Chapter 7
LYN
Kaelion Rhyss…is a dad.
As if this night could get any weirder, Kaelion is a dad.
I couldn't picture it when he first told me—then, of course, he showed me to his daughter's room. And there were pictures of him and his daughter. And kid stuff. And his ex-wife’s (ex-mate?
I don't know how this works for his people) spare clothes in the closet.
I ended up sleeping in some of her clothes, under the blankets in an admittedly very comfortable bed, totally unable to actually rest.
Because not only has this all been very weird…but something is wrong with me.
I didn't want to tell Kaelion—I’ve already put him through enough—but something’s going on in my head. I feel…antsy. Anxious. At first I tried to tell myself it was just the utter strangeness of the night, but…
It’s still there when I wake up to dawn light creeping through the window.
I start trying to assess what it is I’m feeling exactly, rather than generalized panic. How would I ask a research subject what they’re experiencing? I would ask…how does your head feel? Your chest? How’s your breathing? Do you feel warm? Cold?
Are you suddenly obsessed with the idea of having sex with your supervisor, who you never really thought was hot except for when you were joking, but now it’s not a joke and you’re having very inappropriate thoughts in his daughter’s bedroom and that is just AWFUL and—
“How do you feel?”
I snap my head to the side, finding Kaelion standing silently in the doorway—arms crossed, fully dressed in the same professional clothes I always see him in, tendrils twitching in curiosity.
I sit bolt upright, pulling the blankets up around me like he’s seen something indecent even though I’m not even a little bit naked.
“Great,” I say. “Just peachy.”
He hums under his breath. “I would like to run some diagnostics before I leave for the station. And…I would still urge you to go to medical for a full work-up.”
“You don’t want to keep me here?” I ask like an idiot.
He frowns. “No…I need to get my daughter…?”
“Right, duh,” I say, shaking my head. “Okay.
He cocks his head, narrowing his eyes. In an attempt to pretend nothing is wrong, I pull myself together and yank the blankets back, then swing my legs over the side of the bed…
…only to get dizzy and—
—he catches me.
“Sit,” he says, in that voice that does something terrible to my nervous system. “You’re experiencing side effects.”
“I’ll go to the clinic,” I say. “This shouldn’t be your problem.”
“This happened in my lab,” he mutters. “It’s already my problem.”
He steadies me with a hand braced on my arm, the other hovering above my lower back. A little voice in my head is screaming just grab me already, which is very much not helpful, so I sit down and pull myself out of his grasp.
“Are you experiencing increased sensitivity?” he asks, eyes darting from where I pulled myself away to my face.
“Meaning?”
“Does it hurt when I touch you?”
I take a beat to try and figure out how to respond to that. I should be honest with him; I shouldn’t be hiding things when my brain could literally be forming new pathways…and when he could stop it.
“I’m turned on,” I blurt out.
His brow raises just enough for me to know it surprised him.
“Is that so?”
Jesus. He didn’t have to say it like that.
“I’ve been wired up since last night,” I admit. “I thought it was just lingering effects, but…it didn’t go away with sleep. Now I’m wondering if it’s related to the fact that you came in and were touching me while I was connected to the translator.”
He frowns.
Then, before I can stop him, he reaches up and flicks my shoulder hard.
At first, it stings—nothing serious, just a little pinch.
Then—
I curl forward, letting out a shuddering breath as my pussy clenches. “Oh my god.”
“Did that hurt?”
“No,” I say through gritted teeth. “That’s the problem.”
“Describe what you’re feeling.”
My body starts to unclench…but it isn’t easy. I flex my fingers, take a deep breath, then exhale.
“Pelvic contraction,” I mutter, not able to look at him even as I keep the language entirely scientific. “Localized warmth in my stomach, breasts, and hands. Held breath…sweating..”
“Mmhm,” he nods along, then begins to take notes on a datapad he seems to have produced out of nowhere. “Go on.”
“I’m not like—it’s not because I’m attracted to you or anything.”
His eyes dart up, then back to the datapad. “I would assume.”
“It’s not permanent, right?”
He sighs and puts the datapad down. “We have no way of knowing. You experimented with new technology…and now we have to find out what the consequences will be.”
“It doesn’t feel fair that I could have fucked myself up with something I made,” I groan. “I’ve been over and over the specs, the data—”
“You tried it on yourself after a failed test.”
I go completely silent.
He’s right.
“Look,” he murmurs. “I…”
He pauses, then he moves his right arm to roll up his left sleeve.
I blink, not sure what I’m looking at—because beneath the fabric of his shirt, his forearm is a lattice of uneven scarring in deliberate, curving lines.
His smooth blue skin mingles with electronic parts and a sheet of silver metal, clearly painful.
“As bio-engineers, it is our job to play god,” he says. “We all get arrogant at times and we try things we shouldn’t. At least—as far as we know—your mistake hasn’t left you permanently disfigured.”
I bite my lip. It feels good. I stop. “You did that to yourself?”
He nods, smoothing the cuff back down. “I tried to install a reflex mod—something that would let my arm react faster in a crisis. Thought I’d cracked it.
And it did work…for about four minutes. Then the circuit shorted out and fried part of the nerve network.
I couldn’t stop shaking for a month. Took a year before I could write again. ”
“Shit.”
“I was lucky,” he adds. “Lucky they pulled me out before it reached my spinal cord. Lucky someone noticed. Lucky someone…intervened.”
“And you were that someone for me,” I say.
“Yes,” he replies. “And just like someone helped me, we are going to help you—then we are going to make your device work.”
I meet his eyes. “You still think we can?”
“I’m more confident in that than ever.”
He may as well have just slapped my ass and called me a good girl. My lips part, my breath hitching. “You actually—”
A little rasping bark sounds from the living room—a bark that I realize must be coming from Kaelion’s pet snake dog—and then there's a chime in the apartment.
Kaelion stands like he's been caught doing something dirty and curses under his breath.
“You expecting guests?” I ask.
“No,” he snaps. “They're early.”
A moment later, I hear the lock click from the living room. Kaelion's eyes dart to me. “You need to get up. I need…I need to make the bed again.”
“I can do it,” I offer, standing up. “Sorry—”
“You did nothing wrong. Just…” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Don't mention what happened between us. No details. And don't…don't let Shahar needle you. She's intent on forcing me to find a mate.”
“What?”
He doesn't respond—just leaves me standing there.
Guess I should probably make the bed.
I’ve just gotten the blankets sorted when I hear the door open, then an excited little churr from the drakon…then footsteps. Voices.
A little girl…a grown woman—whose clothes I think I’m probably wearing?—and a deep-voiced man.
“Sorry we just showed up like this,” the woman says, voice muffled from the main room. “We got to the station early, then Solvi wanted to surprise you…”
“That’s alright,” Kaelion replies. “I was just getting ready to leave. Would you like tea—”
“I’m going to my room!” the little girl shouts.
I freeze.
Then I go into overdrive.
I tidy up the bed as quickly as possible, feeling like a complete and utter freak for the completely dirty thoughts I’ve been having about this little girl’s dad, wondering how the hell I’m supposed to act like a normal person.
I knock my arm against the lamp on the side table stepping back, sending it to the floor, and when I whip around, the snake dog is in the room and hissing at me.
I stumble back.
The girl appears in the doorway.
Her eyes go as big as dinner plates.
She looks just like him, but she’s a light shade of lavender where her dad is completely teal. They have the same tendril color, her skin color fading into electric yellow. Her eyes are the same color too—burnished gold, pretty. She’s clutching a sketchbook to her chest with both arms, lips parted.
Her eyes dart from the lamp to the floor to me…then to the drakon, who’s taken up a defensive position between us.
“You—”
She stops, swallowing hard.
Then she grins.
“Mata!”
She bolts back down the hall.
I follow her out, only to come right up against Flicker outside the door. The drakon hisses at me, then slither-sprints after the little girl, who’s now clutching the arms of an adult Nyeri’i female with the same purple skin. “What’s wrong, Solvi?” the woman asks. “Are you—”
“Mata!” the girl—Solvi, I guess—says. “Mata, Baba has a girlfriend!”