Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
LAURA
My brilliant plan to let him twist with anticipation?
It’s seriously backfiring. I should be focusing on work—on making sure the inquiry won’t suffer because of my absence yesterday.
That’s what matters. That’s what has to matter.
If I can’t hold myself together for this, for the most important case of my life, then every carer depending on me will pay the price.
A hollow pressure in my chest creeps in like smoke under a door—formless, nameless, just risk. A danger I can’t see or name, yet it prickles over my skin as if something’s watching. My pulse stutters. My stomach twists.
I know what this is.
No. It’s not back. I sorted it. It’s done.
“Stop,” I whisper, slamming the phone down hard enough to rattle the papers across my desk. The sound echoes too loud, like an accusation.
I scowl at the mess, dragging everything into order with shaking hands. I’ve already wasted one morning. That means I’ll have to put in double effort so the victims don’t lose more than they’ve already endured, because of me.
We’re meeting today, sometime, to talk through how scenes with me will go. The uncertainty over when and where is getting to me, that’s all. Once it’s set, once I get it done, I’ll be able to breathe. I’ll be able to work with a clear head.
Only then—only after the case is secure—will I allow myself to imagine the ragged edge of his breaths, the way his chest heaves as he fights to stay calm and under control.
And worse—daydreaming about what color his scales might flash if I pushed him.
Bright, warning red? Or that luminous pink-purple, bold as a flare in the dark, like he’s not afraid to stand out?
My stomach cramps like a fist as I sip my coffee.
Ouch. Fucking uterus kicking me when I’m already down.
Slowly my period pains ease up, and I know, somehow, Dom’s involved.
It’s as if there’s a conversation next to me, or a television on in the background.
When I lean physically and mentally closer to the wall between us, I feel the soft burn in his muscles as he lifts blocks and beams with Arik and Arture.
He's working. On a Saturday.
I get off the sofa and into the kitchen as Ellen and Ilia clatter into the room. The big alien ducks his head at me, and my bestie says, “Morning.”
“Morning.” I set my cup under my machine and push for a cappuccino. “The aliens are still working.”
She washes her hands at the sink. “Yeeee-es. But so are you, and I don't take weekends off either.”
Ilia slides his arms around her shoulders. “You could. I'll care for the farm.”
She tips her head back and pecks his lips with a kiss. His scales ripple briefly, and she grins. “Don't worry, I love my work.”
“Me too,” I add, though no one asked.
My mobile phone gives a happy ping. Fucknuts. I put Morgan’s emails as an upbeat, pleasant little jingle, except it’s starting to seriously piss me off. Heat pulses around my body with every beat of my heart, temples throbbing, and my phone case creaks in my hand.
“Mm. Looks like you're having a whale of a time,” Ellen notes.
I struggle to take a deep calming breath through the tightness in my chest, but the pain fades as if drawn off.
My anger ebbs so it no longer forms a self-perpetuating motion machine under my skin, and my fingers loosen so I can put my phone down on the table.
Notifications, all marked. The twisting, panicky feeling doesn't return in the same strength it did.
I fill my lungs with the glorious scent of coffee in a deep, satisfying inhale.
And I know, somehow, that's Dom.
“We should give them the option for weekends off,” I say.
“That will delay progress on the first stage of El-len's vision,” Ilia rumbles.
“By only a few days,” Ellen reassures him. “What would you guys like to do with weekends at leisure?”
Ilia’s brows beetle. “Progress our assigned mission.”
I rap my nails on the side of my mug. “I think Arabella had the right idea with the party. We need to allow them more free time, and introduce them to what that means.”
“Uh huh.” Now Ellen looks at me properly. “I can't teach them that, all I do is farmwork. And, no offence, but you don't ever seem to have time off.”
“You're right, for now. The inquiry—”
“I mean ever, Laura.”
My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth.
Ellen doesn’t understand. She doesn’t know what it takes for justice to be done.
Working for herself is hard, yes, but so is laboring in a system where being prepared for every eventuality is crucial.
Only certain traits let you coast, having literal balls chief amongst them.
Ellen glances at me. “Wait. This is about your dad, isn’t it?”
“No. This is about doing a good job, Ellen, and making sure the people who went to prison or worse get their names cleared.”
Her eyes narrow. Ilia looks between us, the big alien’s scales clicking.
I have to get out of here. “I want to check out the Roadhouse. That's the next one you'll need planning permission for, correct?”
“Yessss,” Ellen says slowly.
“That can be the next rebuilding project, if the aliens are happy with that.”
Ilia squeezes his mate in his arms. “We are ecstatic. We'll begin immediately on completion of the barn.”
“You don't even know the size and scale of it yet,” Ellen teases.
“Whatever its size, we will meet the challenge. Together.” The way he looks into her face, so adoring, signals he means them as a couple, not just the aliens.
I'm pleased for her. I am. It's nice to have someone in her corner, utterly devoted to her and her life.
“Great. I’ll grab one of the other guys as a volunteer to help me scope it out.”
Ilia’s attention doesn't waver. “Very well.”
“I'll be a couple of hours, back for dinner.”
“Mmhmm.” Ellen doesn't break eye contact with her guy.
Fantastic. They’re distracted, and they won't be wondering what I'm getting up to.
Except… My stomach tightens. If Ellen ever did find out… if she caught even a glimpse of the things I crave, the games I play, she’d judge me. I can almost hear her sharp laugh, see the look she’d give me, like I’d broken some unspoken rule.
I get dressed, throwing clean casual clothes on.
What else should I bring? My laptop, to maintain the facade.
My fingers steal over my silk sleeping mask, and my daydream pops into my head.
Folding it carefully, I smile. I certainly won’t be able to use this again without thinking of what I’m about to do with him.
As I go out into the misty garden heading for the barn, I lean toward Dom, mentally and physically. His mind ticks over with quiet but constant chatter:
‘You’re getting tired, Arik.’
‘Negative.’
‘I can feel the effort you’re putting in.’
‘Stop trying to send over your strength, keep it for yourself.’
Through the mental connection flows a surge of energy, a give and take. Dom always gives his all to his wave brothers with no rest. No time for himself.
Searing pain streaks up the mental link before it severs. ‘HELP,’ Arik blasts.
Kicking off my heels, I break into a run. What happened?
Is Dom okay?
I run into the barn. Arik’s shoulder and upper right arm lies trapped underneath a beam of wood, pinned to the floor. His yellow eyes meet mine, then cut away. Arture gets to his feet next to him; thankfully he didn’t get caught underneath, metal arm flexing as he tries to lift the beam.
“Shit,” I say. “I'll call…” Shit, we can't call an ambulance.
From behind me, Dom grabs hold of the beam and wrenches it upwards, triceps standing firm. Arik shimmies out and Dom lets go, the wood thudding to the concrete. Dom gets to his knees next to his wave brother, breathing erratic.
Arik’s upper arm and chest darken to blue-black as I watch, his face twisted in a grimace as he attempts to get to his feet.
“Do not move, Arik.” As if in sympathy, Dom’s arm turns black as well.
I edge closer to him, his mind waves washing over me.
‘Stupid, should have sent him more strength, should have taken it all. Pull his pain in…’ Dom's shoulders tense as if he's laboring under another heavy load, knees bending and thighs taut.
His lilac lips press together as if he's biting them.
Arture sits back on his heels, glancing between Arik and Dom. “Is Dom taking the pain?”
“Of course.” Arik glares at Dom, then shakes his head. His scales lighten back to blue-purple as Dom’s continue to get heavier and darker.
Sweeping his scanning device over Arik, Dom’s shoulders lower. “You’ll be fine with a few Earth hours of rest.”
Arik beckons to him. “It won’t hurt for long, so give it back.”
Dom pretends not to hear, bunching his fists. A prickling sensation crawls under his skin, building. ‘Can’t fail can’t let them get hurt. Can’t fail my—’
My stomach twinges again, bringing me back to my own body, and Dom’s eyes lock on mine. He inhales, and the pain in my midsection ebbs. Arik glances his way, then at me.
Wait. Did Dom take that on himself, too?
‘Find Nevare. Secure.’ Dom’s thoughts shift, always on mission. Always giving. Always silent for himself. He takes on the burdens of others, he never complains, and he does it all while looking cool as a cucumber. He seems so emotionally stable from the outside.
But this close, the prickling inside him builds, jarring against me like a discordant note. He’s getting overwhelmed, scales tight.
I know what he needs.
Smoothing my hair, I say, “Well, seems like everyone’s fine, and it’s close to lunchtime. I have a favor to ask you.”
Arture gives me a wary look, like I might tell him to jump in a lake of sharks. “How can we assist?”
“I need a volunteer to help me scope out the next project Ellen wants planning permission for. I’ll get the paperwork in early. It’s the Roadhouse, about a mile down the main road.”
“Right now?” Arture gestures at the injured Arik.