“Selene.” Elana’s voice is gentle but firm. “Take a break. You need this. Carve a pumpkin.”
Before I can respond, she’s already moving off to help a tentacled being who seems confused by the concept of scooping.
I glance toward the doorway and spot Sutek, Elana’s husband and mate, standing watch. He’s always looming in the background, no matter where Elana goes. Inseparable.
The massive Volscian cuts an intimidating figure—all lethal grace and watchful intensity, weapons visible on his belt even during what’s meant to be a fun and relaxing event for guests.
I don’t know what she sees in him. An alien.
I know, logically, that Sutek wasn’t involved with our abduction. He was part of our rescue. But every time I talk to an alien, or catch them staring at me… I can’t help but wonder what they want from me. Just how bad could our situation have been if Elana hadn’t come along to free us? Can they be trusted?
Someone steps around Sutek, and my attention is captured elsewhere.
Khatak.
My breath catches. His red skin has a warm, almost burnished quality under the orange lights. The perpetual flush across his cheeks darkens his complexion to burgundy, making him look flustered in a way that’s oddly endearing. His horns are smaller than most Volscian males I’ve seen, barely cresting above his hairline. It’s almost like they are hidden, hinting at something more beneath the surface, but they catch the overhead lights and gleam like polished obsidian, suggesting something very tangible lies beneath.
He’s not built like a warrior—not like Sutek’s lethal muscle or Taruk’s broad shoulders. Khatak is leaner, more elegant somehow, his frame suggesting grace rather than brute strength. His tail curls tight against his leg, the pointed tip twitching with what I have since learned to recognize as nervous energy.
He looks around the room, and then he spots me.
His whole face lights up—that open, unguarded expression of relief. Like spotting a familiar face at a party where you don’t know anyone else, like finding an anchor in uncertain waters. No pretense, no mask. Just genuine happiness to seeme.
Heat blooms in my stomach, unexpected and unwelcome and entirely too pleasant. And all too shocking, as it’s the first time I’ve found any interest in an alien since… my unplanned arrival at the alien hotel.
I shouldn’t be here. I should have stayed at the station, supervising from a safe distance. That’s my job—organizing, not participating. And definitely not spending time alone with an alien guest just because Elana keeps suggesting I take a break.
But when Khatak had approached me earlier, asking about the pumpkin carving in that careful, hesitant way of his... I’d heard myself agreeing before I could think better of it. Not because it was my responsibility. Because I wanted to.
No. Not because of him. Because of the pumpkins. When was the last time I actually carved one? Years, probably. This might be my only chance to do something normal, something that reminds me of home. That’s all this is—nostalgia. A desire to reclaim a small piece of my past.
It has nothing to do with the way his whole face lit up when I said yes. Nothing at all.
Still, I find myself walking toward him before I’ve consciously decided to move.
“Khatak.” I gesture to the tables. “Welcome to pumpkin carving. Have you, um, ever carved a vegetable before? For decoration, I mean.”
“Are these the human pumpkins we are carving?” he asks.
I glance down at the array of colored gourds we’ve imported. Sure, some are orange, but a lot are green, blue and even purple.
I smile. “Not quite the original vegetable, but close enough. Here, let me show you the setup.”
I walk him through the tools—serrated knives for cutting, scoops for the insides, smaller implements for detail work. He listens intently, asking questions, actually paying attention in a way that makes me feel heard rather than just tolerated.
Or in the case of most aliens, heard and not just leered at.
“And you can design whatever you want,” I finish. “Anything goes.”
Khatak nods seriously, studying the tools like they’re something to be feared.
I look at the empty seat next to where he’s stopped, then at the array of untouched pumpkins. Elana’s words echo in my head.
“Actually…” I pull out a chair and sit down, reaching for a medium-sized pumpkin. “I think I’ll join you. If that’s okay?”
The smile that breaks across his face is worth the decision. Somehow, he radiates pure happiness, like I have made his day just by sitting beside him. And for some inexplicable reason, I want to believe that my presence really has made such an impact.
I want what Elana has, I realize. Someone who looks at me like I’m the best part of their day.
