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Chapter Two

D ahlia

Waking with a start, it takes the span of a few heartbeats to recognize where I am and remember why I’m here.

I flip over and inspect Dax. He’s breathing rhythmically. I don’t think I need to call the doc, but crap, his face looks like shit from that prodigious punch he took. I lift the sheet and a soft, “Fuck,” escapes my lips. There are hundreds of small, red bruises dotting his abdomen. A mass of angry red welts covers his chest.

I skip my fingertips over his damaged skin. It’s hot to the touch. My chest tightens in concern for him. I wish I didn’t care for the guy. My life would be easier. Maybe your life would be easier , the back of my mind argues with me, or perhaps you’d just be lonelier and more bitter . That’s funny, I argue back, I don’t think I could be more bitter. I’m already at one hundred percent on the bitter-meter.

Deciding we both need food, I ease out of bed and pad to the little standalone closet next to the dresser. Dax is the opposite of a clothes horse. He’s a nude kind of guy who grudgingly wears a loincloth to wander around the ship. But somewhere in our travels, he wound up with three black t-shirts and three pairs of black cargoesque pants. Since my clothes won’t finish drip-drying for hours, I shrug into his t-shirt, which hits me at mid-thigh.

Considering we all started this journey being forced to mate in barred cells in one long hallway, it will shock no one on this vessel to see me padding around the ship wearing one of Dax’s huge shirts. All the guys have some kind of superhuman olfactory sense and will probably be able to smell my panty-less state. Oh well.

I hadn’t checked the time; I wouldn’t have come if I had. Everyone’s finishing dinner. Sandwiches. Maddy, our fabulous chef, must be with her guy Stryker, who fought today. Steele and Zoey aren’t here either.

“Dahlia, how’s Dax?” Anya, the alien Captain’s human mate, asks as she gets up to empty the remnants of her meal into the garbage.

“Sleeping. Looks like shit. How did Stryker and Steele do in their matches? Are they okay?”

“They both won. Easy peasy. I stayed on the ship, but they told me about the gloves those bastards forced Dax to use. They said their matches were the regular kind —no gloves.”

“Lucky. Dax has a concussion.” Why do I bother to tell her? We’re like one big happy, dysfunctional family. News travels fast on the Fool’s Errand . I’m certain everyone already knows this pleasant little piece of info.

“I heard. I was so pissed! How could they break the rules like that? We should never return to that planet. Is he okay?”

“He wasn’t interested in food.”

“Whoa!” Her eyes round in her head. “He must really be in pain. That boy can eat.”

“I’m bringing him some sandwiches. He’ll probably be hungry when he wakes.”

“Can you excuse me? I have an announcement.” Anya turns to the others and raises her voice, “Although everyone’s not here, I wanted to catch you all before you left. This might mean nothing to the males, but you women may be interested.

“We’ve all been too busy with being abducted and fighting for our lives and roaming the galaxy to notice the passage of time. Fall and winter holidays came and went without notice because none of us knew what day it was, but Callie did some hard math in her spare time and now we know.

“Tomorrow is Valentine’s day! Although Dax was injured, there’s still a lot to celebrate. Everyone won their matches today, and we bought this brand new beautiful ship, so neither the Feds nor the cartel have any idea where we are. We’re all basically healthy. I say we have a party tomorrow. Anyone interested in helping plan please stay after dinner and we’ll get this party organized.” She eagerly rubs her hands together like an evil criminal mastermind.

I barely notice the hubbub as all the Earth girls laugh and tease and start gushing about fun ideas for the party. Everything closes in on me and I feel like I’m under water. Sounds become muffled and my peripheral vision grows hazy.

My legs are rubbery and I’m not sure I’ll make it back to my room. I don’t know where I find the presence of mind to snag a plate full of sandwiches, or how I convince my legs to take me to my room. Then I realize the food’s for Dax, so I retrace my steps and head to his cabin.

Lucky me, he’s still asleep when I slip into his room, set the plate down on the desk, and slap my hand on the doorplate to close it. I put my back to the door and slide down it until my butt hits the floor.

If I could, I’d leave the food here and make my way back to my room to have a meltdown in private, but that’s not possible. My legs aren’t taking orders from my brain at the moment.

In fact, no part of me is taking orders from my brain. I’m on autopilot, and evidently, my pre-existing programming is telling me to cry, because that’s what I’m doing. I wish I was alone because it’s taking monumental effort not to sob and wail, so I press my face into my hands and weep.

My face is flushed and there’s a heavy ball of energy squeezing my stomach like it wants to explode. My thoughts have seized up, like a computer that keeps looping one message over and over and over.

The message is: wedding.

Tomorrow was supposed to be my wedding day. Wedding. Larry. Flowers. Dress. Family. Happy. Toasts. Maid of Honor. Best Man. Father of the Bride. Mother of the Bride. Honeymoon.

I had tickets to be in Cancun the day after tomorrow. Instead, I’m on the other side of the Milky Way, never to return.

Oh, that last thought pushes me over the edge even farther and I clamp my teeth on the side of my hand so I don’t wail loud enough for everyone on the ship to hear me.

The biting was a good strategy because the pain brings me back to reality. Oh my God. Tomorrow. Valentine’s Day. I was supposed to marry Larry. And I’m here in outer space instead.

I was just sleeping naked with a huge alien gladiator. I’ll never get back to Earth. Never see Larry again. Never get married.

Snot. I’m aware that snot is pouring down my face. The level of grossness snaps me out of my crazy sadness enough that I dart to the bathroom to get toilet paper.

“Dahl?” Dax calls me that instead of Dahlia sometimes. Normally I think it’s sweet. Today I want to punch him for it. But he’s been punched enough.

One glance in the mirror and I know I can’t come out. It will take hours to camouflage the red, blotchy, puffy mess that is my face. Dax isn’t an idiot. He’ll ask questions I don’t want to answer.

“Dahl? What’s wrong?”

How does he know something’s wrong? Why doesn’t he just think I’m taking a long crap in here?

I hear the quietest “Oof” as he sits up and his feet hit the floor. I’m not cruel. I won’t make him come in here after me.

“Sit down. I’ll come out.”

Okay. I meant that, I really did. But now that I have to get up off the toilet where I’ve been sitting since my legs gave out from under me, I can’t find the strength.

“Coming,” I call when I realize I should have finished my alleged business and emerged long ago.

But I’m not coming. My muscles still aren’t responding. In fact, my hands are trembling, or maybe I should call it convulsing.

I’m having an out-of-body experience because my hands don’t look or feel like they belong to me. It’s surreal.

“Dahlia?” His voice has lost that sleepy quality and now sounds worried.

“Sit back down,” I order through numb lips. “I’ll be out in a moment.”

Breathe, Dahlia , I order myself. I imagine shoving all my wedding thoughts behind a heavy door and then slamming it shut. Okay, they’re out of sight, and the shouting they were doing is muffled. I can go out, flash Dax a smile and hand him the plate of sandwiches. Then I can make my way to my cabin before the ‘wedding door’ pops open like an evil jack-in-the-box and all the shitty reminders of the life that was stolen from me come flying out to bombard me.

I leave the john and make a beeline to the food, my head studiously tipped as far from Dax as possible. I grab the plate and set it on the far edge of the bed from him. He’s looking the other way.

“Sounds like you’re doing better,” I say as I head for the door. “I’ll check on you tomorrow.”

But Dax is up, out of bed, and grabbing my wrist before I can place my hand on the palm plate.

“I heard you crying, Dahl. Come talk to me,” his voice is rough with concern.

He gently pulls me back to the foot of the bed and sits me down next to him. I glance at his face, which looks worse than it did an hour ago. It’s puffier, and the red is now scarlet.

His big, strong hand cups my chin with impossible tenderness as he peers at me.

I should tell him. Actually, I want to tell him —he deserves to know. It would explain so much. I should have revealed everything months ago. But my mouth just opens and closes silently, like a fish.

He lifts me up and nestles me under the covers, then slips in behind me and cuddles. I’m on my side and focus on his hand’s lazy glide from my shoulder to my hip. Sliding closer from behind, he arranges my head on his bicep.

He doesn’t say a word, just gives me space. I’ve known him for three, maybe four months; time is jumbled in space. But he never ceases to amaze me. He’s so big and strong and… alien. But he can be so gentle and kind.

I breathe in rhythm to his stroking, noticing the pounding on the other side of the ‘wedding door’ I erected has gotten quieter.

I flip around to look him in the eye. And there he is, misshapen, puffy red face and all. Yet his serious expression focuses on me as if I’m the only concern in his universe.

“I know you like me, Dax.” I realize that was presumptuous. “You do, don’t you?” I spear him with a serious look.

“I voted to name the ship the Lovely Dahlia . I recited the most beautiful love poem ever written in front of every member of the ship at the talent show. My feelings for you weren’t meant to be a secret. I didn’t want them to be,” his voice is deep and sincere.

“Right.” I nod. “You’ve made yourself perfectly clear. And I haven’t.” I pause, searching for the right words.

“But you have, Dahlia. You’ve made it clear you don’t care for me like that. I consider myself lucky that you share sex with me sometimes.”

His huge, damaged face conveys the sweetest desire. If it wouldn’t be painful, I’d touch his handsome cheek. Not only would that hurt, it would give a double message.

“I was supposed to get married, uh mated. Tomorrow,” I blurt.

“You had a male? You were to be mated?” His eyebrows furrow.

“Yes. We planned our ceremony far in advance; it was scheduled for tomorrow.”

The room is quiet for a long time as he absorbs the information. His face has hardened into stone. Except for one lone muscle leaping in his jaw, I can’t read any emotion.

“I don’t know why I didn’t tell you, Dax. At first, there was no reason to mention it; we were too busy with the rebellion. Then I didn’t want to sound whiny —all the other women were moving on with their new lives. I knew I should be, too. Then… I didn’t want to hurt you. But I realize how badly I’ve fucked this up. I’m sorry.”

“You loved him?”

I nod.

“You still love him?”

I nod.

“And this.” He points at himself, then me, then back at himself. “Isn’t what you want.” That isn’t a question, it’s a statement of fact. “I confuse you?”

I shrug. Does he? I don’t know.

“I repel you?”

“No, Dax. Of course not, I —”

“I see your looks sometimes, all the females’ looks. Dax is too big and too loud and too coarse. I understand. I can be slow. I should have picked up on your repulsion lunar cycles ago.

“My apologies if I embarrassed you. I imagined my open admiration would impress you. I thought you might soften toward me if I wasn’t afraid to let everyone on board see how smitten I am with you. Instead, I embarrassed you when I voted to name the ship after you. You probably hated me when I recited that emotional poem in such a public way.”

“I tried to move on, Dax. After almost dying during the terrorist attack on Fairea, I told myself how good you are. You practically carried me the whole way to the ship when we were running from the bombs. You saved my life. I was grateful. I enjoy your company. I’m… attracted to you. But every time I considered taking things further, thoughts of Larry intruded.”

His face squeezes in agony. Huge, strong Dax, who should be focused on the pain in his face and stomach, is consumed with the sadness in his heart.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Dahlia. I’m sorry the Urluts stole you from Earth and robbed you of the life you wanted there, the one you had planned. I’m sorry you can’t have the male you want.”

He rises from the bed pulling the blanket with him, covering himself as he moves.

“You should leave. We shouldn’t be alone in a cabin together. Even after what you told me I want to share sex with you —it’s the one constant in my life.

“I’m glad you’re talking about this. You should get support from the other females. I promise I won’t recite any more poems or look at you the way I do —with open desire in my eyes. You should go.”

He’s giving me no eye contact, just staring at the door —a silent request for me to exit. He’s so still it’s as if he’s hewn from stone. I scoot off the bed and hurry out of the room. At this moment both of our hearts are breaking.

Dax

I drop onto the foot of the bed, set my elbows on my knees, cup my chin in my hands and huff out a deep breath.

I’ve read of planets where the north/south axis shifts and everything in the world changes. It’s described as a cataclysm. That’s how I feel. Absolutely nothing is the same as it was an houra ago.

My mind skips back over my lifetime. Born a slave, they raised me to be a gladiator, first on my home planet of Thrace, then all over the galaxy. I was a premier fighter and had few aspirations other than to fight well and eventually die in combat.

I lived as large as possible for a slave. I drank and laughed and played jokes on my friends. When my owners allowed it, I dracked women. If possible, I’d drack two or three at a time. Nothing in my life had true weight —how could it when I might die tomorrow?

Then our captors threw Dahlia into my cell like a sack of goods. And by the grace of the Gods, I was forced to mate with her. Dahlia of the curly flaming hair, the large blue eyes, and the impossibly soft, pale skin. She was so sad and afraid.

Being born a slave, I couldn’t remember a time when I was free. But I imagined what it might be like to be pulled from your bed and thrown into a cell with a giant, to have everything you’ve ever known stolen from you.

So I went out of my way to be gentle and kind to her, despite what they forced us to do. For the first time in my life, I saw a female as more than a reward to be used.

And then we fought for our freedom. That turned my world upside down. I had to discover my own wants and desires because I’d never been allowed to have those before. I had to question every single thing about what I held dear.

In the lunar cycles since then, I’ve discovered things about myself. I’m still a gladiator. I was born to fight, raised to compete. And I discovered I love Dahlia.

I figured she was shy, or maybe a tiny piece of her still feared me because of my size. I imagined that my love of fighting made her wonder if perhaps I’d hurt her if I became angry.

I decided I could overcome all of those objections by being gentle and patient and letting her know how deeply I care for her. I recited the poetry and made the grand gestures and believed pretty Dahlia would come around.

I was too dracking stupid to ask her. Too ignorant to talk to her. Too dumb to initiate one simple conversation lunar cycles ago that would have revealed she feels nothing for me. Nothing.

Pounding my fist on my thigh in self-hatred doesn’t make an impact, because the pain in my heart overpowers it.

I clench my teeth and shake my head, trying to force my feelings to disappear, but they can’t be ordered away.

I’m crying. Crying for the first time since I was a babe. For the first time in my life, I allowed myself to want something, and I can’t have it.

The real Dax I was just discovering crawls back into a hole deep inside me. Good. He’s dangerous. Having desires is hazardous. I don’t want to hunger for anything ever again. It’s just a trick that ends in agony.