Page 2 of His Little Cinnabar (Eleadian Mates #12)

Chapter Two

Ten minutes ago …

Tekfan

I step into the control room, running a hand over the top of my head. I’m aware my brows are furrowed and pinched together. The night is young, and I just got down to the second-floor control room, but already I’m frustrated from the volume. Why do humans play their damn music so loud?

I’ve been here two weeks. Fourteen nights. Granted, there is no guarantee about how long it will take to find our mates among the nightly crowd of females, but I’m now outside the average. Hell, my friend Retmor was here one night, found his Little girl, and left. Lucky guy.

Nanish and Bamgin—two of my other friends from Eleadia—are already standing in the control room. Nanish arrived tonight. He’s smiling broadly. I don’t have the heart to tell him he won’t be grinning like that two weeks from now if he still hasn’t found his Little girl.

Bamgin is another story. He’s been here on Earth the longest. Longer than any other Eleadian mate. Six weeks now. Unheard of. He’s disgruntled and has been since I arrived.

I slap an understanding hand on his shoulder before turning toward Nanish. “Welcome to the land of loud music and groping females.”

Nanish rubs his hands together in anticipation and glances back at the monitor. “There are so many of them,” he comments. “I don’t have any perspective about their size. Are they really as small as I’ve heard?”

I nod. “Yep. Some are smaller than others. Their size and height vary a lot more than ours.”

Nanish steps closer to the monitor. “How close do we have to be to know if one of them is ours?”

I adjust my tie. Even after two weeks of wearing one every night, I’m still not used to the sensation.

We only dress this way for the sake of humans.

It’s what they expect from their men—nice suits with pressed shirts, ties, jackets, slacks, and perfectly shined shoes.

The clothing is stifling, and I’m tired of it.

Bamgin grunts as he glances at our mutual friend.

I suspect he’s trying not to roll his eyes.

I can’t blame him. Every time someone new arrives, giddy with excitement, Bamgin probably wants to bitch slap them.

He wouldn’t, of course. He’s far too nice for that.

But I’m sure he’s frustrated beyond belief.

I turn toward Nanish. “You might know even from here. Sometimes our males have scented their mate from this distance, but occasionally they have also spotted her on the monitor and known.”

“Why would we bother to go downstairs then?” Nanish asks.

“Mostly because it’s expected of us. Ninety-nine percent of the females down there only come to Club Zoom so they can see what we look like.

They’d be sorely disappointed if none of us descended, and that would give the club a bad reputation.

The dance floor would never fill up with females every night if they weren’t certain they would get to see us. ”

Nanish nods. “Makes sense. The more females pack into the club, the higher our probability of finding the perfect mate is. We’d be here for months if fewer people came.”

Bamgin chuckles sardonically as he adjusts his tie, too. It’s truly an uncomfortable article of clothing. Why do human men wear such stifling suits while the females wear skimpy dresses that barely cover their bodies? “Months…” he mumbles. “Ha.”

Nanish winces. “Sorry, man. I hate that you’ve been here so long.” He turns back to me. “Do you really think out of all the human females there’s just one perfect person for each of us out there? We’re just waiting here for her to step through the door?”

“That’s the belief,” I say. “Though it would seem Fate plays a role. I suspect she lines up all our lives so that our perfect mate visits the club within a few days of our arrival. Though for some of us, that timeline seems to be a bit longer. There must be a reason Bamgin’s mate has not come into the club yet. A reason we don’t understand.”

Suddenly my gaze lands on a woman as she steps into the club. She flattens herself to the wall, eyes wide. She looks petrified as if someone forced her to come inside against her better judgement.

She’s shorter than nearly everyone around her. She’s also alone, which is rare. Human females seem to come in pairs or even a pack of them. She’s also dressed differently from anyone else. She has on a coat. It’s too big for her. I can tell from here.

She’s shaking, and I find myself leaning forward because I need to know more. A tingle crawls up my spine as I realize, it’s her. She’s the one. She’s my Little girl.

When she lifts her hands up and flattens them over her ears, I notice she’s wearing mittens. She’s scared out of her mind for reasons I do not understand. She squeezes her eyes closed, and I spin around and rush out of the control room.

I’m partly aware that Nanish and Bamgin say something, but I can’t process it, and it doesn’t matter. I need to go to my mate.

After taking the stairs three at a time, I push through the door leading to the club and hurry in the direction of my mate. If I had any doubt she was mine, it has vanished now that I can scent her.

I’m aware of females all around me, but I ignore them as I take long strides across the room to get to my girl. It all happens so fast that I’m in front of her seconds after watching her cover her ears.

I take a deep breath, drawing her essence into my body as I set my palms on her shoulders. I need to touch her, but the moment I do, my breath hitches. She’s in distress. I could see that from the monitor, but now that I’m here, it’s wafting off of her in waves. I don’t like it.

I slide my hands to her face so I can touch her skin and guide her head back. “I’ve got you, Baby girl. Take a breath for me.”

The prettiest brown eyes I’ve ever seen slowly open, go wide, and then roll back in her head. She loses consciousness in an instant.

“Fuck.” I squat down and scoop her into my arms before she can hit the floor. Cradling her against me, I aim for the other side of the dance floor and through the door that enters into a white hallway.

The moment the door closes behind me, the noise is blocked. Thank fuck. It was annoying, and I suspect my girl thought so, too.

She’s dead weight—completely unconscious. Not that she’s heavy by any stretch of the imagination. She weighs almost nothing, shockingly less than I would have expected. Now that I’m holding her, I’m certain the coat she’s wearing is far too large for her. Her frame is so tiny under it.

I easily hold her with one arm while I call the elevator with the other.

I’m worried about the fact that she fainted, but now that she’s unconscious her breathing is even.

Her pulse is returning to a normal rhythm.

I bet she passed out because I was so close to her, overwhelming her with my size and height.

Her heart rate was through the roof when I first approached, though. I suspect she was having a panic attack. I wonder if that happens to her often.

As soon as the elevator opens on my floor, I step into the living room and hurry toward the bedroom. I need to get this coat off her and make sure she’s not injured beneath.

I ease her onto the giant bed I’ve been sleeping in for two weeks and tug her mittens off first. Holy hell, her hands are small. I unzip her coat and pull the sleeves off her next, surprised to see that underneath she still has on a few layers of clothes.

My girl is wearing a thick sweater that has tears and holes in it. She has on jeans that are too large for her. Her shoes look too small. She’s cold to the touch, and the need to get her out of these clothes and warm her up is strong.

The first thing I do is quickly remove all of my clothes and change into the soft black pants I’m far more comfortable in. When I’m done, I pull off her shoes and socks before easing the sweater and two more long-sleeved shirts over her head. Finally I ease her jeans down her slender frame.

I’m grateful that she’s still unconscious because my breath hitches when I set eyes on her almost naked body. She’s got a small frame, but she’s also far too skinny. She’s underweight. Undernourished. And cold. So cold. No wonder she didn’t take off her coat.

I waste no time removing her threadbare panties, holding my breath to avoid inhaling her sweet scent. Now is not the time to bury my face in her pussy. I need to warm her up. She’s trembling, and goosebumps rise all over her skin as she whimpers.

After slipping a diaper under her bottom and fastening it around her narrow waist, I gently lift her into my arms, cradle her against my body so that our naked chests connect, and tuck a blanket all around her.

My body heat will warm her in no time. So will a warm bottle. I hurry back to the main room and over to the fridge to grab one. I heat it more than I normally would so that the formula can warm her.

I realize I don’t even know my Little girl’s name. That won’t do. I need to know her name. I pray she had ID in one of her pockets.

Still cradling her, I return to the bedroom, keeping her plastered against me as I grab her coat. I’m relieved when I find her ID in the second pocket I check.

Janelle . My Little girl’s name is Janelle.

What a pretty name. I stare at the ID for a few minutes, noting that she weighed more in the picture.

Her hair was glossier and her cheeks were fuller.

She wasn’t smiling, but her eyes weren’t as sad as the brown orbs that stared up at me before she fainted.

I tuck the ID in my pants pocket and return to the living room. Every inhale confirms she is mine. All of the inhales for the rest of my life will be filled with the scent of my mate because I will never let her get far enough away from me that I won’t be able to scent her.

Her lips part, and she squirms, whimpering in her sleep. Her tiny breasts rub against my chest. Even though I’m worried about her health, this is the most precious moment of my life.

I will get her healthy, and I will see her smile.

I grab the bottle, sit in my recliner, and bring the nipple to her lips. It will be easier to feed her while she’s still mostly unconscious, so I rub her lips with the nipple, pleased when they part wider for me, and she accepts the rubber tip into her mouth.

She’s so fucking pretty. I stroke her cheek to get her to suckle, and my heart soars when she draws in the first sip of formula. She doesn’t open her eyes as she finds her rhythm and eagerly sucks.

My heavens. I have no words. My heart is in my throat, and it nearly stops altogether when her tiny hand comes to mine so she can wrap her fingers around my pinky.

She’s my everything. My world. My life.

And she doesn’t know it yet.

In no time at all, the bottle is empty. She was starving, and I consider heating another for her, but then decide against it. I don’t want her tummy to be so full that she ends up vomiting. I’ll fix her another bottle in a while.

Her pretty lips are still suckling, though, and I’m slightly shocked when she brings her thumb to her mouth.

I know from my studies that adult female humans do not suck their thumbs.

It’s fucking adorable, and I’m loathe to stop her, but I also know she should learn to take a pacifier, so I snag one from the end table, guide her thumb gently out of her mouth, and replace it with the pacifier.

Her breathing evens out, and she slides into a deep sleep in my arms.

I hate that she has not regained consciousness and will probably panic when she finally awakens, but for now, my instinct tells me she needs rest more than anything else. She’s obviously exhausted.

I hold her close and rock her, rarely blinking because I need to stare at her at all times. Precious. Mine.

Janelle.