mating Games on a whole other planet.”
“He wasn’t exactly the winner, but we were done playing,” she mutters, fiddling with her hair. The waves and swoops of her hair are completely different to her normal French plait. Very alien indeed.
