I prepare a spicy, herbed roast to perfection, so juicy and tender that my mouth waters. I am not a fan of veg—most praxiians eat nothing but meat—but I cook a little up for my pretty human companion, toasting some roots and tossing them in yet more herbs. I select a fine wine, set the table, and wait.
Kim still has not yet emerged from the bedroom, so I put the food in a warming oven and tend to my plants to pass the time. There are automated bots that can ensure the plants are all watered and fertilized properly, but I like to tend to them myself. It gives me great pleasure to check on each plant, to touch the green leaves and turn it toward the sunlight streaming through the windows. Plants are such a simple pleasure that I do not deny myself any of them, and it takes me a long time to work from room to room, watering and nipping at dead leaves, adding nutrient tabs when necessary, and losing myself in the pleasure of my greenery.
One of the plants has a leaf peppered with holes, and I find the culprit after searching through the arching fronds—a caterpillar has somehow gotten inside and began feasting. With a careful touch, I ease it onto my finger. No sense in killing something that is only doing what it must to stay alive. I eye the small green worm as it crawls across my claws, trying to go back to my plant. “I am afraid you cannot stay,” I murmur to it. “These plants are not yours to eat. Outside, though, there is a feast for you, my friend.”
“Who are you talking to?”
Kim’s sleepy voice makes me turn around.
I whirl about, pleasure making my face crease in a smile. She looks delightfully tousled, her tunic and trou wrinkled from sleeping, her hair crushed flat on one side of her head and tangled. Her eyelids are heavy and she looks so utterly delectable that I cannot decide if I want to squeeze her against me or drag her back to the bed and claim her.
Instead, I hold out the caterpillar. “A little visitor.”
“Oh, a caterpillar? That’s…” She blinks three times, and then falls over in a dead faint.
I let out a shout of horror and return the caterpillar to the nearest plant, then leap to my mate’s side. Kim’s face is utterly pale, and I scoop her in my arms and bound toward the med-center I had installed in the basement of my home. I barge down the stairs and shout orders at the computers, gently laying the tender human on the examination bed. “Do a full medical scan of the human.”
My heart pounds as I lean over her, holding her small hand in mine.
Kim cannot be ripped from me, not when I have finally claimed her as mine. The universe is surely not that cruel.
The scanner gently moves over her, and I watch her pale face, my heart scarcely beating.
“Ailment determined,” the med-scanner finally declares. “Ideopathic syncopal episode.”
That sounds…nightmarish. My poor Kim. I stroke her cheek with one finger, trying to be tender. “Is she dying?” I ask. “What can I do? Does she need a doctor?” I do not think there is one on the planet, but I will empty my coffers to ensure she has the best medical care needed.
“Negative,” the med-scanner replies. “The issue is benign.”
“Benign?” It sounds horrific. I pull up a datapad and search the medical banks…and see that an “ideopathic syncopal episode” means that she fainted. Oh.
“Shall I awaken her?” the med-scanner asks.
“Please.” I squeeze her hand tightly as the med-scanner snaps a small pod under her nose and wafts a stinking chemical into her nostrils. The smell of it is pungent but I do not move from her side. If anything, I hover closer.
I want to see her eyes open.
19
KIM
When I wake up and see the big face looming over mine, I’m confused. I’m flat on my back and just woke up, and I wonder if I’m still in bed. I touched myself—just to take the edge off, of course—to thoughts of the praxiian, trying to get my mind used to the idea, and it turns out…I didn’t hate it.
I didn’t hate it at all.
And the praxiian is gazing down at me with such tender concern on his fierce face that it makes my pulse flutter. Did he know what I was doing? Did he come in here to see…?
But then a robot waves something that smells like a stink bomb under my nose again, and I gag, pushing it aside. I struggle to sit up, and Nassakth supports me with a big hand on my back. I remember now. I woke up from my nap, went to find him…and saw it.
I shudder.
“Are you sick?” Nassakth asks, rubbing my back. “Do you need a drink of water?”
“I’m okay.” I put a hand to my forehead. “I just need a moment.”
“You are not okay. You fainted.” There’s a little growl in his voice. “Why did you faint?”
Do I tell him the truth? “It…it’s stupid.”
Something swats my leg. I glance down and it’s his tail, striking the side of the bed with annoyance. I look around and realize I’m not upstairs at all, but in what looks like a medical clinic of some sort. He did mention he had one downstairs in an antechamber. That must be where I am.
“It will be far stupider if you do not tell me what caused you to faint.” Nassakth doesn’t sound happy. I glance over at him and he’s looking me over with a frown, that tail swishing with irritation.
Did he…did he brush his tail again? The thick, fluffy fur looks awfully smooth and inviting to the touch.
“Well?” he practically snarls.
Right. I rub a hand over my brow again. “It was…the thing on your hand.” I can’t say the word. Just thinking about it makes me feel faint again.
He looks down at his big hand. “Thing?”
“You…you were holding it.” I shudder at the thought of all those arms and legs, that green body, the slinking way it moves, one segment after another, and my gorge rises. “Reminded me of…things.”
Nassakth pauses. “The…bug?”
I press my fingertips to my mouth, because it’s filling with saliva. It’s a stupid reaction, but I can’t help it. “Bad…memories,” I manage to wheeze out.
He stares at me for a moment. Then it dawns on him. “When you were a slave, was your owner a Lrulti?”
I manage to nod, though I’m sweating. Just thinking about it brings back a host of ugly memories. Of being taken by hideous aliens only to be handed off to an even more hideous alien, one that looked like a giant, mutated caterpillar and spoke a high-pitched, buzzing language that made my ears hurt. One that insisted I touch him and pleasure him…every single segment.
And I did what I had to do to survive.
“I’m gonna puke,” I whisper.
Instead of handing me a barf bucket, Nassakth crushes me against his chest. My face is suddenly filled with soft gray fur and underneath that, a hard, warm body. His big hand strokes my hair and he holds me close. “My poor Kim. I understand.” He keeps petting my head. “My owner was an ooli, and I suffer a similar problem when I see amphibians. Their skin makes me very angry. Very.” He rubs my back and squeezes me tight. “You are safe with me. I will never let anything or anyone harm you ever again.”
There’s such confidence in his voice that I believe him. And for some reason, my urge to puke is going away. It’s like him holding me is making all that awful tension relax, and my mouth stops watering and the urge to vomit dissipates. Instead, I relax against him and let him hold me close. It’s…nice. When was the last time I wanted to be touched? It’s been far, far too long. Yet since I’ve met Nassakth, he’s licked my hand, and petted my hair, and squeezed me against him. Praxiians are a touchy-feely race, I’m learning, and…I don’t hate it.