Page 27 of Invasive Species (Outcasts of Oloria #2)
NINETEEN
ARABELLA
I stare after Gara’s stiff retreating back.
The ticking of the clock in Ellen's empty kitchen sounds incredibly loud, joined by the vibration of my phone as more followers join, thirsting over ‘the hot builder.’ I delete the post immediately, shoving it into my digital dustbin and pressing purge, but it doesn’t help the bile building in my stomach.
Not twenty minutes after finally getting Gara to open up, not to mention the most mind-blowing sex I've ever had fulfilling all my wildest naughty knotting fantasies, and I've already ruined it.
The trust between us may as well lie shattered like a dropped glass on the floor; I didn't mean to fumble it, but the consequences are the same.
Tears blur the image of Gara crunching down the track, straight-backed and stiff. I should have asked his permission. There’s no other way to approach it. I did use him.
My stomach twinges, rebelling against the idea of Gara breaking off whatever we have. The guy has rearranged my insides with his cock, and… maybe more than that.
I told him I want to take it slow, but that was a lie. I'm falling hard. Too hard. I can’t stop it. And I hate it .
It’s like I have to protect him from me—from my intensity—or I’ll ruin everything before it even starts.
There’s so much more to learn about Gara, so many layers he hides behind that guarded exterior.
He’d cracked open for me while he was beneath me, voice low and tentative, telling me about his upbringing—at least part of it.
But then we were interrupted, and then my fuck up came to light.
His silence was a type of rejection, hiding what he feels with me instead of being bold enough to claim a kiss, and now it echoes louder with each passing minute.
I can't rush into this; it’d be like a redheaded bull storming through the fragile china shop of Gara's trauma and innocence.
If I'm not careful, I'll smash everything.
And maybe I already have.
My legs tremble as I make my way back to the second canvas, the one I’d started with him.
I barely have the strength to face it. But I do, and my breath catches.
I’d sketched him in that moment of vulnerability, when he’d bared himself, naked, lying under me.
And… happy. His eyes were bright, his face relaxed.
But the way he’d looked at me in the kitchen just now… I can see it, that haunted flash in his eyes snatching away that happiness.
Betrayal.
My heart sinks. I've left him troubled. It’s what I do. It’s what I always do.
A familiar, deep ache gnaws at my stomach, but this isn’t period cramps. This is dread, regret, everything inside me twisting and knotting itself into one overwhelming mess. How much time has passed? Long enough that when I glance outside, the sky is streaked in red. Sunset already?
Gara hasn’t come back. The silence of the house feels heavier, like the weight of a decision I can’t undo.
I know I should leave him alone—give him space—but every fiber of my being screams at me to find him, to fix this.
To tell him I’m an idiot, that I didn’t mean to use him, and to beg him to trust me enough to open up again.
But even I know that’s a terrible idea.
The urge to run to him claws at me as I head outside, pulling on my boots with more force than needed. The chickens are quiet tonight, shuffling into the hen house when I scatter the seed, but my mind is far from them. All I can think about is him. But Old Mae’s missing, and she’s hard to miss.
I glance around, frowning. Normally the thigh-high chicken-raptor hybrid would be clucking around the yard like she owns the place, especially now that Floss is off with Ellen.
A tight knot forms in my chest as I think about my best friend, about how much she trusted me to handle things while she’s gone. She believed in me.
I won’t let her down. I won’t be the disaster I fear I am.
“Mae!” I call out, the sound bouncing off the house walls and disappearing into the wind. But there's no response. No flash of feathers, no angry squawk. The yard feels too empty. Too quiet.
And I can’t shake the feeling that something’s gone terribly wrong.
Cloying fear wraps around me like the chill evening wind as I remember Fassbender was here. Did he see her? Did he do something to Old Mae?
I tear into the house and fish Fassbender’s thick, gold embossed business card out of the trash, and dial his number with shaking fingers.
He answers after three rings. “Hello, Terry here.”
“It's Arabella, the artist at the Smith farm,” I blurt, breathless. “Have you seen a purple chicken?”
A sharp intake of breath tells me he has. “It chased my car up the drive. ”
Of course she would, brave thing. “Where did she turn around to come back?”
“She? That thing is a monstrosity.”
“She… she's an art project too,” I lie desperately. “Wearing cruelty free prosthetics.”
“I… see.” His tone drips disbelief.
I close my eyes tight. I have to keep this place from falling apart. “Please tell me where you saw her last.”
“Well, I pulled in to make a call and the damn thing strutted in front of me. I considered using my horn, but that would have scared the sheep, so instead I continued forward.”
“What? You herded her up the driveway? How far?” Not the road, please not the road…
“To the road. She turned left and I was heading that way, and she must have gone half a mile before she ducked into a hedgerow. She made a huge tear in it with her claws.”
He chased Mae half a mile down the road. Can she find her way back? My chest tightens, and my vision blurs with tears. I’ve failed. Again.
I have to find Old Mae. Before a fox gets her—or she wanders onto the road—or someone steals her or she just vanishes forever and it’ll be my fault.
I launch across the fields, legs burning, brain sparking off in a thousand directions. Where’s half a mile from the barn? Is that near the lower paddock? Or past the old stile? Crap. Think. Focus. Why is everything in my head so loud and slippery?
I hit the swimming lake at a run, breath sawing in and out, already soaked from the knees down. My trainers squish, every step sticking like the ground wants to swallow me whole. I should’ve worn boots. I should’ve brought a torch. I should’ve made a list, or—no—no time. No time.
Mae. Find Mae .
And keep the farm going. And fix the mess with the planning app. And Gara—Gara.
Gara said we’re done. “It's done. And so are we,” he said. Flat. Final. Like it cost him nothing.
It wasn’t nothing to me.
My thoughts spiral so fast I can’t catch a single one. Just broken shards: his voice, the way he flinched when I touched him, the barn model, the guilt, Ellen’s quiet faith in me, even Mae’s terrifying glares. I have to go back and fix it all. I have to. I have to.
I'm not useless.
The sky presses in, dark descending fast. My feet slide, ankles twisting in the mud, but I keep moving, chasing shapes that might be a sheep or might be shadows or might be nothing.
That hedgerow—is that the edge of Ellen’s land?
Or the neighbor’s? I should know this. I used to know this.
Why can’t I remember anything useful when I need it?
My brain keeps firing off. Jacket, forgot a jacket. Forgot to leave a note. What happens if I do find her? Do I carry her? Herd her? What if she runs again? What if I can’t?—
There's a small outcropping of rocks ahead. Ellen and I used to pretend they were a dragon’s cave.
My heart lurches. I want that safety again, that escape.
But I don’t even know the way anymore. I always let Ellen lead.
She was good at that. I was just the noisy, chaotic sidekick with big dreams and no follow-through.
Rain slices sideways now, needles across my cheeks. My teeth chatter. My chest tightens like there’s a band cinching tighter and tighter around my ribs. I can’t breathe right. I can’t stop thinking, can’t stop feeling.
Mae’s lost. The farm’s a mess. Ellen trusted me. Gara—Gara gave me his first and I wrecked it. He opened up to me and I shoved chaos in his face. Of course he ended it.
The world keeps spinning and I can’t catch up. My hands grab at my hair, twisting hard, trying to yank the noise out of my head.
I don’t know how normal people do this. I don’t know how to hold onto anything good. I shouldn't keep trying, it's all useless. My endurance is pure delusion, I'll never change. I will always mess things up.
“Why can’t I just—why can’t I—why am I like this?” I scream into the storm, hot tears sliding down my frozen cheeks.
Only rain answers me, surrounding me in my own island.
And then— a hiss.
Low. Sinister. Among the rocks.
My pulse hammering so hard I feel it to my fingertips. I blink the rain from my eyes and edge closer to the rocks.
The hissing intensifies, echoing around me. My mind flashes to Mae—her beady little velociraptor eyes, her talons that seem a little too sharp. Is she about to go full prehistoric on me?
My heart lurches in my chest. I turn, shoes sliding on slick stone, and my foot slips out from under me. Cold, hard rock rushes toward me.
I’m falling, and I can’t stop it.