Page 11 of Lorran
“Wait, no. I pass.” Wyn scrambled backward, slamming into the red alien’s massive chest. She ached, like she hit a brick wall.
“You already signed the consent.”
“Not for the jabby-pokey!” Wyn flinched away from the needle.
“It’s the translator chip, and you need it to talk to your match. It will only take a moment if you stop squirming.” The nurse grabbed Wyn roughly by the ear and yanked her head down.
Honestly, the ear grab hurt worse than the pinch of the implant. Well, not as bad as the bitter betrayal of misinformation, but that wasn’t personal. The nurse manhandling her felt personal, though.
“There. You may experience vertigo and a headache while the interface activates,” the nurse waved a dismissive hand. She then shoved a tablet toward Wyn. “Sign this. And this. And here. Congratulations. Step this way and you’ll be whisked away to meet your mate.”
The nurse grabbed her by the elbow, and there was no arguing while they marched down the hall.
“But—” Wyn’s mind swam, muddled with the new information and theinterfacing. That couldn’t be healthy.
The nurse administered a second injection in her arm. The sting barely registered. “Inoculations,” she explained. “You may experience lethargy and nausea.”
“Fantastic. My favorite things.”
“You shouldn’t let what people say about the aliens scare you,” the nurse said, misreading the look on Wyn’s face. “They’re not all bad, the Mahdfel.”
Wyn nodded. She wanted to explain that an alien had saved her life when she was a kid, but she just wanted to get this over with. “I hope he’s nice. He looks nice.”
The volunteer center had sent over a one-page brief on her match, consisting of little more than a photo and his name. Wyn may have stared at that photo every night before bed, trying to suss out her alien’s personality.
His complexion was a vivid purple, almost magenta. Two tall horns curled back from his brow. His features were a bit too broad, the jaw a touch too blunt, to be human, but his eyes sparkled. He looked as if he liked to laugh.
Wyn tried not to build him up too much in her mind because the reality would only disappoint her, but she felt she could fall for someone who laughed easily.
The nurse ushered her into a joining room dominated by very impressive and expensive-looking equipment.
“So this is why there’s no funding for the arts?” Wyn wanted to touch all the buttons.
“Stand on the x. There. Don’t move. It helps if you breathe in,” the tech said, barely looking up from the screens.
“Is this safe? For me? Will my medication affect—” Wyn ached from the double punishment of the implant and the inoculations. She clutched the inhaler, still in her cardigan pocket.
The lights in the room went dark.
“I wouldn’t worry. Side effects are rare,” the nurse said, her voice barely audible over the electric hum of the machinery.
The lights embedded in the floor glowed, luminosity increasing until the point of blindness.
“Wait, what side effects?” Wyn asked.
Reality stretched and dissolved.
Lorran
The warlord stood over Lorran, lips pressed tight and an unreadable expression on his face.
“Sir.” Lorran scrambled to his feet.
Gavran followed his example. “You’re Drake and Axil’s father.”
“I am,” the warlord said.
“They won’t let me play with them. They say I’m too little.” Gavran planted his hands on his hips in a move so like Hazel that Lorran committed the image to his memory and vowed to horribly embarrass Gavran about sassing the warlord when he was old enough to be embarrassed by such things.
