9. Donna

9

DONNA

S tupid, stupid, Donna.

Seems like that bad luck that haunted me back in the States has followed me to this frickin’ hoohaa planet off in the middle of nowhere.

Dammit! I thrust the knife so hard it goes right through my bluebread and lodges in the counter. Trying to dislodge it only makes me more pissed off.

‘ You’re my kahl .’ Must have taken me for a damn fool. How confident was he to say that out loud and think I’d fall for it? How naive do I look?

One whole day has passed and I’m still so angry about it all that it’s the single thing I can think about.

I’m so annoyed, I leave the bluebread with the knife still stuck in it and storm into the bathroom, my mood going even lower when I catch sight of myself in the mirror.

A whole day has passed, and I’m still fuming. Fuming because I let this vagrant get under my skin. Yes, he was a handsome vagrant. Strong too. He made me laugh and yes, my heart was beating all sorts of strange in those few days in his presence, but—

“Goodness, Donna. You sure know how to pick them.” I frown at myself. Just as I’d told myself before, generosity doesn’t always bring you blessings. I shouldn’t have been so kind.

Releasing a breath, I run my hand through the two-strand twists I’d done after the hours it took to wash, condition, and detangle my hair. Who on Earth told me it was a good idea to frolic in the mud like some child? I don’t know why I did it. Why I allowed him to pull me into the muck with him. Just another bad decision I can add to the long list of experiences with the males in my life.

Whatever had come over me, it’s gone now though, thank God.

I didn’t think he would listen. To be honest, when I told him to leave my property, my heart was hammering in my chest. My prevailing thought was to get inside and grab hold of a knife, just in case. I was hanging on to that stern facade, praying to every saint I could remember that he wouldn’t turn violent at the rejection.

I’ve seen that kind of anger before. The kind that simmers in a man’s eyes when he thinks he’s entitled to your time, your attention, your…everything. I wasn’t about to become a statistic, some cautionary tale whispered among the women of the Initiative.

But he’d left. Didn’t fight. Didn’t curse. That utter look of pain I thought I’d seen in his eyes might actually have been real. I’ve seen no sign of Tovan Kamesh in the day that’s passed and that’s just fine. My farm is quiet again. My life is quiet. And I am happy.

I force a smile in the mirror before turning away and heading to the front of the cottage. My comm beeps as I pass it and I ignore it. Probably the hundredth notification about some matching program New Horizons has developed. Something about a blood sample to match with a Kari mate.

Xarion has been trying to get my attention from the day before. Even left a long video message explaining the process. But he said it was voluntary, so I ain’t volunteering.

Yea, no thank you.

Inhaling a breath of fresh air as I step out on my porch, I take in the clear pink sky above me. Another day, some more work to be done. If the interaction with Tovan Kamesh taught me anything, it’s that I need to get this farm up and running. Need it to be bringing in credits to support my life here. Because, unlike Catherine and Eleanor, I have no mate to help carry this weight. And I sure as hell don’t want one.

I step off the porch, grabbing the bucket I’d left there earlier, and head across the field. The ground is still partly wet, causing my boots to sink a bit with each step, but I trudge through it without a bother. I’m really settling into this farm thing, aren’t I. The fresh air, the sound of the animals, the soothing peace.

It’s a huge effort to push away my anger, my sadness. To face the day. To pretend . But I need to distract myself.

It starts as a hum before the song bubbles in my throat. (Sittin' On) The Dock of the Bay by Otis Redding. It’s a good song, one that immediately eases some of the strain, and I bob my head as I go.

My voice rises and I let the notes carry across the wind. Out here, no one can tell me it’s a waste of time and that I need to focus on a job that pays.

I’m singing, feeling the rhythm as I walk through the field when something catches the corner of my eye. My head turns on instinct, even before I realize what I’m looking at.

The song slowly dies in my throat as I frown.

There, across the field is a structure. One that wasn’t there the day before.

I squint, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing. “Mmhm, something’s not right here.”

At first glance, it looks like a natural formation—a cluster of trees and bushes. But that’s impossible. Trees don’t just sprout up overnight, not even on this alien world.

I take a few steps closer, my heart doing strange, almost cautious, thumps. There’s something deliberate about the arrangement, something that speaks of intention. The closer I get, the more I can see and I’m pretty sure the branches are woven together, the leaves arranged in a pattern that provides perfect cover while still allowing glimpses of the interior.

And then I see it—a flash of movement, barely perceptible, but unmistakably there. A shadow shifting within the structure, and the briefest glint of what might be a golden eye catching the morning light.

My breath catches in my throat as a figure emerges from the makeshift shelter. Even at this distance, I’d recognize that large form anywhere. Tovan mother-effing Kamesh.

I go still, not sure I’m actually seeing what I’m seeing. Did he…did he really make a camp near my farm? I stare at him, a swirl of anger, disbelief, and shock making me gape. After I explicitly told him to leave, this alien dares to set up camp on the edge of my property? My mouth slams shut as my nostrils flare with a pressured exhalation, my hands clenching into fists at my sides.

I open my mouth, ready to shout, to demand he leave immediately. But something stops me. Maybe it’s self-preservation. After all, I’m alone out here. Better not antagonize him, not when I don’t know what he’s capable of.

So I clamp my mouth shut, grip my bucket tighter, and pretend I haven’t seen him. I turn on my heel and continue on my way, my steps a little quicker, my shoulders a little tenser. But I can feel his eyes on me, watching my every move.

Trying to milk Gertrude while being watched by an alien makes it like trying to get water from a rock. God knows I’m diligent, but I’m no Moses. My hands are sweating, my fingers fumble with the milking pail, and Gertrude seems to sense my unease. She shifts her weight, her massive body bumping against my shoulder.

Oogas have no teats. Her underside is practically smooth, only six sequential dimples near her rear where the milk is supposed to come out . It gets all over my arms and soaks into the dirt, my mood not helping at all.

Glancing over my shoulder, my frown only gets more severe when I catch the alien watching me. As soon as I look his way, he stands straighter. I glare at him, and Tovan has the audacity to wave . My frown dives even deeper.

Does he really think I’m going to wave back? I scowl, making it even more obvious I’m ignoring him as I abandon my milking efforts and stand instead. I need to focus on something else. Milking the oogas had been my big plan on supporting myself. Milk and bluebread. I was thinking I could sell them in the town for a modest living. So far, that idea’s falling through like sand in a sieve, but I’ll figure it out. I always do. So, ignoring the purple alien that stands out like a sore thumb across the way, I carry on with my tasks.

Throughout the day, I try to go about my usual routine. I tend to the crops I’ve planted in a little square near the cottage, feed the animals, and even repair a section of fencing that’s come loose. But every task is colored by the knowledge of Tovan Kamesh’s presence. I find myself constantly looking over my shoulder, expecting to see him standing right behind me.

But he never approaches. Never calls out. Just…watches.

It’s unnerving. I find myself jumping at small noises, my nerves frayed and on edge. And the worst thing, it’s not fear I feel. I’m not afraid of the big alien. I’m just…aware he’s there. I don’t know if that’s worse.

As the sun begins to set, painting the sky in brilliant shades of orange and purple, I retreat to my cottage. I lock the door behind me, something I’ve never felt such pressured need to do before. Peering out the window, I half-expect to see Tovan’s face pressed against the glass. But there’s nothing. Just the distant shape of his makeshift shelter on the field next door, barely visible in the fading light.

I sink into a chair at my kitchen table, my mind whirling. What is he doing? He’s not approaching. Not trying to convince me of what he blurted the other day. Not trying to get on my land. He’s just…there. Is this some kind of Kari courting ritual I don’t understand? Or is it something even worse?

Finishing my dinner, I run a hand over my face. “He’s not my problem. He’ll get bored and leave eventually.”

But even as I say the words, I don’t believe them. There was something in Tovan’s eyes when he called me his kahl , a certainty that went beyond mere infatuation or desire. I ignored it, but maybe he believed what he was saying, even if I didn’t.

Well, that sucks for both of us.

As I clean up, I catch myself glancing out the window again and again, searching for any sign of movement in the darkness. When I finally make it to bed, sleep eludes me. I toss and turn, unable to rest. What if he tries to break in? What if this is all part of some elaborate plan?

I told him I’d call the guards if he returned, but what will I say? That an alien told me he’s interested in me, I told him to leave, and now he’s camping next door and it’s annoying? It sounds more comical than dangerous. I could call Xarion, but he’s the one that’s been telling me to put myself out there, not lock my door and tell the aliens to shoo.

When dawn finally breaks, I’ve barely slept a wink. I drag myself out of bed, feeling like I’ve gone ten rounds with a wrestler. As I stumble to the kitchen to make some tea, I steel myself for another day of this strange, silent standoff.

But when I look out the window, my heart nearly stops. Tovan’s shelter is gone. The point where it stood is empty, as if it had never been there at all.

For a moment, relief washes over me. He’s gone. He’s finally listened and left me alone. But then something else takes hold. I stare at the spot where his camp was for far too long. Part of me wants to celebrate. This is what I wanted, was it not? The return of my solitude? But another part, a part I’m not quite ready to acknowledge, feels…disappointed.

He gave up.

I frown at my faint reflection in the window. I don’t want him here. I don’t even like him. There’s nothing to be disappointed about. So what? He declared I was his mate and then decided to not pursue me. His loss.

But that twinge of disappointment is still there. Because…because maybe a small part of me wanted the pleasure of that feeling. Of someone chasing me. Of being desired. Even if I wasn’t planning on going anywhere with it.

I release a slow breath. I really am a mess.

I spend the morning in a daze. Trying to make batches upon failed batches of bluebread before I finally give up and decide to get on with the other farm work. Without the zimi berries, the mixture just isn’t right and I have no idea where to get more from. I’ll just have to wait till that bush sprouts some more and that might take a while. The whole idea is exhausting and I’m tired by the time I exit my cottage. There’s a slight chill in the morning air today and I wrap my arms around myself as I step off my porch.

That’s when I nearly stumble and fall on my face.

“What the—” There, just off to the side of my door, is the thing I almost fell over. A sealed bucket. My brow dives. I didn’t leave that there. Going closer, I pry open the thing, my breath stopping in my throat when I see what’s inside.

Pure, fresh orange-tinted ooga milk.

My head snaps up as I look behind me. No one’s there, but I sure as hell know I didn’t sleepwalk and do this in the dead of night. It had to be him .

Closing the lid, I step off my porch more cautiously now, my heart a strange thundering thing in my chest as I cast my gaze to the field across the way.

That’s when I see it. The shelter.

He’s not gone. He’s simply moved it. Closer to my property line this time.

The white-hot anger I expect is missing. Now I’m just confused.

I jerk slightly as he suddenly appears. His hair is tousled and he looks like he had as good of a rest as I did last night—basically nada. He lifts an arm to wave again and I ignore him, turning away.

Whatever game he’s playing, I’m not throwing the dice.

Going about my daily chores while my mind races is hard. But I manage. Every time I pass that bucket filled with fresh milk, I’m not even sure how to feel. He was clearly watching me struggle yesterday. But what kind of move is this? He hasn’t demanded my attention. Hasn’t approached me directly. Hasn’t tried to speak to me. Just…helping from the shadows?

I can’t make sense of it. Men don’t do things for nothing. There’s always an angle, always something they want in return.

It’s not until late afternoon that I notice something’s off. The fence I’d repaired yesterday, the one that had been giving me trouble for weeks, is suddenly sturdy and strong. The loose boards have been replaced, the posts driven deep into the ground.

I stare at it, my mouth hanging open. There’s no way I did this. I know my own work, and this…this is expert craftsmanship.

As I inspect the fence, I notice other changes. The barn door that was always stuck is now swinging smoothly on its hinges. The barn itself shows signs of being cleaned up too.

I stand there at the door, staring at the work for a long moment. I should be angry. I should be scared. I told him to leave, and he’s still here, lurking on the edges of my property like some kind of…what? Guardian angel? Stalker?

But instead of anger or fear, what I feel is…even more curiosity.

I’m a fool, aren’t I?

Hissing at myself, I slam the barn doors shut and head in for the night. Purposefully, I keep my head straight, refusing to look in the direction of Tovan’s camp.

This time, before I head in, I light the torch I’d found in the supplies New Horizons gave me and set it on the wall.

He’ll be gone tomorrow. He can’t keep this up forever.