Page 53 of Invasive Species (Outcasts of Oloria #2)

I’m nervous, even though I can’t show it. My hands are still steady, my heartbeats regular, but there's no denying that my stomach churns and my temperature keeps rising without consciously manipulating it; I have to lower it whenever I notice before I start sweating.

Ilia is also nervous, getting his pent feelings out by pacing across the gravel pathway in front of the restored barn. “What if we’ve misread the plans?” he asks me for the eighteenth time, which is not an exaggeration but an accurate count.

“I haven’t misread any plans.” I made sure to check and double check those, swapping with Arra-bellah during our knotting—what she calls a top up session—where we’re locked together for two Earth hours on average.

Sometimes she paints, drawing the landscape of Oloria, the dorm streets, the balcony of Selthia’s Oasis overflowing with plants, and… me.

Again and again she draws me, and even though they are different colors and shades, poses and expressions, I recognize myself. How she can tell me apart from the other clones and make so many images of me that are still undeniably me is her talent.

Talent I want to nurture. She’s done so well with the last plans, putting together elements to make the barn sing. I suspect other humans will want some of her talent once they see it on display, and I cannot wait to see her fly.

Arik comes running up from the track, sprinting hard.

Old Mae the murder bird watches him warily from atop her perch on the roof of the henhouse, settling when he allows her a respectful distance.

She seems unscathed from her adventure to another planet and living on the run, but more content at the pinnacle of her roost.

“They’re here!” Arik pants, coming to a stop in front of Ilia.

Our leader pulls himself up straight as if he is going to be on parade as El-len’s vehicle bounces down the track and into the yard.

Ilia opens the door for her, giving her a hand out; I run to do the same on the other side, but Arra-bellah has already spilled out in a jumble of new canvases and handfuls of small metallic paint pots.

“Hi!” she says brightly, and again my hearts relax.

I breathe her in and now I can tell my body is adjusting, calibrating, making more vitamins to bolster her in our next knotting session.

The bond between us renews, as if I've stepped into the sunlight. She says she’s cooler and calmer near me, as if I'm a cold pool she can submerge herself in anytime.

“Hello,” I say, and something about the timbre of my voice makes her shoot that trouble-making look at me. Wonderful, but first, we have the surprise to get through.

El-len kisses Ilia and rubs her hands. “Is it ready? Can I finally see it?”

“You may,” Ilia rumbles. “This way.”

Grinning at him, El-len points out gently, “I know where the barn is. But maybe we should wait for Laura, she helped so much with the planning permission.”

“That she did. That's her strength,” my mate says. “Where is she?”

El-len sighs. “Working of course. She'll be back later.”

Arra-bellah takes her arm. “Well, I won't tell her. Blame me for pushing you into a sneaky peek.”

El-len beams at the restored exterior, something we couldn’t hide from her as we finished refitting the roof and building the walls, joining old with new.

The interior was something Ilia wanted to conceal from her as El-len’s duties on the farm expanded with the warming growing season.

We all helped with the mixture of rebuilding and farm work, but Ilia was tireless in his work on both.

Ilia leads El-len in, and I take Arra-bellah’s latest paints. “Do you wish to go inside too?”

“Ooh, can I at last?” She dances down the track, setting her new canvases to one side before wiping her feet on the doormat.

I know this place inside and out by now, through both her plans and the emerging reality: how wooden beams stretch overhead, bearing the weight of history, and a row of restored antique tools stand sentinel against the weathered walls as a decorative nod to its past. This main room in the center has bedrooms radiating out in a hub and spoke model, as per Arra-bellah’s designs, and it makes for a convivial atmosphere.

But I don’t need to see any of that. Instead, I watch Arra-bellah’s face, cherishing her pure amazement at her detailed creations come to life.

“I love it,” she says breathlessly, and my nerves triple. What will she think of the next part? “I hope Ellen does… oh!”

A wail comes from the upstairs bedroom. With a quick glance at each other, we rush up the wooden stairs.

El-len and Ilia are in one of the guest rooms. The rooms sit unfurnished but the structure is ready, each with a sturdy window made to look old, nooks for reading in, and a generous space for a bed.

Tears run down El-len's cheeks, twisting my guts.

Ilia gets to his knees in front of her, pressing her hand to his forehead. “My life is forfeit,” he mutters. “Gara!” he bellows, not realizing we'd come upstairs.

“Here,” I say, dry mouthed. What have we done wrong?

“Rip it down,” Ilia orders, but El-len waves her hands at him, still hiccupping and crying, with a big smile on her face.

“It's okay, guys, she's happy,” Arra-bellah says, handing her friend a tissue and giving her a hug.

“Yuh-Yuh-Yes,” El-len sobs, wiping her face. “I'm so-so-happy.”

“Humans cry when they're happy too,” Arra-bellah explains.

Ilia surges to his feet. “Good,” he says, voice faint with relief, but I'm wary. What if the next surprise makes my Arra-bellah cry? I'd rather die than see her face twisted with the semblance of sorrow.

Ellen dabs her eyes. “It's so amazing. And thanks to Arabella, the first few months are booked out with bachelorette parties.”

“Yeah, well. What can I say, marketing is easy when you have the right hook,” Arra-bellah says with a sly look at me.

I grin back. We leaned into marketing efforts recently, Arra-bellah posting her art as well as carefully edited pictures obscuring my face and image.

I’m hers as she is mine, but we agreed between us that if we’re going to settle here and work around the farm, we need to be good at camouflage.

All of the exiles have practiced and posed for her, and Arra-bellah gives them tips on hiding in plain sight.

There's still work to do, but we're on the right path .

“I love it,” El-len says with a sob, wiping her eyes and beaming at Ilia. “And you.”

Our leader makes a rumble in his chest, pleased, and Arra-bellah nods toward the exit. She and I leave them to their inspection together.

We go downstairs, my mate running her hands along the carved beam one of the trio scraped into shape with traditional Earth tools, but before she can go out of the front door, I take her hand. “This way.”

“Ooh, more surprises.” She lets me lead her to the back of the barn and into the garden, where the tent had been set up for a movie night that never happened.

The All-Mother’s private craft floats above this place in stealth mode, and the kitchen garden is recovering thanks to Arture’s efforts, as he’s a surprisingly good gardener.

Our crashed rocket has been dragged to the side of the house, repaired, and I lead her to the doorway.

“What's this?” she asks as I press her hand to the entry plate.

A smooth beep sounds and the door slides open to reveal her canvases set up in rows all down the sleek lines of the ship.

“Your personal gallery,” I say, taking her hand and leading her through the corridor.

She stares at the pictures I’ve hung on the wall, cranes her head back to see the ceiling. I’ve increased the height of it, adding Arra-bellah’s ideas for a smoother finish from the barn into the weld, and of course she notices.

“That’s not all.” I motion her to place her palm on the security plate for what was the cockpit. She does so and the door opens, perhaps not as smoothly as I’d like, but I can fix that later.

Right now, I want to bask in my mate’s surprise.

The cockpit has undergone a transformation. I’ve covered all the computers with sleek sheets of the metal she admired so much, adding some wooden cupboards underneath to blend Earth and Oloria.

Sunlight illuminates the spherical space. I’ve positioned her easels loaded with blank canvases in the center, ready and waiting to receive her ideas, and the sideboards groan underneath her collection of paint pots.

But most beautiful of all is Arra-bellah’s face. For the first time, my mate is rendered mute. Her happiness pulses at me, growing with each passing human second as she touches a finger to the console.

“What is this?” she whispers at last.

“This is your studio,” I say.

She whirls to face me. “But it’s your ship.”

“This craft isn’t going anywhere anymore, and neither are we.” I wrap my arms around her shoulders. “You’re stuck with me.”

I expect her to joke back. Instead, her eyes shining, she says, “I love you,” stripping me back to my core.

My nerves fall away and I cradle her close, my little firecracker bursting with ideas and beauty.

“So.” She tips her head up to meet my eyes. There’s that sparkle I love so much, the one that gets me into trouble. “I’m feeling like I need another dose of vitamin D.”

Brushing my lips on hers, a spark of heat flashes through me, but I’m also analyzing critical information, her taste touching off sensors that are now wholly attuned to her. She’s invaded me, broken through my defenses, left me utterly helpless to her—and I love it.

I ease back from the kiss. “You aren’t deficient in any vitamins.”

“Sure I am.” She squeezes my crotch gently. “Vitamin dick, right here. I need it. Give it to me.”

Heat pools in my core. “I see. Well, then, I shall begin the treatment. ”

But just as my lips find hers to begin her next dose of essential vitamins, a crash sounds outside.

I rush to defend the doorway, Arra-bellah at my heels.

“What is it?” she asks.

A scream sounds outside.

I know that voice.

“Stay inside,” I tell my mate, pacing to the gantry of the shuttle-turned-studio and blocking it with my wide shoulders.

Dom storms into the garden, scales pulsing a sickly dark purple as putrid as poison.

“Where is she?” he bellows to the air.

I plant my stance to protect Arra-bellah within. If he decides to attack me, I will be overpowered, but hopefully Ilia can come and quickly pacify him.

Watching him, I try to gauge whether he’s just angry, which is terrifying in and of itself especially if he’s lost control of his emotions, or whether he’s being controlled by Nevare. Both Nevare and Arik will be feeling what Dom’s feeling, but it could be Nevare that’s the source.

In which case, we’ll have to euthanize him.

“ Drok na ,” I mutter. Arra-bellah and I were so wrapped up in each other, I’ve missed something critical. Now I have to try to treat my shipmate.

“What's going on out here?” a high female voice says, and my hearts seize.

The blonde human, Law-rah, comes out from the restored barn, red heels clicking along the stone pathway.

“Laura,” Arra-bellah hisses from behind me. “Get down.”

Dom spins and spots the tall human, then darts to her.

I bolt toward him. I can trip him if I'm fast enough, but he's speedy despite being so bulky. I won't make it in time.

But instead of attacking her as I feared, Dom pulls up. At least he has that much control over himself .

He gasps, something breaking in his face. “Law-rah, please.”

Law-rah calmly removes her dark tinted spectacles and looks up at the maddened Parthiastock. “Dom, no.”

Dom grabs her upper arm. “Law-rah, please, I?—”

She merely glances at his hand, and he removes it as if scalded.

Law-rah’s face is cold. “No, Dom. I can't do this anymore. We have to break it.”

BORDER CONTROL

SHE’S USED TO BEING IN CONTROL. HE WAS CREATED TO OBEY. BUT ON EARTH, NOTHING GOES ACCORDING TO PLAN.

Laura keeps her worlds separate: career, friends, and family all neat and organized like a courtroom argument. As a rising-star lawyer, she doesn’t have time for complications, especially not sexy, submissive aliens crash-landing on her best friend’s property.

But when she witnesses one of them—tall, muscled, and clearly struggling—spiral into violence, Laura does what she always does: takes control. Dom responds like no man ever has. He wants to obey her. Needs it. Craves it. And she discovers a side of herself she's never dared explore.

Dom was created to serve, but in exile on Earth he's barely holding it together.

His role as a psychic stabilizer for his wave brothers demands total strength and zero selfishness.

Then comes Laura: confident, commanding, and achingly human.

One night in her arms threatens everything.

Because now he wants something just for himself.

For the first time, Laura’s orderly world is unraveling. They return to Oloria to fix it, and instead land Dom in trouble.

To save him, she’ll have to destroy every line she ever drew.

A sizzling sci-fi romance dripping with slow-burn tension that will leave you breathless, featuring a caring, exiled alien and a determined human heroine.

Perfect for fans of Ruby Dixon and Honey Phillips (for fast-paced plot) and Emma Hamm vibes (angsty slow burn with lots of tension and adventure).

Featuring a protective consent king, forced proximity, and boss babes who refuse to back down.

Trigger warnings: Strict culture, mention of death and execution, fantasy peril, on page sex. No cheating.

Contains: Lots of longing looks and alien appendages ;)