Page 11 of Her Alien Cyborgs (The Drift: Haven Colony #10)

Hezza couldn’t be sure whether her time in the freezer had actually cooled her raging libido, or if it was simply the fact she’d kept her distance from her new guests for the last two hours.

Possibly it had to do with the fact that she had the air scrubbers maxed out in hopes they could remove or at least reduce the level of pheromones on board.

Or, she considered, it might be the foolish amount of Torski rocket fuel she’d consumed.

She’d downed enough ja’kreesh that she should be vibrating right now.

Whatever the reason, her mind had cleared, and her hormones had leveled off enough to let her function. She’d spent the time mulling over star charts, calculating her fuel consumption, and trying to decide the best place to go.

After two hours, she stopped. While she still hadn’t made her final decision, she’d narrowed it down to a handful of options. Now she wanted to take it to the others. This felt like a choice the three of them should make together.

She dropped the ship back to normal space and altered course enough to annoy anyone who might be following them. It wasn’t a big change, and it moved them in parallel to the general direction of two of her preferred destinations without giving anything away.

It frustrated her that she couldn’t tell if they were being followed.

It was possible that someone had managed to detect their entry point before their energy signature dissipated.

The only way to be certain would be to stay put and wait to see if another ship showed up in the next few hours.

That would let her know if anyone was after them.

It would also mean they’d be spotted, and the chase would begin again.

Given the choice between pessimism and hope, she opted for the former. It was always better to expect the worst. That way, anything else was a pleasant surprise.

With the task done, she rose from her chair and absently patted her stomach.

She needed food, and the cyborgs probably did, too.

Not that she had any idea what they’d like.

From the stories Thrash and some of the others had told her about their time as prisoners of the Shadows, it was likely her guests had never had anything but nutri-bars and algae broth.

She refused to have that crap on board the Gambit , not even as cargo.

She could still remember the way the greenish sludge would gloop out of the food dispenser at the corporate-funded orphanage where she’d grown up.

It only came in two varieties: a watery broth that tasted like tears and old socks, or a viscous, foul-tasting gel that quivered when she poked it with her spoon.

Hezza had many failings, but no one on the Gambit had ever complained about her cooking. It was time to show her guests what they’d been missing.

She decided to make them one of her favorite meals.

Brinner, also known as breakfast for dinner, was a tradition she started when Anya was a little girl.

Whenever there was time, she’d let her daughter pick out a new recipe.

Then they learned how to make it together.

The food dispenser was a convenient way to get hot, nutritious meals in a hurry, but once she’d struck out on her own, Hezza discovered she enjoyed the act of preparing and cooking her meals.

Given the amount of food she expected her guests to consume, she tasked the dispenser with the job of making the pancakes. The rest she managed herself.

When she was close to ready, she sent a message over the ship’s comms. “I thought the two of you might be hungry. You’re welcome to join me in the galley if you want food or company.”

“Thank you. We’ll be there shortly,” one of them replied.

She couldn’t tell which, since their voices were as identical as the rest of them.

At least, physically. Like most cloned cyborgs she’d met on Haven, the pair did have subtle differences.

Not so much in appearance but in personality.

Kalan was more forward, while Fyr’enth was the quieter of the two.

She would be able to tell them apart, eventually.

Footsteps in the passageway announced that at least one of her guests had arrived. She checked the bacon one last time and then turned to greet them…and nearly dropped the spatula she held.

Holy hells and gravity wells, a god was standing in her galley.

“Hi. Also, wow. You look different.” She winced at her awkwardness, but her brain had shut down and left her to babble like an idiot.

The scruffy prisoner dressed in rags was gone.

In his place was a male who looked like a leading man from the latest action vids.

His long hair had been cut short at the sides, while the top had been left long enough to be swept back from his face.

He still had a full beard, but now it was neatly trimmed.

He wore black pants that made her think of a military uniform—not the pretty ones they wore on parade but actual combat gear. Same with his boots. She hadn’t known the ship’s fabricator could even make that kind of thing. Maybe Archer had sent some new patterns along with the raw materials?

Only one thing about him hadn’t changed. He still wasn’t wearing a shirt.

She stared longer than she should have, too shocked by the transformation to tear her eyes away.

“Do I pass inspection?” He deliberately flexed the muscles in his arm as he casually ran a hand through his newly trimmed hair.

She blushed. Actually, fraxxing blushed like a teenage girl.

She huffed a laugh and waved the spatula in his direction. “You already know the answer to that.”

She couldn’t be certain, but something about his smile made her think this was Fyr’enth.

“Did you have any problems getting the AI to provide everything you needed, Fyr?”

It was his turn to be surprised. His steel-blue eyes widened, and he stared at her in disbelief for several seconds before finally regaining his composure. “How did you know it was me?”

“The way you smiled. You do it a little differently than your brother. One side of your mouth turns up a little higher than the other. Kalan’s smile is wider. Like he’s either going to burst out laughing or go for your jugular.”

Fyr’enth snorted. “True enough.”

Now that her brain was more or less functional, she had more questions. “Would you like me to arrange for some Vardarian-style clothing patterns? They have plenty of clothing made to fit around their wings.”

He glanced down at himself as if he’d forgotten he was only half dressed.

Of course, that was by her standards. To him, he was kitted out normally.

“I’d be interested in trying them, if only to avoid drawing too much attention any time we’re off the ship.

Something to cover the wings completely might be useful, too. For the same reasons.”

“That’s a good point, though honestly, I think you and Kalan are going to draw attention no matter what.

Vardarians aren’t a common sight in this part of the galaxy.

” She raised a hand before he could correct her.

“I know you don’t see yourselves as members of that species, and I understand why.

That isn’t going to change the fact that everyone else who sees you is going to see two big, handsome guys with silver scales and assume you are Vardarian. ”

“Handsome?” Fyr’enth grinned. “Thank you.”

“There’s no point in denying the obvious. You were attractive before, but now?” She managed not to blush too much as she gestured at him. “You look damned good. That’s not what matters, though. How do you feel?”

He took a moment to consider before answering. “I feel like myself. I’m not sure what that means yet, but this…” He touched his newly trimmed beard and then his hair. “This feels right.”

“That’s all that really matters,” she said.

“I never liked having long hair. They used to trim it for us sometimes. Or let us have scissors so we could do it ourselves. That stopped months ago.” He rolled his eyes in a very human gesture she assumed he’d learned from his captors.

“Kalan stabbed one of them with the scissors, and that was the end of that.”

She didn’t miss a beat. “Did they deserve it?”

Her question earned her a warm smile. “They did.”

Behind her, the bacon hissed and popped, reminding her she needed to check on it before it burned.

Ruining this part of their breakfast would be a culinary crime.

Unlike most of her supplies, the bacon came from Haven and was prepared by a skilled butcher who smoked the protein the old-fashioned way.

“Hold on a second. I need to check on this.” She turned toward the pan full of fried deliciousness and started shifting the contents around.

“What is that?” Fyr’enth asked as he moved in behind her. “It smells…I have no words for how good that smells, and I speak every language known to this part of the galaxy.”

He pressed in close enough she could feel the heat of his body against her back but didn’t quite make physical contact. It didn’t matter, though, because his mere presence made her skin tingle and her heart race like she’d sprinted the length of the ship and back again.

“This is bacon.” She forced herself to focus on her words and not the hot-as-a-star male standing right behind her.

Then she used the spatula to point to the other pans on the stovetop. “Those are scrambled eggs, and these are called hash browns. I have no idea why. They’re neither hashed nor brown. They’re actually seasoned cubes of potato, which makes them a vegetable, which makes this whole meal healthy.”

He hummed in amusement. “I’m not an expert, but I don’t think that’s how it works.”

She turned her head to smile back at him. “I’m the chef, so if I say it’s healthy, you should nod and agree with me. Speaking of food, have you ever eaten anything other than nutri-bars and algae broth?”

He made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. “No. But how did you know that?”

“I spent enough time with the cyborgs living in Haven to hear some stories about how they were treated while they were prisoners. I think it’s safe to assume they and you have had similar experiences.”

He didn’t respond to her statement, but she hadn’t expected him to. Fyr’enth was the sort to take in information and mull it over before speaking.

“Is there anything else you’d like to try, Fyr? I’m happy to make anything I have in stock. I went with this meal because it’s one of my favorites.”

“You’ve shortened both of our names now. Is this a human thing?”

She laughed before answering. “It’s a me thing. I tend to assign nicknames to beings. You’ll probably end up with a few more before I’m done. Do you mind? I can call you Fyr’enth if you prefer. I know that’s the name you chose for yourself.”

“I don’t mind at all.” He moved in closer but still not quite touching. “I like it. Fyr. It sounds like the Galactic Standard word for fear.”

She decided the bacon was done and moved the pan off the heat. “It does. Is that something you want? For others to fear you? For that matter, what does your name mean? Fyr’enth sounds Vardarian, but I’ve only learned the basics.”

“There is no direct translation in your language. I think the closest meaning would be something like ‘the oncoming storm.’”

She turned her head to look at him, only to realize he was so close her mouth brushed his for a second. She pulled away so fast she almost lost her balance. “Whoa. I didn’t realize you were that close.”

The smile he gave her was pure wickedness. “Must be the smell of the bacon drawing me in.”

“Must be. So, Stormy, why the ominous choice of names?”

“Stormy? Another nickname already?”

“Yup, which means I’ll need to figure out another one for Kalan, too.”

“I can make a few suggestions.”

“Did someone say my name?” Kalan walked into the galley as if he owned it. “And what in the name of gravity smells so good?”

“That is called bacon,” Fyr’enth informed him.

“And it’s one of my favorites…holy hells. You too?” Hezza’s mouth continued talking despite the fact her brain had short-circuited again. Kalan had also had a makeover moment, and he looked good .

Unlike his brother, he’d kept his hair long and now wore it tied back into a sleek ponytail.

His beard was little more than a thin line of dark stubble along his jaw and around his mouth.

Where Fyr’enth had opted for practicality, Kalan’s choices were stylish.

His soft leather boots came to his knees, and his charcoal gray pants hugged his muscular thighs.

She wanted to say something about his new appearance, but then she caught the way the two males looked at each other. They had taken their first steps toward becoming individuals. She kept her mouth shut and let them have this moment.