Every time. It’s like that every time.
Haroth, at least, is easier to handle. He crouches in front of Tina the way an eager Labrador might, broad shoulders hunched, ears perked up, eyes hopeful. He carefully nudges a jagged piece of quartz toward her with one clawed fingertip. I don’t need the mindspace translation to guess what he’s saying:Shiny. Pretty. For you.
Ever since they learned about wedding rings, some of the unbonded males have decided rocks are the pinnacle of romantic gifts. Apparently, that’s all they took away from an entire cultural explanation. I’ve shoved three sparkly “proposals” out of my sleeping area this morning alone.
To their credit, at least, the other biological instincts are kept more discreet. Mostly. Rumor has it Tharn’s new impressive “ridge” is a hot topic in the mindspace, but the rest of the Drakav are still smooth and sealed from the waist down. Nothing showing, just an expanse of golden skin. Thank God.
Perfectly respectful. Perfectly hidden.
And I am definitely not thinking about what’s behind that smooth stretch of skin.
At all.
It’s a lot to process without caffeine. There is no coffee here, obviously. The universe has a sense of humor, and it is cruel.
“That’s the third time today one of them has actually spoken out loud,” Erika murmurs, scattering the crushed gourd into a storage pouch.
“It’s sweet,” Pam says quietly. She keeps braiding, fingers steady, her voice soft as she watches Alex and the male by the fire. “They know it hurts them to talk, but they still do it when they’re worried about us. I just wish they weren’t so scared of these.”
She taps lightly on the earbud tucked beneath her pale hair.
“To them, it’s not tech.” I shrug, rolling my shoulders. The ladle’s weight is starting to dig into my palms. “It’s magic. Dangerous magic. I can’t blame them for being suspicious.”
Erika huffs, the corner of her mouth quirking. “A certain group of people on a certain blue planet wouldn’t be stranded on a desert ball if they’d been a little more suspicious of strange, beautiful aliens who turned up out of nowhere.”
She’s not wrong.
We were the plebs who trusted the strange, beautiful aliens. The Xyma. We believed what they said, stepped onto their ship, and signed up for their job program with wide eyes and hope.
Now we’re here. In a cave that smells like smoke and hot stone, with constant headaches and fevers and dreams too vivid to feel like our own. The Xyma are somewhere in the sky. Or not. We don’t know. What we do know is sand, and heat, and the way the Drakav watch us like they’re afraid and mesmerized at the same time.
My head gives a small throb at the thought, and I wince. Pam notices.
“How’s your head?” she asks gently.
“Fine.” I make my voice light. “The fever’s not as bad today.”
I do not mention the dreams.
The fever-dreams that leave me waking up breathless, skin too tight, heart slamming as if I’ve been chased. Dreams full of heat that have nothing to do with the planet’s blazing sun. Dreams with red eyes watching me from the shadows and large hands cupping the back of my neck and pulling me in.
Just fever dreams, I tell myself. That’s all they are.
Nothing to do with the very real Drakav hunter who has been watching me for weeks.
“Same here,” Erika says. “Headache’s kind of background noise now. But I could live without the weird dreams.”
I concentrate very hard on pushing the ladle through the thick broth to keep the stew from burning. My cheeks feel hot. Good thing my skin hides most of it. “Weird dreams are totally normal for alien planet sickness,” I say. “Textbook symptom.”
“I dreamed about my grandmother’s kitchen,” Pam murmurs. Her eyes go distant, a smile softening her mouth. “She was making her apple pie. I could smell the cinnamon.”
“I dreamed about a beach.” Erika snorts. “Waves, sand, sun. Don’t know why my brain is so stuck on sand, like we don’t have enough of that already.”
They both look at me, waiting.
My mind offers up images I absolutely do not want to say out loud: a dark corridor, my back pressed against warm stone, a larger body caging mine without touching, breath hot against my throat. Red eyes tracking every twitch of my mouth.
“I…don’t really remember mine,” I lie. The flush in my cheeks creeps higher, no matter how I will it down.
