Page 42 of Exiles on Earth
“Your planet sounds awful, no offence,” she says, fire sparking in her voice. Not aimed at me, but at the culture that condemned me.
But I haven’t told her everything. I release her hands, shame dragging my gaze downward. “That's how it is on Oloria. I was sentenced to death. Exile is a kindness.”
“Death?” Her mouth falls open, horror rippling through her voice.
“I’m sorry to distress you?—”
“Fuck that!” she snaps, fury blazing. “Sentenced to death for failing to find a needle in a haystack? Scratch ‘awful,’ your planet’s a dictatorship hellhole.” She grabs my hands again, pressing them to her chest. “Ilia, look at me. You’re free now, okay? You’re safe here, for as long as we can hide you. Which might not be forever, considering how hard it is to camouflage hulking aliens. Someone’s going to notice eventually.”
She’s fighting for me. Me. A mere Tuber.
My hearts twist painfully. Even as the strength in her touch warms me, ice as cold as betrillium manacles clamps around me, pinning me down. My selfish desire for a mate brought my crew to this brink.
I can’t afford to dream of her. I need to focus on fixing our mess and keeping them safe before her government discovers us.
But even as I remind myself I can’t stay, her smile burns into me, branding my every heartbeat with longing.
THIRTEEN
ELLEN
I can’t get involvedwith an alien. I can’t.
My hands tighten on the steering wheel of Dad’s battered Land Rover, rain pounding the windshield in relentless sheets. Outside, Ilia and his crew are training in the lake, rain be damned.
Every day, working with him on the farm feels like the brightest part of my world. It’s not just his strength—though, yeah, the guy tosses hay bales like they’re feathers—it’s the way he listens, his quiet patience, the way he makes everything seem… doable. Together, we knock out tasks faster than I ever could alone, momentum building with every job. He doesn’t take over; he works with me, shoulder to shoulder. And when he’s around, even when he’s not right there, my chest feels lighter, my breath easier, like he’s encouraging me out of the hole I’ve been buried in for years.
And what’s not to like about a guy who helps willingly with chores and seems determined to give me a show while he’s at it? Maybe restringing fences is alien flirting, but acts of service are definitely my love language.
But no matter how good this feels, my head won’t letmy heart win. He doesn’t belong here, not with me. He’s going to leave.
And when he does, it’ll wreck me.
I spot him cresting the hill, his crew peeling off toward the barn. He strides to the Land Rover, water dripping from his broad frame, and slides into the passenger seat, the vehicle groaning under his weight. His serious face softens, splitting into a smile so warm it fills my chest with light.
And I can’t help but grin back. Damn, I’ve got it bad.
“What are we doing first?” he asks.
“Oh, uh… more fences. Far side field, which we call… Far Side.” I bite my tongue. Argh, it’s so easy and yet so hard to speak to him.
“Sounds sensible. I’m ready to depart when you are.”
As we bounce along the dirt track barely suitable for motor vehicles, Ilia scans the horizon. We pass the lambing shelter, bumping and rocking, and then down the ridge to Far Side, tires slicking on the long grass and losing grip on the wet soil. The Landrover slips sideways, and immediately Ilia’s arm darts out to my chest, holding me pinned in place. His scales darken to blood red, muscles rippling and swelling as he fires up that alien power he has.
I slow us down and, when I’m sure it’s safe, shoot him a reassuring smile. “It’s okay, I’ve done this loads of times.”
“I apologize, the vehicle moved unexpectedly. I… I wanted to protect you.” He pulls his arm back, hanging his head like a criminal in the dock as it shrinks back to normal, and my chest aches. That horrible place he grew up in beat this lovely guy into submission, making it so he can’t even ask questions, let alone express a preference.
“Spicy food, or no spicy food?” I ask suddenly.
He blinks in confusion, understandably. “I don’t follow.”
“Do you prefer eating spicy food, or not?” I turn the wheel,starting us down the track again. “There’s no right or wrong answer. What you like is what you like.”
“I… spicy. I like… spicy foods.” The wide eyed delight on his face sends my heart skyrocketing. “I prefer eating spicy food.”
“Great! What about… do you prefer hanging out with sheep, or dogs?”
