Page 21 of Reluctantly Abducted (Nereidan Compatibility Program #3)

Owen

I stand in the center of my temporary quarters, wearing nothing but the plain black boxer briefs I had on when I was abducted three days ago.

The Nereidan clothes I've been wearing are folded neatly on the bed, ready to be recycled or sterilized or whatever they do with things humans have touched. Protocol, as Ry would say.

Three days. Seventy-two hours that somehow managed to change... everything and nothing at all.

I run my hand over the soft material of the shirt one last time, remembering how Ry's fingers brushed against mine when he first handed it to me.

Those first touches, clinical and impersonal then, charged with meaning now.

I'm not allowed to take anything back with me, no alien technology, no artifacts, no evidence.

Just my body, my underwear, and my memories.

It's funny. I spent eight years in the military. Fifteen months in an active war zone. Four years in a marriage that dissolved like salt in water. Yet somehow, these three days with a blue-skinned alien scientist have carved deeper channels into my soul than any of it.

How is that possible? How can seventy-two hours with someone not even from my planet reshape everything I thought I knew about connection?

No one on Earth would believe me anyway.

Alien abduction stories are for conspiracy theorists and late-night radio shows, not for former combat medics trying to rebuild their lives.

But I'll know. Every time I look at the stars, every time I see the color blue, every time I close my eyes in the dark, I'll remember the way Ry's skin glowed when I touched him.

The way his scientific detachment crumbled bit by bit with each hour we spent together.

The door slides open with a soft hiss. Ry stands there, illuminated by the corridor lights, his blue skin muted in the dimness of my quarters. The bioluminescent patterns beneath his skin are barely visible, just the faintest hint of light, like distant stars seen through cloud cover.

"May I come in?" he asks formally, as if we hadn't spent last night curled together on this very bed, his body fitted against mine in a way that felt impossibly right.

"Of course." My voice sounds strange to my own ears. Too casual for what's about to happen, too strained to be truly normal.

Ry steps inside, and the door slides shut behind him. His eyes scan me from head to toe, lingering on my bare chest before quickly looking away. But not before I catch the flare of blue-green light beneath his skin, that telltale glow that betrays every emotion he tries to hide.

I've come to love that about him. The way his body speaks truths even when his words are wrapped in scientific detachment. In just three days, I've learned to read those patterns like a language all their own.

"I see you're... prepared for transport," he says stiffly.

"Yep. Back to exactly how you found me." I gesture at my nearly naked body. "Minus the confusion and anger."

"That is... good." His hands twist together in front of him, a nervous gesture I've come to recognize over the past three days. "The transport program has been calibrated. Everything is ready."

His hand dips into a pocket in his uniform, and he pulls out a small glass vial filled with what look like colored stones, blues, greens, and something that catches the light like fire.

"This is for you," he says, extending it toward me. "Compensation for the... disruption to your life."

I take the vial, turning it in my hand. The stones inside catch the light, glittering like tiny stars. "What are these?"

"Common minerals from our world," Ry explains. "They're used in children's games and simple decorations. Practically worthless to us."

I look more closely at the stones. They're beautiful, deep blues like sapphires, emerald greens, and some that shimmer with an internal fire like opals. "And on Earth?"

"Their composition would make them... valuable by your standards." He shifts uncomfortably. "It's standard protocol to provide compensation for any inconvenience caused by our research programs."

I laugh. "So you're paying me off with alien gemstones?"

His skin flushes with bioluminescence. "It's not a payment. It's acknowledgment of the inconvenience we caused."

I close my fingers around the vial, strangely touched by the gesture. "Thank you."

Silence stretches between us, heavy with things unsaid. Neither of us seems to know how to navigate this moment. There's no protocol for goodbye when you've shared what we have.

"So," I finally say, "I guess this is it."

"Yes." Ry's voice is carefully controlled, but the patterns of light beneath his skin betray his emotion, rippling blues and greens that can't quite be suppressed. "The assessment is complete."

I step closer to him, close enough that I can feel the subtle difference in temperature his body gives off, slightly cooler than human normal.

It's one of a thousand little details I've cataloged about him.

The faint scent of something like sea salt and minerals that clings to his skin.

The way his eyes dilate slightly when he's intrigued by something.

The precise way he folds his hands when he's trying to maintain his composure.

How is it possible to know someone so well after just three days?

"I wish we had more time," I admit finally. "I wish we'd met under different circumstances."

His bioluminescence flares, bright enough to cast shadows on the walls. "As do I."

"But wishes don't change protocol," I say, echoing a phrase he's used several times during our assessment.

"No," he agrees, his light dimming slightly. "They do not."

I close the distance between us, reaching out slowly to touch his face. His skin is cool and smooth beneath my fingertips, the texture unlike anything on Earth, not quite human skin, not quite something else. A universe of difference contained in that simple touch.

"I'm going to miss you, Ry. That wasn't part of the plan."

His eyes close briefly at the contact, and the light beneath his skin intensifies where my fingers rest against his cheek. When he opens his eyes again, I'm stunned to see a shimmer of moisture gathering there, tears forming but not quite falling.

I pull him into my arms, holding him tighter against me. "You're not really going to cry over one human you knew for three days and who couldn't even get your name right half the time, are you?" I tease gently, my own voice rougher than I'd like.

That earns me a tiny smile, just a slight upward curve of his lips. I reach up and carefully wipe away the tears that have escaped, my thumb gentle against the delicate skin beneath his eyes.

"Protocol doesn't say anything about this," he murmurs, the light beneath his skin pulsing in complex patterns of emotion.

"I don't think either of us is following protocol very well right now," I reply.

I lean in and press my lips softly to his eyelids, tasting the slight salt of his tears. Then I kiss his cheeks, following the trail the tears have left. Finally, I find his mouth, capturing his lips with mine in a kiss that tries to say everything we're not ready to put into words.

We kiss like drowning people gasping for air, like we're trying to memorize each other through touch alone.

His skin blazes beneath my hands, bright enough to see even through closed eyelids.

I back him against the wall, my body pressed against his, trying to eliminate any space between us.

His fingers tangle in my hair, his other hand sliding down to the small of my back, pulling me closer.

It's desperate and messy and perfect, and I want to stay in this moment forever.

I've never been kissed like this, like I'm essential, like I'm being memorized.

Not in fifteen months of marriage, not in any relationship before or since.

Just here, just now, with someone who isn't even from my planet.

When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard. The blue-green glow beneath Ry's skin is so intense it's almost white in places, pulsing with the rapid beat of his heart. His eyes are wide, pupils dilated, his usual composure completely shattered.

"That was..." he begins, then stops, seemingly at a loss for words.

"Yeah," I agree, resting my forehead against his. "It was."

The ship's systems emit the three-tone chime we've come to dread, followed by an automated voice: "Transport sequence initiating. Subject should proceed to transport chamber."

Ry steps back, his professional demeanor slipping back into place like armor, though his skin still pulses with light. "We should go. The timing is precise."

I nod, not trusting my voice. I take one last look around the small room that's been my home for three days.

Nothing here belongs to me. Nothing here is mine to take.

Except for the memories, which I'll carry like precious contraband, and the small vial of stones secured against my hip, my only tangible proof that any of this happened.

We walk in silence through the corridors, our footsteps echoing in the empty spaces. The ship feels different somehow, colder, more alien than it has since that first disorienting day. Or maybe it's just that I'm seeing it through the eyes of someone who's leaving, never to return.

"Remember that first day?" I say, trying to fill the oppressive silence. "When I shoved you and you hit your head?"

"I remember," Ry replies, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "You looked so angry. And then suddenly you were examining me with such... professional intensity."

"Combat medic training dies hard," I say, returning his smile. "See injury, treat injury. Even if it's on the alien who just abducted you."

"I'm grateful for that training," he says softly. "And not just because of the head injury."

Something in his tone makes me stop walking. We're in an empty corridor, halfway to the transport chamber. "What do you mean?"