Page 38 of Exiles on Earth
Arabella whistles. “The big scary guy is strong.”
Ilia sets Gara down on the side and then turns toward us, as if he’d heard Arabella. His shoulders are even bigger, chest heaving, glaring at the brambles as if they’re a threat.
“Yeah. Very.” I wave before jamming my cold hands in my pockets. “But he’s not all that scary.”
“Maybe not with you.”
Perhaps not. Heat flares in my core again and, despite loving Arabella to bits, I kind of wish I was alone right now. It’s been ages since I had any energy or urge to come, but the way Ilia looks at me gives me tingles. With Arabella as my shadow, any minutes alone to get my toys out will be a long time coming. As Ilia starts swimming again, muscles bunching, I lick my lips, thinking of the thick Bad Dragon in my cupboard, how it fills me so completely.
Arabella nudges me again. “Shouldn’t we be feeding the sheep or something?”
I shift my weight from one welly to the other, not wanting to leave. “We should keep an eye on them, right? Make sure they don’t do anything national security-breaking.”
“Sure.” Arabella lifts her camera again, the soft clicks of the shutter going off as the guys continue swimming. “What a shame we have to keep a close eye on these hot guys.” Another click. “Huge, huge shame.”
Ilia’s roar still echoes in my ears as he sinks back into the water, his movements measured, controlled. Even after the fiery display, he exudes calm authority, though I catch the glances in my direction. The heat smouldering low in my belly is unexpected and unwelcome—or maybe too welcome.
Yep, I need some alone time. There’s nothing wrong with looking, but what I absolutely cannot do is ignore my responsibilities, or get involved with another guy, especially one who definitelycan’t stay.
Ilia reaches the far side of the pond and hauls himself up, water streaming off his sculpted frame. He barks a command, and the others in the lake fall in line, their movements synchronized. A shiver runs through me, but it has nothing to do with the cold.
“I’ll go feed the sheep,” I say, even though all I want to do is stay rooted here.
But I can’t trust my desires. They cost me too much.
TWELVE
ILIA
The short cyclestake getting used to, but we adapt. The work makes a good rhythm to the day: an-egg breakfast with El-len and Ara, gathering raw materials for the plascrete machine on board the shuttle, midday meal of a steaming root vegetable which looks like a rock, rebuilding the barn, swimming, and an evening meal consisting of protein and carbohydrates El-len calls “French fries.”
Gara’s injury heals within three Earth days, and he quickly gets into the thick of it to regain his strength, with me watching to ensure he doesn’t push himself too hard.
At swimming, El-len and Arra-bellah join us at the pond while I lead training. I focus on my crew, but my gaze keeps drifting to her silhouette on the hill, a quiet observer against the horizon.
El-len often leaves soon after, vanishing while we finish a day’s labor on the barn. The sky stays heavy with clouds, unrelenting, and Arture’s anxious scans of the horizon find nothing. I’m failing him—and worse, I might be failing her. If I’m not meeting her expectations, I need to know how. I need to fix it. Keeping her happy has become as vital as the air in my lungs.
One afternoon, I leave the lake early, water dripping from my frame. “Gara, take over. I’m going to talk to El-len.”
He frowns but nods. As I climb the hill toward El-len, Arra-bellah and the starhound, standing like silent sentinels, I heat my core to steam away the water clinging to me. The horizon churns with gray shadows, thunderheads rolling in to match the storm in El-len’s distant, frustrated expression.
When she notices me, she calls down, “All okay?”
That complicated word. “We are optimal. I want to confirm that you’re satisfied with the work—and with the way things are between us.”
“Yeah, everything’s fine.” Her words are quick, but her gaze betrays her. It slips down my neck to my chest, lingering on my damp skin before darting lower, then snapping up to meet my eyes. Her cheeks flush a deep, pleasing pink, a color I want to know more about. Humans are fascinating.
El-len stamps her feet as if she were cold, her skin paling again, and I long to pick her up and run her back to her house to get her warm. Right before I can offer, she turns away and announces, “I need to feed the sheep. Arra-bellah doesn’t want to come, so she’ll be in charge, okay?” She looks to me for confirmation.
“Yes, El-len, but—” I shut my mouth. I can’t ask for anything from a female.
She asks, “What is it?”
“I—” The words stick in my throat. “If I may, I would prefer to help you.” I point to the thunderhead. “That will break soon, will it not?”
“Yeah, which is why I need to get my job done quickly today.” She gnaws her lip, the perfect pink in danger of being bruised by her white teeth biting down far too roughly.
“I can move fast, and I’ll do whatever you tell me to do.” I straighten my shoulders, trying to project Gerverstock qualities of strength and intelligence. Will she choose me?
