Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
SELENE
The pumpkin carving station looks perfect.
Every knife, every scoop, every carving tool is arranged in neat rows across the long tables.
Orange and black streamers twist overhead, interspersed with the ghost decorations that seem to perplex so many of the alien guests.
I’ve done three final supply checks in the last twenty minutes.
My hands won’t stop moving, adjusting a knife here, straightening a pumpkin there. Everything has to be just right. Controlled. Predictable.
“Excuse me, Selene?”
I turn to find Ambassador Thex’nar looming over me.
The Ix’thari stands nearly seven feet tall, his body vaguely humanoid in shape but composed entirely of what looks like living crystal.
His skin—if you can call it that—resembles polished stone, a deep slate-gray that catches the orange lights and refracts them in sharp angles.
Deep crevices carve across his surface like the weathered face of a cliff, giving him the appearance of an ancient golem brought to life.
He moves with deliberate slowness, each gesture measured and ponderous, as if his crystalline form requires extra time to shift. His hands, at least, are properly formed—five fingers each, though they look carved from the same unyielding material as the rest of him.
But it’s his eyes that make my skin crawl. Multifaceted like a bug’s, they fracture the light into hundreds of tiny reflections. I can never tell where he’s actually looking, can never meet his gaze without a shiver running down my spine. No expression crosses those angular features—there never is.
I’ve been dealing with the Ix’thari diplomat all week, and I still can’t read a single thought behind those disturbing, insectoid eyes.
“Ambassador.” I keep my voice professional, pleasant, forcing myself not to look away. “How can I help you?”
“The schedule indicates pumpkin carving begins in fifteen minutes, yet I see no designated seating arrangements.” His tone is as flat and unyielding as his stone-like exterior, impossible to interpret. Is he annoyed? Curious? Making a demand?
My stomach tightens. I can’t tell what he wants, what he’s really asking. The familiar shiver creeps up my spine.
“We designed this activity to be informal,” I explain carefully. “Guests can choose where they’d like to sit—”
“Choice without structure breeds chaos.” He tilts his head, the movement eerily mechanical. “I require assigned seating. Preferably at the head position.”
I open my mouth, searching for a diplomatic response that won’t offend.
“Ambassador Thex’nar!” Elana’s voice rings out, warm and confident as she sweeps up to us.
Her smile could charm a stone statue. “I was hoping to catch you. Prince Rist specifically requested your presence at the VIP table for the haunted house tour later. Would you have a moment to discuss the arrangements?”
The ambassador’s attention shifts immediately. “Prince Rist requested my presence specifically?”
“Oh yes.” Elana links her arm through his with practiced ease, already guiding him away. “He’s very interested in your thoughts on the situation in…”
Their voices fade as Elana smoothly redirects the crystalline diplomat toward the far side of the room. She glances back at me, giving me a subtle wink.
I release a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
A moment later, Elana returns, squeezing my shoulder.
Elana—the woman who’d orchestrated our rescue from the trafficking ship, who’d somehow convinced an ex-assassin prince to help save a dozen abducted human women he’d never met.
Her pale skin flushes slightly from the exertion of managing the event, and there’s a smudge of orange on her cheek that suggests she’s already been elbow-deep in pumpkin guts herself.
She’s one of the few people I trust completely. She’s earned it.
“You okay?”
“Yeah. Thanks for the rescue.”
“Anytime.” Elana surveys the perfectly organized station, then looks back at me with that knowing expression she gets sometimes. “You know, Charlotte, Zoe, and I all had a blast carving pumpkins yesterday. The other girls have had fun too. You deserve some time off as well.”
The words hit me unexpectedly hard. When was the last time I actually participated in one of these events instead of just organizing them? When was the last time I did something just for fun, without a checklist or a job to complete?
After everything that’s happened, it doesn’t feel right to just go off and have fun. Running the events… it lets me focus on what everyone is doing, keeping us all safe.
“I should probably supervise—”
“Selene.” Elana’s voice is gentle but firm. “Take a break. You need this. Carve a pumpkin.”
Before I can respond, she’s already moving off to help a tentacled being who seems confused by the concept of scooping.
I glance toward the doorway and spot Sutek, Elana’s husband and mate, standing watch. He’s always looming in the background, no matter where Elana goes. Inseparable.
The massive Volscian cuts an intimidating figure—all lethal grace and watchful intensity, weapons visible on his belt even during what’s meant to be a fun and relaxing event for guests.
I don’t know what she sees in him. An alien.
I know, logically, that Sutek wasn’t involved with our abduction.
He was part of our rescue. But every time I talk to an alien, or catch them staring at me…
I can’t help but wonder what they want from me.
Just how bad could our situation have been if Elana hadn’t come along to free us? Can they be trusted?
Someone steps around Sutek, and my attention is captured elsewhere.
Khatak.
My breath catches. His red skin has a warm, almost burnished quality under the orange lights.
The perpetual flush across his cheeks darkens his complexion to burgundy, making him look flustered in a way that’s oddly endearing.
His horns are smaller than most Volscian males I’ve seen, barely cresting above his hairline.
It’s almost like they are hidden, hinting at something more beneath the surface, but they catch the overhead lights and gleam like polished obsidian, suggesting something very tangible lies beneath.
He’s not built like a warrior—not like Sutek’s lethal muscle or Taruk’s broad shoulders.
Khatak is leaner, more elegant somehow, his frame suggesting grace rather than brute strength.
His tail curls tight against his leg, the pointed tip twitching with what I have since learned to recognize as nervous energy.
He looks around the room, and then he spots me.
His whole face lights up—that open, unguarded expression of relief. Like spotting a familiar face at a party where you don’t know anyone else, like finding an anchor in uncertain waters. No pretense, no mask. Just genuine happiness to see me.
Heat blooms in my stomach, unexpected and unwelcome and entirely too pleasant. And all too shocking, as it’s the first time I’ve found any interest in an alien since… my unplanned arrival at the alien hotel.
I shouldn’t be here. I should have stayed at the station, supervising from a safe distance. That’s my job—organizing, not participating. And definitely not spending time alone with an alien guest just because Elana keeps suggesting I take a break.
But when Khatak had approached me earlier, asking about the pumpkin carving in that careful, hesitant way of his... I’d heard myself agreeing before I could think better of it. Not because it was my responsibility. Because I wanted to.
No. Not because of him. Because of the pumpkins. When was the last time I actually carved one? Years, probably. This might be my only chance to do something normal, something that reminds me of home. That’s all this is—nostalgia. A desire to reclaim a small piece of my past.
It has nothing to do with the way his whole face lit up when I said yes. Nothing at all.
Still, I find myself walking toward him before I’ve consciously decided to move.
“Khatak.” I gesture to the tables. “Welcome to pumpkin carving. Have you, um, ever carved a vegetable before? For decoration, I mean.”
“Are these the human pumpkins we are carving?” he asks.
I glance down at the array of colored gourds we’ve imported. Sure, some are orange, but a lot are green, blue and even purple.
I smile. “Not quite the original vegetable, but close enough. Here, let me show you the setup.”
I walk him through the tools—serrated knives for cutting, scoops for the insides, smaller implements for detail work. He listens intently, asking questions, actually paying attention in a way that makes me feel heard rather than just tolerated.
Or in the case of most aliens, heard and not just leered at.
“And you can design whatever you want,” I finish. “Anything goes.”
Khatak nods seriously, studying the tools like they’re something to be feared.
I look at the empty seat next to where he’s stopped, then at the array of untouched pumpkins. Elana’s words echo in my head.
“Actually…” I pull out a chair and sit down, reaching for a medium-sized pumpkin. “I think I’ll join you. If that’s okay?”
The smile that breaks across his face is worth the decision. Somehow, he radiates pure happiness, like I have made his day just by sitting beside him. And for some inexplicable reason, I want to believe that my presence really has made such an impact.
I want what Elana has, I realize. Someone who looks at me like I’m the best part of their day.
Elana passes by with an armload of pumpkins for other guests, catches my eye, and gives me an approving nod.
If I didn’t know better, I would suspect her of being Maisy.
The girl was trapped alongside me in the ship, but somehow bounced back faster than the rest of us.
She’s since set herself up as our resident matchmaker, determined to find love in every nook and cranny.
She’s even trying to convince us to let her start a dating service between guests and residents!