CHAPTER 7
“Get him out, get him OUT, Hannah!” the woman shouts. She rips a pillow off the long upholstered tri-seat furniture and throws it at me, striking me in the leg. I cringe back. “I don’t care how cute and sad he looks! I don’t care! He’s CRAZY!”
“But you sort of believe him,” says Hannah with something almost like excitement in her tone. “Right? You do! I do too. You should have seen him today! Everything was new to him—”
The other woman gapes at her then glares at me. “Because he escaped from a hospital ward? A mental one?”
“—and you saw whatever was happening behind his head. He’s got something going on—” Hannah says quickly.
The other female narrows her eyes. “YEAH, I saw his shoulder hump. There’s something weird about this guy, even weirder than that, and he’s leaving now.” She turns a hard look on me. “Get out.”
“Of course,” I say automatically, and I don’t even castigate myself for wringing my wing talons now, because I couldn’t stop if I wanted to. Edging past her, I make all haste for the door. I can”t apologize since she forbade it, but I come as close as I’m able. “My sincerest regrets for frightening you. I didn’t mean to cause alarm.” I want to deliver a proper, polite goodbye to Hannah before I’m forced to leave, but with the other woman’s order ringing in my head, I can’t break myself from following it. I can’t so much as glance over at Hannah. Not her, or even my cat. My body is controlled by the other woman’s edict.
My hand grips the door handle of their dwelling.
Hannah shouts, “Stop!”
Just as I was forced to follow the other female’s order, I’m frozen by Hannah’s fresh command.
After an uncomfortably protracted moment, Hannah says both slowly and with something like a question in her voice, “Jonoh? Turn around…”
Obediently, I do.
My eyes though, as I turn to face her, are downcast. This is just like when I was left on the doorstep of the Academy. Of course, there were no Gryfala there, only males, like me, which means I wasn’t compelled to follow their orders—but I tried valiantly to follow their every instruction, making every effort to please them. Unfortunately, I often failed. I was constantly making mistakes. The number of times I was wingslapped for infractions cannot be quantified.
“Look at me,” Hannah says softly.
My gaze is dragged to hers.
“Oh my gosh,” she nearly gasps, her hands flying to her mouth. Then she flings her hands in my direction to indicate my person and shouts at the other female, “Look at those puppy dog eyes! Look at him. Tell me you think he’s secretly a polygamist. That is not the face of a manipulative monster!”
“What he’s speaking are the words of a crazy man, and that face is just the mug of an expert conman,” the other woman offers, but there’s a surprising lack of conviction in her words.
“Julie, come on,” Hannah says. “I don’t believe it, and you don’t either.”
The other woman, Julie, doesn’t say anything to this. Her nostrils are slightly flared, and she’s watching me as if she expects me to perhaps transform into a Rakhii, and bite.
I won’t. Even if I could transform into another species, I wouldn’t. And I would never willingly bite this female.
Unbidden, my gaze darts to Hannah. Because my mate? Yes, I might bite. And undoubtedly I’ll wish for her to bite me. Imagining it makes my hearts quicken.
“That’s it. Sit down,” Julie says.
Immediately, I do.
Both females stare at me.
My cat appears from under the tri-seat furniture. She walks confidently up to me and lithely steps over my thigh to make herself at home in my lap.
“I didn’t mean on the floor…” Julie says slowly, and her eyes are sharper than any Gryfala’s.
I cringe. “I’m sorry,” I say quickly, and start to raise my knees to stand—but because Julie didn’t release me from the order to sit, I find I can’t. Which is just as well. My new pet has sunk her considerable number of front talons into my legs and my aborted attempt to stand alerts me to the danger of attempting to move before this creature is ready to release her seat of choice.
“Get up,” Julie says, her voice edged.
“Be nice,” Hannah admonishes. “I think you’re scaring him!”
I am scared, and as I begin to rush to my feet, I’m mortified to have Hannah know it.
“Hannah, watch him,” Julie says, eyes pinning me. “Something weird is happening when we tell him to do something.”
“So quit bossing him around!” Hannah cries.
“You’re missing the point,” Julie says. “Seriously, what the hell are you?” Julie asks me.
“I’m—oww,” I grunt, and attempt to peel my pet from my lap. One set of her rear claws were in contact with my groin, a placement I was unaware of until they became protracted and sunk past the layers of my clothing to prick me. “I am an alien—”
“Take off the Assassin’s Creed hoodie,” Julie orders.
I’ve still not managed to stand, not fully. I’m in more of a pained crouch and my cat is still attached in three places to my person. But at Julie’s command, immediately I’m forced to release my pet’s body, which leaves all of her considerable mass to dangle off my trousers from her wickedly hooked claws while I obey the command by finally shoving to my feet to rip off the heavy cloaking garment that hid my wings from view.
The moment they are hidden no more, I feel the change in the room. The very atmosphere goes still.
I clear my throat. “Could I trouble you to explain your Assassin’s Creed reference?” I ask meekly.
Hannah’s voice is very faint. “It’s a video game franchise. The characters often wear really stylish capes or hoodies while saving the world, basically.”
“Ah. Thank you for indulging my curiosity,” I reply.
“You’re welcome,” she says.
Flattered that my cloak design is similar to heroic characters on Earth, I marshal myself and focus enough to deliver a necessary warning. “You must promise not to touch my wings. You must not even brush their surfaces,” I stress to the occupants. “Not without invitation.” I can’t prevent myself from darting a look at Hannah and adding, “Although with invitation, touching them would be most welcome.” I catch my cat”s middle, supporting her weight so that she doesn’t slice her talons down my groin trying to gain traction. Carefully I unhook her claws and attempt to hold her in my arms—but she pushes away from me and jumps out of my hold, her fur swishing as she swiftly trots away from me. Abandoning me.
“What the Rice Krispies,” Julie says slowly and with too-wide eyes, “are we seeing?”
Hannah reaches forward, her hand outstretched for my wing.
“No, princess!” I say automatically as I slap my eager wings closed, the leathery clap such an innocuous sound for as dangerous as their consequences are. I swiftly take up my cloak from where I shed it on the floor and quickly fold it into a square, keeping the insides inside the fold and stuffing it into my rearmost trouser pocket so that there’s no chance for wingpowder transference from this either.
“Wow,” breathes Hannah. “I can’t believe you were able to fold that thing so small.”
“He calls you princess?” Julie asks scathingly.
Hannah gazes up at me with an expression that makes my midsection heat.
She makes contact despite my warning, her finger brushing over the back of my right wing, which is technically a safe area—but to feel my mate’s touch on them at all has me caught in a hungry shiver. At the same time, having a female touch them is cause for legitimate panic, and I regain my voice. “You mustn”t touch the insides of my wings. I understand the color and sparkle is attractive to your feminine gazes—”
“Really?” asks Julie, eyes unimpressed, as if I’ve insulted her intelligence.
“It is pretty,” Hannah says.
I feel the insides of my wings heat; they’re flushing with color, turning the insides citrine. “Thank you. As I was saying, it is imperative that you not receive any transference on your skin.” I hold my wings clamped tightly behind my back.
“Why?” Julie asks, tone full of suspicion.
“You have… wings,” Hannah says in wonder. “Are they for real?” She reaches out for my wings a second time.
“So, so real,” I growl, carefully taking her by the arm to prevent her from touching the powdered side. “My wingpowder causes an intense sexual excitement in females with potentially dangerous consequences and therefore they cannot be trifled with.”
Julie makes a derisive noise. “You’re saying the gold dust on your wings can drive us sexually insane?”
“I believe that is technically correct,” I murmur. Hannah’s hand is so warm and soft. And she smells like the richest delicacy at her inner wrist, like the sweetest food. When I glance from Hannah’s fingers to her face I freeze.
Hannah’s pupils have expanded.
Resisting the concern that’s instantaneous and nearly frantic, I jerk her closer and examine her hand and arm in case I somehow missed wingpowder transference. I grit my teeth as I force myself to brush my callused palm over her silky skin, imagining that it’s my marks I’m having to brush away from her body.
If she has any of me on her, removing the marks would be akin to having my claim on her be rejected. Of course this scenario isn’t at all the same, but just the idea has possessive instincts rearing up in me.
“I don’t see any on you,” I finally manage, my voice exiting over what sounds like a pile of loose gravel in my throat.
Hannah’s pupils are still dilated and her gaze is fixed on my mouth again. “Nope,” she agrees almost breathily.
“What is wrong with you?” Julie demands aggressively. Protectively, I believe—and although she isn’t as polite as I would have been, it was more or less the question on the tip of my tongue.
Hannah blinks until the spell is broken, and she draws her hand from between mine. “Sorry. I…” She clears her throat and sends a guilty look to Julie. “I like his voice.”
Julie relaxes by a degree. “Heck, even the freaking cat is hot for his voice. Although that really doesn’t say much about you right now, does it?”
“If you’re making some vague reference to me being in heat, I will punch you in the ovary,” Hannah warns.
Julie crosses her arms and says nothing else. Then she skewers me with a glare. “All right. I’ve seen something like these wings on the Internet. Cool, but made with foam rubber and animatronics. We’re going to need more proof.”
Hannah turns on her. “Julie, those aren’t animatronics! They’re real honest-to-God wings. Look at him! What else do you need to see to believe he’s telling the truth?”
I remove my Comm from my trouser pocket. “I can have a Rakhii here in mere moments, if they answer my request.”
“What’s a Rakhii?” Julie asks with suspicion.
I widen my eyes as I tap my missive. “Proof.”