DaKar didn’t bother responding. At moments like this, he almost felt sorry for Peller. There was no making their father proud. And the older male would never give up the esteemed élithe title or the power that came with it unless they were pried from his cold, dead hands.
“This is my event.” His half-brother prattled on. “Mother has done this for me.”
DaKar had to admit his stepmother had outdone herself tonight. A thousand flickering candles cast shadows over the Outer World performers from beyond Orion’s belt, their green scales glowing as they climbed the walls and astonished with acrobatics an Earther’s body could never do. In another section of the giant room, musicians from Saturn’s moons played haunting tunes through their trunks as élithe guests pretended to sway to the music while looking to see who they could suck up to next. To top it all off, colorful neon lights flashed in random bursts from the ceiling, sparking to life the gems and danashe stones sewn into the clothes or worn as accessories around the neck, wrists, or hair of the guests. There was nothing the élithe loved more than to show off their wealth, and danashe stones, prized for their beauty, rarity, and stunning color shifts in the light, were a staple of élithe couture.
But none sparkled quite as bright as the tiny one’s golden hair.
“I’ll tell Mother.” His half-brother was relentless—and unimaginative. His insults and threats always the same.
“Bleek off, Peller.” DaKar’s voice dipped to a growl and then cracked, ruining the effect. His grip on the railing tightened. Thanks to his Martian blood, he’d always been bigger than his full élithe peers, but at ten, his voice and body were changing, and suddenly unreliable. His horns, usually tucked to the side of his head, popped out when he least expected. His skin, already golden and nothing like the creamy pink color of his élithe peers, was deepening in hue, while his fangs lengthened and his shoulders, chest, and legs grew by the lunar rotation.
That last development was the only thing he liked. Because maybe soon he’d be able to do something besides taste dirt beneath the fists of the grown-ups who ruled his life. Maybe he’d even be able to stop following his sire’s directives and finally accept his mother’s uncles’ repeated invitations to come visit them on Mars. He didn’t know if things on the Outer World would be as rough as here, but he wanted to find out.
He leaned farther over the balcony railing, rising to his tiptoes, the strange heat rippling beneath his skin weird, but not unpleasant.
She’d been standing next to a nervous-looking female and smug Executive male who looked like a typical élithe asht-hole. The two adults had recently entered into a breeding contract by the looks of the bright, metallic sashes around their shoulders, and the girl had been crowded out by a steady stream of well- wishers. Until she hovered at the outskirts, her head cast down- ward, her tiny shoulders hunched. Alone. Like him.
He gripped the railing tighter, the bruises on his jaw and ribs throbbing a little less. He didn’t know how he knew, but she was the cause of the strange sensations. He was certain of it.
He’d been tinkering with his junk of a transpo floater, no intention of coming here, when the burn had snaked down his spine and propelled his feet forward, tugging him along until he’d stood at the edge of the balcony and his gaze had unerringly locked on her, everything else dropping to silence.
He had no clue why. Her hair was pretty, but there was little else of mention. She was skinny with big eyes and a large mouth that took up her whole face. She was also no more than seven, right around the same age as his annoying half-brother. And she was full élithe, like his stepmother, dressed in the same shimmering ornate white gowns required of all unbred females.
Svette, the eighteen-year-old girl from Orion’s belt who came with her father to deliver supplies and giggled and winked at him the whole time, was a far more attractive female. But his skin had never once hummed for her like it did for the golden-haired one.
His stepmother would probably say it was some disgusting Martian thing. She blamed everything she didn’t like on his Outer World blood. And maybe she was right, maybe whatever this was—
His breath left in a rush as the blonde’s head snapped up and bright green, defiant eyes zeroed in on him. Her fiery spirit, fury, and confusion slamming into him as if he’d stepped inside her mind. As if they were one. As if he knew this strange girl as well as he knew himself. And, for an instant he wasn’t alone, the heat inside him swirling and changing, snaking in golden tendrils that stretched towards her even as they wound tighter and tighter around his chest. Binding them together, two jagged pieces snap- ping into place. Inevitable. Right. Fated. Fused into one perfect whole. Filling the empty, bleak sky of his soul with a million sparkling stars more beautiful than any danashe stones.
Minel. The Martian word for “mine” ricocheted through his brain, a silent roar. Ancient. Primal. Out of context in the élithe world and his ten-year-old boy mind. And yet so right. As if he was finally slipping into the skin he was meant to wear, his chest expanding as the golden shimmer of his skin glittered brighter. Minel. He who’d had nothing he could call his, not even the clothes on his back, suddenly had everything he’d ever wanted. Minel. Her anger, fear, and loneliness pulsed in his chest as if she’d whispered her feelings straight into his ear, and a protectiveness he’d never known roared through him. His horns jutted from his head, his fangs lengthening. Keeping her safe, making her happy, suddenly all that mattered.
The railing bent under the force of his grip.
“Oh, look what you’ve done,” gasped Peller. “Mother will be furious.”
The humming beneath DaKar’s skin increased in tempo. The girl’s eyes crinkled at the edges as if she was trying hard to make him out and he realized she couldn’t see him nearly as well as he could her. Élithe sight wasn’t as strong as Martian sight and he was positioned far across the other side of the room, high above. And yet she still looked his way...her brow wrinkled, her expression uncertain, but curious.
Then, her face scrunched up, her tongue came out, and she made a silly face totally out of place with her fancy dress and proper bearing.
He locked his knees to stay upright. She was perfect. Minel.
The wild, uncivilized urge built inside. He needed to plant himself in front of the girl who’d tried to make him laugh and rip apart anyone who attempted to hurt her or take her from him.
He moved along the balcony edge toward the stairs, his stare never wavering from her.
“You can’t go down there. L-look at you. You know how Mother feels about keeping up appearances.” Peller had lost his smug tone. Now, he just sounded shocked—and a little scared. “Why are you growling like that? A-and why are your chest and fangs bigger than before? What’s that glowy thing around your body? You...you look even more like one of those savage Martians than usual. Father will be furious.”
Neither of them liked their father furious.
DaKar hesitated, but not because of his father. The pull to go to the girl, to find out why she was sad, built like a storm inside his gut, the pressure immense, almost painful. Except...Peller was right. He’d never been more aware of his ragged, worn clothes, castoffs from his half-brother that looked ridiculous on his too- big frame. Or his horns, fangs, wild hair, and dirty face and hands. Or the bruises that throbbed beneath his clothes. The élithe below were everything he was not, and she was one of them.