Page 50 of Exiles on Earth
She recovers fast, her voice biting. “Are you saying that just because I won’t go out with you right now, when you were the one who cut me off six months ago? You’re pathetic.”
“You are the pathetic one, clinging to this dead place,” Ter-ry snaps. “It’s done, El-len. This farm is nothing now! You’re holding on like a child with a rotten, old comfort blanket.”
Her breath catches, eyes wide with pain. The words hit deep, voicing the fear she hides behind a determined mask. She’s strong, but I can see the cracks—cracks she doesn’t let anyone see. She thinks she’s failed.
My pulse races, fury surging through me. Scales flash crimson as I step forward, ready to rip him apart, but El-len cuts the air with a sharp motion. A silent command: not yet.
Ter-ry catches her movement and spins toward me, all bravado. “What do you have to say for yourself, whoever you are?”
I glance at El-len, and she gives me a small, tight nod. Permission.
“You’re lying,” I growl.
“I can see shoddy work a mile away?—”
I cut him off. “The farm isn’t rotten, and it’s not dead.”
He snorts at me. “Go back to whatever cave you came from. You’re no businessman, knuckle dragger.” He frowns. “I could have sworn you were wearing blue.”
I step closer, ignoring him entirely now, my eyes on El-len. Her eyes meet mine, wary, like she’s bracing for another blow. Ter-ry’s words have cut her, reopening old wounds, and she’s thrown up her guard, internal scales against his assertions, but I see the hurt beneath it. I want nothing more than to dismantle the man who caused it, but there’s something far more important.
Putting her back together.
“It’s beautiful,” I say softly. “Beautiful as it is, and even more beautiful in the future you’ve dreamed up for it. You haven’t failed, El-len. Far from it. We’re working to build your vision, the one you’re leading us toward. If you can’t see it right now, Ican. I don’t need visualizations to show me your dreams will be breathtaking.”
El-len straightens, drawing strength from me. Pride surges in my chest. Good. I have strength to spare whenever she needs it, and I always want to support her. I want to be here to see all her dreams made real.
El-len turns to the interloper. “Terry, you’ve worn out your welcome,” she says, her voice unwavering. “Now, get off my land.”
I fold my arms, resisting the urge to step in. Ter-ry isn’t a physical threat, and El-len can handle him, as long as he listens.
The human grinds his teeth. “Fine. You’ll regret this, Ellen.”
“Bye, Terry.” She waves to him as he stalks to his vehicle, holding her smile until he’s nothing but a faint growl on the horizon. Then, her face crumples. “What a twat.”
“Agreed, whatever that is.”
El-len snickers, a happy sound that rings around the walls of the barn. “Thanks, for what you said.” She tucks her hair behind her ear, the errant curl wrapping around her finger and sliding free again as she lowers her hand. “Did you mean it?”
“I mean every word I speak to you.” My scales soften, letting my chest expand more easily. “I don’t lie, unless it’s to keep someone I care for safe.”
She nods, her expression flickering between gratitude and vulnerability. “It’s… lovely to have someone in my corner. The girls are nice, don’t get me wrong, but it feels like we’re fighting an uphill battle all the time.”
I crack my knuckles, scales hardening with prickles of pain as my overstretched skin rips again. “Tell me where the battle is, El-len. I’ll fight for you.”
She studies me, searching for the truth in my face. When she finds it, she smiles, faint but steady. “Not a literal battle. No one’s dying here. But that developer wants my land, and selling would solve everything—the debt, the mortgage, the bankbreathing down my neck. Farming doesn’t make enough to keep up. But I know if I pivot—open the bed and breakfast, rent the office spaces—I can make this work. I can save this place for wildlife, for the countryside, for future generations.”
She tips her face up to the open roof of the barn, and the raindrops gently kiss her cheeks. “So, thanks for believing in me too. You’re a… really nice guy, Ilia.”
The words swell in my chest, a rush of pride and something deeper.
But then she hesitates, her cheeks coloring. “Sorry, uh…”
I stand still, open, bracing for what’s next. Will she take it back? My fists curl to keep from reaching for the fragile hope she’s unknowingly stoked.
Her brows knit, and she glances at me, uncertain. “Is guy the right word? Or… is there something else you’d prefer?”
“Anything. Anything you want to call me, I’ll answer to.”
