Page 46 of Invasive Species (Outcasts of Oloria #2)

THIRTY-TWO

GARA

The sob tearing from her throat sends all caution straight out of my brain. She needs me, she needs me, she needs me.

I have to cure her.

Her scent wraps around me like tight cords.

I seize her luscious, naked backside in my hands and lift her sex up from the edge of the nutrients.

I can imagine her being stretched by my cock, how I would widen her further and further with every push.

First my fore cock with its heavy scaled head, flaring inside her to the rhythm of our lovemaking, and when she’s limp and loose, my knotting cock.

It surges in my pants, growing, pulsing.

I need to get it inside her, I need her to surround me, I need to feel her walls straining to contain me, and for my knot to fill her to bursting, binding us together.

What am I thinking? Worse, what am I doing here, so close to her?

I drop her, backing away. “I’m sorry, Arra-bellah. Something’s… something’s wrong with me.”

“No, something’s right with you.” She reaches for me as her body sinks into the nutrient bed. “I need you. ”

“You’re overcome with… with the teasing, you’re overwrought, I shouldn’t have suggested?—”

“Gara, stop thinking,” she shouts. “Just feel.”

“Feeling won’t cure you,” I snap back. My treacherous body reacts to her presence. Breathing quickening. Heartrates accelerating. Cocks engorging, scales straining around my knotting cock in particular, swelling to one and a half times its erect size.

What is my body doing? I can’t be so overcome with my own need I ignore the high probability that the bond is hurting her.

But at the same time, my body demands I mate with her, here and now.

I take a step toward her, feet scraping on the floor. I'm going to fill her. I'm going to cure her. I'm going to?—

The door whooshes open, and Ezla crashes to the floor in a heap.

“You can’t be in here,” he protests, but he’s kicked aside by three Parthiastocks, their hulking frames blocking the doorway.

They’re the same ones from before—or maybe not—but that doesn’t matter.

What matters is the murder gleaming in their eyes as all three lock onto me.

I’m on my feet instantly, instinct pushing me to defend Arra-bellah, but her scream rips through the room: "Run!"

Her command echoes through my mind, and every nerve in my body fights the urge to obey. I can’t leave her. Not like this. Not when she's vulnerable. But if I stay, it’ll be over in seconds.

Cold logic takes over and I bolt for the balcony.

I leap over the edge, my fingers scrabbling for the rough bark of the Milagrove tree. The sharpness bites into my palms, but I dig my heels in, trying to slow my descent. I did not think this through, this is far too reckless, and I’ve never done anything this impulsive before .

My grip slips and I drop the last few feet, crashing onto the lower balcony, the impact knocking the air from my lungs. I’m winded, but at least I’m still alive.

Gasping, I glance up just in time to see the Parthiastocks following me in a more circumspect way. Their sharp claws sinking too deep into the bark slow them down. A small mercy, but I can't count on it lasting.

I stagger to my feet and sprint into the recuperation room below Arra-bellah’s, my footsteps pounding against the sensitive floor.

It lights up beneath me, mocking my attempt at stealth by broadcasting my every move to the hunters chasing me.

The room’s identical to Arra-bellah’s with sensory floors, dark orange Milanutrient bed, and nowhere to hide.

I could run for the corridor, but they’ll catch me as soon as they get down here.

The thud of a Parthiastock hitting the balcony sends my hearts into overdrive. He’s close.

I run my hands along the wall, searching for the hidden seam I know is there. My fingers tremble, slick with sweat, as I fumble for the edge. I steal a glance over my shoulder. The Parthiastock is rolling to his feet, shaking off the fall. His eyes lock on me, blazing with a predator's focus.

There—my fingers find the dip in the wall. I heave the panel open and hurl myself into the garbage chute just as the Parthiastock lunges. The panel seals shut behind me, plunging me into total darkness.

I’m falling—fast. My arms shoot out, palms scraping along the slick xylem walls of the tree, trying to slow my descent. The muscles in my shoulders scream in protest as I fight to control the drop.

The walls vanish, and I’m free-falling into nothingness. The shock slams my throat shut—I can’t scream, I can’t even breathe—and my arms flail, desperately searching for something to grab. But there’s nothing.

I hit the ground, thudding into something slimy that breaks my fall.

The smell hits me like a punch to the face—bitter, sour, sulfurous decay.

Gagging, I roll away, my hands sinking into the rotting muck beneath me.

Of course, the garbage chute. I’ve landed in the Milagrove's waste collection system, where refuse is left to decompose and feed the tree.

The putrid sludge clings to me as I push to my feet, wading through the mess. Every molecule of methane and rot assaults my finely-tuned senses from all angles. I gag, barely able to stand the stench, and slap a hand over my mouth, but it’s useless. There’s no escaping the foul air.

A loud grunt from above sends my pulse spiking. I whip my head around just in time to see a Parthiastock slam into the heap of rotting waste, landing half a length from me. They’ve followed me. And now they’re here, relentless and single-minded. They’re faster. Stronger. And I’m trapped.

But fear doesn’t cloud my mind—it sharpens it. My options are narrow, but clear. Hide or run. If I bury myself under the garbage, maybe the stench will mask my scent. But they’ll search, and they’ll find me. I can explore this place for an escape route as long as they don't see me.

A loud scraping sound vibrates through the putrid puddles around me.

Light cuts through the darkness, strobing across the waste-filled chamber.

Three Lautustocks—cleaner clones, obsessed with order and sanitation—enter through a door, pushing a cart piled high with decaying food and refuse.

The smell of Milapaste hangs heavy in the air.

This is my chance. I crawl through the filth, edging around the pile as quietly as possible. As they dump their load, I bolt for the door. A shout echoes behind me, but I don’t stop. I can’t.

I burst out onto the walkway, my legs pounding against the narrow bridge surrounding the Milagrove’s trunk.

The platform sways precariously beneath me, barely stable enough to support the weight of the clones who use it.

Below, water churns, foaming at the roots of the great tree.

The dorms rise in the distance, windowless and gray, but they're a dead end.

If I keep running, the Parthiastocks will catch me, but if I stop, I'm as good as dead.

Analyzing my options, I choose.

With a deep breath, I leap over the railing and into the water below. I submerge, scales darkening to match the murky brown depths, and cling onto the foundation pole of the walkway to hold myself under.

Voices shout from above, muffled under the water, and my hearts beat faster.

If they saw me jump, if they can track where my garbage scent stopped, if they guess, I'm caught.

But if I move, they'll see me for sure. Closing my eyes, I try to slow my heartbeats so I can last longer underwater, and I cannot help but recall with full force the last time I tried to hold my breath. Arra-bellah came back to rescue me, but she can’t now.

I need to rescue her.

My blood cools, adrenaline shifting to icy dread.

What have I done to her? I knew I was poison, and yet I still couldn’t stay away.

What came over me? It was as if I was hypnotized, losing my mind as soon as her scent hit me.

When I'd tasted her need in the air, I’d had no choice but to respond, but I know intellectually my essence might be what’s killing her.

Why didn’t my healer instincts protect her? Why did they drive me toward her?

Maybe I should let them catch me, let them end it here. I deserve it.

No. Arra-bellah needs me.

Through the faint pulse of the bond, I feel her fierce fire. She wouldn’t want me to give up, and if Ezla needs more from me to help her, I can’t die here. Not yet.

My lungs burn from lack of air. When I can't stand it any longer, I tip my lips up to breach the surface, sucking in an oxygen-giving breath. Nothing splashes into the water next to me, no cry goes up.

I wait several cycles of coming up for air and descending, and then I allow myself to lift my head out of the water for intel.

The walkway lies empty above, but there's commotion in the dorms, booming voices augmented by loudspeakers ordering all Selthiastocks to report for scanning. Did they really think I'd made it there? Regardless, nowhere is safe for me while they’re manually checking everyone who moves.

I have to leave Selthia’s Oasis entirely, but the mere idea makes pain flare in the center of my chest. I can’t leave her. Arra-bellah is the only one aside from Ilia who values me for myself. She’s never wanted me to change or be anything different. And she… she needs me.

Me? I’m the one hurting her. My body did something to her when we mated, and now it’s killing her.

Remembering how she flexed around my fingers on Earth, the little cry she made as she reached her peak, causes my mouth to water and my cocks to swell. My knotting cock burns as it rises despite the cold dirty water surrounding me, swelling so quickly I gasp from the pain.

My stomach turns. Why am I thinking of her coming on my fingers when she’s… she’s dying. My head should be full of data and solutions, but all I can think about is doing it again.

Gritting my teeth, I shove my hand in my pants and squeeze my knotting cock hard, hoping it will pop again and flood me with pain. Stupid, horrible, murderous thing! My fist barely makes it around the knot. It surges in my grasp, sides splitting and scales shearing with shards of pain.

What is going on?

When darkness falls the districts quieten, but I know better than to move yet.

I wrap my arms around the support beam and use my self-loathing as a burning brand to keep me awake.

A choking grip on my knotting cock floods me with enough adrenaline to stay alert for a time, but the ache of not knowing how she is and the distance from her wears away at me, blurring time.

I startle awake at a tick-tap-tap slowly getting louder on the walkway, turning into a familiar click-clack-clack above me.

“Mae?” I whisper incredulously.

The murder bird boks and then hisses, her claws scraping on the metal. Footsteps follow her, heavy and uneven. I sink back into the water.

“Shh,” says Ezla to Mae. “You'll bring the Parthiastocks upon us. Gara? Are you here?”

A dark outline peers over the edge of the walkway. I can see he's alone, but my gut twists with dread; he might be bugged or worse, forced to come find me.

“I’m here,” I say, bracing myself for Parthiastocks to pound up and drag me out, but nothing of the sort happens.

Ezla sags against the railing. “Thank the All-Mother, you're safe. Come up, I know of a Magirustock willing to smuggle you out of Selthia’s Oasis when he leaves tomorrow for a spice run.”

Tears sting my eyes. All I’ve brought Ezla is trouble, but still he helps me.

I clamber up the rivets on the support beam, legs wobbling from exhaustion, my scales providing barely enough light for me to see by. It's a wonder I haven't been caught given that I seem to be glowing.

When I get to the top, I hiss in surprise: Ezla’s scales are damaged, scraped and dented on his cheek and chin.

He looks away as I gently touch the abused area. “Why aren't your nanites healing this?”

“They are, this is much improved from before,” he admits quietly.

I cool my hand to act as an anti-inflammatory and hold it over his cheek as I turn his head this way and that. If this was a blow to the face, I need to make sure his neck muscles aren't strained or damaged either.

Fortunately, he has a good range of motion, and he knows what I'm doing, submitting meekly to my assessment.

Once I'm sure he hasn't taken lasting damage, I ask, “How’s Arra-bellah?”

“Our patient is worse than ever.” Each word strikes deep into my gut like a rain of blows. “I had to come out to find you?—”

“I should never have touched her. Drok na , I should have left her to you instead of pretending I was strong enough to?—”

Ezla grabs the back of my neck with uncharacteristic force, his eyes as hard and as blue as the unforgiving betrillium chains we were locked in for our exile.

He leans in close, and if he were a Parthiastock I’d assume he was about to snap his jaws in my jugular, but he stops a hand-span away from my mouth. My breathing quickens from the threat, thoughts calm and cool as always under life-or-death pressure, and it’s like I can think clearly once more.

He takes a big inhale, opening his mouth slightly so his sensitive Selthiastock tongue receptors can deepen the scents he’s picking up.

I stand there, frozen still, while he tastes my breath.

There’s only one reason he’d be doing that, following the same instincts as mine when I'd cooled my hands for my patient’s bruise, and the realization hits me like the rocket crash.

“It's you,” Ezla says in wonder.

And suddenly, being a Selthiastock is the best thing on this and any other planet.

I seize his arms. “I need to get to her. Now.”