Page 22 of Space Daddy’s Guide to the Galaxy (Villains in Space #2)

22

ZIGGY

Micah was acting strangely.

Stranger than usual, that is.

Despite touching down on Ekistron an hour ago—despite how excited my mate had been to explore a new planet—we remained on the ship. Pedro had been fed and tucked into their baby sling by the nanny bot, and I had gathered as many weapons as needed for the journey ahead, but Micah still hadn’t emerged from the bathroom.

Has something upset him?

I didn’t know the answer to that, which was highly unusual in itself. In this relationship, I was the one who buried my emotions, who pushed others away and struggled to talk about whatever I was going through. In contrast, Micah was an open book who thrived on communication—who shared every thought that materialized in his impressive brain—but he’d seemed distant since playtime last night.

I didn’t… injure him, did I?!

At this point, Micah had enthusiastically enjoyed numerous skinsuits from my collection—had mounted appendages that even the bravest superheroes on Earth may have shied away from. Last night had seemed like no exception, even if we’d been limited in what we could do.

And I thought he could handle what we did…

The issue was, fully denying my babygirl anything was a superpower I didn’t possess. When he’d asked for both cocks, I’d given him what I could, and when he’d begged for more, I hadn’t hesitated to knot him, even if I’d immediately put him under so he wouldn’t feel any pain while I finished.

Plus, ‘somno-fun time’ is my favorite.

The mood had noticeably shifted after he awoke, but then he’d fallen asleep again before I could check in about it. Since then, my attention had been on preparing for Ekistron, so it wasn't until we were ready to leave that I noticed the bathroom door between us and remembered his tears.

I am a terrible mate.

Now I was questioning if perhaps I didn’t know what Micah could handle in bed—if it might be better for me to change into a less threatening skinsuit to help him relax.

To help me relax as well.

Deciding that was the first logical step toward fixing whatever I’d broken, I quickly star hopped to my closet to slip back into my Earthling form. Then, I returned, steeled my spine, and approached the closed bathroom door before raising my hand to politely knock, just like he’d taught me.

But then, I froze.

What if he doesn’t want me bothering him?

Not wishing to intrude but also physically unable to walk away from my mate when he was in need, I did the next logical thing.

I unleashed a few tendrils to slip through the cracks and investigate.

Strange…

For how long he’d been in the bathroom, I’d assumed Micah would have showered, but he still smelled like sex—like me. While this pleased me on a primal level, it was uncharacteristic behavior from my fastidious mate. Stranger still was that he seemed to be simply standing in place, most likely facing the small mirror above the sink—since there was nowhere else to go—staring into it.

Radiating hurt.

Oh fuck…

Dozens of tendrils emerged as my protective instincts went haywire. This was followed by a nearly suffocating wave of panic as I wondered whether the threat here wasn’t skinsuit-specific, but me.

What if I did injure him?

Why didn’t he use his safe word?

What if he’s crying again?!

“Just come in, Zig. The door’s unlocked.”

The words had barely registered before I was flinging open the door and crowding into the small space along with him.

“What’s wrong?!” I barked, louder than I intended, my gaze immediately dropping to the way his hand was pulling aside the collar of his shirt—exposing the fresh bite marks on his neck and shoulder.

Marks I’d put there.

Fuck, fuck, fuck…

“You changed your skinsuit?” he murmured, releasing his shirt and eyeing me as well. “I thought you were wearing the Borque because the fur would protect you from the elements.”

You are the one who needs protecting.

“I decided to change into something with fewer… teeth,” I gritted out, wondering why he wasn’t simply answering my question. “Something less threatening.”

“Oh, okay.” He turned back to the mirror and absently rubbed his neck. “If that’s what you think is best.”

“I do,” I replied, still watching him closely, subtly tasting the air around him with hair-thin tendrils, desperate for clues.

Micah’s gaze lifted to track the movement in the mirror’s reflection, even though he shouldn’t have been able to see me move at all.

“Is there a problem, Zig?” he asked, turning to face me again with a furrowed brow and clear annoyance.

“You tell me,” I snapped, the instinct to connect with him— to claim him —clawing beneath my stolen skin.

No, Ziggy.

This is what got you into this mess in the first place.

He huffed. “I just want to know why you’re clocking me instead of communicating. If you wanna talk about something, then talk.”

While this blunt way of speaking was one of the countless reasons I admired my stellar collision, all I could focus on at the moment was how on edge Micah sounded, how he was still emanating distress.

“Very well… I could possibly use the piece of my core inside you to fix the marks on your neck—to heal them faster.” The words were tumbling out of me, with no hope of stopping them, and Micah’s eyes widened as my sorry attempts at a solution continued. “It might require me putting more of myself inside you, but it would only be temporary.”

“What the heck are you talking about?” Micah scoffed. “Why would I want to erase the marks you gave me?”

“Because I hurt you!” I shouted, my tendrils undulated awkwardly in the cramped space. “Because I have failed at controlling the urge to mark you as my mate. You can’t hide from me, Micah. I can feel your distress now, just like I could feel it last night after I…” My horrified gaze dropped to his lower half. “Unless it’s elsewhere you’re hurt…”

Is that why he didn’t shower?

Because he’s in too much pain?!

“Breathe, Zig, breeeeeathe.” Micah’s cool hands were suddenly cupping my face, his touch settling me, if only somewhat. “I’m not in physical pain. I mean, I do hurt a little, but it’s the good kind of hurt, ya know?”

Frustration replaced my blind panic. “Then what am I picking up on? You are upset about something but are not telling me what it is!”

I knew full well I was being hypocritical and, judging by the smile my mate was failing to hide, he was about to bluntly point my hypocrisy out to me.

Dr. Micah has arrived.

“Yeah… It’s rough when someone you deeply care about is hurting but doesn’t seem to trust you enough to talk about it, huh?”

Ouch.

Before I could reply, Micah continued, “There is something I’m kind of upset about, but… it’s really just my own shit that snuck up on me out of nowhere, so I was trying to leave you out of it.”

I scoffed. “I don’t want to be left out of it. I want to know everything.”

Because you are mine.

Micah sighed and turned to the mirror before pulling aside the neck of his shirt again. “I’m actually upset at how fast these marks are already healing, thanks to my supe DNA. Alien DNA, whatever, although… not alien enough.”

The last part was spoken so bitterly, I could taste it, and I was confused why we were back on this subject again. “Micah, I told you last night, you are my mate, no matter what?—”

“Not really, though, right?” Micah interrupted in a sharp tone. “Not in a way anyone out here would recognize.”

Is this about getting space married?

I was about to suggest we go look at Micah’s “Space-Married to my Space Husband” Pinterest board for the millionth time— anything to help —but he blew out a breath and continued.

“I’m sorry, Zig.” He smiled apologetically before averting his gaze. “It’s just… The first Hydrassian who cornered me at the Muonova said I ‘didn’t appear to be mated’, and I guess that stuck with me more than I thought.”

What?!

Oh.

I cleared my throat, knowing we were entering dangerous territory. “Many species leave marks on their mates while breeding them,” I carefully explained. “However, due to how textured most alien skin is—never mind scales, fur, and various protective gear—most of these marks wouldn’t be visible to the average bystander anyway.”

And that’s not what we’re talking about here.

“What I believe the Hydrassian was referring to was…” I faltered, but forced myself to soldier on, “how you don’t smell mated.”

Micah’s gorgeous face scrunched into pure confusion before a glimmer of understanding appeared. “Well, I did have my shields up… despite my dumbass mistake of texting Gabe when I should have been paying attention to my surroundings.”

Sigh.

The urge to pause the current conversation—to remind Micah yet again of how capable he was—was strong, but it would be even more hypocritical of me to not share my knowledge on the issue at hand in favor of avoiding the subject.

Even if it’s my issues about to be brought to light.

“Yes, your shields are quite adept at blocking your scent but, regardless, you would smell a certain way to others if you had been successfully mated.” When his confusion persisted, I blew out a slow breath. “If you currently were, or had ever been, impregnated.”

Micah’s eyes became comically large as every inch of visible skin darkened with an enticing blush. Most distracting of all was the raw lust now flavoring the air.

From both of us.

Just as quickly, his distress rose to the surface again, along with his snippy tone. “Yeah, well, then I’m never gonna smell mated, am I? Because that’s not something we can do.”

Now my distress was no doubt joining his as I struggled to answer in a way that wouldn’t make things worse.

Or alert him to my own conflicted feelings on the subject.

The truth was, we could figure it out if we both wanted. I could take an Earthling female form, or any alien vessel with the ability to be impregnated by a different species. Likewise, I could find a skinsuit capable of using a male Earthling’s body as an incubator, although that scenario probably wouldn’t be ideal for him.

I’ve already been told ovipositing is out.

We could even mimic the way Stellarians reproduced with each other using Micah’s tendrils, and if another Stellarian were involved….

Nope.

We are not going there right now.

By some miracle, I was saved from a lengthy reply by the blaring sound of an incoming communication in the Lodger’s cockpit.

Micah flinched, so I quickly explained, “This is a standard notification—most likely the Eki inquiring about the nature of our business on their planet. While I did send out a peaceful signal when we entered their atmosphere, it’s considered… impolite to withhold intent upon landing, so we need to clarify.”

So we don’t get disintegrated.

“Oh, shit! Okay, well, let me just…” Micah grabbed his sweatshirt off the towel rack and grabbed his phone before frantically stuffing it in his pocket.

“I’ll take care of it, sunshine,” I soothed. “Why don’t you go grab winter layers for both of us.” I hesitated. “Unless you want me in the Borque’s skinsuit again…?”

This is confusing.

Micah smiled softly, although there was a hint of sadness in his expression and the air. “Zig, you are my mate too, no matter which form you take. Whatever you’re most comfortable doing is fine with me.”

While his sincerity warmed something inside me, I suspected there was a deeper meaning to his words—one that didn’t sit right with me at all.

Because a relationship isn’t just about what I want.

“Very well, but we will continue this conversation later… partner,” I said, staunchly burying my instinctive terror in favor of basking in the sunshine of Micah’s grateful smile.

One baby situation at a time.