“Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out,” I sigh.
“Yes,” he says with relish. “Strategy has always been a strong skill of mine. When we arrived I thought the idea of a two-day Week’s End without work would be torturous, and now I am thankful this tradition is in place. Otherwise, I am sure they would take me from you within the hour.”
I have not seen him so animated until now, and I can’t help but smile. I’m supposed to respect the ways of these other alien species, but this so-called disaster of a tech malfunction has Kila looking so happy, so flushed with joy—
“Wait, lemme look at you.” I grab his forearms and haul him out of the shaded area. “You’re… you’re red-blooded aren’t you! It’s true, what they said?”
He grins, running his hands up my arms and bending over me, daring me to look even closer. His black eyes sparkle as they roam my face. “And what did they say, Ella?”
“That you think I’m your mate.” I tremble under his gaze, which seems to pierce right through me. He’s entirely changed— stone come to life right before my eyes.
His fingers brush up along my neck and then to my cheek.
“Think it? I know it. I am yours if you will only let me be. Then I will make you mine, and claim you like my body demands.”
His words fluster, arouse, and frighten me all at one. My chest feels like it’s filling with liquid warmth from the way he stares in my eyes when he speaks. I might be making an incredibly stupid decision, but I can’t bring myself to turn him away.
Chapter 10
Kila
Ella has allowed me into her living quarters, under the condition that I will contact Pakka and let him know that I am safe here with her. It will only cause him further panic, but there is no real harm when he is stuck at the complex.
Yesterday, I felt just as much fear and frustration as he does now, but that is all behind me. In Ella’s presence, I feel things that I never have before. Only good and wonderful things.
She seems nervous as we step through her door, requesting that I do not “judge” her, but I am not sure what she means. The scent of her is thick here, a pleasant combination of freshly washed fabric and distinctly feminine musk. Her space is not well-organized at all, but I do not mind it. Various articles of clothing are draped over the couch, which she rushes to remove while I look around. Pictures hang on the wall of indistinguishable blobs of color (“Abstract art,” she says), and the couch that dominates the sitting area is an elegant shade of mauve.
“Are you hungry?” she asks once I am done gawking at her belongings and asking her questions about their purposes. It amuses me that many of them do not have a purpose at all, such as the tiny bronze table by the doorway that simply collects piles of paper.
“Yes,” I admit.
“I can cook us something,” she offers. “Any preferences?”
“I would not know,” I say. “I have enjoyed most things we have eaten so far here. They are packed with much more flavor than the typical rations at home.”
“Rations? Even on the home planet?” she says. She begins pulling ingredients from cabinets and the cold storage box. I sit at her bar so that I can watch her as she prepares to cook.
“Always rations,” I say. “Feeding the soldiers can make things difficult and strain the resources. The Alliance supplements us with their own rations sourced from distant systems.”
“And you have always been a soldier?”
I nod. She lays out a wooden board and pulls out a massive knife. “If you had that when I took you by surprise, surely I would be dead,” I muse.
She grins wickedly, brandishing the sharp silver blade. The way her face lights up causes my chest to tighten. “Ah, but I use my cutting powers for good,” she says and applies her blade speedily to a white bulb vegetable.
“I know we do not know much of one another, but I have learned quickly that you are only good,” I tell her. She becomes shy again, like she did when we were close together in the hallway. She averts her eyes and hides her smile, chopping away on her board.
“Will you tell me about your life?” I ask her since she has quieted down.
“There isn’t much to tell,” she says, turning away to arrange pots on her cook top. “Before the Occupation, all I did was work. I only went to college for a year because my mother was sick and we had bills to pay. I was working as a waitress and all of a sudden this alien invasion goes down. But to me, it was a godsend. My mother got treatment, and I found this job at the facility. This is my hometown here. I didn’t even have to move away from my family.”
“What is it like, having a family unit? We do not have this on our planet, although I see it in many other places.” There are some words she says that I do not understand, but it sounds like she is content with life.
When she glances back at me, I see she is sad but I am not sure why. She has one pot of water getting hot and one skillet with a mixture of sauces and chopped veggies.
“I can’t imagine life without it,” she says. “It’s a comfort to know you always have someone on your side, ready to support you if you’re struggling. Ever since I can remember they have been there for me, my mother and brother. When my mom was sick, it really made me appreciate the time we have together, because I was so close to losing her.”
“I understand. Such loss is difficult,” I agree.
“You lost someone?” she asks softly.
“Certainly. We are always at war. I lost my first command unit. I am the only one still living from that group.”
“I’m so sorry,” she says, setting down her chopping knife.
“Why do you apologize? Earth has nothing to do with the Sector 5 war, and therefore their deaths are entirely unrelated to you.”
“It’s just a way that humans let each other know that they empathize with someone who is mourning,” she explains. Her head is tilted to the side as she surveys my face, her pretty lips turned down.
“Ah.” I shrug. “We do not mourn on Kar’Kal.”
I’ve made her uncomfortable; I can tell immediately. Her fingers flex before she moves to grab her knife again. “Ella, I am sorry—”
“No, no, I’m fine,” she says, rubbing at the corner of her eye. “It’s just so different from Earth, that’s all. I am no one to judge. I just don’t understand it.”
I hop down from my seat and round the bar to stand beside her. I dare to rest my hand on the middle of her back, and she leans into it, sneaking a look up at me. “There is phrase we learn very early as Kar’Kali warriors. An emotion will not solve problems. To me, it was always this: Anger will not complete this mission. Anger will not solve this problem. Anger will not kill your enemies.”
Her eyes widen and water up as she listens.
“Anger will not make them live again,” I say quietly. I do not tell her the terrible things I did after they had gone from this world. I do not tell her because I am a coward, and if she knows this she will surely never want my attentions. Anger will not take back my failures.
“Do you want to know what a human would say?” she asks.
“I want to know what Ella would say,” I reply instead.
“It’s okay to be angry. It’s healthy to mourn. If you never let yourself be upset, you will never get through it,” she says, and presses her body against me. Her arms wind around me, and her head rests against my chest. I’m warm all over from this simple contact, and then she squeezes me with gentle pressure.