Chapter 8 - Neela
I’ve been stewing all afternoon, replaying that awful scene over and over again. Prax just casually killed an adorable little rabbit—just like that. No hesitation, no remorse. And with a skill that clearly shows it’s not his first time. I still can’t wrap my head around it.
“Are you kidding me?” Kiran bursts onto my porch, making me jump.
Startled, I look up just in time to catch the scene.
Prax, completely bare-assed, freezes for a second before casually wrapping himself in the towel he’d left nearby. And—ugh—what a damn perfect ass.
My brother is livid, glaring at the two of us like he just walked in on something deeply scandalous.
“Kiran! What are you doing here?” I ask. “It’s the weekend. I thought you were spending time with your family.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not exactly easy knowing my little sister is home alone with a stranger. And it looks like I was right to worry. Care to explain what exactly is going on here?”
What the hell is he thinking? That we were fooling around? Me? With… with this killer? This cold-blooded murderer? My brother’s imagination is seriously twisted. I’m telling Meg.
“Well, isn’t it obvious? Prax, whom you see here in nothing but a towel, went into the frozen lake to retrieve his clothes!” I say, icily, with a glare to match.
That shuts him up real quick. I rarely lose my temper, but something about this whole situation just sets me off. I stand tall, arms crossed, chin up, daring him to push it further.
“Really? He swam in the lake? But the water’s freezing!” he hedges.
Have I mentioned? My brother is as observant as I am. Must run in the family.
“If you don’t believe me, check the garden. His stuff is hanging out to dry.”
“Neela, I never said I didn’t believe you. I’m just… surprised. I mean, aren’t cats supposed to hate water?”
“Apparently, not this one,” I mutter.
“Did he say anything?” Kiran asks, shifting gears.
Prax, meanwhile, is totally uninterested in the conversation and keeps drying his short fur like we’re not even here.
“No. Just growled. I don’t know if he speaks, but considering he flew a spacecraft, I’d say he probably does. One thing’s for sure, he doesn’t understand French. But now we know he’s not mute—not medically, at least. His vocal cords work just fine.”
“You think it’s trauma? The crash might’ve been rough.”
“You mean like a psychological block? Maybe. Hard to say. But Kiran—we’ve got a bigger problem.”
“Go on.”
I take a breath and just say it.
“He killed a rabbit. Right in front of me. And I’m pretty sure he’s cooking it outside.”
“Oh, that? You scared me! I thought it was something serious, like him threatening your virtue or something.”
I gape at my brother.
“Seriously, Kiran? Why on earth would he be interested in me like that? No, you’re missing the point. He killed a rabbit. Just like that. One second, it was alive, the next—it wasn’t. I didn’t even have time to stop him.”
A slow smirk curls on his lips and I feel completely out of sync.
“Little sister, I think you forgot something important—Prax isn’t Human. The Pact only applies to Humans. And he’s clearly got a whole lot of feline in him. Felines are carnivores. Just like those lynxes you love photographing. What do you think they eat? Or foxes? Wolves? Bears?”
God, I feel stupid. I’ve been taking care of this man for days, interacting with him like he’s just… a guy. I forgot he’s not Human. Kiran’s right—felines are carnivores. I can’t blame him for doing what comes naturally.
“Actually, I’m relieved,” Kiran says. “I brought some grains, but you and I both know your garden won’t feed two people. If he can take care of himself, we can keep things quiet a bit longer.”
He’s got a point. I glance at Prax, who’s now dozing on the couch. Not surprising. That bath must’ve wiped him out.
“The real question is: what do we do with him?”
“Good question. I thought he might be connected to Vassili or someone at the Palace—like that outsider I spotted. But now I’m not so sure. If someone were waiting for him, there’d be a search party. So far, nothing. And I’ve been working at the Palace all week, keeping my ears open.”
I grab some lemon balm leaves and put the kettle on. Part of me is relieved he’s not tied to Vassili. Or at least… I hope not. Then again, he did bring back a weapon from the wreck. That’s two, if I count the one in his bag. What am I supposed to do with those? Hide them? Destroy them?
“Did you see Esteban?” I ask, steering us to something simpler.
“Yeah. We talked. He said we’ll do it on a Friday—this one or next.
Friday’s soup day. He’ll slip the herbs in and raise the alarm when the symptoms kick in.
You’ll be called for a diagnosis. Francine and Armand are in, too.
I’ll message them the night before, channel 59.
They’ll pretend to be sick the next morning. ”
“Perfect. I’ll bring my compact camera. I need to document everything—especially the weapons you found. Anything that proves Vassili’s breaking the Pact.”
“You know, Neela, I’m starting to wonder if this will even work. Porkoff and his people already know how to use weapons. If we make it to Arabia Terra with proof, what’s Masayuki going to do? Send a letter reminding them the Pact exists?”
“I don’t know. I guess I was hoping someone would finally step in.”
“The point is to prove the Palace is violating the Pact—and show the rest of the colony. But after that? Even if everyone believes it… what then?”
“Well, the Palace isn’t that big. What, thirty people? Fifty? Sixty? We outnumber them!”
“Yeah, and they’ve got weapons. And no scruples. Meanwhile, we’ve got teachers, doctors, farmers… people who fix stuff. People who raise kids. What are we supposed to do against guns?”
“What if…” I trail off.
“What if what?”
“What if we had a weapon? Or two?”
“Are you nuts? First of all, we don’t. And even if we did, who would know how to use them?
You think it’s like in the old movies? Holding a gun and firing it are two different things.
Aiming at a person—pulling the trigger—it’s not instinctive.
Could you aim at Vassili? Pull the trigger? What about Marjorie?”
I meet his gaze. He’s right. I couldn’t. We were taught to respect life. All life. To heal, not harm. Could I really shoot someone? No. That truth burns.
“So what do we do? Just give up? Let them keep pushing? They broke the Pact and now anything goes. We can’t let a handful of bullies control Cydonia. If we do, we don’t deserve this second chance.”
Kiran takes my hands in his, grounding me.
“For now, we stick to the plan. When the time comes, they’ll be busy in the bathroom. You’ll sneak into the Palace and look around. Then we’ll figure it out.”
“One step at a time.”
“Right. I’ve got to get back. Meghan’s with Sanjay, and I promised not to be long.”
“Give them both a hug for me.”
“Will do. And hey—you’re wrong about Prax.”
“About what?”
“You said there’s no way he’d be into you. Trust me. If he’s single and breathing, he is.”
I watch him leave, replaying that ridiculous claim. Prax barely notices me. I’m just the woman who patched him up. And when he was sick, he kept calling for someone named Ileana. I don’t know how names work in his world, but that one sounds awfully feminine. And Human. Sister? Lover?
He finishes his nap and strolls outside, still wrapped in that towel. The cold doesn’t seem to bother him. Modesty doesn’t either.
Curious, I peek through the front panel, fogged just enough to hide me. Not knowing what he’s up to is maddening—but I don’t dare adjust the transparency. He crouches… brings something to his mouth? I jerk back as he turns. Crap. I think he saw me.
A few minutes later, he walks inside and inspects the wall near the front door. He searches left—when the hand sensor is on the right. Strange.
Then, a hidden keypad lights up where he touches. What the—? I’ve lived here for years and had no idea that even existed!
He taps rapidly, and strange symbols flash across the wall.
“What are you doing?” I demand, a mix of annoyance and bruised pride.
He ignores me completely, focused on whatever he’s hacking. I know he doesn’t understand French, but the tone alone should’ve told him I’m pissed.
When the panel vanishes again, perfectly flush, I wouldn’t know it was ever there. He looks pleased with himself.
Without a word, still wearing only the towel, he heads for my room—and the bathroom. A shower, I assume.
I grumble in the kitchen, stewing in frustration. This language barrier is unbearable. I have no idea how he can stay so calm, so at ease in a place full of strangers. Like he belongs here more than I do.
Then it hits me—the water’s still running. Way longer than the standard limit.
That little bastard. He bypassed the timer.
Furious, I storm toward the bathroom. This isn’t his house—it’s mine. And here, we follow the rules. We don’t waste resources. If he doesn’t like it, he can try his luck at the Palace.
I fling the door open, fuming… and stop dead.
Prax is standing under the spray, completely naked. And yes, I know—of course he’s naked. It’s a shower. Still, I wasn’t ready.
He turns slowly, eyes glowing like molten gold, locking onto mine. I freeze. Trapped. Like prey under the gaze of a predator.
He says nothing, just stares—then his hand moves, lazily stroking himself. My eyes drop, drawn against my will. My mouth goes dry.
He’s aroused. And he’s not hiding it.
“You’re welcome to join me,” he rumbles.
The spell breaks. I stumble back, heart racing.
“You… You can talk?!”
“Yup. Either hop in, or give me a minute to finish on my own. Unless you’d rather stay and watch?”
Mortified, I spin around and flee to the kitchen, cheeks burning.
Traitor. Pervert. Bastard.
And maybe—just maybe—I regret slamming that door so fast.