Page 29 of Saved By the Alien Hybrid (Hybrids of Yulaira #1)

Dread cut through the haze of Cordelia’s afterglow at Rentir’s declaration.

Felix had said something similar to her once in those final days before the flight. It was… it was too much like a declaration of love. Setting aside how briefly they had known one another, there was a nagging fear within her at his unprecedented devotion.

Everything I care about…

Rentir was just learning his place in the world, barely scratching the surface of freedom. If he convinced himself that he loved her, it would all be ripped away.

She retreated into herself, away from the insane, selfish part of her that took comfort in his open, guileless adoration and loyalty.

“Cordelia?” Rentir reached for her cheek.

She flinched away from the touch, hating herself as his face fell.

“Tell me what I have done wrong,” he pleaded in a low voice. “Tell me how I might fix it.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she said, tucking her knees under her chin to shield her nudity, suddenly finding it unbearably vulnerable. “You’re wonderful, but…”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “But?”

“You barely know me,” she said as gently as she could. “To get attached to someone so fast… you’re going to get hurt, Ren.”

His brows drew together. “Only if you wish to hurt me.” He leaned closer, searching her face. “Is that what you want?”

Her eyes welled with frustrated tears. “No. But I will anyway.”

He looked so lost. She couldn’t take that fractured look on his face, not after he’d blessed her with one of the best orgasms of her life.

Looking away, she blinked fast to keep her tears from spilling over. “Can I please have a towel?”

Tail flicking, Rentir rose to his feet to oblige her.

She watched from the corner of her eye as he went to a shelf set into the wall and pulled out a massive white towel, returning to gently tuck it around her while she avoided eye contact like a coward.

He went to the edge of the tub and cleaned himself before grabbing a towel of his own, slinging it around his narrow hips.

Fiddling with a panel on the wall, he adjusted the lighting and the noise in the room. The rain slowed to a drizzle as the lights shifted to an overcast day. The intermittent lightning stopped.

With the lights adjusted, she realized she was sitting next to a low table. Rentir had clearly brought her the tray that sat atop it, completely laden to the brim with food. Guilt made her heart sink further.

He hadn’t been anything but considerate to her from the moment they’d met, and all she’d done was complicate his life and hurt his feelings. That had probably been his first sexual experience, and her sudden rejection would haunt it forever.

“Rentir?”

He looked up at her as he settled onto the cushions across the table. Uncertainty flickered in his eyes.

“I mean it. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s me.”

You deserve so much better than the tragedy that clings to me like a miasma.

He didn’t look comforted by her assurances; she guessed it was too much to hope that he would be. When had anyone ever actually been relieved to hear ‘it’s not you, it’s me’? Fatigue and regret weighed her shoulders down.

He turned away to fuss with one of the pillows on his side of the table, and she sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of his mangled back. It was criss-crossed with thick scars, his spots twisted and dimmer where the flesh had healed badly.

“What happened to you?” she blurted. She regretted the thoughtless, impulsive question instantly—even more so when he quickly twisted back around, and insecurity was plain on his face.

“Nothing.” His chest rose and fell fast. His leonine nostrils flared.

An ache settled into her heart. There were moments where he was so boyishly innocent, she’d taken for granted how much he must have endured under the Aurillon.

He wasn’t some sheltered kid learning the world outside his bubble for the first time.

He was the victim of an abusive, eugenicist empire that saw him as nothing but a tool. Of course, they’d hurt him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… it just looks so painful.”

“It is nothing,” he said more sharply, avoiding her gaze.

If she could have hit a button to blow that big, golden ship out of orbit just then, she would have done it without hesitation.

“Of course. My mistake.”

“You need to eat,” he told her, blatantly changing the subject as he fussed with the unfamiliar items on the tray he’d brought.

Not wanting to perturb him any further, she obediently grabbed what looked like a fluffy roll straight from her favorite steakhouse.

When she bit into it, she found the flavor wasn’t what she’d expected—it was a little sour in addition to being sweet, but the texture was so good that she couldn’t hold back a moan of pleasure. Rentir’s ears twitched.

She cleared her throat, battling the urge to devour everything in sight as the food brought her hunger roaring to life.

“You eat something, too.” She pushed the tray at him.

“I will be—”

“Eat.” She glared.

He sighed and grabbed something from the tray that reminded her of beef jerky, tearing into it with his sharp teeth.

Cordelia ate until she thought she might actually die from her stomach bursting.

There were tart pink berries that Melam had apparently foraged—a fact Rentir seemed profoundly annoyed by.

More pastries that were clearly meant for more luxury clientèle, like the roll she’d eaten.

She found that some of the others were stuffed with strange fillings, both savory and sweet.

The jerky Rentir kept eating didn’t suit her—too tough and spicy—but he hardly touched anything else on the tray.

“You don’t like pastries?” she asked with her mouth full.

“They are alright,” he said, picking up a thin slice of bloody meat she hadn’t even attempted to eat.

It was covered in some kind of fragrant herb that smelled suspiciously like fresh dill.

“But I am not able to easily digest such things.” His sharp teeth glinted as he opened his mouth, and his long, black tongue snaked out to snag the meat.

She paused, lowering the berry she was holding. “Are you a carnivore?”

He blinked at her as he chewed, swallowing before he answered. “I am not meant to be.” He shifted nervously. “The auretians are omnivorous, and so too are their hybrids. Easier to feed that way. More economical.”

She pushed the plate of meat closer to him, encouraging him to eat his fill.

“Haerune believes there is too much of my majority donor within me. He says they are called the Venai, but we don’t know much more than the very basics of their biology. They are obligate carnivores.”

“Did they accommodate you?” she asked, though she thought she already knew the answer. “The Aurillon, I mean.”

He dragged the plate to the edge of the table.

“They did not know. I was not sure if they would view it as an error. If they did, they would have retired me. The symptoms of illness began to manifest as I reached maturity, and Haerune urged me to keep it quiet. He gave me his portion of protein at every meal.”

Her heart softened toward the surly scientist. “It’s lucky you had him.”

“Yes. Very lucky.” He grabbed another slice of meat. “He is a good male with strong character.”

“Like you,” she mused, bracing an elbow on the table and resting her chin in her hand.

He looked surprised by the compliment, and that broke her heart. His tail twitched on the cushions beside him.

“I… I am not…” His gaze grew faraway, snapping back into focus as he shuddered. “I try to be.”

“You’re succeeding.” She reached across the table to squeeze his hand.

His mien grew troubled as he studied their joined hands. Rentir’s fingers twitched beneath her own, and then he pulled away, tucking his hand beneath the table.

The sting of rejection jabbed at her, and she wondered if it had been as sharp for him when she’d gone cold.

They’d just been intimate with each other, yet she’d never felt more distant.

He had every right to pull away. She was being hot and cold.

Sighing, she slumped back on her elbows amid the cushions, letting her bloated stomach stretch.

She closed her eyes and let her mind drift.

Exhaustion weighed heavily on her, but the anxiety of all the things she still had to accomplish kept her from rest. Still, the food and the orgasm and the familiar chlorine scent in the air went a long way to keep her from giving over to the simmering urge to panic.

“I love this place.” She stretched her legs out in front of her. “It smells like the water park.”

“Water park?” He seemed content to let her change the subject, game enough to let the confusion of their strange relationship fall away for a while.

She leaned into it, grinning at him as she nodded.

“It’s a place that humans go for fun. Lots of chemically treated water, with waterfalls, slides, and fake rivers.

It’s not really a fancy sort of place, but it seemed like the height of luxury to me as a child.

My mom could never afford to take me, and she never had time anyway, but my best friend’s mom always made sure I came with when her family went.

They’re some of my best memories. When I smelled this place earlier… I don’t know. It took me back.”

He sniffed at the air, and the skeptical look on his face made it clear he did not understand.

She laughed. “It’s cool if you don’t get it. A lot of humans would think I’m weird, too.”

“I do not think you’re weird.” She knew the word didn’t translate by the awkward way he repeated it. “I think you are perfect.”

The flush in her face deepened. She sat up, rubbing the back of her neck. “You say stuff like that way too casually,” she muttered.

“Is it wrong?”

“No, I guess not, it’s just…” She blew out a breath. “If you were a human guy, I’d accuse you of love bombing me, and I’d ghost you. But the way you say everything is just so… completely guileless.”

“Guileless? Do you think me foolish?”

“Not foolish,” she said. “Maybe a little na?ve, but I’m afraid I find it kind of charming.”

His gaze sharpened. “You find me charming?”

Why did he look so calculating over such a small compliment?

“Maybe,” she replied elusively.

His tail thumped against the bottom of the table, rattling the empty dishes, and he quickly reached out to catch it in his fist. “Apologies.” He cleared his throat awkwardly.

She just grinned at him, exhaustion weighing down her eyelids.

“You are tired.”

“Yes.” She sagged against the cushions. “It’s been a lot. I… I feel guilty for resting. For all of it. Eating, laughing… letting you touch me.”

His ears perked, and he sat forward. “I have made you feel guilt?”

“No, Ren. You made me feel good, really good. It’s just… Thea’s up on some spaceship having god knows what done to her, half the crew are still missing, and the others are waiting for me to return with good news that I don’t have.”

“Is that why you pulled away? Your guilt?”

“Mostly,” she murmured, worrying the fringed edge of a velvety pillow.

The relief that sagged his shoulders compounded her guilt.

“I can’t give you what you’re looking for,” she said. The words were hard to get out, but they had to be said.

His eyes searched hers. “Why not?”

She bit her bottom lip and shook her head, afraid to tell him she was cursed, that she would bring tragedy down on his head, that she wasn’t sure she could bear the weight of one more life, one more failure.

Rentir would try to talk her out of it, would convince her that it would all be okay.

Cordelia would want to believe him. She would cave like a house of cards, desperate to accept the comfort and kindness he offered so readily.

“I just can’t,” she said.

To her dismay, her declaration did the opposite of what she’d intended. He didn’t look defeated, ready to give up on throwing his heart at a woman he’d only known for a matter of days.

No… he looked determined.