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"I am not an expert on how young are produced, though."

My brain has a record scratch moment. I jerk my gaze to him. "What?"

"What?" he replies.

"What young?" I repeat. "Young…parasites?"

"No. Human young."

I pull my hand from his and press it to my forehead. My palm is sweaty and damp. I feel dizzy. All I know is that I'm dying. "I…I'm confused. Start over."

"The parasite is necessary," Corvak states again. "There are bad things in the air and the parasite makes it possible for your body to adapt. But it also serves another purpose. When it hums in your chest, it will only hum to another person. It wants you to mate with that person."

Aha. So my initial suspicions were correct. "So it's a horny parasite? And what, like, after we mate with someone elsethenwe die? That's why it goes quiet?"

"No, it goes quiet because it has accomplished its mission. It wants us to mate so we create offspring."

Wait.

Waaaitwait wait.

I touch the half-eaten root in my lap, my mind racing. I'm trying to recall all the times that I've been sick recently. How just certain smells make me nauseous, and how it comes and goes. Does the nausea always come on in the mornings? It seems to be most prevalent then…but that could just be coincidence, right?

It's far too early in a pregnancy for morning sickness. Besides, Corvak can't make me pregnant. We're not even the same species.

But…he doesn't know anything about babies and how they're made. He just said so.

I need answers. Real answers. And it's clear that whatever we think we know isn't right. Staggering to my feet, I toss the cooked root down on the blankets and head for the front cave. There, the cat man is sprawled in the same spot he was last night, but this time he's got his foot propped on a stack of pelts and it's heavily wrapped in a concoction of bones and leather straps. He's whittling at a bone and looks up when I surge intothe room. "You two know I can hear everything you're saying, right?"

"You can?" I repeat, feeling stupid.

His ears—big, triangular, feline ears—flick. "Yeah. And yes, you're pregnant. The khui—that's the parasite in your chest—isn't killing you. It's keeping you alive. And in return, it picks who it wants you to mate and have offspring with. That's why it was singing so loud for a while. The fact that it's all quiet now tells me that it's accomplished its mission."

I feel faint. So whatever is growing in my stomach isn't some sort of worm-like alien monster…it's a baby.

Oh my god. This is the worst place in the universe to have a baby. I point back at Corvak, frantic. "You're wrong. I can't have his baby. He's not human?—"

"The parasite doesn't care. There are so many cross-breeds in the village, you wouldn't believe it until you saw it for yourself. Doesn't matter what your biology says—the khui reworks it so it gets what it wants."

I press my hands to my temples, my thoughts whirling. "How do you know all this? You—you were dropped here the same time as us, right?"

"I was, but others were dropped here long before." He gives a lazy shrug, unaffected by my panic. "And it's a keffing baby factory over on the beach. I swear by all the stars in the universe that it's the worst place to be if you hate kids."

"Which you do…?" I sink to my knees, feeling weak.

He only gives me a vague, wry smile. "Let's just say I'm rethinking my position. You got any other burning questions you need answered?"

That's enough for now. I cover my face with my hands, trying to think.

"I didn't know, Aidy," Corvak says. He comes up behind me and sinks to the floor at my side, wrapping his arms around me.It's like he's trying to protect me from the news. He obviously feels responsible, even though I'm equally to blame. I knew that sex causes babies, and I still jumped him.

But none of that matters now. What's done is done, and now I'm pregnant. I try to fight the idea, to think of when the last time I had my period was, but I haven't had it since we landed here, and I'm definitely overdue. I thought I'd missed it due to stress, but I've been ignoring all the signs, haven't I?

Sick in the morning—check.

Missed period—check.

I bet if I squeezed my boobs right now they'd be tender. Ugh. I'm an idiot with her head in the sand.