Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 42530 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 213(@200wpm)___ 170(@250wpm)___ 142(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 42530 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 213(@200wpm)___ 170(@250wpm)___ 142(@300wpm)
“Doctor,” I say, turning to Avrell, who is glancing back and forth between Draven and me with a frown pulling at his lips. “Wouldn’t you say reproduction is more successful with willing mates? In humans, it’s been beneficial for the couple to be in a happy, healthy relationship before procreating. Don’t you think the same would be true in our case?”
“I—don’t follow,” Avrell says haltingly.
“If I’m going to be required to have a mate, to give them a child, don’t you think it’s only fair that I get a say in the matter?”
Avrell leans forward, panic in his eyes. “Now, Molly, the science of it all—”
“I don’t give a fig about science. You brought me here against my will. I recognize your position, but it was against my will,” I say before he can object. “Successful conception would be more easily attained if I were on board with the whole thing. A willing mate, if you catch my drift. Either you let me pick my mate, or I’ll do everything in my power to thwart your attempts.”
My shoulders heave from how hard I’m breathing. Avrell looks as though he wants to throw his fancy clipboard and wand-scanner into the air. Draven hasn’t looked at me since I announced I wanted to choose my own mate.
“I’m fearing we may have gotten ourselves in over our nogs,” Avrell says, and relief fills me at the humor in his voice. “Who knew aliens would be so much trouble?”
“So, we have a deal?”
Avrell sighs. “I’m willing to propose the option to the commander. Did you have a mate in mind?”
I meet Draven’s eyes and nod in his direction. “Him.”
4
Draven
I rekking think not!
My panicked eyes leave the alien, who seems so sure of her choice... Of all morts, she chose me. The broken one. The damaged one. The one The Rades nearly destroyed. I find Avrell frowning at me. He’s disappointed in her choice. Probably because he wishes she chose him.
Unwanted images of him with his filed down teeth near her golden flesh has a growl of warning rumbling from me. I clutch onto a table to keep from doing something horrible like rip his rekking throat out.
Plink! Plink! Plink! Plink! Plink!
I stare down in confusion as I realize my claws have punctured the zuta-metal table in my fury. When I snap my stare up to Avrell, his expression has changed. The disappointment is gone, and determination has settled in his black orbs.
Does he want to challenge me?
Before I can unhook myself from the table, he holds his palms up.
“Stand down, Lieutenant,” he says in a calm voice that usually works to get my mind sorted. “Aria wants the female aliens to have choices. This is her choice.”
I’m drawn back to the brown eyes of Molly. She, too, wears determination in her expression. Something sad flickers in her stare, but she quickly masks it with a bright smile.
Emery and Aria never smile like that.
Not toward me.
Not toward anyone.
I’m stunned for a moment, warmed by her smile. Is this how Breccan feels when he stands in front of the big windows in the command center letting the UV rays burn into his flesh? Her smile doesn’t burn me, though. A thundering inside my chest has me gasping for breath. So many solars my heart would race to the point of pain. This feels different. Controllable.
I have control.
Once I’ve calmed myself, I try to smile back. Testing it out on my lips. Both she and Avrell cringe. It makes me wonder if I showed too much fang. Quickly, I chase it away with a scowl.
“I don’t want a mate,” I utter to them.
Avrell sighs. “I know, but as Lieutenant, there are certain duties expected of you. Consider this one of them.” With those words, he exits the room.
Molly slowly approaches me the same way I sneak up on armworms, but instead of running a magknife through my nog, she gently grips my wrist.
“Listen, buddy-o,” she says in her bright voice that lights up dark shadows inside of me.
Buddy-o?
“I’m gonna be real straight with you,” she says. “My life was giant pile of manure before I woke up here. Huge pile. Stunk to high heaven.”
I frown, cocking my nog to try to make sense of her words.
“Things are a little blurry, but the important parts are still there,” she tells me, tapping the side of her nog with her finger. “This Star Wars planet is a total step up for me. Like sweet baby Jesus was throwing me a bone. Lord, did I ever need a bone.”
I’m blinking rapidly at her because she may as well be ronking like a rogcow. I don’t understand any of what she means. “You want a bone?” I thought Oz was the only one who liked to chew on the beasts’ bones after the meat has been cleaned off.