Page 86 of Exiles on Earth
She holds El-len at arm’s length, not even looking at me. “How’s the translation device? Have you come to ask for changes?”
“No, I want to check on my dog, Floss.” Her eyes scan the tables. “But while I’m here, I’m interested in farming, it’s my passion, and?—”
“Of course! These are my mates, Borela, Frion, and Ysura here.” She pats Ysura on his broad shoulder, a gesture that carries affection but also subtle authority. “He’s the most protective, so don’t mind him growling at your mate.”
“Oh, Ilia’s not my mate,” El-len blurts quickly. A Terrerius claw plunged into one of my hearts would hurt less than the swift ease with which she distances herself from me.
Ysura’s expression darkens, his protective instincts flaring. “That’s a Tuber,” he says with quiet menace, addressing his mate.
“A Tuber?” The scientist finally turns her sharp eyes to me, her gaze cutting like a scalpel. “Oh, a Gerverstock.” Her tone carries both recognition and disdain. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m accompanying El-len,” I reply, my voice steady though my fists clench at my sides, nails biting into my palms.
Her eyes narrow. “Wait. Are you the one who entered the Games?”
She doesn’t even know who I am, despite giving me a score. I’m nothing more than another Tuber in her eyes. I should be used to it but, since meeting El-len, I’m starting to see more and more how casually cruel her disregard is.
“Yes,” I say through gritted teeth. “I won the chance to compete.”
“And he has a really high score,” El-len adds, her voice carrying an almost awkward cheerfulness.
Is she trying to make me sound impressive to them? Or worse, is she striving to pass me off to someone else entirely?
Imaya’s sharp gaze drags over me, assessing, dissecting, as though I’m an object to be cataloged. She looks at me the way I studied the anyanas tree earlier, evaluating whether it was worth the climb.
The urge to drop my gaze is strong, but I resist. Instead, Istep closer to El-len, a silent declaration that I belong at her side, no matter how she frames it.
Ysura’s glare intensifies, like a smoldering ember about to ignite, but Imaya slides her arms around him in a fluid, practiced motion. His focus immediately softens as he turns to her, his anger dissolving into pure adoration. The bond between them is palpable, a well-worn rhythm of love and trust that’s only grown stronger with time.
El-len clears her throat, breaking the charged silence. “Um, so, sorry if I’m interrupting, but I’d like to see Floss.”
Her words hang in the air, the ache in my chest tightening. A reminder of how far I am from what I truly want: a bond like theirs—with her.
Imaya tears her gaze from her loving mate’s. “You mean the starhound. Frion, please see if she’d welcome visitors.”
“At once,” one of the other males says, placing down his tools. His hands lightly frame his mate’s hips as he moves past her and she turns to kiss him, for which he eagerly obliges. When she finishes, he moves off around the corner, giving her frequent looks over his shoulder.
It’s a cruel reminder that he has a mate bond nestled between his hearts, connecting him to his love, and I have nothing.
Imaya shows her around, and I follow. Ysura breathes down my neck, making sure I avoid his mate, but I keep busy body-blocking him away from El-len. My instincts are in overdrive, scales rippling from war-heavy black to browns to match El-len’s long locks.
I focus on her rather than him. “Do you want a facility like this on your farm?” I ask, watching her fingers glide over the sleek stem of a plant.
Her hand drops. “Not really. I’m interested in crop science, sure, but I don’t have time for experiments. I just… use what works with my land.” Her voice falters, her eyes distant, lost in thought.
I step closer, my chest tightening at the sight of her uncertainty. “Please don’t worry about your farm. My crew will support your friends—they’ve rallied like a unit under your command. You trained them well, El-len. They’ll manage a few human weeks without you.”
Her head snaps up, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Me, the leader? Really?”
“Yes,” I say firmly. “Your friends look to you, listen to you. In every crisis, they turned to you for confirmation. That’s what a leader is.”
She exhales sharply, her fingers tracing the cold edges of the sterile table. “But I called them the night you crashed on us. I needed them because…” She shakes her head. “Aliens are huge. I got overwhelmed.”
I crouch slightly, catching her gaze. “Asking for help doesn’t mean you’re not a leader. It means you’re smart enough to rely on others. That’s strength. You trusted Law-rah with the planning permission and Arra-bellah with designing the barn, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t think of it like that.” A pause, then her voice tightens. “But what if they can’t cope? What if I lose everything? Maybe I should go home, Arabella will be in over her head.”
I clench my fists, suppressing the selfish desire to demand she stay. Instead, I meet her worry with calm assurance. “Arra-bellah isn’t alone. My crew is with her. If you truly wish to return to Earth, I will make it happen, somehow.”
