“Is it?” My smile grows broader. I love that they’re noticing that about him. I love that he’s so obviously mine, even in their eyes.Suck it, Tia.Then of course, I feel bad for even thinking that. It’s not her fault that I got him before she did, or that the moment we resonated he’s never given her a second thought. Maybe we were meant to be after all. And really, I’m a better fit for him anyhow. He needs me to laugh with him—and sometimes laugh in his face when he’s taking himself too seriously. “He’s a good guy. Actually, he’s the best guy.”
“Aw,” Sabrina says, and sighs dreamily. “I don’t know if I’m very happy that we’re stuck here instead of back home, but I guess if we can get sweet alien boyfriends it won’t be so bad.”
“What are you talking about, back home?” says another. “We don’t have a home. We’re clones, remember?”
Sabrina’s expression dims. “Oh. Right.”
“If we’re clones, why do I have memories?” Isadora retorts. “Maybe they’re wrong. Maybe—”
“You’ve been programmed,” one of the strange-looking males says. He steps forward, and I see it’s one of the males that has catlike features—and the same blue hide and horns as the mesakkah. “I imagine we all have.”
“Programmed? What do you mean?” Yasmin asks.
He taps his head. “I have memories up here. Some of them are from a distant past, of a fight that I won but it cost me my hand.” He holds up his arm and wiggles claw-tipped fingers. “This hand. Since it’s here, that’s either not my memory or it’s been planted in my head. I also have a lot of knowledge of gladiator bouts. Of moves to use against specific enemies. Of rules and regulations. But my hands are soft, and my feet are, too. My skin is unmarred.” He holds his hands out and turns them. “It is obvious to me that I have never fought anyone. Not in this body, anyhow. So somehow these memories have been planted inside me, but they are not mine. I think the recording is correct and I am a clone, just as you are.”
“Is that why some of you don’t have names? Or memories of anything?” I scan the small group. There are two girls that have no names at all, so I’ve been calling them Natalie and Vivian, after two of my sisters.
The male with the cat features shrugs. “Your guess is as good as mine. I just woke up here, too.” He gives me a ghost of a smile.
Right. He wouldn’t know unless it was planted in his head, too. “Doesn’t matter. Like I said, you’re all home now.”
One of the women raises a hand timidly. “Can I ask a question?” When I nod, she continues. “How is it I can understand your words? I don’t speak alien.”
Speak alien? That’s cute. “My guess is that you have a translator, just like me.” I tap my head, at a spot behind my ear. “The aliens have a technology that lets a chip implant translate languages for you and also accelerates your learning of those other languages. That’s all.” It’s not something I think about often. I don’t even pay attention to what I’m speaking anymore, and I’m pretty sure I’ve picked up enough of the alien tongue that I probably speak an amalgam of both English and the sakh tongue. At least we don’t have to worry about interpreting language. It’s one less thing to stress over in regards to our new castaways.
A woman touches her ear, worried. “When did that happen?”
Before I can answer, someone storms up to the fire and holds something out. It’s one of the alien men, the one that looks most like a cat. In his hand is a snarling, squalling quill-beast that’s thrashing and doing its best to get free of his grip. It bites his hand and there are quills up his arm, sticking out of his skin, but he looks over at me calmly. “We need these alive to gut them, yes?”
Another woman squeals in horror, and someone else ducks underneath the blankets.
Oh boy. I study the big guy and then the group giving him horrified looks. Do I wait for I’rec to come back and break the news to everyone that they need a khui or do I try to pep talk it as best I can? “As long as the khui inside it is strong and still alive, I’m sure we can use it,” I say, deciding to go with a cheerful demeanor. “Okay, guys. Everyone pay attention. So you’ve noticed my blue eyes, right?” I point at the corner of my eye. “That’s because everyone on this world needs a khui to help you survive. You—”
As I speak, the male alien brings the quill-beast up to his face and as I watch, bites the head off of it and spits it aside. Blood erupts and the women shriek in horror. He turns to me, blood running down his cat-chin and holds the limp body out. “Show me where the parasite is.”
“Parasite?” someone squeals.
“It’s a…friendly parasite,” I chirp, my smile frozen on my face. I really, really need I’rec to return soon. I don’t want to be in charge. I would much rather be the sassy sidekick who just juggles the balls of the man in charge and makes him feel like a stud.
So yeah, I’rec needs to return ASAP.
ChapterTwenty-Three
I’REC
By the time A’tar drops us back at the human camp, there is a light snow drifting from the sky and my arms are laden with supplies. The scaly male that accompanied me is not all that useful—he has been slowing down and seems to be in pain. If I ask about it, he snarls at me, so I ignore him and the fact that he does not carry much back. We have enough for now, at least. I have enough animal pelts with me to stitch together a few sleeping tents, and extra foodstuffs.
The dragon does not stay. He drops us gently upon the ground and noses me toward my mate. As if I need encouragement. She is all that I look at, her form so pleasing to the eye that I want to kick myself for not noticing her before resonance. Truly I am a fool. I stagger forward with my burdens even as A’tar flies off, returning to his hunt for T’ia and R’jaal. Somewhere behind me, the scaly male—S’karr—struggles with his packs. I pause to set mine down—
—and F’lor flies into my arms, clinging to my neck. She showers my face with kisses, knocking the furs and foodstuffs out of my grip. Surprised—and pleased—at her warm reception, I kiss her back, and she locks her legs around me. “So glad…you’re back…” she tells me between kisses. “You be in charge. I hate it.”
I heft her in my arms, loving the feel of her pressed against me. My hand slides to her bottom and I tuck her against my side, since she seems inclined to remain hugging my front like a baby nightflyer does to its mother. And…I like it. I like that she needs me in this instance, because F’lor never trulyneedsme. It feels good to be wanted.
“I’m botching everything,” she whispers. “The cat guy bit the head off of a quill-beast and dismembered it to get the khui inside and the girls freaked out and I’m just making things worse.” She rubs her nose against mine. “Please take charge? Please? I’ll make it up to you.”
I chuckle, resisting the urge to wrap my tail around her waist and never let her go. “I will handle it.” I rub her nose back, not minding that hers is colder than mine. “Will you look at S’karr? He is struggling. He might be sick.”
She peers over my shoulder—or tries to. “Is he the scaly one? I wonder if he’s cold-blooded. That might be why. But yes, I’ll take care of him, you take care of the khui situation, and I’ll make it up to you later.” F’lor gives me a mischievous look and then licks my chin fur. “I’ll let you tap my ass as much as you want.”