Page 47 of Invasive Species (Outcasts of Oloria #2)
THIRTY-THREE
ARABELLA
As soon as Gara leaves, I faint, fading away into the jello bed as if my consciousness is tethered to his and has to leave with him.
I dream he’s falling, falling, and then hiding in the dark before a cold plunge swallows him whole.
But I love cold water, I love how it makes me feel connected with myself and brings me out of my prickly skin and into a cool, calm, hyper focused place, kind of how I imagine neurotypicals to be.
“Wake up.” A feminine voice speaking English.
“Nag ydw,” I reply negatively in Welsh. Even though I know it's not my Mam, the tone is definitely mum-like, and I’m not ready to get up yet.
I must have pulled another all-nighter when the muse struck, and I bet if I manage to crack open my eyes I’ll see another glorious painting of Gara, because he’s all I can think about?—
I force my eyes open, heart leaping out of my chest. “Gara!” I shout, or try to, orange slippery liquid sliding into my mouth.
Coughing, I flail to get myself upright, my weak muscles not only protesting but failing, making me slide back down again and again. It’s not funny, it’s terrifying. What if I drown in this stuff?
A strong hand lifts my shoulders up and supports my head to flop over the side of the bed.
“There, there,” she soothes, tone as melodic as my mother’s Welsh, as if she’s going up and down the hills and valleys. She eases me to a seated position, but I can hardly move my legs into a tailor’s seat, and my head swims when I try. Shit, this isn’t good at all.
The silver scaled woman wearing toga layers is back. She hands me a glass with a straw, but I can barely put my lips to it, so she guides it in for me, gray eyes flashing with concern. “This won’t do at all. Where is your Selthiastock?”
My throat already burns from choking on day-glow orange goo, but it triples when I think how Gara was treated.
“Chased out. Police,” I grate out between sips. I’m too tired to cry. When Gara was nearby I had some vim and vigor, some pep in my… something. Step. That’s it. But now if I close my eyes, I fear I might not open them again.
She smooths my hair back from my face. It’s tangled something chronic, just like whatever is slowly killing me. I don’t want to let it win, but I might not be able to fight the invasion much longer.
“Prif Samara has a lot to answer for,” the silver woman says softly.
I don’t know who that is, and I’m struggling to remember what this lady’s name is.
Sara? The only thing I know for sure is she’s this All-Mother, Gara’s biological parent but nothing like a real Mam.
She sent him off as an experiment, and her thousands of children live under strict dogmatic rule.
She’s a monster, even though she smiles sweetly enough in the face of my glare.
Shara—that’s her name!—pats me on the head. “It’ll be over soon,” she soothes, the basket-case .
That doesn’t settle me at all, fuck.
The door slides open and I half expect another pack of those muscle-bound purple aliens trooping in. Instead, a flash of green stumbles to a halt, staring openly at the All-Mother standing next to my bed.
It’s Gara, sweat trickling down his scales as if he sprinted all the way up the tree to reach me. My breathing quickens, already feeling my limbs tingling with fresh energy. We are definitely connected, my lungs filling with pure air at the same time as his chest heaves.
“Ah, right on time,” Shara says, standing. “I’ll leave you to your… work, Selthiastock.”
She glides out with a smug smile, and as soon as the door closes, I focus on Gara.
“Gara,” I croak, reaching for him. Please don’t let him reject me again, I can’t stand it. If I’m really going to die soon, I want to spend every second I can banded in his arms, breathing in his eucalyptus scent and hearing the rumble of his voice as he reads to me.
It seems we really are connected in wavelength as well, because Gara strides over, takes my face in his hands, and kisses me deeply.
The urgency of it, like I’m his oxygen sucked in between gasping breaths, shocks me still for a moment, and then my hands rove all over him, clutching at him to get a purchase on the bumps of his scales.
“Gara,” I cry into his mouth, and he wraps me in his arms.
He lifts me clear out of the sticky bed and runs to the balcony, where clean fresh air blows across the greenery ruffling my curls.
A bed of soft moss I never noticed before lies in the shade, a foothold where nature rules, the tree swallowing the metal.
Gara gets to his knees and places me down on it, groping at the floor with one hand.
“Where is it…” he mutters, green eyes intent on the circuits sparkling underneath us. He’s so focused, sharp and dr iven when he’s like this, and I yearn to have him turn his attention back to me.
“Aha.” He tugs and a small portion of the circuit boards lift, revealing a steaming clear pool underneath.
Oh, to be clean. “Thank you,” I whisper as he picks me up again and lowers us both into the warm water. My gown soaks through immediately, clinging to my body, too heavy for me to do anything about.
Gara gently tips my head backwards, and the water laps in a soothing massage around my temples.
I cling to him, literally the only thing keeping me alive; if I sink under here, I don’t have the strength to rise. Tears roll across my temples. He’s back with me, despite all the dangers he faces here.
“You have to leave,” I beg. I’ll die if he dies.
I used to think that sentiment was horribly twisted despite being pushed as the embodiment of true love, but we’re entwined together on a level that surpasses the biological, even takes a step toward the divine.
My soul soars, the same way it flies when I paint.
He’s part of me and I can’t bear the thought of losing him. “I love you. Go.”
His sharp intake of breath pulses with surprise, echoing in the bubble inside my chest.
“I love you too, Arra-bellah,” Gara replies, serious and matter of fact.
Like it’s evident. And it is, in each decision he's made, sacrificing himself to get me to Oloria and risking his life in every close encounter since.
He shines with it, scales glowing his bright happy green, filling my vision as he presses his lips to mine in a chaste kiss.
I grip his arms tightly, greedy to make this moment last as long as it can.
He pulls back and I catch the sob in my throat.
I know I have to let him go before he gets caught, but I selfishly burrow into his arms as he lifts me from the pool.
He lays me on the moss and I think this is it, he's going to run, and I capture the mental image of how he looks at me like I’m going to paint him later: his face heartbreakingly open and honest, love written plainly in his eyes.
He gently peels the wet robes from me. The breeze is warm but goosebumps still travel up my skin in a prickly wave, and he hunkers lower to protect me from the wind.
Warmth rolls from him as he heats himself, and he strips me with hot hands.
His eyes never leave mine, then, as if rationing himself, his gaze slowly drops to my bared breasts and stomach as he gently unwraps the last of the sheer layers from my shoulders.
He puts an arm behind my back and lifts me enough to get the soaked robe out from under me, leaving me lying naked. He clears his throat. “My prize. Long have I fought for the right to claim you?—”
I take his hand, or try to, fingers fumbling over his worn knuckles. “It's okay, Gara. I like the role play, it's exciting, but… right now, I just want to be with you.”
If I thought his need was burning before, it's an inferno now. “Me?” he checks, voice husky.
“Yes, you. I want you, Gara.”
I thought he'd deny us again, spouting off about being the cause of my illness, but instead his neon green eyes go even more radioactive. My chest aches, my heart pushing to get free of this weak body and go with him.
A cough rips out of me, but I don’t have enough energy to properly cough it out. I splutter and hack, every lung spasm like scraping against needles. I cling on to his hand, his scales slipping under my weak grip.
Gara holds me through it, eyes grave. “We’re running out of time.”
“Yeah. Well.” Slowly, I let him go. “Now then. Off you trot.” Don’t cry. Don’t.
But instead of laying me down, he pulls me close. “Arra-bellah, we need to… make love.”
Did I hear that right? “Pardon?”
In answer, he presses his lips to mine, parting them with his tongue. He inhales as if he’s breathing me in, mouth melding over mine, sweeping, dancing.
Holy shit, yes, this is everything I want. I kiss him back, slowly at first. Need flickers to life inside me. Yes. This is right. Gara won't hurt me, his body won't hurt me, it can't.
He fists his hand deeper in my hair, pulling me even closer so we share the superheated oxygen of each other’s panting breaths, his mint and fresh and zinging through me. A surge of strength tingles through me, radiating from where he touches me.
He breaks off, fingers stroking through my tangled wet locks. “You need my knot, yes, but with so much to do and so little time left, I… I don’t know where to start.”
I grin at him, my cheeks aching with even that small effort. “It’s okay, let’s make a list.”
“Oh, Arra-bellah.” He kisses me again, hands roving over my body, scales flickering verdant greens and ochre reds.
When he pulls back, his eyes sharp, assessing.
“First, I need to relax you, make you pliant in my arms.” His head tilts, looking me critically in the eyes. “Two orgasms ought to do it.”
I laugh, or try to, the chuckle more of a cough.
His lips twitch. “Second, I’ll enter you with my forecock to prepare you for my knotting cock. Its girth will ease you open further, and I’ll aim for a third orgasm to make sure.”
Nodding is all I can do, smiling so he knows I’m totally on board with this checklist.