Page 26 of Invasive Species (Outcasts of Oloria #2)

EIGHTEEN

GARA

Ice spreads up my limbs at the summoning knocks pounding at the door.

“Ellen Smith! Are you in there?”

Arra-bellah sets her paintbrush down carefully but her skin flushes. “Maybe it's the postman.”

“It's Terry,” a voice shouts, muffled through the front door and the distance to Arra-bellah’s room. “Terry Fassbender. I know you're at home, your car is right here, you're in so much trouble.”

Arra-bellah’s scowl makes my fists ball. He is an enemy.

“Oh, great, the developer’s son. What does he want?” she fumes.

“He sounds threatening.” I ease my hands under her thighs and grab my knotting cock. I have to make it go down somehow and release us so I can drive this intruder off El-len’s property. I'm not much of a fighter, but I can be physically intimidating to these small humans.

“What are you doing? Won't this hurt you?” Arra-bellah holds onto my forearms, arresting my hands underneath her .

“We have to separate. I cannot let a threat to my mate exist, and we're in a vulnerable position.”

“He's not a threat in a physical sense… and what do you mean, “mate”?” She squints. “Is that a line from one of the Planet of the Pirate Prince books?”

“No, these are my words.” Now it seems lake water fills my lungs, seeping through the cracks in my chest. “We have mated. We’re mates now.”

Her eyes widen. “Oh. Uh. We… we really need to talk about this.”

No. No. She's going to cast me off. I tried so hard and it wasn't enough.

She cups my cheek. “Hey, don't look so sad, okay? Even your scales have gone blue. Human relationships just don't move fast. Let's date for a while, see where this goes.”

She offers me a lifeline along with her smile. I could ask whether I was good enough, but now is not the time. I’ll prove I'm a worthy mate and win the opportunity to please her even more next time.

First, I must defend her.

I crush my knotting cock in my grip. The pressure, so delicious inside her, becomes painful at the base of it, but I hold on tighter.

A sudden pop makes her jump, and pain lances into me like I was stabbed.

“Gara, did you break your dick?”

“Nanites… will fix,” I choke out. Did the sudden pressure change affect her internals? “Are you hurt?”

“I'm fine, you just deflated like a party balloon.”

She moves and I ease her up and off to briefly inspect the damage. Agony flares like a fire brand, but it's only one flap of skin that’s torn, already soothing as the nanites work.

I roll over and pull my pants over it gingerly.

“Don't do that again,” she chides .

“Have to get to the door.” More banging from outside proves our intruder still imposes.

“I'm coming too, but, oh fuck. Where's the condom?” She points at my knotting cock, where the inferior human prophylactic is nowhere to be seen.

I cast about and spot a crumple of plastic on the floor underneath her legs.

She picks it up, but it disintegrates. “Holy fuck.”

The doorbell chimes again, and she shakes her head. “Never mind, we’ll sort it out later.”

She throws her shirt on. It's stained green by the paint we mated in, as if she's trying to match my coloring. Warmth shoots across my skin, shading me to match. Maybe she is mate binding, even if she doesn't know it.

As she dresses with shaking hands, she orders, “Change your scales to be a white shirt and hi-viz. Bright yellow on your chest and back.”

“Like this?” I think of her face as she came on top of my knotting cock, the feeling of being enclosed and safe at last. Happy yellow spreads across my chest and stomach.

“Yes. Neaten up the edges here.” She runs a finger over my shoulders, and an ache from my knotting cock reminds me it's still sore and repairing.

“Good work. Now, let's get this guy to piss off and we'll get back to where we were.”

I let Arra-bellah go ahead to the door in the kitchen, following close behind. The nanosecond he threatens her will be his last. My complex feelings have settled to one overriding compulsion: keep my mate safe, even if she's not my mate yet.

Arra-bellah opens the front door. “Can I help you?”

Outside in the porch is a scrawny looking human male with a flop of hair obscuring his face.

He blinks down at her. “ Is Ellen in?”

“She's away on vacation. I'm taking care of everything until she gets back.” Arra-bellah puts her fists on her hips. “You shouted something about Ellen being in trouble. Care to elaborate?”

“Only that I saw a post on Photogram, and now I've come here and seen it for myself. That old barn doesn't have planning permission for extensions like that.” Rather than reporting as if he is upset by the news, he sounds positively joyous.

I lean over Arra-bellah's shoulder, and he gapes at me. “Another one? Who are you?”

“The project manager,” I say, putting my hand on Arra-bellah's shoulder to reassure her I’m here.

She shoots me a concerned look over my hand, and faces our adversary. “Yes, this is the project manager for the site. I'm the designer.”

The human pulls something out of his pocket and my muscles flex, poised for danger, but all he does is hand a small carbon-based rectangle to Arra-bellah. “You? What qualifications have you got?” The knave eyes my mate—my soon-to-be mate—with a derisive lip curl.

“This isn't a job interview, I don't have to trot out my life history.” Arra-bellah flips the card over. It displays his name, Terry Fassbender, and his contact details. Perhaps this is a human custom.

Arra-bellah says, “Now, the discrepancy with the permissions has been noted and will be addressed.”

“What does that mean?” He glares.

“It means I'm on top of it, and you don't need to worry about Ellen's permissions. You take care of yourself now.” Arra-bellah smiles sweetly, sliding the door closed.

The male shoves his hand flat against it, halting her with a bang that makes my buried fighting genes switch on.

With a snarl I move in front of Arra-bellah, ready to put my weight into shutting the door. I'd probably smash it, risking injury to him.

Good.

Terr-ee’s eyes widen. It seems I'm physically imposing enough to provide a deterrent.

But then he gapes. “Are you… topless? You're fucking half naked! What the hell is this stuff, paint?”

“Yes,” Arra-bellah chirps, doing a spin in the kitchen to show the paint daubed down her shirt from when I laid her down to subject her to pleasure. I hate the way his accusing eyes scan over her, especially her pert backside. She’s mine to protect.

His lip curls at me. “Whatever’s going on here, I will find out. Your weird cowboy outfit, doing illegal work for backhanders, it’s all going to fall to pieces. I’m going to tell the council.”

My vision tunnels. He’s not a physical threat, but he is a risk to us remaining under the radar of the authorities.

Terr-ee turns on his heel and leaves, shoes crunching on the gravel stones like a death knell. I can’t run after him and stop him, that would make the situation worse. If only Ilia were here to advise me.

I shut the door. “Is he a significant threat?”

She’s pale but she manages a scowl, shaking out her auburn hair. “A significant pain in the ass, yeah. Laura’ll sort all of that planning permission rubbish.”

“Rubbish? He seemed to think it was important.”

“It is, sort of.”

Her prevarication makes the ice slide deeper into my stomach. “He said he was going to tell your government, is that correct?”

“Yeah, but they’re busy, they won’t care.” She gnaws at a section of her curls. “Laura will help, you don’t have to worry. ”

That’s the exact phrase which does make me worry. “How did he find out? He said a… post, something about a photo, what’s that?”

She stills. Arra-bellah is never still. “A photograph, a visual record.”

My nanites translate that. “A scan of some sort. How did that get to him? Does this unpleasant insipid human have spy drones?”

“No, I, uh… I posted it.” She whips out her personal device. It’s smaller than my pad or the electric reading device she leant me, with a cracked front and case.

Her jaw drops. “Ooh, five hundred new followers! Score.”

Dread lines my stomach like I've been presented with a host of battlefield wounded. “You want these followers? Stalkers?” How many will I need to fight now?

“No, no, these ones are only online.” She moves into my reach to show me her device. “Thousands of comments too.”

She scrolls them quickly but I read fast now my nanites have adjusted. “ He's so gorgeous. Wow want to f him. Who's the hottie?” I read.

She puts her phone on the counter slowly and looks over her shoulder at me, face pale. “Um. So. I used a picture of the barn coming together. To advertise it.”

She squirms, and while it's delicious, I know her enough to realize she's embarrassed about something. “A photo of the barn… is that how Terr-ee knew about the, what did he call it, extension?”

“Yeah,” she says, eyes cutting away. “It’s online now.”

“It doesn’t seem prudent to post something that needs to be hidden,” I point out.

“I didn’t think Terry Fassbender the developer would see it. And Ellen needs this business to work, I have to rev up some interest.”

The comments keep pinging on that image. “Well, I suppose it’s worked. I didn’t know a barn was referred to as ‘he,’ though.”

Now her freckles nearly vanish as her cheeks flame red. “They, uh, aren’t referring to the barn.”

She passes me her device, and behind the cracked screen I see…

Me.

My scales are colored an unnatural yellow as they are now, with harder lines I know are drawn over the top, but it’s me. She’s changed me to be more human, hiding my true nature, but also putting me on display.

“Thousands of comments,” I repeat her words from earlier.

“Y… yeah.”

“You used my image.”

She studies me with her usual searching gaze, but now I feel exposed underneath it. She's searching for a reaction from me. “How… how does that make you feel?” she asks, breath halting.

I grip the edge of the countertop, fingernails biting into the soft wood. My scales shimmer from green to a violent copper-red before I force them still again.

Arra-bellah flinches back. Is she nervous because she fears my reaction?

She still went ahead with it.

My tongue presses hard against the roof of my mouth to stop the words from spilling—accusations, heartbreak, disbelief. I stare at the battered kettle steaming on the hob like it's a threat, its whistle matching the pitch rising in my chest.

She made me look more human. She changed me into something different. I think of the painting she made of me, and back to this distorted image. Which way does she really want me to be?

The cold demeanor of a Selthiastock rescues me at last, cutting me off from my complicated feelings. I note, “You used me.” A simple statement of fact.

“Used you? I didn't mean… I… I edited the photo so you’d all stay hidden, I thought it’d generate a little more interest than my usual photos because, well, sex sells. I didn’t think it’d blow up. But your identity is safe, I made sure of that.”

“Why risk it?”

“Because Ellen needs the bed and breakfast to work. So many people are going to book in when Ellen opens the doors.” The look she gives me begs me to speak, to answer her.

Likely she wants me to respond that I’m pleased to serve, that she can use me as she sees fit.

That she can display me for all these human females to clamor over.

I brace both hands against the kitchen table, head bowed, jaw tight, breathing in the scent of cinnamon overlaid with rich paint—Arra-bellah’s scent—and wonder how I missed the truth.

They're all the same, the whole galaxy over.

But I've changed.

“I would say I can't believe you did that, but I can,” I tell her. Cold. Clinical. “I'm registering my protest, for what good it'll do me now.”

“Okay,” she says, small and scared and clinging on to the edge of the work surface as if it’s stopping her from falling.

Part of me wants to reassure her, to say it'll be alright, that I'll fix it, or I don't care. But I do.

At least she helped me see these humans for what they are.

They don't hold the same ideals as Oloria, so she won't order me killed, and I'm confident she won't hold her authorities as a threat to secure my compliance.

I'm finally free to tell one of them ‘No’ and not fear the repercussions.

I only wish I'd seen how they still use clones sooner.

“Gara, I'm sorry, I should have asked you?—”

“It's done. And so are we. ”

“D…done?” Arra-bellah’s hands reach for my head. “Gara, no, I'm sorry?—”

I step back out of her reach with curt speed. “Don't touch me.”

She halts, quivering as if caught between her own wants and mine.

Mine win and she desists, arms falling to her sides.

And now I can leave, only a small instinct screaming at me to comfort her.

One I ruthlessly excise.