Page 14 of Invasive Species (Outcasts of Oloria #2)

NINE

ARABELLA

I step out of the shower and wrap my hair in a towel, giving it a twist and flipping it over my head.

Feeling tingles along my fingers and toes, but even I can tell the hot water boiler is struggling again.

Sadly, I can't get a plumber in to fix it, because, well, aliens, and it's not that bad yet.

I mean, I go swimming in frozen lakes, a little lukewarm water won't kill me, although it would be a good idea to warm up.

A mug of hot chocolate will do the trick, and I'm already salivating in anticipation.

As I finger comb my wet hair, I glance toward the single pane windows behind the curtains. It's making a racket, the whole thing rattling in the slightest breeze. How do the aliens stay warm out there?

A single crack rings out across the yard. What the fuck was that, the shelter falling down? I fling open the curtains and rub the condensation off the bathroom window, squinting.

The lean-to is still standing but Gara stands with his back to me and seems to be holding it up, arms raised right to the roof. Dom, Arik and Nevare stand around him outside the lean to in the drizzle, and the pilot’s inside, hunched away .

Well, they don’t look like they’re panicking about the shelter.

I’m about to turn away when one of the triplets pulls back his arm like he's holding a baseball bat one handed and is going to hit a home run.

He's holding something; as he swings, a thin blue light flashes across Gara’s back.

The crack sounds again, but this time, the noise stabs into my chest as Gara arches back, face locked in a silent scream.

What the fuck are they doing to him?

“Stop,” I croak. They can’t hear me, of course, because not only am I inside a building but my voice is so quiet even I can’t hear it very well. Shock, this has to be shock.

Snatching Ellen’s dressing gown from the back of the bathroom door, I stagger to the stairs, flinching at each crack behind me. Shit, shit, I have to hurry. Bile stings my throat as my stomach turns. Why can’t I go any faster?

My fingers scrabble at the locked front door, twisting the key and yanking and pulling at the tight door. Another crack echoes and I yelp as if I’m the one being whipped.

With a backward heave the door finally springs open, shuddering from the force, and I dash out into the rain. My bare feet slap on the cold gravel as I race the blue light to Gara’s unprotected back. The blue becomes so bright it's blinding as I close in, and then I run into Gara.

Green floods my vision, first dark like the forest underfloor before morphing into moss-like viridian, and his strong arms band around me as the flash of blue light hits us. The crack is so loud my ears ache, but worse is the sizzle afterwards, followed by the scent of burning flesh.

He holds me to his chest exactly as he did outside the rocket when the bot attacked, and I can’t help but let out a sob against his reassuring bulk.

“Arra-bellah?” His rough voice scrapes my ears. “Are you hurt? ”

“I… no, I don’t think so. Are you?” I tip my face up to check him over.

He caught the blue lash on his forearm, holding it away from me. He looks down at me, eyes unfathomable.

The alien lowers his arm, steam rising from a gash on his forearm. There’s no blood, probably because it’s cauterized immediately, and a rush of red rage batters my chest.

I spin around, glaring at the three much bigger aliens ringing us. The pilot has got up too, standing to one side staring at me, so I face off against the pack.

“What the hell are you doing?” I hiss at them.

The one with the blue light-whip drops to his knees on the sodden gravel. “Female, I did not see you until it was too late. My life is forfeit.”

“Argh!” I’ve had it with this shit, but where do I even start? Gara’s the only one who talks some sense.

I tug his arm, the one that wasn't wrapped with a whip. “Are you okay? What’s going on, what do you need?”

He blinks at me, rain running down the planes of his chest. “My nanites will heal the wounds shortly. This is an internal matter, the Parthiastocks need to do this.”

“Is this some kind of hazing? They don’t need to hurt you. Aren’t you their de-facto leader for now?”

His shoulders slump, defeated. “Yes, but Parthiastock clones are law keepers, and I’ve broken Olorian laws.”

“What laws?”

His eyes drop. “Talking back to a female.”

Talking back to… Shit, he’s being punished because of me . I know I pushed him too far this morning with those other changes, but while it was upsetting, I didn’t want this as some kind of restitution.

Raising my arms as if to block Gara from their view, I glare at the hulking triplets. “Do not hurt each other, understand? Olorian laws don’t apply here and, while Ellen’s gone, I’m in charge of the farm and Gara’s in charge of you lot. Understand?”

The middle one bows his head with a smile like I made his Christmas and birthday come at once. “Yes, female.”

“Arabella. Arra-bella,” I stress to them. “Use my name, please.”

He gulps. “I will, Arra-bellah female.”

Close enough. I nod, but then my legs start to shake. Holy fuck, I just faced off against four massive aliens, one with a scary weapon, like it was nothing.

But I have to make my point. “I want you all to realize, we don't do stuff like this here.

You can talk back to me all you want; words won't hurt me.

You've been really non-threatening so far so I kind of trust you, at least a little bit, and hopefully you've seen we don't order you to do ridiculous things.” My cheeks burn in the cold air. “Apart from design changes. Uh.”

Gara shakes his head once. “It's not the same as on Oloria,” he states quietly. He’s looking at me, but I'm sure his words are for his friends.

I nod quickly. “Right, it's different here. I wish you could read my mind, see how it is?—”

“I can,” one of the triplets says. I swear their eyes were all purple a second ago, but his are gray now, so this must be Nevare. “I can read your thoughts, if you consent.”

“Uh, sure.” I mean, I don't have anything to hide, and it honestly sounds really cool. What will it feel like?

A cool gliding sensation skates over my forehead and back over my scalp toward the nape of my neck, and I shiver like a chill just raced up my spine.

The alien’s eyes bug out, and he quickly backs away. “What… what is happening in there?”

“What’s wrong?”

He passes a shaky hand over his face. “Impressions, sensations… all one priority. No order, no filter, just a bombardment. The wind, the rain, the hardness under your soles, the scratch of the gown…”

Gara stands a little closer to me, radiating heat. Suddenly the chill lessens. Right, I’m standing barefoot in the rain in a dressing gown.

I try to understand what he’s talking about.

“Uh… oh. That’s my ADHD, attention deficit hyperactivity disorder.

Except it should really be called attention overload, because, like, everything comes at me all at once, and when I’m tired it’s hard to know what to prioritize. At least, that’s my experience.”

The triplets exchange a glance. It’s unreadable, but Dom’s hands bunch into fists.

I wrap my dressing gown tighter, properly feeling the cold now and letting it do its icy thing where it helps me narrow down to one thing at a time. “If you can’t read me, then we’ll just have to go on as we have been doing, with trust and trial and error. And no hurting each other, got it?”

They bash their fists into their chests with a crash. “Yes, Arra-bellah female!”

I wince at the noise. “Right, good, okay. Gara, come with me, I’ll fix you up.”

With each step across the yard my legs get shakier and shakier. Gara doesn't seem affected, but his gaze slides to me, watchful as ever.

As soon as we pile into the kitchen, I flick on the kettle, snatching at mugs to prepare something sugary to counterattack the massive dump of adrenaline coursing through my system. I jump on my toes to try to get to the clean ones up in Ellen’s tall cabinet.

Gara reaches past me and picks one down smoothly, his heat so close to my back it’s like it’s pressing against me.

“Thanks,” I say. “Grab one for yourself too. ”

He stills for a moment, as if debating whether he can disobey.

I sigh. “I'd like to make you a hot chocolate, not poison you or anything, and… I want to help with your back.”

“It’s not an issue, my nanites have healed all lacerations already.”

I wince at lacerations. “Still, there's, like, blood and stuff to wash off.” I dump several heaping scoops of chocolate powder into my mug and whisk the hot water in, then take a scalding sip. “Ow. See? Not poison.”

“But still painful, evidently.” Gara gets down another mug, then backs away to the kitchen table.

I make him a hot chocolate, my hands calmed by the familiar routine of wrapping around a hot mug, and set it in front of him. “Okay, I'm going to take a look.”

“Don't trouble yourself.” He sits stiffly.

“It's no trouble, let me fuss over you.” I peer around him.

There are no open wounds, just a smear of red blood dribbling down his mossy scales from what looks like an old scar. I swallow hard. It must have hurt a lot.

My voice is squeaky when I say, “It’s healed up, so there's no open wound, but I still want to get you clean.”

Gara looks away while I wet a tea towel and wring it out.

“Tell me if this hurts, okay?”

He grunts.

I dab at his broad back, the sweep of his wide shoulder muscles narrowing to a trim waist. His side abs have a little blood on them too, which I wipe off, but as I go I notice more and more places where his scales are cut through in straight lines.

I lose count at thirty-five, forgetting whether I've already counted some through my teary eyes.

No wonder he's grumpy. He's been through hell.

Tossing the towel in the washing machine, I wipe my face so he won't see my tears. “I'm sorry. ”

“What for?” He sounds genuinely confused.