Every hour or so, I take a break to rest my voice, drink water, and watch my babies move. And in between I sing tunes that are sweet and hopeful, promising them a good life.
I can’t guarantee it, but I’ll do my best to make it possible.
Rose comes back when I’m just finishing up. Her eyes looked tired, and her voice rasps a little when she greets me because she’s just done exactly the same thing in another room. “How’d it go? Any problems?” Her forehead creases between her brows a little.
I shake my head. “You?”
“Lost two.”
My breath whooshes out, and I grab her hand, squeezing it. “Not your fault. Happens. Are you okay?”
She nods, squeezing back. “I’ll be fine. Just disappointed. Listen, will you share lastmeal with Oljin and me? I want to talk about the Turning.”
I’d like to. Turning the eggs is a big, delicate project, and we’ll need to be organized to pull it off. “Wish I could, but I already have plans tonight.”
“Harl?” she guesses. I nod, and she gives me a sly, knowing look. “He’s interested in you, you know. Nesting with you.”
I roll my eyes and push back the lock of fine, white-blonde hair that has slipped out of my ponytail. “We’re just friends. We have similar interests. He’s helping me with Elvis, that’s all.”
She makes a disbelieving sound. “I know what you let him do.”
My cheeks stain red. One of the downsides of my super-paleness is that I blush like crazy when I’m even slightly flustered.
“It’s not like that,” I mutter, unable to meet her eyes. “He never touches me or anything. He just...looks at me and does his thing. There’s no harm in it.”
“Do you find him attractive?” Rose is always blunt. Maybe it’s a generational thing, or maybe it’s the fifty years she’s spent away from polite humans, but she never dances around a topic.
I think about it. Harl’s huge, with thick hide that is comfortably creased like a broken-in baseball glove. His eight eyes, round and shiny like a jumping spider’s, radiate kindness and wisdom. He is soft-spoken for a Frathik, his tone less abrupt and grating than most, and he has broad shoulders and strong arms that make his inhuman parts—like his elephant-trunk nose and heavy, apronlike dick—seem less alien. It’s not an unpleasant combination.
I shrug. “I’m not really a visual person. Attraction’s more about the person inside for me.”
Rose’s brows lift. “Youlikethe person inside Harl.”
I nod.
“Well then?” she prods gently. “What’s stopping you from choosing him as a mate? If you really like him, I mean. It’s not like there are any humans or Irrans here to tempt you.”
I want to tell her that even if there were, I might choose someone like Harl. Human men have proven over and over that they’re no good, and I’m not a huge fan of Irrans, either, given what they did to the Frathiks.
Oljin, Rose’s Irran husband, is okay. He was supposed to be the King of Irra, back when he rescued Rose and realized she was his fated mate. But his younger brother was jealous and tried to kill them both so he could be king instead. They barely escaped with their lives because the Frathiks helped them, and they have lived with them ever since, first on their ships and now on this secret base.
But what I know of the rest of Oljin’s people? Bad news.
“Harl’s my friend.” A friend who faps in front of me, but they have a whole different relationship with that than humans. Itdoesn’t mean the same thing when you’re just trying to help your species survive. “I don’t want to ruin it.”
Rose waggles her brows, leaning in conspiratorially. “Maybe it’ll be even better.”
Maybe, maybe not.In my experience, not.
I try changing the topic. “I can’t even think about it until after the Hatching. Speaking of which, let’s talk Turning tomorrow. Want to meet up for firstmeal?”
“If Harl lets you out of the nest that early.” Rose winks.
“It’s not like that,” I protest, laughing. My face is turning red again. I press the backs of my hands to my cheeks to cool them down. “I love him as a friend. I’m notin lovewith him.”
She gets serious. “Does he know that?” When I’m quiet, she adds, “Make sure he understands. He’s a good one. I don’t want to see him get hurt.”
I jerk a nod and we say goodbye, my stomach already knotting up at the thought of that conversation. The one I’ve had too many times before. The conversation where a guy I’ve always known to be sweet, generous, and kind turns on me, calls me names, and throws wild accusations, all because I make it clear I’m only interested in friendship.
