Page 103 of I'm Not Your Pet

“Stars taste like freedom,” Father answered. He’d been to space once. Once was enough.

Freedom.

He’d died not many years later. The doctor had tried to keep me at his bedside, but the lack of color in his surface made it obvious what had happened. So I’d run outside, the grass tickling my feet, instead. Staring at his corpse wouldn’t bring him back.

I looked at the constellations above, the inky night spread high and wide. And as I mourned, I wondered if he was right. So much had changed in such a small amount of time, and yet the stars remained the same as they’d always been. Father’s stories and dreams preserved in the sky he’d left behind and the son he’d left behind with it.

After I was moved to the orphanage, most days I spent my time corralling and protecting my adoptive siblings. I cleaned their messes, trailing behind them and sweeping up their chaos with a broom and dustpan. I was the Sahrk that kept them in line. I was the Sahrk that kept them safe. And when the plague struck, again, and our shared bedroom filled with sickly children—I was the one who was ready at hand for the healer and caretaker, to help wherever I could.

I couldn’t stand idly by. Not when those younger and smaller than me were at stake. I went hungry some days, so that those who needed extra provisions had them. And when the great storm cleared, and The Calamity lifted—the cure administered to all that occupied our planet—that drive to see those weaker than me safe, stayed.

I never forgot my father’s words, or the promise of the stars.

I never forgot who I was.

“I have never met a teenager more allergic to fun,” our caretaker would laugh, years later, when I’d sit on the grass, observing my siblings rather than joining them. When the sky bled violet and the moons peeked out, I ignored the other children’s chatter and counted down the days till I was old enough I could taste the stars myself.

I’d been captain for fifteen years now.

I’d been chasing the stars for far longer than that.

And yet—it wasn’t untilthismoment that I got a taste of what my father had promised. Huu-goh’s lips trembled against my own as I cradled him close.

He was warm.

His heat pressed tight against my body as we swung together to the lilting glide of the music in the air. The live orchestra at the ball was talented, but even their flawless performance didn’t hold a candle to the beauty of the small huu-man cradled in my arms.

He didn’t seem to mind the fact his feet didn’t touch the floor. He didn’t mind that I didn’t know how to mimic the other dancers surrounding us. He didn’t mind the way I cradled him close, tucked in the crook of my arm, his head on my chest.

Huu-goh’s lovely dark gaze hadn’t left mine once. Not when we’d left the elevator, not when we’d entered the ballroom, and not when we’d joined the group on the dance floor.

His eyes were mine and mine alone.

His lips tasted like freedom, slick from the trail of my tongue. I wished I had lips like he did. Soft, cushiony things I could kiss and nuzzle him with. Unfortunately, my tongue would have to do.

We were horrible at dancing, that much was true. But neither of us cared, or truly even noticed, despite Huu-goh’s earlier fears.

“What’s this?” Huu-goh asked as his fingers played with the pocket on my suit jacket. It took me a moment to blink away the daze I’d found myself in.

Oh.

I hadn't meant for him to see that yet.

I recognized the paper he’d found with fuschia-spotted embarrassment.

“Ah.” My throat clogged up like it had earlier, the words getting stuck as I shifted his body so it was supported by my right arm alone. Tendrils erupted from my wrist, winding around him to ensure he remained snuggly in place as my attention divided between dancing and the paper in his hand.

I pulled the note from his grip to flip it open.

Huu-goh examined it with sparkling curiosity.

What had I expected?

It was like he could sniff out all my secrets.

I should’ve known my clever mate would find my list.

“It’s a…” I’d spent an entire week writing the contents of this paper. I’d poured my heart and soul into it. I wasembarrassed. Far more embarrassed of the list than I was of my lack of rhythm.

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