"Take your time," Bartholomeus said. "The children will be asleep by then anyway."
Mei drained the last of her water and pushed herself to her feet, dusting grass from her pants. "I should get back. I want to check on the new arrivals one more time before dinner."
Bartholomeus rose with her, his movements fluid despite his height. "I noticed a couple of them looking overwhelmed."
"They all look overwhelmed." Mei slung her bag over her shoulder. "First day on a new planet will do that. I remember the day I arrived. Everything felt too bright, too alien, too much."
"And now?" Bartholomeus asked.
"Now it just feels like home." She smiled, squeezing his hand before turning back to me. "Drop Teddy off whenever. Door's always open."
"Thanks, Mei."
I watched them wrangle their kids and walk away, Bartholomeus' hand resting on the small of Mei's back with such natural tenderness it made my chest ache. They paused at the edge of the construction site, Mei pointing something out to Marcus, probably asking about the timeline again. Then they disappeared around the corner, heading toward the residential district.
"Mama!"
Teddy barreled into me, his small body warm and solid. His tan-colored pelt was damp with sweat, and his blonde mane—so much darker than my own hair—stuck up in wild tufts around his face.
"Did you see me? I went so high the chains went loose!" He tilted his head back, and those honey-brown eyes found mine, bright with excitement and pride.
My heart clenched. Those eyes. Not mine. Mine were hazel, flecked with green. Not my grandfather's either, though Teddy carried his name. Theodore.
Every time my son looked at me, I saw the stranger who'd given him those eyes. A stranger whose name I never knew, whose touch had saved me when I'd lost all hope.
I'd spent eight long days with those frog-like bastards, the Kwado—though at the time I didn't know what they were called. Just that hairless cat-looking aliens had snatched me from a parking lot in Portland, thrown me in a cage, and sold me to them like I was nothing more than merchandise.
The male was cold, businesslike. He fed me, hosed me down, kept me alive. But the female—God, the female was vicious. She'd slap me for looking at her wrong, yank my hair when I didn't move fast enough, spit insults in a language that came through my translator guttural and watery.
They were preparing for something. I could tell by the way they kept grooming me, how the female would inspect me like livestock, pinching my skin, checking my teeth. Important visitors, I pieced together from the little information I managed to overhear.
And I was going to be the entertainment.
One of the guards explained the event to me, his voice matter-of-fact. Dozens of males. A breeding display for their guests. I would be the centerpiece of their twisted celebration.He said it like he was telling me the weather, like my terror meant nothing.
I screamed. I fought. The female hit me so hard my ears rang for hours, and still I didn't stop fighting.
The next day, they drugged me. The guards held me down while the female injected something that made the world go soft and hazy and made my skin feel like it was on fire in the worst and best ways. Everything became need. Desperate, clawing need. My body betrayed me, responding to the drug with a hunger I'd never felt before. A desire so overwhelming it drowned out thought, reason, and self-preservation.
I remembered fragments. Being led into a larger room. Being told to make myself ready.
I ran.
I don't know how. The drug made me stupid but also fearless, and when someone opened the wrong door at the wrong time, I bolted. Through corridors that tilted and swayed, my body screaming with need and terror in equal measure. I stumbled through a garden, fell, scraped my knees. Got up. Ran more.
Then there were different hands. Gentler. A voice that didn't sound like croaking or clicking—a voice that wrapped around me like safety itself.
I looked up into honey-brown eyes.
He was tall, covered in tan-colored pelt, with a mane that reminded me of a lion. Not human, but not like the Kwado either. His voice was so soft, so careful, like he was afraid of breaking me.
You're safe. I've got you. You're safe.
The drug was still burning through me, making every nerve ending scream for touch, for relief. I grabbed at him, desperately, and he didn't push me away. He helped me and after he just... held me. Stroked my hair. Made these low,rumbling sounds in his chest that somehow made the fire in my blood ease just enough that I could breathe.
I remember crying. I remember him wrapping something around me—his jacket, maybe—something that smelled like safety and warmth. I remember feeling safe for the first time in days, cradled against his chest as the world spun around me.
And then nothing.
