Page 50 of Invasive Species (Outcasts of Oloria #2)

THIRTY-FOUR

GARA

Grabbing Arra-bellah, I spin us around so my body shields her and ease her down on the cushioned moss. A growl rips from me at the intrusion while we're so vulnerable, but it’s cut off when the Parthiastock wraps his fist around my throat.

No! I claw at his immovable hand. If I’m killed while I'm inside her, my knotting juice won't heal Arra-bellah but be back to hurting her, her immune system correctly identifying me as alien and attacking. She'll die.

My little firecracker underneath me lets out a blood-curdling yell, slashing her fingers at the Parthiastock. The iron scent of blood fills the air as her nails tear on his diamond hard scales, and his eyes widen at the female attacking him.

He lets go immediately, backing away, and I suck in several life-giving breaths, my nanites leaping into action to ease my aching neck muscles .

The door slides open to more Parthiastocks, and I cover Arra-bellah's nudity with my own body. I need to protect and defend her, but, as I just learned, I defeat diseases, not law keepers.

By finishing the knot, then the flickering mate bond between us will solidify.

I can feel it, a spark in my chest, a pulse between each of my heartbeats.

Her pulse. I’d never dreamed of such a thing existing, and now it does, I want to protect it with everything I am, but if—when—I die, she’ll feel it.

I have to decide. Let the mate bond form and allow the knotting to finish and cure her, or have them kill me now to spare her the pain.

I choose.

“I have to finish this, or she dies,” I tell them loudly in Olorian. “Euthanize me once the knot releases.” And in the meanwhile, I’ll do everything I can to resist forming a bond with her.

But it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done. My sunshine wraps her legs around me, scared yet throwing her arms around my shoulders and neck as if to protect me.

“Don't you dare hurt him,” she shouts at the looming Parthiastocks. “I'm in charge here, me, and I say leave us alone!”

“ You're in charge?” an arch voice says in Earth speak.

The Parthiastocks part and each get to their knees, bowing their heads in the radiance of a beautiful older female with golden shimmering scales. The Prif, Samara, the leader of the females and therefore the planet of Oloria.

I avert my gaze but only because I don't want to annoy the most powerful woman on the planet. Drok na , but this just got a million times worse.

The Prif’s blood red lips part in a smile that only serves to bare her pointed teeth. “The clone was duly sentenced to death,” she says in Olorian. “Why is he still alive?”

“Most honorable Prif,” the Parthiastock who landed on us begins. “He is knotted to her.”

She glances at our entwined bodies, eyes narrowing. “I wonder if the knot will deflate immediately at the moment of his death, or take some time.” Flicking her hand at the closest Parthiastock, who scrambles up, she orders, “Bring me a chair, I tire of standing, and then break his neck.”

Despite her words, her tone isn’t personal. She’s so detached that my life is merely a mildly interesting scientific phenomenon—and clearly, so is my death.

“Yes, Prif,” the Parthiastock intones, no doubt silently signaling his wave brother, for another Parthiastock looms behind me, the shadow of his grasping fingers crawling over the peaceful plants arrayed around our lovemaking. He's ready to end my life.

But I can’t let them kill me, not yet.

With a dry mouth, I begin in Olorian, “Prif Samara, I have to finish knotting this human to cure her, but I… I have a nascent mate bond with her. Please, I beg you, after my execution give her the best support and care?—”

“A bond? With a clone?” Her lips curl like wood substrate in a fire with the heat of her disgust. “There’s no such thing. Get rid of him,” she orders.

Time is short and I want to press myself close to my sunshine one last time, but if I let the bond form, she might feel pain when I die. I arrange my legs either side of hers, bracing my body; all I can do now is hope my corpse doesn't crush her and she gets the care she needs from Ezla.

Arra-bellah struggles underneath me, no doubt spotting the Parthiastock bending to grasp my neck in his unyielding hands. Her arms spasm tighter around my shoulders as she begs, “I love him, wait, don't hurt him, please, wait! ”

Seeing her shining eyes, overfilling with grief, shatters what’s left of my hearts. In my momentary weakness, light as bright as the golden sun surges into my chest, filling all the cracks in my hearts and making me whole.

“I love you,” I whisper. “I’m sorry I failed you.”

Her wild eyes find mine but it’s too late, the Parthiastock’s palms touch my jaw, he’s going to rip my head to the side and hyperextend my cervical spine, snapping it. Will my consciousness flee at the same time? Even if it’s agonizing, I want to stay in her light for as long as I can.

A new voice orders, “Halt.”

I stare into Arra-bellah's tear streaked face, knowing this is only a short reprieve, but in the corner of my eye, silver glimmers.

The All-Mother, Shara, stands in the doorway, her scales pink as if she’s been exerting herself.

Behind her is Ezla, hands limp at his sides in relaxation but his nostrils flaring as he scents the room.

Finally, strutting in comes Mae, purple crest flaring.

She gives a rattling hiss and plants herself next to Arra-bellah, claws clicking on the polished floor.

The All-Mother sweeps in. “Why are we intruding on our guest and patient in such an… intimate moment?” she asks Prif Samara.

Samara’s eyes flick over Shara's. The power balance between the two is a knife edge: the All-Mother gave her natural eggs to be developed into the Tubers, a series of specialized clones, and was given recognition and power among females because of that. Meanwhile, Prif Samara is the elected official chosen by the females to lead them. Samara’s word is law, but Shara’s sacrifice also holds sway with the females.

And, to some extent, with the Tubers. Even now I can see the Parthiastocks subtly shifting their lowered heads to snatch a glimpse of the being who is theoretically their mother.

As for me, I know this woman is supposed to mean something to me according to the rest of the galaxy, but she's always been a distant, faceless figure.

I remember the mother who raised me with a pain now dulled by Arra-bellah's bright, loving acceptance of me, and, at the end of my life, I know that’s enough for me.

“Shara,” the Prif grates between her teeth. “I'm taking care of an issue of national security.”

“And I'm taking care of my guest and, also, all of female kind, Samara,” Shara explains evenly. She gestures to Ezla. “New research has been brought to my attention about Selthia’s stock of clones. You recall how fond Selthia was of surprises?”

I still, wrapping Arra-bellah beneath me. I know nothing of the origin of my Tuber class name.

“Yes,” Samara replies, her voice low.

“She was the greatest healer we had, able to determine what ailed a patient within a few heartbeats of meeting them.” Shara walks toward Arra-bellah's bed to sit on the edge, sinking into the Milagrove nutrient bed slightly.

“She was also an accomplished prankster, delighting in shocking everyone.” Shara chuckles. “Why, I remember when she?—”

“Your point being?” Samara demands, tapping her sharp nails on the back of a Parthiastock's head. He jerks with every rap.

“My point being that she left us the best surprise of all.” Shara beams warmly at me. “There's evidence that the clones named after her heal not just through their skills, but through their bodies as well.”

“Hm,” Samara grumbles. “Cut him up, let me see.”

The hands either side of my face fall back, no doubt to get a weapon. Mae opens her beak for another blood curdling death rattle, startling the Parthiastocks in the room, and Arra-bellah gives her a thankful look .

“No, no, no,” Shara says, still smiling. “l wasn't clear: not their body parts, their bodies. They adapt and react to disease, and clearly the Selthiastock needs to be alive to do so.”

“This is the first I've heard of it,” Samara sneers.

“Same for me,” Shara agrees. “I've shared the hypothesis far and wide, and scientists are gathering as we speak to examine the test case. Now, we should give them some privacy while the Selthiastock completes the knot.”

Samara glowers at me, and I hunker lower to block her view of Arra-bellah, not just because I want to protect my mate, but because no doubt my fiery little lover is glaring enough for Samara to call death down on me anyway. Mae paces in front, flicking her wings and staring down the Prif.

I slide my gaze to the All-Mother. Although she seems to be helping, she still referred to me as a thing rather than a person. Her silver eyes glitter in the shimmering lights dancing on the ceiling, and I swear she closes one eye in an Earth wink.

She leans in closer to the woman in gold.

“Just let this one stand as an experiment.

The human was on the verge of death according to machine taken test results; we shall take samples in half a cycle and see what's improved. This knowledge can save hundreds, maybe thousands. We might not have lost Katyen?—”

“Enough,” Samara says, voice low. She stands suddenly. “We will compare test results before and after. If there's no change, he’s mine, and he dies.”

Shara nods eagerly, and my hearts sink at her reaction; offering up my life means little to her. I don't know why it hurts, but it does.

“Call me when the results are in,” Samara snaps. “I know you’d hate for the order I impose to be compromised in any way, Shara. After all, that’s what keeps us all safe.”

Shara merely gives her enigmatic smile as Samara sweeps out, the Parthiastocks staying where they kneel .

“You can get up now, dismissed,” Shara tells them kindly.

“Thank you, All-Mother,” they say in unison, voices choked with fervent love. I'd curse them for fools, but they can't help their make up.

They file out in a perfect synchronized phalanx; I breathe easier when the one behind me is gone, but Arra-bellah’s eyes are still wide.

“What's happening?” she asks me, and I realize she hasn't understood anything of what was said in Olorian.

“The All-Mother announced my theory. They'll test it now, after the knotting is complete.” Quarter of a cycle, or half an Earth day, should be enough, let alone half a cycle. “Scientists are coming to verify the findings.”

“Meaning…?” She gulps. “Okay, I like a bit of exhibition as much as the next girl in a Planet of the Pirate Prince novel, but also not really. This is already too much.” She buries her beautiful face in my scales.

“I'm sorry, Arra-bellah?—”

Ezla clears his throat, and I tense automatically from surprise.

“I do not mean to disturb,” he says in English, not looking us in the eyes.

“The scientists are outside analyzing your results and eager to take fresh samples, but the All-Mother is with them tempering their excitement and keeping them occupied with previous readouts. She has also turned off the cameras in here, so you need not worry that you are being watched. I can bring fluids and nutrients if you desire.”

“Yes please,” Arra-bellah says, her voice muffled in my chest. “One of everything, I'm starving.”

“And you shall have it.” My chest swells with joy, and with it comes an echo of the link between us, our connection strengthening as my body heals and bonds to hers.

“Thank you, Ezla,” Arra-bellah says, heartfelt.

“Yes. I owe you… everything,” I admit.

“It is my pleasure.” Ezla leaves quickly, eyes averted, and Mae follows him, her head held high. At last, we’re back to the relative privacy of the balcony high up in the Milagrove tree.

“Is it over?” Arra-bellah whispers, still sheltering under my protection. Her trust in me is unmatched.

“Not yet. We will be left alone, it seems, and then after my knot deflates naturally you will likely undergo some tests. None will be invasive.” I don't tell her I'll likely be subjected to tests too, and these ones will most likely be akin to the excruciating extraction I undertook with Ezla.

“And what then?”

“I don't know, but either way, you’ll be cured and free to go.”

She glares up at me, eyes hot and hard, a flash of the fiery Arra-bellah I love. “What about you?”

“If this fails, the Prif will have me killed.”

Arra-bellah’s jaw drops. “She better not! I'll… I'll…” she splutters.

I gently stroke her cheek, now the perfect shade of pink, much like a promising sunrise on a clear Earth day. “It won't fail, Arra-bellah. I can already tell you're healthier and full of energy. Back to the female I met and fell in love with.”

Love. Such a simple yet complex concept, once laced with pain when I thought back to my mother, now made into molten joy by the woman in my arms.

She wriggles distractingly against the crushed moss, but its verdant scent can’t overpower her delicious cinnamon-sweet smell. “So, what else can we do here?” she asks.

“I have plenty of scenarios to experiment with from Planet of the Pirate Prince,” I reassure her.

“And we'll come up with some of our own too,” she says, with the flare of mischief in her eye which always means trouble for me.

Trouble I can't wait to have all to myself.