"So, what do we do?" I ask, my voice hoarse. "Do you have some alien doctor on speed dial who can diagnose interspecies cooties?"
The flippancy of my words feels hollow, but a sliver of dark humor is all I have to cling to right now.
Drasuk chuckles, a sound that rumbles deep within his chest. "If I understood that correctly, despite the untranslated words, the answer is still no."
"Great," I mutter, burying my face in my hands. "Just fantastic. So, I'm stuck looking like a walking camouflage pattern with no way to reverse it."
A fresh wave of despair threatens to engulf me.
"Like I said, don't make any conclusions yet," Drasuk says, his voice gentle. He lumbers closer, carefully placing a large hand on my shoulder.
It's not repellant. It might even feel... nice... like I want more.
Before I can form a coherent response, Drasuk pulls back, his expression unreadable. He clears his throat, the sound echoing in the stillness.
"We should continue," he says gruffly, turning away and resuming his lumbering walk.
Left speechless and bewildered, I make myself get back on my feet, tell my suit to fix itself, and follow behind him.
The forest seems to hum with a newfound intensity, the rustling leaves and chirping insects taking on a whole additional dimension. Is it just my imagination, or is the air charged with what has been left unsaid?
I need to gain some space and no way in hell will I get by being slower.
I shake my head and stomp past him, not minding the fact that I shoulder-tackle him on the way by.
Well, more like bounce off him. Fuck.
Stupid iguana.
33
Drasuk
I bellow after Kira, my voice echoing through the dense foliage, "Slow down, little human! You'll twist your tiny feet in that undergrowth, and then who gets to carry your soft, squishy body back to the nearest medical facility? That's right, me."
She throws a look back over her shoulder; the scowl etched on her face deepening with each syllable I utter.
"There are no fornicating medical facilities here, hole in rear."
Her hand flies up, the middle finger extended in a gesture I've come to recognize as a non-verbal insult.
I assume it's the equivalent of a drak flicking their tail dismissively at someone they consider beneath them. Yet, there's a nuance to it, a human complexity I haven't quite deciphered.
Part of me wants to call out, to ask her the meaning behind the strange gesture, but she's already forging ahead, pushing through the undergrowth with a ferocity that both impresses and unnerves me.
Her defiance is a constant presence, a tangible thing that hangs heavy in the air between us.
It's delicious.
My frown deepens as my thoughts drift back to her earlier question. Her inquiry about my sense of smell left me struggling to maintain my composure.
I hadn't lied, not exactly.
Back home, a female in heat will often approach a potential mate with a playful question—how keen is his nose? It's a coy way of asking if he could detect the subtle shift in her pheromones, the undeniable signal of her readiness.
The sheer absurdity of the situation strikes me, yet again. The thought that she, a human female, could possibly possess such knowledge initially left me speechless. Relief washed over me when her flustered reaction confirmed my suspicions.
Humans clearly lacked such exotic social cues.
