Snap.
The petals slam shut around the glowing bug, and it makes a high pitched chirp that cuts off quickly.
My eyes go wide.
“Sweets,” he repeats, and I swivel my head towards him. I can’t shake the feeling that something has crawled into my ear, and I give my head a careful tilt, trying to loosen it.
“I am furious that the translator embed has affected you thusly, my wife.”
I stare at him. The fire casts strange shadows across the planes of his face. Surely, I heard him wrong. I sit up slowly, smashing the palm of my hand against my ear.
“No,” he hisses, circling my wrist with his talon-tipped fingers. “Do not hurt yourself, wife. Why would you do such a thing?”
The translator must be misfiring. It must be wrong.
“Why do you keep calling me that?” It comes out hoarse.
His thumb slides down my forearm. I jerk away from him.
“Because you just wed me. We are mated.” A satisfied smirk punctuates this statement, and all air seems to leave my lungs.
It takes me a moment to get enough oxygen back to formulate a response.
“What do you mean we just wed?” Maybe these aliens have a different definition of the word. Maybe my translator is glitching.
“It means you’re mine now, little human.” There’s a predatory hunger in his eyes.
I don’t give him an inch. My throat’s gone dry, my heart flipping in my chest, but he doesn’t have to know that.
“Not according to any laws on Earth.” I’m not entirely sure how I’m managing to form coherent sentences at this point.
That strange barking sound comes from him again, and I realize he’s laughing again.
Did I think he was polite and respectful earlier? Anger curls through me.
“You are not on Earth.” He smooths a strand of hair away from my face, the wet piece of cloth brushing against my temple. It’s almost tender.
I grit my teeth. I have to be smart about this. I need to be diplomatic. Earth needs their tech. My people need it, if we want to stand a chance of maintaining our planetary independence.
“What troubles you, human wife?” His tail swishes, and his scaly forehead wrinkles.
“Call me that again and lose your favorite body part,” I snarl.
A grin kicks up the side of his mouth.
“It will be your favorite body part, too. But if you prefer another name, I am only too happy to acquiesce, Captain Jacks.” He’s still smiling at me, like I’ve said something adorable.
I stare at him. Most men I know would take my threat for what it was: a promise to do severe bodily injury to their dick or balls, or if I felt generous, all three.
I’m still considering it when the truth snaps into place in my head. The heavily redacted comms. The oath we swore to do whatever it took to get the tech. The Federation’s choice of an all-female team. Michelle’s fearful, anxiety ridden expression at the ceremony.
The bottom of my stomach drops out.
CHAPTER SIX
DRAZ
Her green and gold eyes close slowly, and I watch, fascinated, as her long eyelashes meet and part again. When they open fully, they’re wide in disbelief, her mouth slightly parted.
How I long to feel that mouth against me.
“Did they know?” she croaks.
It is an odd question, and I cannot for the life of me figure out who or what she is talking about, so I wait for further information. An insect buzzes around my head, another victim for the pale petals of the jono flower behind me.
“Did Earth… Did my command know? The Federation. They knew you planned to wed us?”
The realization pierces me. I stumble back with the force of it. My sweet human female did not know she was marrying me. The Federation deceived us both.
She did not agree to it.
My fists clench at my sides, guilt sliding through me. Rage follows quickly on its heels, but I swallow it down, refusing to show her my anger. She does not need my anger.
She needs my protection. Now, more than ever.
She lets out a harsh laugh, and there is no humor in it. In fact, her eyes spark with water, and concern grows through me.
“You are producing liquid here,” I point to my own eyes, everything in me screaming to comfort her. But I know if I move to touch her again, she will not be pleased.
I want to please her. I want to give her pleasure like she has ever known. My tail lashes furiously against the ground.
“No, I am not,” she chokes out, then frowns at me, as though furious I have pointed out the liquid.
“You are,” I tell her earnestly, real concern threading through me. “Is it a sickness?” I bend closer, trying to determine the cause.
She leans back, grabbing a fallen zitsu leaf, and brandishes it like a weapon at me. It might be threatening, were she not a head and a half smaller than me… and were it not for the fact the zitsu leaf flops around like a fish on a bank.
Instead, it is adorable.
I sink to my heels, studying her. Her smooth throat bobs, a motion I will never cease to be intrigued by. My hand goes to my own throat on reflex, and all I feel there is the hard armored plating of my scales. What must it be like to be so fragile?
I can think of one hundred things in this jungle that would be only too happy to make a meal out of my perfect wife.
“You are afraid,” I say. It makes me sick. “What have I done to frighten you?”
“I am not afraid.” She sticks her chin up, her eyes still watery. Every inch of her is defiance. “Answer the damn question. Did my command know that you planned to wed us at the welcoming ceremony?”
“Of course, they did. We did not expect our mates to be so beautiful,” I say cautiously, half afraid she will hurt herself by smashing the zitsu leaf into the wrong part of my scaled hide. I must choose my words carefully.
She bares her small, blunt teeth, and growls—growls!—at me. It is quite charming, and I can’t help flashing my own fang in a smile back at her.
“Did they not tell you?”
“No,” she grits out, and alarm rises in me as more water slips down her cheeks.
I do not say anything though, as she does not seem to enjoy talking about the water. So I stare at it, my gaze flicking from the water back to her eyes, where more water forms.
“Is it a sign of thirst?” I finally ask, unable to contain my concern.
She waves the zitsu leaf again. “It is a sign that I am royally, completely, absolutely furious.”
Am I supposed to be afraid of the zitsu leaf? I am not sure, so I ignore it, watching my little mate sniffle miserably.
“With your command?” I ask. “You are angry with your command?”
The look she gives me tells me that she meant her threat about chopping off my balls, and I cup myself protectively.
“Right,” I say.
I stalk away, feeding the small fire another branch, careful to keep the flames low enough that the separatists will have trouble finding us in the jungle.
“Why wouldn’t they tell us? Why didn’t they give us a choice?”
Ah. This is a refrain I am familiar with, and I open my mouth to answer her question about leadership and communication, then snap it closed with a shut.