Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Our mating ceremony, whatever that entails, has been put on hold again. It’s taken days for Mekkra and the droids to repair the damage to the ship, and despite our growing intimacy, Mekkra still keeps his injuries close to his chest.
Even though he swears that he’s fine now, I catch him limping when he thinks I’m not looking. But he's not injured enough to stop micromanaging his droid fleet or even spot-welding repair panels himself.
I catch glimpses of when his mind strays, too. If I wasn’t paying attention, it might just seem like a tiny lapse in attention. But there’s something off: the snarl of his lip, the narrowing of his eyes. It’s like he’s arguing with himself without speaking.
I hope the kinder Mekkra is winning, and not the one who murdered his own brother.
Fuck, I should be more scared than I am, but I’ve let my guard down.
I help as best I can with the repairs, but I feel like I’m more in the way than anything—I’m not exactly what I would call handy, let alone with alien tools. After picking up the debris that was light enough for me to lift, I give up and sit on a crate near the dripping wall of red flowers.
For the first time since I’ve been here, I inspect the plant.
The vines remind me a bit of ivy. Their climbing roots grab at any texture in the wall, and some more established parts of the plants seem to have worn away the shine on the metal beneath.
They’re vaguely hibiscus-like, but the petals come to sharper points and the stamens look a bit more threatening than anything back on Earth.
The liquid that drips from its center is so like the cum that dripped from Mekkra’s dick that I wonder if it feels the same, my hand hovers absentmindedly to touch it.
A rough, clawed hand grips my wrist and brings my wandering fingers to a halt.
“Do you wish to die?” he asks, shocked.
“What!” I yelp, snatching my hand back to my chest.
“I assume that was your plan, since touching the poison of the nawleigh flower will kill you,” he says plainly. Like it’s completely normal to keep deadly, poison-dripping flowers in your dining room.
“What the fuck?” I yell, realizing the danger his decor choices have put me in. “Why would you have these here if they could kill someone?” I back up as far away as I can get from the plant. “And why wouldn’t you tell me not to touch them when I got here?”
His expression flattens.
“I was surprised,” he mutters.
Oh, yeah, by me…jilling off before he even opened the damn pod.
“Fine.” I cross my arms over my chest, the strange fabric of the gown bunching awkwardly as I do. “But this seems like important information.” My hands gesture wildly at the deadly threat to my life.
“I…” He stops, letting his fang gnaw a little on his lip. “After I killed Gessik, my brother, I wanted a sure way to end everything if I lost too much of myself. I couldn’t trust my madness to do it with a weapon, but I knew that if I grew these here…”
“Within the infant rind of this small flower. Poison hath residence and medicine power,” I say under my breath, letting the reality of his plans for these plants sink in.
“What was that?”
“Romeo and Juliet—I had a big Baz Luhrman phase,” I say as if he would understand what either of those references were. “Hey, we’re not going to get to that point, okay?”
Mekkra balks and stares at me.
“You don’t know how bad things can be in my mind, but being close to you…I already feel different.”
“Different?”
“Like the darkness in my mind is dissipating.” The frantic energy drains from his posture, leaving him standing still—clear-eyed, almost startled by the calm.
“But you barely know me,” I whisper.
“You’re right. So, tell me about yourself then.”
There’s a softness to the request I don’t think I’ve heard before. It must put me at ease, because I don’t even pretend that I don’t know where to start.
I’ve been waiting for years for someone to ask me that question. I’d thought that the hundreds of aliens who ogled my goods might have asked me that—if anything, just out of politeness—but they hadn’t.
While I was grinding in my bubble, I would think about all the things I would tell them.
“I always wanted a horse but have never had the time or money to take care of one. As a child, I’d imagine our fat Labrador was a noble steed.
I’d been saving to get a damn horse since my first week at the Brass Ass, the very first time I stripped.
That's the only time I’ve had nearly enough money to even toy with the idea. ”
“Did you get the horse thing?”
I can see him trying to understand the herd animal his translator chip is showing him. The question is so earnest I almost want to lie.
“No, I had an appointment to go see this beautiful quarter horse.” I pause, chewing on my lip.
“And then?”
“Then? The Deenz kidnapped me.”
He blinks, not once or twice. Mekkra blinks at me four times.
“The Deenz ke-kept you against your will?” His tongue sounds thick, as if his mouth is suddenly dry.
“Of course, they sold me to you… how could they do that if they didn’t?”
“Indentured servitude? It is common on my planet. I assumed you had gotten yourself into a situation that put you in the debt of the Deenz. And I traded for you, I didn’t buy you, if it makes you feel any better. I thought of it more like an arranged mating,” he says astutely.
I can’t help it, I just laugh. Like rolling up from my toes, belly rattling laughs.
“Nope, sorry to burst your bubble there, not much of anything I’ve done in space has been consensual.” The words sound sadder than they do in my head.
“Will you be my mate?” he rushes out, grabbing my hands in his.
“Isn’t that what we’re doing?” I look for Starcroft in confusion. But like he’s been programmed to be scarce, he’s not around.
“No, I’m asking you—I wouldn’t keep you here any longer if you didn’t want it.”
“Wait—can you take me home?” Hot, burning hope fills my chest.
“If I could, I would. But not even a warlord can go across the quarantine in place for Earth. It is impossible,” he sighs.
And for a moment, it stings. Going home was something I knew in the back of my mind wasn’t a possibility. But hearing it now, from the alien who suddenly wants me to want to be with him, makes it hurt more.
“I knew that,” I whisper.
“I can take you somewhere else, though,” he says.
“There’s nowhere else. The Deenz make sure of that.”
“I know you could never want me, truly…” I narrow my eyes but let him continue. “But I could ensure that you’d be taken care of.”
“Taken care of?” I arch a brow.
Mekkra drops my hands, walks to the table, grabbing his datapad and types something in before placing my fingerprint over a sensor.
“It’s done,” he says.
“What’s done? Wait…did you just take my fingerprint?” I tuck my hand into my armpit for protection.
“Yes, I had to, so that I could transfer credits to your bio-signature.”
“Credits?” Maybe it’s the stripper in me, but my ears perk up. I haven’t owned anything and certainly haven’t had money in my entire space life.
“Half of the dread hoard, as is customary of my people, for your dowry.”
“How much is half?”
“Seven billion USG credits.”
“That seems like a lot.” Fuck, seven billion could be like twenty bucks on Earth. Who knows?
He picks up the datapad again, albeit this time a bit more grumpily. I have a feeling that my not being impressed has left him feeling miffed.
“In the most prevalent form of Earth currency, 414,491,000,000 USD, according to the Universal Governing Senate projections.”
I gulp. Four hundred billion?
“And a ship, registered to your metrics. You tell it where to go, within the UGS guidelines, and the autopilot will take you there,” he adds quickly, like it’s the cherry on top of my billions.
For a moment, I just stare at him.
Then I laugh. Not a polite laugh, but the kind that bubbles out of your mouth when your brain can’t process what you just heard.
“Four hundred billion dollars, and a ship,” I drawl.
“Yes.”
“For marrying you?”
“For becoming my mate, and for our mating ceremony,” he corrects.
I stop laughing.
“Your mate, and the mating ceremony,” I repeat.
“Yes, a proper Drefling mating ceremony.”
“You’re serious?”
“Completely. This isn’t something I would joke about.”
I drag a hand down my face, willing my brain to stop short-circuiting.
“Okay, just so I have everything clear.” I point at the datapad. “You transferred half of your… what did you call it?”
“Dread hoard.”
“Right, your terrifying alien warlord treasure.”
His brow tightens, but he lets it slide.
“You transferred half of it to me. Because you want a proper mating ceremony?” I tilt my head, confused by the change. He was already planning on mating me before, without any of the perks.
I pace, throwing my hands up in my long hair and pushing it back from my face like that’ll give me some clarity in this moment.
A ship, four hundred billion dollars, and only my name attached to it.
My entire adult life on Earth had been built on things that were temporary. Stage names, apartments with roommates, house fees to club owners… Despite having some good nights, the money never felt stable enough to last for too long. Nothing had ever really felt like it was mine.
And now, this massive alien warlord just hands me more money than some countries operate on.
I stop pacing and look him square in his eyes. He’s watching me, like he expects me to bolt.
“I know I am not who you would choose, truly,” he says in a near whisper. “But I could ensure that you will at least be taken care of.”
A strange ache settles over my heart. It’s not because of the money, but the way he says it. Like this is the only thing he could ever offer that might matter.
“You barely know me,” I repeat. "I could take the money and run—"
“I know now you wanted a horse thing, and despite doing everything right, you never got the chance. I know that life has been unfair to both of us. I know that you’re brave.”
The answer catches me off guard. No one’s ever called me brave.
“You fight when others would submit…you helped me when I was dying, even when I didn’t deserve it,” Mekkra continues. “You are worthy of freedom—even if you don't become my mate.”
I don’t know what to say to that. I’ve been looked at in lots of ways in my life.
Desired, judged, objectified…
But I don’t think anyone has ever thought me worthy of anything.
I shift my weight, suddenly aware of how close his body is to mine. Those waves of heat that radiate from his fur warm my side.
“I could just take the ship and leave,” I tell him bluntly.
“You could.” His words come out clipped. "And I still wouldn't take anything back."
“You’re giving me a way to disappear forever.”
“Yes.”
I narrow my eyes at him.
“Why would you want to do that?”
He considers me for a moment, with that same look when he said I was worthy.
“Because if you stay, it should be because you choose to,” he finally says.
I’m not a prisoner here.
I can leave whenever I want.
“If you’re planning on staying, I think the repairs will hold long enough for us to continue with our mating ceremony.” His eyes are hopeful, but guarded.
Mekkra fishes something out of his pocket and sets it on the table with a soft click. He gives me one last look—wary—then turns on his heel and leaves.
I take a breath and step forward. It's small and circular. I lift it, rolling it in my palm for a second before I slide it onto my ring finger.
It fits perfectly.
Bone, his bone, carved. A thin strip, shaved from the spine. So delicate that the pieces bend like thread in a tight, intricate braid. It reminds me of Victorian mourning pieces—hair woven from the dead, worn close to the skin.
I turn my hand, watching the pale strands catch the blood red light of the station.
Beautiful.
A piece of him.