6. Felicity
Chapter six
Felicity
I barely make it to the corner before my knees threaten to buckle.
I lean against the rough brick wall of a convenience store, pressing my hand to my sternum where this weird ache has taken root.
It's not exactly pain—more like a persistent tug, as if an invisible string is trying to pull me back to Vren's motel room.
Fated mates. The words keep echoing in my head as I force myself to keep walking.
What just happened between us throws everything I know about biology, physics, and professional boundaries out the window. That electric current wasn't static electricity or my imagination. It was... something else. Something I have zero framework to understand.
"Get it together, Felicity," I mutter to myself as I fumble for my transit card.
A woman waiting at the bus stop gives me a sideways glance, and I realize I must look completely unhinged—flushed cheeks, clothes all messed up, talking to myself like a crazy person.
The ride home is a blur. Every block that takes me farther from Vren makes the strange hollow feeling in my chest worse. By the time I reach my apartment, I'm exhausted in a way that has nothing to do with physical exertion.
I collapse onto my couch, not even bothering to kick off my shoes or shrug off my jacket.
My phone buzzes with a text from Morgan: Where did you disappear to this afternoon? Everything okay?
Great. My supervisor noticed I went AWOL. I type a quick excuse about a personal emergency and promise to make up the hours tomorrow. Like that's going to make this situation any less of a disaster.
Sleep is a joke that night.
Every time I close my eyes, I see Vren's golden gaze, feel the warmth of his hands, hear his deep voice saying, "Our bodies are becoming attuned to each other." The memory sends a shiver through me that isn't entirely unpleasant. Okay, it's not unpleasant at all, which is part of the problem.
Morning arrives with no relief. I dress on autopilot, gulping coffee that does absolutely nothing to dispel the fog in my brain. The strange sensation in my chest hasn't faded—if anything, it's gotten stronger, a constant awareness pulling me in Vren's direction.
**
At work, I try to focus on my appointments, but my mind keeps drifting. During a meeting with a squid-like being from the Andromeda galaxy, I catch myself nodding absently while completely missing their question about Earth's atmospheric regulations.
"I'm so sorry," I say, blinking rapidly. "Could you repeat that?"
The alien's tentacles ripple with what might be annoyance or concern. "Are you well, Human Felicity? Your skin coloration indicates possible illness."
"I'm fine," I insist. "Just didn't sleep well."
After they leave, I rest my forehead on my desk. What the hell is happening to me? I've always prided myself on my professionalism, my ability to help others navigate complex systems. Now I can barely navigate my own thoughts.
A knock on my door jolts me upright. Morgan stands in the doorway, her expression unreadable.
"Got a minute?" she asks, though it's clearly not a question.
I nod, my heart racing as she takes a seat across from me.
"You seem distracted today," she begins. "And yesterday's disappearing act was unusual for you."
"I had a personal issue to deal with," I say, hating how lame the excuse sounds.
Morgan studies me for a long moment. "Is it one of the clients?"
My pulse spikes. "What do you mean?"
"Felicity, I've been doing this job for fifteen years. I know the signs when a caseworker gets... emotionally involved."
The room suddenly feels way too warm. "I'm maintaining appropriate professional boundaries," I say, the lie burning my tongue.
"I hope so," Morgan says, her voice softening slightly. "Because you know the rules. Intimate relationships with clients are grounds for immediate termination."
My stomach drops to somewhere around my feet. "I understand."
"Good." She stands to leave, then pauses. "If you're struggling with a particular case, we can look at reassignment options."
Hope flickers. "Actually, that might be helpful. I've been working with a Zexian client who might benefit from—"
"Which one?" Morgan interrupts.
"Vren. Application number US-000829."
She frowns, shaking her head. "We're severely understaffed with Zexian-certified caseworkers. Unless there's been a serious incident, reassignment isn't possible."
The flicker of hope dies a quick death. "I understand."
After Morgan leaves, I pull up Vren's file on my tablet, staring at his image. Even the digital reproduction of his face makes the ache in my chest intensify. This isn't just attraction. It's something more—something that scares the crap out of me with its intensity.
During my lunch break, I hide in the reference library, searching for information on Zexian mating bonds. Most of the material is academic, clinical, focusing on the diplomatic implications of human-Zexian relationships, not the personal experience.
Finally, buried in an anthropological journal, I find something useful: "Zexian mate-bonds create a biochemical dependency between partners.
Prolonged separation can result in physical and psychological distress for both individuals.
In some documented cases, rejection of the bond has led to severe health complications. "
I close the journal, my hands trembling. If this is real—if what Vren said is true—then what I'm feeling isn't just emotional confusion. It's my body physically responding to the initiation of a bond.
That afternoon, my symptoms get worse. My senses seem cranked up to eleven; the office lights are too bright, conversations in the hallway too loud. My skin feels hypersensitive, and I find myself overwhelmed by the subtle scent of the cleaning products used on the office furniture.
By evening, I'm experiencing what can only be described as withdrawal symptoms. My body aches, I can't concentrate on anything, and I'm irritable in a way that's completely foreign to my usual temperament.
In my apartment, I pace restlessly, unable to settle. Sleep seems like a distant dream, so I draw a bath, hoping the warm water will soothe my frayed nerves.
As I sink into the tub, I close my eyes and allow myself to do what I've been avoiding all day: think consciously about Vren.
The moment I bring his image to mind, the tension in my body eases slightly. The ache in my chest softens to a warm pulse. I can almost feel him across the city, a presence just beyond my physical senses but somehow tangible nonetheless.
"This is insane," I whisper to my empty bathroom. "I barely know him."
But that's not entirely true, is it? I know his file inside and out.
I know that he worked as a cultural liaison on the Zexian mothership before volunteering to be among the first wave of immigrants to Earth.
I know he speaks three Earth languages in addition to his native tongue.
I know he has no criminal record, no history of violence despite his warrior heritage.
And now I know how his lips feel against mine, how his hands span my waist, how his voice deepens when he speaks of connection and fate.
I sink deeper into the water, allowing myself to acknowledge the truth I've been fighting: I'm drawn to Vren in a way that defies rational explanation.
Whether it's the bond he described or simply an overwhelming attraction, the effect is the same.
I want to be near him. I want to understand this connection between us.
But the reality remains: he is my client, and I am his caseworker. My job is to help him navigate life on Earth, not to complicate it with an inappropriate relationship. If Morgan discovers what happened between us, I'll lose my job—a job I've worked hard for, a job that matters.
Later, wrapped in my robe, I sit on the edge of my bed and stare at my phone. Before I can overthink it, I type a message to the only person who might understand: "Tara, I need your help. It's about a Zexian client. Can we meet tomorrow? It's urgent."
Tara works in the medical division of alien immigration, thankfully an area without the same stupid rules. She's been dating a Zexian for over a year. If anyone can help me make sense of this mess, it's her.
As I lie down to sleep, the ache in my chest pulses in time with my heartbeat. I wonder if Vren feels it too, this strange connection stretching between us. I wonder if he's thinking of me, wanting me, waiting for me to return.
For the first time in my life, I find myself caught between duty and desire, between the person I've always been and the person I might become.
The professional boundaries I've always respected now feel like a prison, keeping me from something—someone—who might be meant for me in ways I never imagined possible.
Tomorrow, I'll seek answers. Tonight, I allow myself to dream of purple skin and golden eyes, of a bond that transcends species and spans the stars.