Page 51 of Invasive Species (Outcasts of Oloria #2)
THIRTY-FIVE
ARABELLA
When I wake up, Gara’s gone.
I'm still on the balcony, bright sunlight overhead and a thin silver blanket that somehow manages to be toasty warm tucked around me. The room is empty, the Aurora Borealis lights skimming over the ceiling in their calming way.
But I can't be calm. Where the fuck is Gara? Fear strangles me as hard as the bloody police clone gripped Gara’s throat yesterday. He's been taken away; he might even now be on his way to a trial or worse.
The warm bubble of our mate connection expands in my chest, like it's trying to hug me from the inside out, and I know everything is going to be okay. Still, I want to see him.
I gather up the silver sheet, wrap it around me like a towel, grab Ellen’s translating headphones, and stomp off to find him. At least I feel miles better, night and day different, and totally ready to kick alien ass when I find whoever’s taken Gara.
It's like a game of hot and cold in my chest, the bubble getting warmer in one direction and colder in the other. Bark and wood seem to share space with clinical metal, and I navigate my way through the empty corridors.
My heart leads me to a closed door. I hammer at it. “Oi. Let me in, right the fuck now!”
The door melts, turning into thousands of cubes and reforming into an archway.
A flurry of voices comes from lots of women conversing, all in flowing robes of red, some bright like fire and others dark as dried blood.
They're gathered around, talking excitedly and showing each other flat panels like ebooks.
The All-Mother approaches me. “Ah, Arra-bellah, welcome.”
“Where is he?” I storm inside through the crowd and am immediately confronted with a row of Garas behind shadowy glass.
All of them are gathered in a big room like an empty warehouse.
They’re able to move at least, although none of them look our way, their scales a mix of muddy browns and cautious grays and jaws tight with tension.
Scanning them quickly, I find my Gara: something about the way he holds his head, the slope of his shoulders, how he glances covertly at the glass.
I know him like I know myself, and I know he's both worrying about me and wondering if he can stick the finger to these ladies and get away with it. He has to hide himself when he’s here, and it breaks my heart to see his scales so dim.
I run to the window and bang on it, but it's like the clones can't hear me, none of them so much as glancing my way. But Gara’s head jerks around, like he just heard his name.
“As you can see, he's fine,” Shara says, coming up next to me.
“Let me in there.”
“Of course.” Shara gestures to the left where a few more females gather, chattering so excitedly my headphones only catch one in ten words: “Selthia” is repeated a lot, as is “life- changing.” They don't look at me as I pass them, as if seeing a human is old news by now and studying Gara has them hooked.
Shara smiles down at me. “As you can see, the finding has caused quite the stir. Selthia’s Oasis has already been inundated with requests for mates as news travels about the healing power of a bond with a Selthiastock.” She seems smug about that.
“Great,” I mutter, looking for a way into the viewing area to get Gara. “They'll be used and abused again.”
“Actually, no. The findings so far indicate that a Selthiastock cannot bond under duress or distress, that is, he cannot be forced to.
It's led to some outrage, I'll admit, from…
certain quarters, but we've also had an interesting proposal come in. A female has requested a Selthiastock for a, well, I think you humans call it a ‘date.’”
That has to be good. I think of Ezla and how kind and diligent he’s been. He'd make a great mate for someone, especially if she made sure he was happy too.
Shara pulls to a stop where there are no other women goggling at the guys inside the viewing area. “Selthia really did surprise me with this one.”
“Who's that, and what has she got to do with me getting in to see Gara?” I know I'm being rude, but that doesn't stop me.
“Selthia was one of the greatest minds of Oloria.
After our population crash, I suggested my solution: to create artificial males from my eggs.
I came to each of the powerful females of our world to convince them, and part of my gift to Oloria was basing clones on these inspirational figures.
Gerver was adventurous and a natural leader; Parthia was strong and obsessed with the law; Prana was a skilled pilot.
“Now, I'm a keen geneticist, but Selthia was something else entirely, so I allowed her to set the template for her own clone type. Selthiastocks have always been good at learning and analyzing, keeping calm under any kind of pressure, but I must admit I had expected more from my best friend.” She gestures to the wall, and it turns into cubes just like the first door, twisting out of my way.
“And here it is. Thank you for awakening his secrets, and for showing us.”
She reaches for me, but I shrug off her touch and set off running into the viewing area, back to where the clones mill.
When I get halfway, he frowns, touching his chest, looking back and forth at the long windows with a frantic fervor. What’s he looking for?
He lifts his head with a jerk and spins to face me. He bolts toward me, and we collide in a tangle of limbs and tears.
Mostly my tears. “You're okay. I was so worried!”
“Arra-bellah,” he soothes, tucking my hair behind my ear. He smells like cinnamon sprinkled on hot porridge. “How did you know which one was me?”
“Easy, the one who looks like you.”
He chuckles at that. “I'm sorry I had to leave you, but you slept for so long, the females were too impatient to wait anymore. I felt you wake up, especially the searing surge of anger through the bond.” Pressing a hand to his chest, he kisses my forehead.
Over his shoulders the Selthiastocks all stare in fascination, some of them starting to smile.
Ezla breaks away from the group and approaches. “It’s good to see you up and running, female,” he greets me, not looking me in the eyes.
I duck lower to meet his gaze, grinning to show it's okay. “Thank you so much for all your care and hard work.”
“In the end, I did nothing. Your mate was the one who healed you.” He puts his arms behind his back, blue eyes warm. “I must say I'm looking forward to having my own mate, and excited that several requests have come through already.”
“Well, make them work for you. You're a real catch,” I tell him, giving him a hug. He’s kind of like Gara's older brother in a way, and how the two guys look at each other with fondness reflects that. I wanted to paint them both, so similar and yet completely different.
Linking arms with Gara, I lead him to the exit. “So, am I all better now?”
He takes my chin, guiding my face toward his and hunkering down a little to compensate for how short I am. The gentle touch of his lips on mine sends a zing straight to my core, and I go on tiptoes to deepen it, clinging onto his shoulders as his arms circle around me, holding me close.
He pulls back first. “Yes, you don't have an exacerbated immune response anymore. I'd say you're better.”
“Well, that's a bit of a shame,” I say. His brow furrows, and I walk my fingers up his biceps. “I was hoping for… more treatment?”
His small smile spreads on his handsome face, scales flickering to a deep, lush green with neon in the joins between them. “Treatment can be administered at any time, love.”
Taking his hand, I spin out of his arms like we're ballroom dancing. He rolls with it, his smile genuine rather than merely tolerant.
As we leave the others behind, I squeeze his hand. “I'm sorry your bodies are designed to heal others. That must be… hard.”
To my surprise, he shakes his head. “No, don't be sorry, I love it, and so will the other Selthiastocks.
It makes them powerful in a world that uses and discards them, and I love having a purpose I'm happy with.
Just like in the Planet of the Pirate Prince, I'm truly made for you, and humans like that. Right? ”
“Uh, I suppose they do, in books.” I bring him to a stop, putting my hand over his hearts. “But for the record, I love you. Not a storybook alien, okay? So just be yourself.”
He kisses me deeply then, drugging me with intoxicating pleasure. This is pure Gara, learning what I like and doing it, adapting and experimenting, and I love it. Him. The glow in my chest expands, and it's definitely a happy green.
Again he breaks off first, voice rough and husky. “Having said that, I recall book 8 of Planet of the Pirate Prince being particularly anatomically unlikely. Care to help me test it?”
“Ooh, I love science,” I say, throwing my arms around him.