Chapter 4 #2
Sex on a stick might not be good for me. But a male who makes his family feel safe? That’s exactly what I’ve been looking for.
I just need to figure out which one he actually is.
A tall female approaches and looks me up and down, ready to play the mask game. “You’re the new female med tech, Rylan Bander?”
“No.”
“Dammit,” she snarls.
And then I’m being asked again and again by one Xylan after another. I’m now amongst the last beings still wearing a mask tonight and they want the honor of unmasking someone difficult to discover.
I have a great time, trying to get to know the other guests as they question me, trying to forget about that mysterious masked Xylan.
I focus on meeting others and enjoying the game.
I immediately like these Xylan, which is good considering I’m hoping to take a job here.
They are all much, much taller and more powerful than me (even the females) but they treat me with care.
I laugh at their jokes and enjoy the variety of costumes.
Normally I’d be freaked out at a party where I don’t know anyone, but they make me feel instantly included.
It’s nice. And Leah is right. I think I’m going to win the grand prize tonight.
The fact that I just arrived on Timbur and no one knows me yet without the mask gives me an edge.
My competitive instincts kick in hard. They know my species, but they don’t know my name.
The grand prize tonight—a fabulous luxury vacation—will go to the last being who remains masked at midnight. And that person is going to be me. Because I’ve always wanted to go on a space liner cruise of the Nebula.
A message from Leah blinks on my tablet. I take it out of my pocket and look down. Sorry, I’m still at home. It’s taking much longer than I thought.
I tap a quick response. How is Argylia?
She’s having an allergic reaction to something she ate. I’ve got her at the med lab now. It’s so weird. We didn’t even know she had any allergies. Saxon is here with me now, too.
Oh no.
Don’t worry, it sounds worse than it is. She’ll be fine and in her own bed tonight, but we won’t be returning to the party. But I want you to stay. Win that grand prize at midnight! Are you okay there? Are you having fun? Can you stay or do you need a reason to leave?
I look around, catching sight of Bayzon again out of the corner of my eye. Lurking but not approaching. Not talking to anyone else and sipping a drink. Remaining handsome in an antisocial, anti-hero kind of way.
He only has eyes for me.
I’m good. This is fun. I’ll stay. I’m on track to win this whole thing. Only about ten of us still have masks on. Also, the dancing just started.
You go girl. Win that prize. And I know how much you love dancing. Have fun!
Give Argylia a kiss for me.
Will do.
I tuck the tablet into my pocket. Couples step onto the dance floor.
I remain on the edge and watch as the dancing begins, eager to learn how the Xylan dance and to try and join in.
I chat with other nearby, costumed Xylan, who do their best to explain the moves to me.
This species seems to prefer prescribed dances with formal patterns.
Usually it’s male and female pairings, but not exclusively because some appear to be same sex.
All the couples move together, near each other and usually hold hands, following the same steps.
I grab a flute of a bubbly alcoholic drink off a passing tray and take a few sips, trying to extinguish any last vestiges of shyness.
Then I watch two dances the whole way through from beginning to end, swaying to the music, examining their footwork and movements before finally deciding I can do this too.
The drums pound through the cavern, vibrating in my chest. The melody is unlike anything I’ve heard before, haunting and driving at the same time, with an undercurrent that makes my hips want to move of their own accord.
“Would you like to learn how to dance?” a nearby male questions.
“You look like you’re enjoying the music.
” This Xylan is dressed all in white, like a professional chef from a fancy restaurant on Omega 9.
But he isn’t wearing a mask any longer and I don’t recognize him because I don’t know that many beings at this ball.
But I see that he glances back at Bayzon, who is now quietly standing on the opposite side of the dance floor from me.
It’s obvious these two know each other. Interesting.
The male isn’t wearing gloves, letting me know he’s mated.
“Yes,” I answer, grateful for the opportunity to get started. “I would love to learn how to properly dance to Xylan music. It looks fun and I love to dance.”
He smiles. “Good. My name is Gorzan, but my crew calls me Cannibal. Let’s go.”
Then he takes my gloved hand and pulls me onto the floor and in moments we’re moving together fast in the midst of a lively dance.
It starts swiftly and I’m laughing as I do my best to keep my footwork correct.
Gorzan holds my arms tight and swings me around.
But then we’re moving together, slower, next to dozens of other couples moving to the beat in neat rows. It’s wonderful.
“This is so much fun,” I gasp. “I can keep doing this all night.”
“I have a brother who also normally enjoys dancing, but tonight is not partaking,” he tells me. “It’s a sad state of affairs. I try to offer him delicious dishes of food to keep him happy but he’s still disgruntled.”
I can’t help but glance toward where Bayzon stands at the edge of the floor. He’s watching us. Watching me. Even from here, I can feel the intensity of his gaze.
I crook an eyebrow as we move. “Are you going to ask your one question about my mask and try to discover my identity?”
“Yes, but really I’m asking this question for someone else.”
I shrug. “This is acceptable.”
And then we separate for a moment and walk around in a pattern that involves another nearby couple. In moments we are face to face again on the dance floor.
“Are you here visiting as a relative of one of the human females who is already mated to a fever brother?” he questions.
“No,” I answer truthfully. “Can I ask a question about your identity even though your mask is gone?”
“Of course.”
“Are you a chef or a miner?”
“A miner,” he laughs.
“Are you part of the fever brother crew?”
“Ah, that’s two questions. Not fair.” Then he glances toward the edge of the crowd surrounding the dance floor. “And I think I have to stop,” he says, right as the dance slows down.
“Why?”
“Because someone’s getting uneasy at us paired together.”
“Who?”
He grins. “I think we both know the answer to that one.”
Our dance ends and this male bows over my hand. “It was nice meeting you, female,” he says. “I’m sure we will know each other more later. I already have plans on what dishes to cook for you. Welcome to the family.”
My eyes widen because that’s the second male that has told me that this evening.
He chuckles and walks away.
I barely have time to catch my breath before another hand reaches for mine. In moments I’m whisked onto the dance floor again by another male dressed as a bloody warrior because I’m addicted to the beat of the music.
“Are you a transportation driver?” the new male questions.
“Nope.” That was easy.
The dance ends and I’m handed off to someone else. This new partner is taller than the last, with elaborate face paint that makes him look like some kind of ancient deity. His movements are precise and controlled, and he guides me through the steps with patience.
“You’re a quick learner,” he observes. “Most humans struggle with our formal dances.”
“I’ve always loved dancing,” I admit. “The patterns here are different from what I’m used to, but the joy is the same.”
He nods approvingly. “Are you the new med tech assistant?”
“No.”
He sighs dramatically. “Another wrong guess. You’re quite the mystery, little human.”
As we turn in the dance, I catch another glimpse of Bayzon. He’s moved closer now, though still not on the dance floor. Still watching and not dancing with anyone else.
Why doesn’t he just ask me himself if he’s so interested?
The next partner is a female who asks a question, trying to figure out my identity.
She’s wrong, as usual. That dance ends too, and I’m immediately handed off to another partner.
This happens so many times in a row the faces become a blur.
And none of them can correctly guess my identity.
And each dance is thrilling and I’m getting better at keeping time and following the footwork.
One partner, a male dressed in elaborate battle armor, laughs as he spins me. “Chief is going to combust if he doesn’t make a move soon,” he murmurs near my ear. “I’ve never seen him like this.”
“Chief?” I ask, though I’m starting to suspect I know exactly who he means.
“Bayzon. Our crew leader.” He grins down at me. “He’s been glaring daggers at every male who’s danced with you tonight. It’s the most entertaining thing I’ve seen in years.”
I don’t know how to respond to that. Part of me is flattered, but I’m also annoyed.
If he wants to dance with me so badly, why doesn’t he just ask?
But another part of me—the part that remembers Roxy and Lila’s words—wonders if maybe he’s just not good at approaching me and being vulnerable.
Prickly, they called him. Maybe prickly means he doesn’t know how to take the first step.
The dance ends and another partner claims me before I can think too hard about it.
Afterwards, I pause for a moment to catch my breath and look around and realize there are only three of us still wearing masks. The large mechanical clock on the wall lets me know midnight is fast approaching.
A male with very long fangs and a deep voice sweeps me onto the floor and dances with me. His movements are deliberately slow, almost lazy, and he keeps positioning us so that we’re in Bayzon’s direct line of sight.
“You are a delightful human to dance and speak with, and I appreciate this opportunity to drive Chief crazy. He’s getting angrier by the minute. Thank you and welcome to Timbur.”
“You’re doing this on purpose,” I realize. “Dancing with me just to annoy him.”
The male’s grin widens, showing off those impressive fangs. “Of course. He’s my brother. Annoying him is one of my greatest joys in life.” He spins me one last time. “But I’m also doing him a favor. Sometimes that male needs a push. He’s too stubborn for his own good.”
He walks away and that’s when I realize Bayzon really does look angry. That male hasn’t asked anyone to dance. His arms remain crossed and he still wears a mask. Underneath is a look of dour unsmiling, pride and arrogance.
Hmm. Well, if he won’t step forward and ask me himself, how can he be angry?
Then again, Lila said he made her feel safe when she first arrived. About him being good underneath the prickly exterior.
I’m asked again to dance, but before I can step onto the dance floor I’m distracted. One lone Xylan female, dressed as a multi-god nun, looks longingly at the moving pairs on the floor, tapping her foot, obviously wanting to dance too.
It hurts me when I see someone accidentally left out, because I know what it feels like to want to dance but needing a partner.
“Thank you for asking but I don’t feel well,” I tell this male.
“This means I’m going to have to sit this one out, but I have someone else for you to dance with.
” I pull him over to where the other female waits.
He smiles brightly and she does too. And then they take each other’s gloved hands and move onto the floor and join the dancing.
She looks back at me over her shoulder as they begin to move, and mouths what I think is “thank you.” I give her a small wave.
This works out much better because I was ready for a short break. Now I’m alone on the side of the dance floor and the pairs swirl and swirl to the music and suddenly I realize a presence beside me.
The air feels fresh. Charged. Like the moment before a lightning strike.
I’m standing next to Bayzon.