Page 19 of Exiles on Earth
I barely stop my jaw from dropping, the angry fire inside doused with cold. Wow.
“You’ll rebuild the barn to my specifications,” Arabella chimes in.
“What?” I hiss to her.
Arabella pulls me down close to her, and Laura and Nicole lean in. “Ellen, this is literally the answer to your prayers. Six guys straight from planet hot who will build the bed and breakfast just as you need it to be.” Arabella grins widely. Her smile wavers a little, but she’s always saying to take advantage of what the universe delivers, riding the waves and learning to surf what comes our way.
Is this it?
“They could be dangerous,” Laura whispers, glaring at the men beyond our huddle. “This play-nice attitude could switch at any time.”
I nod, taking that into account. “They could have started aggressively, they didn’t. And Floss likes him. They can’t leave the farm, or they’ll get caught. We can turn them in at any time.”
But my gut lurches at the idea of turning the big guys over to the police or the army. They’d lock them away, or use them for target practice. My gaze strays over to their hopeful faces, all awaiting what I’ll say.
Ilia raises his head. “If I may, I have a suggestion. A hostage, to guarantee our behavior.”
“A hostage?” My mouth goes dry.
“Yes.” He offers up his wrists, holding up the chains he’d been bound with. “Take me prisoner when we’re not working and, if my crew frighten you, kill me.”
“Drok na,” one of the triplets mutters, but while the other men’s nostrils flare, they stay quiet, eyes on the ground.
SEVEN
ILIA
Females.Real females, standing before us, not just images on vid screens. Have we landed in a female’s compound? My hearts hammer in unison, anticipation coiling as if I’m preparing for a blast from a hidden drone. Any second now, I expect to be restrained, shot, or worse.
Four females. More than I’ve ever seen in one place. My arms tremble, wrists raised waiting for shackles, for her to take me. El-len. The leader. Her name holds the cadence of destiny, sharing syllables with my own language. What will she ask of me? How will she treat me in her chambers? My imagination spirals uncontrollably.
El-len. Her name feels like a tether, pulling me closer, threading through my veins like a drug. My pulse pounds under my scales. Her voice is unlike anything I’ve heard before, the vibrations reverberating through every nerve in my body. Is this mate binding? Could it be? The True Born males on the vids always claimed their mate’s voice marked the beginning of the bond—just before their bodies shifted to match her hue, their very essence reorienting around her presence. I want that. I want her.
No. That’s absurd. I can’t be so desperate as to cling to the first female I see. Can I?
My gaze locks on hers, searching for any sign she’s overwhelmed in the same way I am. Her lips part, but no words come. Is she stunned? Displeased? My skin heats with shame. I must have insulted her, offended her customs. I need to learn more, and fast. “Taking me as your hostage would ensure my crew’s compliance,” I offer quickly, bowing my head to show submission. “They would not put my life at risk.”
El-len’s expression flickers, unreadable. “I get that,” she says faintly. Her voice is soft but firm, and my twin hearts twist painfully at the sound.
“Maybe in, like, medieval times,” one of the others says. A petite female, her lava-red hair tied up and strange patterns of color scattered across her scales. No, not scales. Armor? The material they wear clings to their form but doesn’t seem rigid.
I glance at El-len again, wondering if her coverings provide enough protection. The thought of her exposed, vulnerable, sends a flare of unease through me.
I lower my arms at last, the fire in my shoulders unbearable. My body screams for rest, but I can’t falter. My duty is clear: watch for threats, protect the females, put them at ease. Yet El-len distracts me effortlessly. She bites her lip, her teeth pressing against her own flesh, and the sight sears itself into my mind. My instincts roar to soothe the tender skin—perhaps with my own.
She grips the starhound by the scruff, the creature’s tongue lolling comically from its mouth. Its coarse fur reminds me of sea grass, but my attention quickly lifts back to her. Her hair is bound tightly like that of the others’, restrained. What would it feel like loose?
I shake myself. Focus. My crew need me. Whatever this is—whatever she is—I can’t let it consume me.
“Taking a hostage is customary,” I insist.
“We don’t want a hostage,” El-len replies sharply.
Correcting a female feels sacrilegious, but I tread lightly. I try not to let the twinge of disappointment color my voice. “An… emissary, then. I intend to forge trust between us.”
Her face softens, the tension easing from her brow. “I suppose that sounds better than a hostage. I’d prefer to keep this as friendly as possible.”
I bow my head, touching it to my right shoulder. “Then it will be done.”
