Page 93 of Exiles on Earth
Samara’s eyes flick to me, her predatory smile creeping wider. “I must admit, I’m curious. What do you think of the Tuber?”
“I think Ilia”—I emphasize his name—“is kind, clever,sometimes funny, always caring, empathetic, curious, and, above all, loving.” My throat tightens as I run out of breath to name his good qualities. “And that’s just for starters.”
But far from being delighted, his so-called All-Mother’s face drains of color, her eyes screaming at me to stop.
Samara’s smile grows colder, crawling up my spine like frost. “How very interesting indeed. Almost as if… he has a personality.”
“You know they do,” Shara says softly, her hand slicing through the air in a silent plea for me to keep quiet.
“And whose fault is that?” Samara places her untouched cup on the table and picks up her golden circlet. “No, I think this next phase of the Games will be absolutely unmissable. For all of us.” Her gaze pins me in place, sharp and gleaming. “As for you, Earth girl… I have, how do your people say, reserved you a front-row seat. If you’re truly so eager to help the Tuber, that is?”
“I am.” The words spill out before I can stop them.
Her smile widens, revealing fangs behind her lips. “Then I think you’ll be an immense help.”
She claps her hands, and two towering guards stride into the room. Their eyes lock onto me as Samara barks an order in their language before I’m able to pull my headphones back on.
“This way, female. By orders of our mate.”
I glance desperately at Shara, but she shakes her head, her expression heavy with regret.
She can’t help me. I’m on my own.
“Fine,” I say, screwing my usual determination in place. Keep going, lass. Ilia needs my assistance to win these stupid Games. “Let’s get on with it.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
ILIA
I touchmy fingertips to my pulsing lips as El-len rises up and away. She looks so strong, rising from the waters with the gowns outlining her generous hips and her firm breasts, hair long and tangled down her back like a wild spirit.
She seemed so close to choosing me. I could almost see it in her eyes, unless it was my own desperation reflected at me. What do I need to do to impress her?
The True Born males on guard glare at me. “Return to your duties, Gerverstock.”
“I’m not a robot to be ordered around by you.”
One male’s gray scales harden with little clicks. “No, you’re not as valuable as a robot. Get out of the Sanctuary, or we’ll summon the Parthiastocks.”
“I’m here for the Mating Games.”
Their scales turn shiny, reflective. “Oh, so you’re that Gerverstock? Then you’d better get ready. The jungle trial will start soon, and you won’t score any points standing here.”
Points. As if that matters. I don’t care for the females’ games any more, all I need is ascending to some meeting with an unknownfemale.
“You,” a voice growls behind me.
I spin to face the bristling Ysura, Imaya’s mate. His purple-red scales darken as he scowls.
Beside him are the more circumspect but still massive forms of Borela and Frion, her other two mates.
“What brings you here?” I ask, careful to keep my scales at a neutral tone, but shifting my weight in case they start punching me. Perhaps they thought I looked too much at their scientist mate, even though I only paid true attention to El-len.
Frion says quietly, “You have to get to the starting position. The jungle level is about to start.”
“What do you care if I’m not there?”
Borela rumbles, “You need to take this seriously, Tuber. No other clone has ever been given this opportunity.”
