Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I don’t know how I fell asleep.
I only remember being surprised that Norabi let me.
When I told her I didn’t want to see the Zortaire at all, I thought Mortana would melt the skin off my face with her disapproval.
But the younger female merely nodded, as if I have any sort of authority here, and promised no one would disturb me until morning.
Which turns out to be a lie.
Because a giant alien dude poking and prodding at you? Is decidedly disturbing.
Only—for fuck’s sake—this one isn’t pink or purple.
He’s blue.
And furry.
And a dick.
“Do hold still, human,” he says, voice dry with distaste. His big, clawed hand releases the ankle he’s holding to pinch my pinky toe. He holds it up to his ridged face, squinting through—
My God.
Are those glasses?
Aliens have glasses?!
Did Addy put drugs in our drinks at that club? Is this some sort of sick joke?
“I’ve no notion of who ‘Addy’ is, human, but you are most assuredly awake. Your heart rate and pressures are well within range for a conscious female of your species.”
He nods over his hulking, bare shoulder, indicating a holographic projection of foreign figures I assume must be numbers. Although how his little laser show can get any of my readings without touching me remains a mystery.
On reflex, my foot kicks, trying to escape his iron grip. I open my mouth to demand he let me go, but he frowns so deeply at my littlest toe, I begin to think he has X-ray eyes.
Nope.
He’s just an asshole.
“So useless and weak,” he tuts, scowling. His gray-and-indigo gaze darts to my fisted fingers. That protruding brow lowers over his deep-set eyes. “And you have equally useless digits on your hands. How cumbersome.”
I use his ponderous pause to rip my foot away, shoving upright at the same time. “Who are you?”
I swear, this big blue dude rolls his eyes at me.
The absolute nerve.
“Peace, human,” he grumbles, sounding distinctly unpeaceful. And decidedly annoyed. “I am the capital’s Chief Healer. Sent to ensure you didn’t break any of your hollow bones when you decided to have a wrestling match with the inside of a cage.”
His face is somehow less alien-like than the others—possibly because of his spectacles. Or his expressive features.
Now, he full-on glowers. As if I’m the ridiculous one, and not him, the guy with cotton-candy fur growing on the lower half of his fully exposed torso.
“Oh, and I suppose you would have just sat there in captivity like a good little… whatever you are?” I demand.
The alien stares at me for a long beat before exhaling deeply. His clawed fingers clasp the bridge of his wide nose. “Dear gods,” he mutters. “Have they told you nothing?”
Saying “no” isn’t exactly accurate; everyone has been talking around me more than they talk to me. And they’ve used such vague terms—“this planet,” “our race.”
When I blink up at the angry blue guy, the creases carved into his features deepen. His shoulders droop on another sigh.
“You are on the planet Khanos, home of the Roktusians. We are primarily a warrior race, though some of our people are blessed with healing knowledge or gifts for interstellar diplomacy, like the Zortaire.”
I absorb his explanation like a sponge, soaking in every word. Somehow soothed and enthralled by his low, matter-of-fact voice.
A note of approval lights his multifaceted eyes as he watches me listen, rewarding me with more information.
“It is a widely known fact that the beings in our galaxy fall into certain designations. Humans, from planet Earth, are omegas or betas. Our race consists primarily of alphas, with fewer betas. We have not had an omega born on Khanos in hundreds of orbits.”
He must be paying close attention, because he notes my brows twitching and answers before I can ask.
“An ‘orbit’ is what humans on Earth would call a ‘year.’ A ‘span’ is a week, and a ‘lapse’ is a month. My research has revealed that time here moves more quickly than it does on your planet, which gives the illusion that we live much longer than your kind. Typically about 200 orbits, which would be 150 Earth years. Though, from what I saw, it is likely a mercy your people don’t suffer that long. ”
I’m too overloaded by information to be properly indignant on behalf of my crumbling home. My brain blinks back to what he said about alphas and omegas. “Are all the alphas here males?”
He frowns as if I’ve asked him something so silly, he cannot fathom it. “No. Norabi and Mortana are both alphas. Males and females can fall into any designation. Just as they do on Earth.”
Huh. Okay. That flies in the face of, like, ten thousand years of misogynistic Earth bullshit. Actually, a lot of Podcast Bros would be Big Mad to find out they’re not the alphas of the galaxy. But I feel like most of us knew that already.
The alien’s words filter through my mind. One mistake stands out as I draw my knees into my chest and wrap my arms around them.
“Our bones aren’t hollow,” I murmur, turning toward the window. Outside, the horizon has gone from midnight darkness to a deep violet, heralding the oncoming dawn. A clear sign their suns—three fucking suns, damn it—are about to rise behind the palace we’re in.
There’s no moon, I think numbly, staring at the endless tapestry of fading stars. Three suns and no moon.
The blue alien pauses, going utterly still aside from his—oh—two tails. They lash in opposite directions, each undulating in slow, synchronized waves. “Pardon?”
“Our bones,” I repeat. “They aren’t hollow. They’re full of marrow. It’s a thick liquid.”
He frowns, those heavy brows nearly settling over the rims of his slightly iridescent glasses. “I see. You were a healer on your planet, too?”
I picture my rejected loan requests, back when I wanted to apply for a nursing degree; how no parents meant no cosigners, and therefore, barely enough to get my bachelor’s degree.
When another image springs to mind—this one of my sad little cubicle, stuffed full of meaningless tax documents—I nearly laugh.
It’s too depressing, though. Too far away. And it somehow reminds me of Capri and Addy.
Will they call my job first? Or the police?
Where would anyone even look for me? The coffee shop I go to sometimes? The gym I haven’t set foot in since January?
It never occurred to me how small my world was until I left it.
“No,” I reply quietly. “Earth healers are different. And it costs a lot to become one.”
He looks confused. “Humans require people to pay in order to become healers?”
Now that he mentions it, that is kind of twisted and bizarre. My lips quirk into a sardonic smile. The scowling blue guy snaps his eyes to it, dark pupils expanding and contracting.
He blinks twice, as if clearing his thoughts. His mouth sinks into a deeper frown. “What do they call you, human?”
I can’t believe I didn’t notice that no one has asked. A hint of true, hopeless amusement strikes me.
“Sofia,” I tell him. “My friends called me Sofi.”
He spreads his fingers in a foreign gesture, placing all four against his sternum. “Cylus,” he replies. “I find friends pointless.”
That’s a shame, because he’s the first one to make me laugh since I woke up on that spaceship. And the only alien around here who doesn’t look at me like I’m a cross between a juicy T-bone steak and a wounded baby bird.
“Like my pinky toes?” I joke, smiling before I can help myself.
For a moment, he almost seems stricken. Then Cylus quickly slams a mask of indifference into place, turning to glare at my feet once again. “Most assuredly.”