Page 2 of Lorran
Still didn’t. All that sounded amazing.
The Mahdfel continued to star in her fantasies. She knew she wasn’t the only person drawn to the aliens. Handsome, heroic, dedicated to their mates.
Stop. Her ovaries could only explode so much.
Alien romance books were a guilty pleasure, and she might have purchased a special edition battery-operated toy, but what was in her nightstand drawer was her business.
Okay, being matched had a lot of benefits. Sexy alien benefits.
Sure, being away from her parents would suck, and Sonia would be upset. She had lectured Wyn enough about the yoke of the oppressor, blah blah blah. She would appreciate Wyn seizing control over her own damn body. Right?
Eh, she’d give it 50-50 odds.
And it was going to happen, anyway.
Just do it.
Do it.
Wyn opened the door.
The woman behind the reception desk smiled. “You finally made it! Good for you. You’ve been dilly-dallying for ages now.”
“What?” Mortified, Wyn wanted to rush back out.
“The flower lady. Every Sunday.” The woman glanced pointedly at the half-crushed bouquet. “Don’t worry. It takes plenty of people a few attempts before they actually volunteer. That is why you’re here? Unless you already have a mate?”
“No. No mate. It’s my birthday soon,” Wyn blurted. Her cheeks burned. “I’ve never done this before.”
“Lots of people volunteer, and it’s normal to come in and ask questions, then think about it. There’s a lot to consider.” The woman produced glossy pamphlets.
“No, I mean I’ve never been tested. Ever.”
“Not once?”
“Never.” Wyn had been a kid during the invasion. While her family, Mom, Dad, big brother Reese, and herself, made it through mostly unscathed, they had been caught in a gas attack. Wyn knew they only survived because a Mahdfel warrior slapped a gas mask on them and took them to a medic. Even then, she had scarring on her lungs, which required supplemental oxygen for years after. She knew about the devil’s bargain Earth made with the Mahdfel, but it didn’t apply to her. She had an exemption.
Until she didn’t.
When she turned eighteen, the authorities decided that people with her condition or other injuries sustained during the invasion could be managed with medication and were no more serious than any other chronic medical condition. But that was the year she developed pneumonia and got a medical exemption from mandatory genetic testing. She still had a serious pulmonary condition, even if the authorities were convinced that it didn’t affect her uterus.
After that, her parents paid the neighbor’s grandson for a fake engagement. She figured it was down to losing Reese in a car accident—talk about irony, surviving an alien invasion only to die because of a drunk driver—and they were desperate to keep their only baby close. Wyn didn’t argue. That arrangement lasted throughout college until she fell in love with Oscar and got engaged for real. They were together for five years until Oscar left to follow his muse—his muse. What kind of artsy-fartsy bullshit was that? The next year, her appendix had decided it had seen enough of the world and burst, which was another medical exemption. So here she was, on the cusp of thirty and never having been tested.
“It just worked out that way.” She shrugged.
The receptionist patiently explained the process, but Wyn just wanted it done. “Please, can we just get it over with? I’ll sign all the things. I don’t care.”
“Sure, okay.” In a few moments, Wyn signed what felt like a dozen documents, had her ID chip scanned, and a tech brought her to the back to swish a swab around her mouth.
Now all she had to do was wait.
* * *
The call came laterthat night. Wyn saw the ID info on the screen and went into her bedroom to answer.
“Miss Davies?”
“Yes?” She shut the door and switched on the box fan to cover the conversation. The walls in the apartment were thin. Lots of natural light but crappy cardboard walls.
