Page 2

Nala

Sitting inside the doctor’s office with my hands clasped around my still-flat belly, all I could think was: shit.

I’d really screwed up. I should have done anything but this, made a different choice.

I bit my lip, held back the tide of heavy feelings, and tried to think rationally, which was hard when your body was flooded with all kinds of pregnancy hormones.

What could I have done differently? I’d been stuck between a rock and a hard place, quite literally.

Not only did Earth suck, but my neighborhood was expensive, even though it was a crappy one-room apartment in a building that was almost falling down with age.

I hadn’t been able to make rent; it was as simple as that.

Being out on the street would have been worse, much worse.

I shivered just thinking about it. So I’d done something I wasn’t proud of, and the rent issue had gone away…

just long enough for me to find a new job.

I patted my stomach in dismay. Idiot. Now I was in even more trouble. How was I going to afford rent, let alone daycare or the medical bills once this one was born? I eyed the couple across from me: happy, glowing, clearly eager to welcome a life into this world. Lucky bastards.

The doctor called me in not much later, confirmed what I’d already known, and prescribed expensive prenatal vitamins that I took but could illafford.

I was in a daze by the time I got home. The grimy hallway of my apartment building was dark because the lights had been dying and the super had not bothered to replace them.

Graffiti decorated the walls, along with stains of things I did not want to contemplate, let alone analyze by breathing too deeply.

Still, the scent of urine and despair was pervasive.

This place was a dump; I couldn’t believe the lengths I’d gone to just to be able to stay here.

My door had gotten a new decoration since I’d left early that morning: some kind of dark red smear near the middle lock.

There was accompanying splatter that dotted the floor.

Once, I’d had a doormat there, but it had vanished at some point, and I had not bothered to replace it.

The key trembled in my hand as I moved to unlock my door, my eyes darting left and right, checking over my shoulder to make sure nobody could rush me just as I was getting in.

Across the hall, one of the doors opened, and my eyes connected with the bleary, vacant-eyed look of one of my neighbors.

An older lady in a faded pink dress, stained along the front from her packaging job at the nearby ration factory.

A viewscreen behind her loudly broadcast advertisements for some kind of dental hygiene product.

There were voices talking over it; she was only one of many living in the tiny apartment.

Most people here were stacked together like sardines in a tin can.

She moved her mouth into what was a semblance of a smile, her expression possibly even more downtrodden now than it had been without that tired attempt. I really hoped that wasn’t me thirty years down the line, but I feared that it was.

My door opened with groaning hinges, and I hurriedly shuffled inside, slamming it shut behind me.

Pressing my back to the panel, I felt it was flimsy protection, but finally, I was alone.

Turning, I began sliding the deadbolts into place, one after the other, the lock scraping as I twisted it.

Then I stepped away and drew in a few deep breaths.

I could still smell the stink of the hallway, but a few steps brought me up against the kitchen counter, where I had a row of fresh herbs valiantly attempting to grow beneath a single grow light.

I inhaled, and my lungs filled with fresh mint and spicy basil, settling my frayed nerves and roiling stomach.

Thank God I had a job—for now—one that paid better than what the lady down the hall earned at the ration factory.

It had to be horrible to package food for space travel while being unable to afford food yourself.

I placed my vitamins on the counter, then turned to look at my tiny room.

It was a studio, everything cramped together in a single space, except for a tiny bathroom.

I treasured it because being able to shut the door on the world, on noise, and be truly alone was rare.

Unless you belonged to one of the rich and powerful families that lived in their skyscrapers or on the moon.

I was very lucky that I had been able to find a place I could afford, until suddenly, I couldn’t.

My breath caught in my throat when I noticed the change. The blankets on my bed had been disturbed, and my pillow had a suspicious dent that definitely hadn’t been there when I’d left that morning. Almost as if… No, that was impossible, wasn’t it?

With lead in my shoes, I crossed the small room to reach the bed and stand at its side.

Gazing down at the mattress, the dented pillow, and the tossed blanket, I knew someone had been in here.

I’d made my bed that morning. Someone had lain there.

My mouth was dry as I turned to my dresser, hands shaking, the drawer rattling as I pulled it open. My underwear had been disturbed.

A wave of nausea came rolling up from my toes, crashing through my body so fast that I stumbled forward in a rush.

I heaved over the kitchen sink, expelling what little remained of my late lunch that afternoon.

I coughed hoarsely, eyes watering, and blindly located a glass so I could rinse my mouth.

The sound of the water running wasn’t enough to cover the creak of the bathroom door.

The glass shattered as I dropped it in the sink, instincts racing, heart pounding. Whoever had disturbed my home hadn’t left—they’d hidden in my tiny bathroom instead. A gold-fingered hand curled around the door. Black clothing swathed him, including a raised cowl, but I recognized him anyway.

My shaking hands lowered at my sides, my racing heart slowing. I was relieved it was him, even though I knew it was wrong and dangerous. Better the devil you know, though, I reasoned. I knew what to expect with him; Athol was a crook, but he had no reason to kill me. None at all.

“Ah, I needed to talk to you,” I said, catching him by surprise.

I saw his golden eyes grow wide, but then they narrowed, and he cocked his head.

Raising his hands, he flicked back the cowl that had covered his head and obscured much of his handsome features in shadow.

His delicate, elfin ears rose through a lush mane of gold and copper hair.

It was his face that was truly arresting, Puckish, handsome, like he was the God of Mischief incarnate.

It certainly felt like that when talking to him.

“What a pleasant coincidence,” he said, his mouth lifting into a smile that could in no way be called kind. He flicked his hand at my bed and grinned, so sharply that fangs were bared. It was intimidation rather than amusement. “And I needed a place to lay low.”

I suppressed a shudder and nodded. Then I took the calculated risk of turning my back on him and reaching into the sink to clean up the broken glass.

I felt his warmth at my back, his arms bracketing my body on either side, not quite touching but so close I could feel the shape of his body as it surrounded me.

He took the glass from my fingers, his long but agile fingers calloused.

One hand wore a fingerless leather glove; the other was bare.

He tsked, “Can’t let you harm yourself, Nala.

” The glass thunked into my waste bin, loud in the otherwise silent room.

It hung like a threat between us—that sound.

Goosebumps broke out across my skin; my flesh felt chilled rather than warm next to his heat.

I didn’t want a repeat of last time. I didn’t want to fall for his charms; he had them in spades when he felt like it.

I just wanted to survive… Whatever it was between us, it wasn’t love.

It wasn’t friendship, either. It was dangerous, for me.

“I’m pregnant,” I snapped out. That wasn’t how I’d planned to tell him, but Athol always put me off my game.

He always made me feel out of control, on edge, like I was about to tumble into utter chaos at his whim.

It wasn’t far from the truth. My pregnancy just proved that.

But he’d also been a godsend when I was about to lose my home.

I still didn’t know how he’d found me, why he’d singled me out, and I definitely didn’t know whether his presence in my life was good or bad.

He froze, a growl rumbling through his chest that rattled against my spine.

Then he slipped away like water, gliding across the room.

His footsteps were silent on my floorboards, but the thud of his back hitting the wall was not.

He shook his head, gold and copper hair haloing around his impish face.

“Pregnant?” he said, and for the first time in our short acquaintance, it appeared he was at a loss.

I twisted against the counter, leaned back, and crossed one arm protectively over my belly.

“Yeah,” I said firmly, and I nodded his way.

“And you’re the only one I’ve been with, so…

” I rolled a shoulder, my mouth tilting into a faint smile when Athol continued to look confused, lost for words.

For once, I had the upper hand in this weird relationship.

Payback for him going through my underwear drawer.

He’d been a whirlwind in my life so far, but now he was utterly silent as he made his way to my worn couch and sat down.

With nothing else to do but wait, I got to work making dinner and cleaning up my sink.

The sound of pasta bubbling on the stove was the only thing that filled the room for quite some time.

When I started making two plates, topped with some of my fresh basil, Athol finally unfroze.

He came to take the plates from my hands, then urged me to sit down.

“Eat, eat. You need to feed two,” he said roughly, his gloved hand waving awkwardly in the direction of my belly.

The rogue looked like a man whose entire world had just shifted on its axis.

I hadn’t taken him for a guy who could feel that deeply or take responsibility for much of anything. It took me by surprise.

Despite my earlier nausea and the shock of finding someone in my safe space, I was starving now.

He’d fallen silent again but not still. His leg was bouncing up and down with frenetic energy, his body tight as a wire beneath the black leather and robes he wore.

He was shoveling the simple pasta with sauce into his mouth as if his life depended on it.

Then his eyes would dart from me to the window, where I had a tiny balcony and a single door.

In the summer, I used that place to grow some vegetables to pad out my diet.

But right now, it was empty except for a stack of pots.

I could see the shape of a tarp and two glowing chrome handlebars.

His hoverbike. So he hadn’t been responsible for those stains on my door; he’d come in through the tiny balcony door.

Those glances made me think he was considering bolting out of here as fast as he could. I wouldn’t blame him if he did. I didn’t expect him to stick around and help me raise Junior. In fact, it would probably be better if he didn’t. He was hardly a good influence on a child.

All too soon, his spoon scraped the plate.

He took it to the kitchen without a word, the porcelain clattering against the counter, cutlery skittering across the surface.

He didn’t rinse it, didn’t come to take my empty plate either, like a polite guest might have.

Instead, he began pacing across the tiny room—two strides and he was to my bed, another two and he was back in the kitchen—his long, open robe flaring dramatically around him as he did so.

Then he abruptly stopped in his tracks and pointed a finger at me like it was a gun.

My heart stuttered in my chest at the intense look on his face.

His fangs bared in a snarl, eyes wild and frantic, like he was a cornered animal.

“You’re planning to keep it?” he asked, and when I nodded, his expression turned grim.

“You need to keep it away from me, you understand that? Far away from me.”

Twisting rapidly, he was at the balcony door as if his robe were on fire, his shoulders heaving beneath the black fabric that swathed him.

“You won’t see me again,” he said firmly.

“I’ll send money.” Then he was gone, and I was left in stunned silence, staring at his rapid retreat.

The hover bike hummed quietly as it lifted from my balcony, then roared as it shot into the sky.

Its master clinging to its back like a demon possessed.

Or maybe more like a man fearing possession.

I’ll send money.

What a bizarre turn of events. And what an awful way to condense a new life into just a few words.

To Athol, our baby was nothing but a threat, a danger.

He’d called it it , like it was poison on his tongue.

Well, good riddance. I didn’t doubt that he’d stay true to his word, he’d send money.

I wasn’t an idiot; I’d take it too. In this world, options were so few and far between that I’d take what I could get.

Just like I’d taken that risk eight weeks ago, when Athol had blasted into my life for the first time.

I just hoped that I wasn’t making a mistake, that bringing an innocent child into this hard world wasn’t the wrong choice to make. But how could it be, when I already loved that unborn seed inside my belly?