Page 17 of Invasive Species (Outcasts of Oloria #2)

ELEVEN

ARABELLA

Fucknuts, someone's bouncing a van down the track, the cheery colors of its side panels flashing between the budding hedgerows. It's the supermarket delivery, right on time.

A time I forgot to pass on to the aliens.

I hustle Gara further into the lean-to, backing him into the room I made and crowding after him. “It's the shop dropping off the food. Can you contact the other aliens quietly and tell them to stay out of the way?”

“I can try to attract Nevare's attention, but they'll hear the vehicle and hopefully stay out of sight.”

“Hopefully?”

His lips twist. “There is a chance they'll think it's a threat to you. An invasion.”

I chew my lip, thinking. But then I become hyper aware of… Gara. My breasts press against his chiseled chest, arms tangled with his, thighs radiating heat where we join. Each of his exhales brushes my cheeks, bathing me in his zingy scent like freshly squeezed lemon.

“Arra-bellah?” he practically growls my name, and it does something very, very primal to me, making my heart pound even harder.

“Gara.”

“The human delivering the materials is trying to get in the house.”

I spin around, brushing my hips against his.

Gara lets out a low hiss like he needs to relieve pressure or he'll burst, but I can't focus on him right now.

He's right, the delivery driver stands by the front door, ringing the doorbell with a frown on his face and scratching his salt-and-pepper hair.

But then Gara groans, and my attention snaps to him. At how he’s panting.

“You okay?”

He glares at me like this is all my fault. “Focus.”

“I am focusing.”

“Not on the right thing.” He glances over my shoulder, indicating the delivery driver.

“Depends on your perspective.” Because we are absolutely having a moment.

At least, I think we are. All I can see is Gara’s gorgeous eyes, lined with lime green scales paling to pastel as I watch.

Like he's warming up. If this was a Planet of the Pirate Prince story, he’d totally swallow and then press closer to me and say?—

“We need to obtain the materials from the human without alerting him to my crewmate’s existence.”

Right. Yeah. “Sorry, dude. Get rid of the delivery driver. On it.”

Springing to my feet, I approach the house. “Hi! How are we doing on this sunny day?”

The burly man grunts, already heading for the back of the van. “Didn’t expect you to come out of the shed. You Ms Arabella Jones?”

“Yep, that’s me,” I chirp, too loud, too bright. Keep it normal. Keep him talking. “Bet you don’t get many deliveries out here.”

He snorts, unlocking the rear doors. “Not if I can help it.” A pause. “Took a detour for a bacon bap. Not much call for farm drops.”

“Well, you’re a hero,” I say as he starts hauling out the crates. “We were running dangerously low on herbal tea.”

That earns me a glance, assessing but not unkind. “Truly tragic.”

Ah, another deadpan comedian like Gara.

I grab the bags out of the crate and stack them next to the door, the weight of fresh vegetables grounding me. “It’s just me here at the moment,” I say, casual as I can manage. “It’s super safe here.”

A flicker in the shadow of the barn behind the guy’s shoulder reveals a purple shape with yellow eyes. Arik. I put my thumb up, and he returns the gesture with a small smile.

The driver just grunts again, passing me another crate. “Good for you. Lots of weird stuff on the news lately.”

I force a laugh. “Oh, yeah. Like, aliens?” Fuck, fuck, my fucking impulse control.

His eyes narrow. “You really okay here?”

“Totally. I’m also completely totally alone.”

“Uh…huh.” He studies me again, and I have to squint against the low afternoon sun, as if it’s one of those interrogation lights.

Then he just shrugs. “That everything?”

I nod, dumping the last crate in a scatter of supermarket bags on the gravel, and try not to squeak, “Yep, we’re sorted. Thanks again.”

He hitches his chin, already turning back to the van with his crates. “Take care.”

The engine rumbles to life, headlights sweeping over the barn as he turns, then vanishes. I wait, listening to the tires grinding up the track, my heart pounding.

A breath of movement behind me, and I know without having to turn around it’s Gara. Something to do with how warmth washes over my skin.

“We’re all safe here,” I say again, softer now. For him.

He stares for a moment, then steps out toward the piles of shopping. “That was… close.”

I rub my forehead. “Next time I’ll remember to tell you about the delivery slot.”

Shooting me a skeptical look as he picks up several handles, he says, “No need to promise?—”

“No, it’s important. Super important. I’d hate to think what would happen if someone discovered you, so I need to be more careful.

” The idea of Gara in some kind of government medical facility being pulled apart makes my chest ache.

Like my heart’s the one being ripped out and shoved under a big microscope.

Gara points over my shoulder. “What’s that?”

I spin. Has the delivery guy returned? But all I see is a squirrel, silver fur a streak as it zips up the machine shed drainpipe and skitters across the corrugated roof.

“Aha. There’s one of the little buggers.

That’s a gray squirrel.” I put the bags down.

“Gray squirrels aren’t supposed to be here.

They’re American, apparently, and they took over by outcompeting the reds and spreading disease.

Now red squirrels are basically wiped out in most of England. Only a few places still have them.”

Gara doesn’t respond right away, just watches the squirrel disappear into the branches.

I keep going, filling the silence. “People try to help the reds, though. Conservation projects, culling grays in some areas, setting up feeding stations—stuff like that.”

His jaw tightens as he hefts up my bags, and he doesn’t look at me.

That’s Gara for ‘I’m uncomfy.’ I frown. “You okay? I'd have picked those up?—”

“What do they do to the gray ones?” he asks gruffly.

I slip past him to open the door. “Well… in some places, they trap and kill them. It’s not their fault they ended up here, but they’re a problem, and if no one does anything, the reds don’t stand a chance.”

He sets the food on the table, shoulders slumping. “I see.”

That’s not like Gara. No snarky comeback, no curiosity about human conservation methods.

Ah. It’s not the squirrels he’s thinking about.

I reach for him, then pull my hand back. “Gara… no one’s hunting you.”

His throat moves as he swallows, eyes not meeting mine. “Not yet.”

“No, and they won’t,” I promise. “No one will find out about you, no one’s going to take you away. Just let them try it.”

And I really fucking mean it.

His lips twist, then swoop up. When he breaks into a wide smile, I nearly gasp. He looks handsome as fuck all the time, but especially when he smiles. Then he chuckles. Gara, chuckling? I stand transfixed, brain one big blank like I’ve plunged into a pool.

“My apologies, I’m sure you are indeed fierce when provoked.”

Teasing too? This is, like, the best day ever.

As we unpack the food side by side, my brain leaps back into action. Maybe… Gara doesn’t actually hate me, not anymore. While I might still be a pain in his ass, perhaps he’s feeling what I’m feeling.

And, wow, wouldn't that be fabulous?