We really are on a ship, out in space.
I’ll be damned.
“Emma.” Khan’s voice is soft, like a gentle growl, and I turn to look up at his rugged, unusual face. “Are you hungry?”
As if in reply, my tummy rumbles. Best timing ever. Weird, how I wasn’t even thinking about food before, but now I’m starving. “I am,” I admit.
“Come and sit.”
I tear my eyes away from my first sight of outer space. There’s a glossy table and two stools in one corner of the vast room. There are bowls and tumblers of something on the shiny silver surface, and whatever is in the bowls is steaming.
Suddenly, I’m scared. What do Ulfarri eat? Please don’t let it be something gross, like bugs. Or raw meat. I’m a vegetarian.
Khan has sat down on one of the stools, and he’s glowering at me now. “Come and sit,” he says again, his tone firmer and more forceful than it was before. There’s no doubt about it, there’s a definite Dom quality about him.
I hate that it turns me on. Even so, my legs are moving toward him before he’s even finished his sentence.
Once I’ve reached the table, I sink down onto my stool, still too afraid to look in the bowl in front of me.
“Eat,” he says, lifting a spoon and plunging it into his bowl.
I watch him scoop what looks a lot like porridge into his mouth and swallow it quickly, hardly chewing it first at all.
Not meat then.
Beyond relieved but still filled with trepidation, I pick up my own spoon and try some of the thick gruel.
It’s so bizarre. The texture is gross—thick, grainy, and warm—but it tastes of nothing at all. Literally nothing. Like when you have a cold and lose your sense of smell.
After the first spoonful, I have to force myself to take another, but the gnawing pangs in my belly help me along. This food might be weird, but it’s doing what it’s supposed to do: filling me up.
My hand shakes a little as I pick up the tumbler and take a sip of the clear liquid. This, too, tastes of nothing at all. It seems like water, or some alien equivalent.
Khan devours his portion, emptying his bowl before I’ve even finished half of mine. Then he sits there, watching me intently, making me feel like I’m under a microscope. He doesn’t ask whether I’m enjoying the food. Does he know it would be a dumb question, or is it because he doesn’t care whether I like it or not? Or maybe Ulfarri just aren’t into conversation at the dinner table.
I wonder what time it is.
I wonder whatdayit is.
I wonder what they’ll say at work on Monday morning when I don’t show up.
That last thought is like a punch to the gut. I spentweeksworking on that campaign, getting it ready for Monday’s presentation. The client is flying in all the way from San Francisco.
Fuck.
It’s not fair. I’ve worked so hard to get to where I am. I was only promoted to creative director a few months ago. And now I’ve been abducted by fucking aliens, and everything I’ve sacrificed so much for will be lost if I don’t get home in time.
Provided it’s not too late already.
My appetite ruined, I put down my spoon and scowl at Khan. “Where are we?” I ask.
He raises a thick, inky blue eyebrow, then his gaze slides to one of the huge windows in silent remonstration.
“I know we’re inspace,” I add. “I’m not a total moron. But where are we going? Where are you taking me?”
Such a cliché line but a valid question, nonetheless.
“Home,” he says.
